#calvin klein shoot :-(' do you hear yourself

[rosiesmuts]

Muse

Le Serrafim Kazuha

4,000 Words

A/N: KazuhaSmuts?

Kazuha Nakamura. Fuck. The gorgeous idol your new muse, her beauty transcending what the camera can capture, able to take your breath away with those curves and bright smile. A consummate professional, striking poses without needing direction, a sense for it without experience, the pictures coming out flawless.

Even in basic jeans and a t-shirt, Kazuha exudes a beauty, a hotness that has nothing to do with being an idol. Her confidence is stunning and her sensuality is electrifying—not something manufactured for a photoshoot but inherent and undeniable. You're standing next to a goddess. Absolutely gorgeous face, captivating eyes, voluptuous curves, and a charm she's too comfortable with. There's no effort there, no faux coyness or intentional sultry look. Just the radiance of a stunning idol who seems almost oblivious to what she inspires, but you can tell from the heat in Kazuha's gaze and her naughty grin, a mischievous desire swirling around in her that she'll never speak out loud—she has you enthralled.

So fuck.

Fuck these lustful thoughts clouding your head and this heat building in your chest. This is supposed to be a job, but when Kazuha reaches for the hem of her shirt and the lines of muscles accentuating her abs as her t-shirt peels up, that desire inside you is more than unprofessional.

Focus.

Fuck.

This is part of the shoot, supposed to show off the 'Calvin Klein' on her sports bra, but the flexing of her body and the little curl on her smiling lips leaves the underwear an afterthought. You should've been used to this, there's been legitimate supermodels in even less clothing in these photoshoots. But there's something about Kazuha, her innocent smiles and demure laughter, this aura of untouchable and almost fragile femininity about her.

And she's fucking teasing you, those faint lip curls, the flash of teeth from her smirk. She knows her effect, she enjoys your lingering eyes and hungry looks. An arm folded up above her head, leaning against the wall as her other hand grips a rolled up shirt, an underwear ad waiting to happen. Everything about Kazuha screams confidence and sensuality, even her long toes, wiggling a bit for some reason as her smirk broadens, the look in her eyes daring you, almost like she's trying to say something she cannot voice.

Kazuha tilts her head, pulling her lower lip between her teeth, tugging on it, biting into it. Seducing with the barest hints, challenging and inciting with the slightest of moves. It feels almost too intimate and that makes it all the more intoxicating, making the breath hitch in your throat and your heart race in anticipation.

"Cut!"

You have to shout out, the sexual tension overbearing and suffocating. "Let's take an hour for lunch everyone. Good work today, we got a lot of good shots." Your voice is steady, hiding your tumultuous feelings as best as possible. Kazuha beams at the praise and your façade of control crumbles as she teases and tempts you even further, giving a flirtatious wink before slipping into her dressing room.

It's a bit of a walk for you to get to your office, but it gives you space to think about what's gotten into you. This is just a photoshoot, you've dealt with plenty of sexy and beautiful models in much more scandalous poses. Kazuha was in plain clothes! There shouldn't have been anything erotic there. And yet the way the fabric hugged her body, her eyes watching your every move, and that flirty edge to her smile, it was impossible to ignore. Even now your mind's lingering on the last image of Kazuha, staring you down.

One hour to gather yourself. That's what you need—to take your mind off of those...impurities. Kazuha, even her name in your head makes your heart quicken and breath shorten. Just get a hold of yourself. No one can read your mind, and as long as you don't go acting out any of those lurid desires then this'll all just blow over...

"Hey."

You didn't even hear your door open, Kazuha's sweet voice catching you off-guard. Your eyes snap towards her, the entire reason for your break now standing in the office, Kazuha's free hand runs through her hair, this act of playing shy a fascinating dichotomy with the sultry woman you just worked with this morning.

All that build-up and time spent thinking about her left you absolutely stunned by Kazuha's entrance. For the second time she managed to catch your heart in your mouth, freezing your tongue and leaving you speechless.

"Can we go over those pictures that you took? I'd like to see them if that's okay?"

Her request is innocent enough, but you can't help but notice she locks the door behind her. A simple, innocent click of the lock, but the implication was very clear.

Kazuha leans in a bit too closely, a subtle grin as she clicks through the pictures and you're not quite sure if this was real or all your dirty imagination playing tricks on you. Did she really just touch your wrist and give it a squeeze or was she just checking the time and brushed by you accidentally?

Kazuha sits in silence, taking a cursory look at every frame before getting to the next. The silence is more than suffocating. You can barely hear anything outside the pounding in your ears. She stops the slideshow on the most salacious photo: Kazuha lifting her top, the slightest hint of her sports bra, her perfect abs captured so wonderfully on film.

"This one is good! Don't you agree?" Kazuha asks, tilting her head at you and pulling her lip in between her teeth, letting her eyes drag languidly down your figure, devouring you in the most erotic manner with just her gaze alone.

"...yeah..." is all you manage to stammer out, voice stuck in your throat and thoughts wandering in places they really shouldn't.

"Don't think I didn't catch you staring..."

Kazuha steps back, reenacting the shot that got you so worked up—her fingers reach the hem of her shirt, inching the garment up, more and more of her perfect abdomen getting revealed, tight lines that curve and ripple in a tantalizing dance, begging for someone to run their tongue across the slopes and dips of her stomach.

Fuck.

This was supposed to be an hour to gather your thoughts and recompose yourself, not go further into disarray with Kazuha standing in front of you. You lick your lips, a futile attempt to bring some moisture back into a dry mouth as your hands instinctively go into your pockets to prevent anything from going out of place.

This time it's different, Kazuha takes her shirt completely off, the gray Calvin Klein sports bra fully visible, hiding her tiny tits from view. It's a feast for the eyes—the flexing of her abs, the dip of her waist, that sensual confidence in every twitch and curl of her muscles.

"Whoops." Kazuha playfully teases, acting like the removal of the t-shirt is accidental, a casual display of carelessness. Her bottom lip between her teeth, holding it hostage and pressing it between her pearl white teeth. That stare, dark brown and chocolate eyes swallowing you whole and consuming you.

It becomes clear as day, the flirting and lustful looks were no joke, an honest come-on from this hotter-than-hot idol. And you could lose everything right here and right now, the implications and consequences could be catastrophic, but when her hand lands on yours, giving you a gentle caress, it's hard not to succumb.

"It's impolite to stare, Mr. Photographer," Kazuha coos. Your hands find her sides, fingertips digging in, unable to hold back anymore. Years of ballet, and now dancing to her own music and choreography, there is nothing less than admirable in her sculpted body, each muscle firm but toned.

The pads of your thumbs feel the ridges, tracing the defined lines, slowly climbing higher and higher.

"Such a naughty man."

Kazuha gives her own belly a featherlight caress, your hands slip underneath the elastic of her bra. Hot flesh greets your palms and her tiny tits are barely enough for a squeeze, so smooth and soft and absolutely perfect. Her nipples harden immediately, small and sensitive, crying out for attention, pinched by your fingers.

This is beyond unprofessional, absolutely irresponsible, a blight on everything a photographer should be—to have their hands under their model's clothes and get so engrossed with someone they've only known for a day. But, fuck. You could always find another job. Just touching and playing with Kazuha though—a chance of this sort of happiness would be gone forever.

The choice becomes clear the moment Kazuha kisses you, hungrily swallowing any excuses and closing any chance of leaving. The way she claims you is exhilarating, overwhelmingly powerful in that seductive passion as she claims ownership with her tongue, overtaking every bit of hesitation and apprehension in your soul and planting a seed of raw, unfiltered lust in the empty void.

Your excitement is evident, something hard is pressed against her thigh.

"Is it just a big camera down there, Mr. Photographer?" A tsk-tsk leaves Kazuha's lips, those dirty, dirty, beautiful lips, and that haughty smile plastered on her face while her fingers nimbly undo your pants. "Naughty, naughty Mr. Photographer!" Kazuha hums the words into your ear, tickling you, making your skin shiver in delight and electrifying you from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

Her lips are on your neck, her hand is wrapped around your cock. It's all too much—this sexy, gorgeous, brilliant, sensual woman, taking everything with the same enthusiasm and conviction that she'd do in a song and a dance.

Each kiss on your body feels like the brush of the lips of an angel, her hands roaming your body, a subtle hint of her sharp, immaculate nails, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin.

She leaves you panting, a broken record of sighs and low moans until she releases your erection.

"Take off my pants for me Mr. Photographer."

Her words are quiet, her tone more husky than anything else, a hint of arrogance and self-indulgence. A direct command with no room for disobedience. Her back is against the wall, her hips jutted out for easy access— the baggy jeans easily fall off her legs, revealing her toned dancer's physique. Her thick thighs flexing in anticipation, the matching Calvin Klein panties the only obstacle standing in between you and heaven.

Her sexiness is something else, the shapely, sinful outline of her ass, the swell of her curves—that v-line is a mouthwatering treat, teasing with the prospect of a delight waiting to be explored. Everything on Kazuha is toned and breathtaking.

There is no thought, no plan. Pure primal instinct urges you forward, kneeling to run your tongue along that delicious path leading straight down to heaven and bliss and everything you could possibly desire. Your lips press against her stomach, her coy smile grows as you kneel before her, fingers in her elastic waistband, pulling and dragging it down.

Inch by inch, her lower half comes into view and you can't contain yourself any longer.

"Fuck..." the curse slips from you, involuntarily and inevitable, and the sight in front of you is breathtaking: her pussy is absolutely perfect, full and engorged, aching for touch, drooling in obvious desire.

Teasing kisses are planted on the inside of her thighs, inching closer and closer. She gives a slight groan. That sweet taste of victory. Lips upon lips. Tongue against slit. Kazuha is an impatient one, her hands cradling your head, locking you into position, the silky lips rubbing against yours. The roughness with which her hips move excites you, how desperately she pushes her crotch against your mouth. She's not shy at all, each and every movement bold and intentional, greedy and ravenous, entirely unlike her demure, innocent persona.

It's hard not to enjoy this, enjoying her unbridled desire—getting suffocated by her muscular thighs squeezing the sides of your face, her cunt grinding against you, leaving her delicious nectar all over your lips and chin. The more she pushes, the more she suffocates, the more excited and aroused you become, fingers sinking into the flesh of her thighs. It is as if your life depended on tasting her juices, that tart ambrosia from this sultry dancer and songstress, an aphrodisiac you'll never tire of.

Kazuha puts a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle those wanton sounds but failing to completely hide those telltale grunts and moans—her toes curling just another sign. The closer she gets, the tighter her thighs squeeze and... Fuck. If you're gonna die, this is probably the best way to go.

Kazuha shudders in ecstasy, a full body spasm while a cry of pleasure slips free from those luscious pink lips. It's too tempting not to explore her with your fingers as well, the little nub throbbing and aching for stimulation, eagerly twitching whenever your fingers circle it. There is a wild and untamed ferocity to the way Kazuha's legs instinctively curl and flex, writhing in unhindered bliss.

She leans back, pushing more weight into her back, holding herself up on shaking legs and heavy breaths. A sense of victory floods you. She was putty in your hands, her beautiful legs shaking and knees wobbling. Your pride swelled—to have the otherwise impeccably poised songstress a shivering mess.

"That... Was..." Kazuha struggles to talk, the red on her cheeks running down her chest and spreading down her heaving abs. "...Fucking amazing," she pants, her adorable smile permanently fixed on her beautiful face, lips parted just slightly.

Fuck.

Absolutely beautiful.

Her appearance is entrancing. Those warm, dark brown eyes with a sly, playful expression. Plush pink lips pulled into a sultry smirk, teasing, as her hair cascades behind her shoulders. Kazuha pulls you back up, staring you directly in the eye, full of sensual promise.

"I think you deserve a reward, Mr. Photographer," Kazuha says between languid strokes of your cock. Those talented fingers tease you, squeezing and pumping with precision, hitting every one of your buttons, a cocky, knowing glint in her eyes. You're not one to stand idly by, reaching for her sides, massaging her hips and brushing along her waist.

This is not a slow and drawn-out affair. Every touch between the two of you is desperate and fiery, full of passion and an intense need to feel more and more—needing to satisfy your hunger. Her arms reach above her head and you finally toss away that pesky sports bra. Perky nipples beg to be teased and kissed.

You give her pecs a light lick before blowing cool air onto her sensitive, pointed peak. She mewls in response. Each tug on her nipple accompanied by a sultry cry from Kazuha. She's trapped, sandwiched between the wall behind her and your body, held hostage by pleasure. But one simple phrase and she takes back all control.

"Fuck me."

Two simple words. The most beautiful ones. Commanding and fierce. Kazuha doesn't beg. Kazuha doesn't ask. There's no softness in her tone, she knows what she wants and there will be no deterring her. The tip of your hard, aching cock slides across Kazuha's slick folds, smearing her juices, gliding up and down as your shaft teases her clit.

It takes all your willpower to hold back, you want this to last forever. A huge part of you doesn't believe this is actually happening and that this is all just a fever dream. But when your tip first enters her wet, hot heat, nothing feels more real and certain. There's tight, and there's this—Kazuha a woman who spends hours working out her core and performing exhaustive dance routines every single day. There's nothing tighter or better than this goddess's cunt.

Every single movement is an explosion of sensations: her inner muscles flexing and squeezing, gripping, the sensual gyrations of her hips, the shallow thrusting—this is pure perfection. Your head spins, drunk from the desire, the high of fucking this diva, being enticed by every subtle thing about Kazuha and all of it's pure insanity, almost terrifying and too unreal. You lean in, pressing against her body and giving yourself up to her.

It's a paradise that no mortal should ever be worthy of entering. That is what her cunt feels like: Heaven's gates. Something out of this world. It's like all the blood is leaving your head. That carnal desire that's been built up is now set loose in this debauchery, your primal urges taking over.

Fuck the consequences.

Nothing matters right now but this.

Each thrust into Kazuha elicits a cute, soft moan, her tongue hanging loosely from her lips and her eyes fluttered shut in bliss. Her nails dig into your back, the painful searing feeling mixes perfectly with the sweet pleasure coursing through your body. There's no gentleness or love, nothing other than lust and passion. Flesh against flesh.

Kazuha pushes you back, a naughty expression painted all over her face, pupils wide and tongue licking her lips.

"Wanna see a trick?"

There's no time to respond, her leg lifted into the air, showing off her flexibility and resting on your shoulder. This angle is unreal. You have no idea how she manages to keep her balance, especially when it allows you to slide even deeper into her cunt. The change is striking and her hands clasp over her mouth, failing to stifle a long, loud moan.

It's as impressive as it is erotic, using her ballet skills as a sexual advantage. Each pump in is pure pleasure, so hot and wet, you're drowning in her. Her walls clench and squeeze around your cock, as if she can't bear to let it leave, unwilling to relinquish your presence from her cunt.

"You're making me-" her words are cut off, Kazuha biting down hard on your shoulder in her attempt to stop the cry of passion. A hand wraps around her ankle, gripping her leg, hoisting her a little higher for even deeper thrusts. Her thighs and legs flex, locking you into place, keeping you there as she throws her head back in pleasure.

Kazuha bursts. For the second time. Shivering. Gasping. Pulsating. As if her pussy can't decide what's the best way to please the cock inside of her, an infuriating tightness and gyration around you.

Her leg leaves your shoulder, her whole body leaning against you as Kazuha's tired, labored breathing fans the back of your ear.

"That was quite the trick." Kazuha giggles at your lame attempt at a joke, pressing her finger against your lips.

"Did I say I was finished?"

Of all the things you should have expected after all the salacious behavior she exhibited during her first two orgasms, you really don't know why you should have expected anything less than what she did next: wrapping her arms around your neck and her legs around your waist.

Her forehead leans against yours, your tandem breaths sync up, and the calmness lasts for maybe a second before Kazuha presses a small peck against your mouth. She grinds down and starts working against your lap, her pussy bobbing up and down the hardness of your cock. You're carrying her weight now, Kazuha lifting herself up, then letting gravity guide her hips downwards to fully seat your dick.

Your fingers sink into her tight ass. She rides you, no break, not pausing once in her movements, sheathing herself repeatedly onto your girth. She's fucking you—every pent up frustration in living an idol's life is now being released into that. It dawns on you that in no moment were you ever in control, Kazuha stole every bit of agency from you.

Even so, your hips are locked in place.

Even as the room smells of sex and you're completely ensnared in a tangle of limbs. The loud clapping of flesh on flesh ringing in your ears—every bit of this situation is screaming irresponsibility and wrong. To fuck an idol whose star is on the rise would spell an end for a promising career. And yet Kazuha never fails to get her way, it's undeniably clear the moment that devious smile spreads across her face and the heated sparkles light up in her eyes, this vixen is determined to have what she wants.

Everything is burning up—your loins are on fire, Kazuha's steamy hot insides are the match.

"How do I feel, Mr. Photographer?" The sweetest, honeyed voice but with the devil's timbre. Kazuha fucks the words out of you, and your mouth feels so dry—you can't find the will or ability to speak as Kazuha smiles triumphantly.

Your life flashes before your very eyes. The decisions, the events—everything leading up until this very moment where you found yourself impossibly entangled in a gorgeous superstar, unable to get free from this spell. Everything culminates. From the time you were told you'd be working with her. From her flirty looks during the shoot.

Your hour of recess turned into this wild, irresponsible, crazy scenario. A lustful mess, as evidenced by the slick sheen that's collected around Kazuha's tight hole, glistening in the pale light. The tiniest twitches of her face, the furrowing of her brow—she's getting close again.

A handful of violent bounces is all she needed. With a stilted, violent scream and her pussy choking and gushing all over your thick rod. Everything's too hot and your toes begin curling and you can't stop fucking her, holding her perfect round ass, you start thrusting upwards—into her oversensitive cunt.

Kazuha squeals and it's too late to stop now, the sound of her pitiful cries as her body jerks and trembles and shakes—you're cumming together, perfectly synced in this debauchery. Her cunt squeezes the orgasm out of you. All over her walls. Flooding her insides, the warmth spilling out and dripping down and marking the both of you in the naughtiness of this exchange.

She collapses in your embrace, slumping against your chest and struggling to hold herself up. Both her feet rest on the ground, and the exhaustion is evident on her face—heaving breathlessly with a bright, brilliant smile as her knees threaten to give out beneath her.

Kazuha doesn't say anything, not a word, but she's glowing—unable to wipe that gorgeous grin off her face. There's no sign of regret either, or any hint of shame or guilt. No trace of anything but unbridled happiness and pure, raw satisfaction. A mischievous, perverse happiness that a woman in her profession shouldn't exude, not with the career waiting ahead of her.

A knock on the door. Shit. It's already been an hour?! There's a short pause, and she's pressing her finger to her lips, giggling quietly while giving a cheeky wink and getting herself dressed.

"I'll be right out." You yell at the door, sounding a bit winded as the thoughts come to you. It's easy to zip up, put away, and readjust yourself but there is absolutely no way you can cover up the smell, an obvious pungent musk that'd have anyone wrinkling their nose, the smell of hot, sweaty sex.

Kazuha winks at you and struts towards the door. A deep inhale, and the moment the door opens a whoosh of cool air clears out the fog from the past hour's festivities. "Make me look good out there Mr. Photographer," and in the span of an eye-blink, the façade she's made her identity, Kazuha's the innocent, sweet idol once again, her perverted desires and lustful yearning hidden under a veil of composure and modesty...

[vaaaaaiolet]

You accidentally throw a monkey wrench into supermodel Leon's Calvin Klein photoshoot, but you can't sweet-talk your way out of this one. Kennedy's got your tongue and your panties in a bunch.

Better hope you've got a fix up your sleeve.

f / m, slight nsfw, you just thirst over leon + you're REALLY awkward, fluff + romance, stupid one-liner attempts at humor + hunnigan mention!! I GIVE MYSELF THE ICK.

word count: 913 // read on ao3

a/n: @chesue00 made this GODLY ART. and i RAN INTO PEOPLE in PUBLIC looking at it because it got me so dizzy. i don't know what to DO WITH MYSELF 😭

find more drabbles in my collection: sketches for my sweetheart the drunk!

You’d passed all your English classes in college, but right now? It’d be a hell of a lot more useful to have taken a few in sign language.

“What’s wrong with her?” 

The camera crew’s never been able to perfect the art of the whisper. 

“Did she lose her voice or something?”

You fumble with the reflectors for the millionth time, bright material projecting your flushed face to high heaven on all three of the cameras’ viewfinders. 

There’s a really unfunny joke that starts like this: a photography intern walks into a bar.

Said bar happens to be supermodel Leon S. Kennedy’s back because you weren’t watching where you were going on the biggest day of your career, a Kennedy x Klein collab shoot starring the man you’d only been crushing on for, what, ever since you picked up your first fashion magazine? You’d left a sizeable smear of makeup on the pristine white of his T-shirt as a parting gift, and after that, you’d lost your ability to form words in shame. Mortifying, paralyzing shame.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

And as if in agreement, Leon’s agent bristles on the break couch behind you. 

He’s still in that stained shirt, by the way. Sipping thoughtfully from a bottle of water while his agent sounds off beside him, but the only thing on your mind is what you’d give to be on his drink’s business end. Condensation drips onto the coffee table when Leon sets it down, drop by tantalizing drop sliding down his fingers, ice melting in his palm that’s just big enough to grab a plush handful of your- 

His agent tears through your daydream, madder than a wet hen. ”There’s no time to order an exact replacement!”

“It’s just a shirt,” Leon chuckles, and you hear rolling thunder on the horizon. You’ve got it bad.

“It very clearly states in the Kennedy x Klein contract that we need a picture of you in a white T-shirt.”

“A tiny bit of lip gloss-” 

“An obvious stain!” the spectacled woman squawks. 

“Stain, whatever – just stop freaking that poor girl out, yeah?” 

Your ears perk up rabbit-style.

“Look at her, Ingrid,” Leon continues, and every cell of your body lights on fire because he has to be training his gunmetal eyes on right on you. “Poor thing hasn’t said a word since you started going off about that tiny mark. Turn around, sweetheart, just a moment.”

Who put your feet on a turntable? 

“See? Eyes bigger than the goddamn moon.”

And you just might faint, too. But you’ve got to fix this before you do. 

“Uhm, we…we could…” he nods when you stutter, patient as a saint, he’d talk you through it for sure, “take…the shirt…off?” 

A tilt of his handsome head. “Come again?”

You need to put your money where your mouth is. Even if the latter’s on strike right now. Pointing your chin back towards the set, you jerk your head for him to follow. Leon’s agent pinches the bridge of her nose, mumbling something about leaps of faith from chandeliers and not again, but the man in the stained shirt couldn’t seem to care less. His eyes gleam.

“Hands-on, then.” Leon cracks a grin, rising to his feet. “I’m all yours.” 

Leon is desire painted monochrome.

You nearly throw yourself over the table at the back of the shoot the minute Leon pops up on your monitor. The printer spits out picture after picture that couldn’t be safe for work in your wildest dreams, but here you are, getting paid to take softcore of Calvin Klein’s newest poster boy, and your jaw is about to make friends with the floor.  

You didn’t know eyes could talk before Leon Kennedy. 

In one shot, he’s gazing at you from the glossed page, bedroom blues sizing you up. He’s daring you. Drag your eyes down the page. Go on.

And oh, if the the journey doesn’t reveal the ridged muscles lining Leon’s stomach as he reaches to shuck the shirt off his shoulders. The stain is a forgotten memory replaced by a new one burned into your brain for the rest of eternity, and you’re not the talking about the cologne. You’re staring at the patterned Calvin Klein waistband of his boxers. Slung dangerously low over his hips, begging to be relieved of their duty, so close you could pull them off with your teeth. 

“Any closer and you’re gonna lick the page, doll.” 

And mess up his pretty face? You wouldn’t dream of it.

Leon laughs when you go ramrod straight. “Seriously. You did amazing with that shirt-pulling save,” he says. “I know it’s a little intimidating to work with Ingrid and my team, but you handled it like a champ.” 

He tugs the photo out from under your fingers, uncapping a nearby pen to scribble something onto its backside. His tongue pokes out when he writes. He’s the cutest Adonis you’ve ever seen when he hands it back. “I knew you could,” he adds.

And then all too soon, just as your own tongue regains feeling, Leon leaves amidst the flurry of post-production. Leaves is the polite way to put it; his agent practically hauls him out by the collar by the time you muster up the courage to wave goodbye. 

Really? After everything’s all done? 

Well, almost. You flip the photo to read his note.

Pretty eyes, pretty mouth too. Put that second one to use next time? :)

They do say practice makes perfect.

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[csanflower]

are you my soulmate?

pairing: idol/model! jungkook x part time staff! reader

genre: fluff, sfw

wc: 2.7k

synopsis: You offered to do some part time work for a Calvin Klein shoot to earn some quick cash. The job was simple. Do whatever the higher ranked people told you to do. You expected a simple job like making coffee or ordering lunch for the staff. You definitely did not expect the biggest star in the world following you around like a puppy, thinking you’re his soulmate just because a bell rang when you crossed paths with him…

*inspired by jungkooks comment abt hearing bells ring when he meets his soulmate ^^ BUT NOTE THAT THIS IS NOT SOULMATE AU

“y/n, thank you so much for helping us out! Our shoot today is extremely important for the company and we needed all the help we could get! You are aware of who the model is, right?” Sejin, your overall manager for the shoot today approached you as you entered the shooting area.

You immediately noticed how large scale this shoot was, compared to the other shoots you’ve been to before. As a college student interested in the modelling sector, you had always tried to find opportunities to get yourself familiarised with the industry, and at the same time earn some money to pay off your school fees. Thus you’ve dabbled in helping out with basic chores for shoots, such as buying coffee for the staff, organising the mess on the tables, or the occasional touch up of the model’s makeup. However, all of the shoots you’ve been to so far have been small scale, quick shoots, unlike this shoot which seemed to have about 100 staff members in a rush to get ready. Whoever the model was must have been a huge figure.

“Sorry, this job was kind of last minute so I didn’t have time to read up on the information. Who is the model?” You replied Sejin with slight embarrassment.

“It’s fine, no need to be sorry. The model is Jeon Jungkook of BTS! Do you know how many fans this guy has? This shoot is going to make our company stocks rise to the max!” Sejin laughed out loud at the mere thought of company stocks rising.

Jeon Jungkook? Wow. Who didn’t know Jeon Jungkook? He was the most famous and desired man in the whole South Korea — in fact maybe the whole world. Your jaw hung open. You were going to see Jeon Jungkook? Sure, you were probably not going to reach within a 10 meter radius of him as a small staff, but you were gonna be in the same room as him. You weren’t a big fan of him but you had heard of how famous he was. Jeon Jungkook was a household name. You’ve personally heard your mother and siblings fangirling over him. Who would have known that y/n l/n, the only one in the l/n family who did not fangirl over Jeon Jungkook would be meeting him first. You laughed to yourself, imagining your family’s reaction when you tell them about it.

“Ah, y/n, the shoot is about to start, i’m about to get busy. Could you do me a favour and help me get my file for todays shoot? It’s in my office, you should know where it is.”

“Sure! I’ll go now!” You immediately replied, hoping to do good job so you could get on his good side. You bowed at him quickly, before rushing to his office.

When you reached his office, you immediately found the file, with big, bolded letters written on it. “For Jungkook shoot! Extremely important!” You were about to grab it and leave, when you notice a golden bell beside it, with a post it note written on it. “Bring to the shoot! In case I need to get everyone’s attention since nobody ever listens to me anymore!” You laugh at the note, grabbing both the bell and the notes as you head out of the office.

As you walked in the hallway, you suddenly got a text message from sejin. You placed the bell on top of the file and barely balanced it with your left hand, as your right hand held your phone to read the message.

Help me take the bell too please! Thank you!! - Sejin

You inwardly praise yourself saving a trip back, trying to type a response to sejin with your right thumb.

Just as you were about to hit send, you suddenly felt a hard chest in front of you, harshly colliding into it, sending you to the ground.

Ding! The loud sound of the bell resonated in the empty hallway as it hit the ground.

“What the hell…” You rub at your painful head as you lay on the floor, rushing to get up to grab the file before its contents fly around.

Dischevelled, you grab the file and bell, hugging it close to your chest as you glared up at the person who caused the mess.

You definitely did not expect to see a pair of doe eyes looking at you curiously, with a glint of excitement in them. His mouth was open slightly in awe, as if he just saw an angel. But your jaw hung wider than his when you realised you just bumped into THE JEON JUNGKOOK?

“Oh…OH MY GOD! I’m so so so sorry!” You quickly sobered up, standing up and bowing at him multiple times. You avoided eye contact as you walked past him and tried running away in embarrassment.

But before you could leave, you felt strong, large hands grabbing your wrist.

“W-wait! Don’t go… who are you? Are you my soulmate?”

When you heard what he said, you almost burst into laughter. What? Soulmate? What was this famous star on? Was the most famous guys in the world really asking you if you were his soulmate? You let out a muffled laugh, trying your best to hold it in as you say, “Excuse me?”

“T-the bell. It rang when we bumped into each other. It’s fate.”

You finally let out your laughter at that, laughing uncontrollably at what you thought was a joke, until you noticed his hardened stare and realised maybe he was not joking.

“Um the bell rang because it fell on the floor… I don’t think we are ‘soulmates’, sorry man.” You said awkwardly.

The both of you stood in silence, staring at each other. After 30 seconds, the awkward tension started getting to you and you slightly bowed before walking away back to the shoot.

If you thought that would be the the end of the very weird experience, you were very wrong. As you walked, you could feel a presence behind you. Using your peripheral vision, you were 100% sure Jeon Jungkook, the world’s most desired bachelor was following you around like a puppy. You were starting to get annoyed, the other staff were starting to notice and the attention was definitely not what you needed. You whipped around, face to face with Jungkook.

“Why are you following me?” You ask infuriatingly.

At your annoyed tone, he lets out a small smirk, suddenly having some newfound confidence.

“I’m not following you, I’m going the same way as you.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, turning around and stomping at a quicker pace to the shoot area. Of course, he was still following you closely.

When you reached the shoot, you felt an instant relief with the amount of people bustling around.

“Jungkook is here!”

“What! Where?”

“Jungkook!”

The moment Jungkook entered the room behind you, people immediately took notice of him, running to be by his side and crowding around him. You took the opportunity to blend with the crowd and get away from him.

As you turned back to look at him, you noticed he was looking around for you, after losing you in the crowd. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed as he carried a small frown on his face, eyes glancing around the room trying to find you.

For a guy who could get any girl he want, he seemed weirdly obsessed with you. Did he really think you were his soulmate because of the bell? Maybe he was just playing with you like with other girls. You were just a nobody to him after all. You place the thoughts at the back of your head as you get back to work, finding Sejin.

“Thanks y/n, you can go take a lunch break. I’ll text you if I need you!” Sejin seemed satisfied at your swift pace as he released you for a break.

You give him a small smile as you walk out to the cafeteria with a sigh of relief. Taking one last glance at Jungkook, he still seemed to be trying to find you, with a small cute pout on his face as he seemed slightly frustrated at his futile attempts.

You sat down on an empty bench as you chewed on your sandwich, glad that you could take a short break before the real demands start coming in when the shoot gets busy.

Emergency: Contact some models to see if they’re available ASAP. Part time models OK. Get a variety. Jungkook being picky. He doesn’t want to work with Nari. - Sejin

You furrowed your eyebrows at the message. Jungkook didn’t want to work with Nari? Nari was the biggest female model in Korea. Why didn’t he want to work with her? She was ‘the most beautiful girl in Korea’ and every man loved her. Why did he have to be so uncooperative and make my job so hard? You quickly messaged your model contacts, asking them to come as soon as they could.

Of course, all of them immediately accepted. Who wouldn’t be dying to get an opportunity to model with Jungkook? You led the 4 models to the shoot, noticing the grim and dark mood as soon as you entered. You could tell there was tension due to Jungkook’s lack of cooperation.

When sejin noticed saw the models, his face immediately lighted up.

“Jungkook! The models are here! You can choose any of them to be your partner! These girls are all highly esteemed models and they are all experienced! Any of them would be a great partner!”

You could feel the girls beside you fixing their posture and making a juice pose as they awaited in anticipation for Jungkook to see them.

Jungkook looked up from his phone in disinterest, quickly skimming over the models until his eyes landed on you. Immediately, you noticed a glint of sparkle in his eyes, a child like smile on his face as he pointed at you.

“I want her.”

You instantly tensed up, staring at sejin in shock. You could feel the rest of the staff’s shock as well. You wanted to climb into a hole and die from the tension. Why did he have to cause so much problems for you?

“A-are you sure jungkook? Y/n is a beautiful girl but she’s a staff, not a model…”

You looked at Sejin in desperation, slightly shaking your head and telling him with your eyes that it was a no. However, Jungkook was relentless.

“If it’s not her, i’m not doing this shoot.” He said nonchalantly.

You wanted to smack his handsome little face so bad. You should have just stayed home today. Sejin walked over to you, pulling you aside apologetically.

“I’m so sorry y/n, but you know how important this shoot is to us. Could you please help us out this once? It’s just for today. We will pay extra and it’ll be a great experience! You want to work in the modelling industry in the future right? You could hear desperation in his tone.

You thought about it. Of course this would be a great experience for you, but you were so unprepared. What if you didn’t do well? Or worse what if his fans hated on you? You couldn’t handle that. But with Sejin staring at you so desperately, you felt that the guilt of rejecting him would kill you on the inside. You knew how excited he was for this shoot.

“Fine.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much y/n! Here take this file and read up on the looks for the shoot. I’ll bring you a makeup and stylist team ASAP. The shoot will start immediately when you’re ready!” He handed you a file with immense gratitude written on his face.

You reluctantly grabbed it from him, making your way to the makeup room as you tried to avoid the heated jealous stares of the girls around you. You glared at Jungkook as you walked past him, receiving a smirk in return.

When you reached the makeup room and sat on the model’s chair for the first time, you flipped through the file, reading the contents, your eyes widening and jaws dropping when you read it.

“Underwear shoot???!!”

You stared at yourself in the mirror after you had gotten your makeup and styling done. You were only wearing Calvin Klein underwear and a Calvin Klein jean jacket. Were you really about to do this? Of course, you looked hot. This was probably the hottest you have been in your whole 21 years of your life. But you were so nervous. You sucked in a deep breath, telling yourself: You have to do this well. This will give you many opportunities. Just suck it up.

You walked out awkwardly, feeling the heat of everyone’s stares. You could especially feel Jungkook’s heated stare.

“y/n! You look great! Come here! Let’s start the shoot!” Sejin commented in excitement when you came out.

You awkwardly walked over to in front of the camera where Jungkook was already waiting.

“Ok, y/n, I need you to sit on Jungkook’s lap and grab his neck while looking up innocently at the camera.”

You looked at Jungkook who had a smug look on his face as he waited for you to approach him. You tried not to stare down at Jungkook’s sudden exposed abs. Sucking up your embarrassment, you did as Sejin said.

Unexpectedly, the shoot went smoother than you expected. You managed to do many of the poses Sejin told you to do, even the intimate ones. Sejin even commented that you were a natural. Looking at the pictures taken, you also noticed that you somehow had a natural chemistry with Jungkook, with all your pictures with him seeming natural, like a real couple. In one of the pictures, you were straddling Jungkook as you both stared into each other’s eyes as if you both loved each other. You felt yourself blush as you stared at the picture. Despite the slight embarrassment, you couldn’t help but feel a new sense of pride when you were praised by everybody there, even staff members who previously did not even acknowledge your presence.

“And that’s a wrap! Thank you to everyone!” Sejin shouted.

You felt a flush of relief feel your body, a sense of tiredness taking over your body as you could finally relax.

You slowly got up from Jungkook’s shirtless body, looking away from him. You could still sense him staring at you as you walked away to change out of the uncomfortable undergarments.

After removing the extravagant makeup and changing into comfortable clothes, you walked out of the shoot feeling much more relaxed. You looked at the time on your phone, noticing it was already 11pm. Everybody must have already left by now.

You let out a content sigh, thinking back on the stressful day.

“y/n, wait! Dont go yet!”

Just as you were about to step out of the building, you heard a panicked voice behind you.

You turn around, seeing Jungkook who was panting hard as he bent down to catch his breath. He had changed into more comfortable clothing, with a hoodie and sweats, without any makeup on his face. Yet with such a natural look, he seemed so much more attractive to you. He must have ran after you if he was panting so much.

You crossed your arms, playfully smiling at him as you asked him why he stopped you. You felt a newfound sense of comfort with him after the shoot with him, maybe because you had been in such intimate positions with him.

“I-I need to tell you something. T-there’s something wrong with your phone. It doesn’t have your number in it…” Jungkook seemed nervous.

You looked at him in confusion, not understanding.

“W-wait! I mean there’s something wrong with my phone! It doesn’t have your number!” Jungkook hit his head in frustration, seeming actually annoyed at himself for not pulling off his pickup line correctly.

“So what do you want me to do about it?” You ask with a playful smirk on your face.

“You can fix it by giving me your number.” He said with a shy smile, still slightly embarrassed from his failed pickup line, as he reached out his phone to you.

You laughed out loud at his shyness and relentless determination. Jungkook laughed along with you shyly as you both shared a moment in the sweet darkness of the night.

You grabbed his phone from his hand, typing out your phone number.

*HII IM NEW TO TUMBLR i may make a part two depending on how wrecked i am after seven comes out :’)

[prettyboytsum]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ day off I nanami kento pairing: nanami x reader tags: slice of life (maybe part of the series?), fluff, (no beta, we die like men) wc: 1,005

nanami kento doesn’t have days off.

ever.

in fact, nanami is the ideal employee, as per his (less than empathetic) bosses. he’s always punctual—clocking in at the exact time or ensuring he’s five minutes early to meetings. he’s reliable—even if the assignment was given the night before, rest assured he’ll have it done without working overtime. nanami has never requested for a day off—not for his birthday, not for meet-ups with friends, and not for special dates with you. he delivers the results necessary but rarely lacks or goes above and beyond.

it helps that he has a schedule. up at the crack of dawn—with only one alarm to wake him from his restful slumber. breakfast, a shower, and coffee all in an hour before he’s giving you your usual morning kiss and a reminder about your date that evening.

so, on one of the rare days that you aren’t needed in the office, and the chirping of birds or the slow sway of the sunlight doesn’t wake you up—an unusually warm body beside you does. you almost jump, this couldn’t possibly be your beloved. you half-expected to be able to spread yourself all over the bed for the morning, only to be denied when a lean body hits against your arm.

you groggily open one eye but your brain quickly works overdrive.

”don’t—don’t kidnap me,” you slur, sitting up quickly as you realize that there’s an arm around you. you rub your eyes, tripping over your words before you can muster up a more intimidating way to threaten this intruder. which, in retrospect, you don’t imagine to be very intimidating with your morning hair and nanami’s shirt as your pajamas dressing you. “’s not nice—i know a cop.”

”you do?” a voice responds, awfully familiar but you don’t let yourself get too comfortable. your eyes squint at the sunlight when you hear a gruff continuation. “i didn’t know any of our friends worked for the precinct.”

our friends? what type of friends could you even share with a—

you blink once. twice. before a realization dawns on you—one that swirls confusion, which seems to be a pre-requisite to the budding hope spreading throughout your chest.

”kento?” you ask, sitting a little straighter as you look at the space beside you. alas, your fiancé, in all his glory. nanami’s blonde hair sprawled over the white pillows, a mess before the usual pristine styling. his posture is relaxed, an arm resting behind his head as he looks at you with an amused expression, one that sits behind morning sleepiness that you haven’t been familiar with. not when he’s always the one to wake up. it doesn’t help that he’s topless. you find it a little unfair that he’s this attractive right after waking up.

”g’morning, darling.”

”good—good morning?! do you know what time it is?!” you splutter, looking at the bedside clock. of all your years of knowing him, nanami has never been late. you can’t help but think that tonight might be the first time he’s broken a global record.

you might have to start celebrating this milestone yearly.

”ten thirty-nine?” he muses, the amusement no longer hidden behind the usual morning grogginess. you look at him like he’s grown a third head.

”ten—ten?! kento, it’s way past your hours—”

”i know.”

”you know?! but you’re sitting here like you have a calvin klein shoot—”

”i took the day off.”

”you did what?!” you exclaim, almost as if you’ve heard the most absurd news of your life. to an extent, you kind of just did. “are you sick?”

”not that i know of, no, love,” nanami asks, now genuinely confused at your reaction. any other lover would celebrate a day where they could spend time together; a cafe, a slow day in, anything really. he finds your reaction amusing—and slightly disheartening. “is there a problem?”

there’s a silence as you soak it all in. a day. where nanami kento has willingly decided to not go to work. you can’t possibly fathom a reason why he isn’t clocking in his office with the most uncomfortable chair known to man. surely, there’s paperwork that nanami can’t miss out on—or so he claims every time you grumble about him leaving so early in the morning.

”problem? no. irregularity? yes.” you respond, finally shifting in the bed to turn to properly face him. he’s propped up by his arm—looking far too handsome for a man who just left his company in shambles (he didn’t). “you’ve never taken a day off.”

a pause as nanami thinks before he shrugs. “i guess i haven’t. there’s never been an urgent reason to file for one.”

"oh, and my—”

”yes, darling, your morning pouting is not categorized as urgent.” he responds, biting back an amused smile as you immediately let a huff out. the familiar jut of your lips only entertaining him further. “but it did do a number on me. i thought to take a day off so we could spend time together.”

you squint your eyes in response—almost accusingly as you cross your arms. he lets out a chuckle—a little rough with morning sleepiness but it’s attractive nonetheless. there’s a set of arms that wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him until you’re practically on his lap. nanami’s chin rests on your shoulder, your back to his chest as he keeps his arm around your middle.

”so suspicious? just cause of my day off?” he whispers into your ear, planting a kiss on your shoulder. your heart stutters. “had the whole day planned out, princess.”

there’s a familiar giddy feeling that spreads through your chest—a familiar sensation when it comes to being around nanami. one of his hands interlocks with your left, his fingers playing with the stone he bought you a couple of weeks ago. a promise for a lifetime together—and an unforgettable wedding, he assures you.

”i’m marrying you after all, it’s only right that i want to spoil my wife.”

✩ author's note: i need him in ways that are concerning to feminism. i need him with me. ⓒ prettyboytsum 2024. all works are posted under this account on tumblr.com and are protected by copyright laws. do not plagiarise these works on any other platform or account.

[oftenderweapons]

In Your Calvin's | JJK

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 9.6k

Genre: smut, fluff, pwp, established relationship

Rating: 18+ Minors, do not interact

Synopsis: Being Jeon Jeongguk's girlfriend is a great honour, but it comes with great responsibilities. When the commercial celebrating your boyfriend (very secret boyfriend) starts playing on everyone's and their mother's phones, it's time you face what it means to be loved by the most wanted idol of them all.

Warnings: Jealousy and general possessiveness. Swearing. Powerplay, switch!reader, switch!jk. Masochist!jk (?). Marking (hickey, writing on body with a pen), hair pulling (male receiving), edging (male receiving), spanking (male and female receiving). Teasing. Mild degradation. Dry humping. A very mild boobjob. Breast worship. Unprotected foreplay, oral sex (female receiving; brief male receiving), unprotected sex (be smarter, kids), rough sex. Mentions of cockring.

One last thing: 1. this was edited at 3am, please bear with me. 2. Sidenote: I try to be as neutral as possible with the way I describe the girls' appearance, however I wanted to specify that in this fic, I mention Candy having long, straight hair (and huge badonkers, but that's kinda canon by now LOL). It's just a brief mention, absolutely nothing major and holds no relevance to the fic, you might not even notice it; but still, I wanted to make sure I thought about my curly haired goddesses, and short haired queens, (or a combo of both heart eyes) and that I apologise for making this fic just a pinch less immersive for you. (Is this the right moment to apologise to small boobs princesses too? ily sisters, itty bitty titty committee 5evah)

Here's my masterlist, lemme just disappear very quickly. Enjoy 💜✨

You knew Jeongguk had a gig with Calvin Klein. You've known it for months. You've seen him cut calories and hit the gym and dehydrate for a couple days before the shoot because he explained to you how muscle definition works, and crucial to showing a great slab of abs is being basically as dry as a breadstick, to the point of being cranky because you have drunk three glasses of water in the last forty-eight hours. 

Which all means, you knew his stomach would be quite surely showing.

And yet your world still stops once you're merrily sitting on your train back home and his half undressed form appears on the screen on your phone. 

At first you slam your phone shut, mostly because you're used to hiding your boyfriend away and that's the reaction you usually have when you open one of his flirty pics from your chat. 

Next, you realise you weren't on your private chat, and you weren't even looking at pictures in your phone gallery. 

You were absentmindedly scrolling. On Instagram. 

You unlock your phone again, and right there you're confronted with the very naked truth. 

Jeongguk. Is basically naked. On your phone. And it's for the entire world to see. 

Your brain slows down, as if the earth axis is tipping over a little in the opposite way. 

Something inside you snaps around the third time the video plays in front of your unseeing eyes. To anyone looking at you, you could be just an obsessed fan taking a close look at the fine piece of art, but your eyes are unfocused, your mind too deep in thought to register any stimulus from the external world. 

The vibration from the phone awakens you from your state of trance. 

“Candy, baby,” says the adorable lover boy calling you. “Have you seen it already?”

Your lips are sealed, and you can't quite bring yourself to speak, you don't know why. 

“I'm on my way back home.��� You say, and the words feel like cracking a glow stick in your chest. 

“But did you see it?” His voice isn't as bright now. 

“I'm coming home.” You repeat. 

He's silent for a few seconds, and you can hear him sigh. “Okay.” 

“He's so insanely hot,” you overhear a girl sitting across from you comment. 

“I want to run my palms down the sides of his waist,” says her friend. 

You stare at them and you know you must look like a woman possessed right now, but you still allow yourself to incinerate them with a glare, as if your eyes could turn into flamethrowers. 

“Candy?” 

“I'll be home in ten.” And you close the call. 

On the way back home, you hear more people talk. More girls fawn. More women zoom in. 

On the escalator, you notice a woman fanning herself while staring at the screen. Another one even crosses herself as the ad from your boyfriend reruns on her phone screen. 

Every step on your way home is utter agony, and once you step over the threshold, you're not sure what you're going to do.

Jeongguk is in the kitchen in a sleeveless top, tattoos out, piercings glowing in the gentle light of the living room. And his hair is fluffy, which means he's probably just done blow drying it after taking a shower. 

The fact that the scent of his body lotion is still sharp gives you further indication of how recent that shower must be. 

“Hey,” he says, turning towards you with a bunny grin, which immediately dims once he sees your expression. “Oh. Bad day?” 

You bite your lip and stare at him a fair bit. Then, a bit more. 

“Candy, love.” 

You don't know what to do with him. Is he yours? Is he really yours? 

How come you come home to him making dinner, and being freshly showered, and being so domestic? How come you're living in his apartment, knowing his pass code, having an ID card for his apartment complex and his studio at HYBE? How come he gives you a copy of his schedule and talks about you over the phone on his weekly call to his grandmother and brings you to his parents' house? How come you go on trips together and you're the emergency contact to his fur babies and you make love two to four times a week? How come he's brought you to the town he grew up in and loved you down in the place where he lost his virginity because, "I wish it had been you since the very first time"? 

Who is this man? 

Is he Jungkook from Bangtan Sonyeondan? Or is he Jeon Jeongguk, your very own quiet, shy, reserved lover boy? 

“You're scaring me,” he whispers, putting down his wooden spoon and taking a few steps to stand in front of you. 

“Why me?” you ask, staring at his collarbones, too scared to look into his eyes. 

“What do you mean?” he asks back, sheepish. 

This time your eyes meet his. “Why me? Of all the women out there, why me?” You look down, taking in just how average you feel, every imperfection magnified in your eyes, now that you have so many people you're comparing yourself with, and competing with. 

“Candy—” He starts. 

“Everyone, everyone out there is literally foaming at the mouth at that commercial, and I'm here? I come home to you? I make love to you almost every night?” You pause and laugh bitterly at him. “I'm a fucking fraud.” 

He shakes his head and moves closer, grabbing your wrists. “A fraud, you say?” He tuts in disappointment, places your hands on his waist. “You're not a fraud, ____, you're my soulmate.” He leaves your hands once he feels them clutch at his narrow waist. 

Possessiveness hits you all of a sudden, and it is only mildly ebbed by his hands landing at the top of your ass. 

“I love you, and I make love to you because it's a fucking dream. You're a fucking dream, and I'm so upset that you don't see it.”

You're jealous. You're simply jealous. It's human and it's healthy to be moderately jealous. After all the comments you heard and read, it's fair to be jealous. 

“I reckon you saw the commercial.” 

“I saw the commercial and everyone's reaction to it,” you comment, slightly acidic. 

Jeongguk bends to place a kiss below your earlobe. “Are you angry?” 

No. Not just anger.

Your hands mimic his and crawl to his lower back, toying with the hemline of his underwear. “I'm not mad.” I'm disgustingly jealous and I don't like them having more of what's mine. They already have too much, they've always wanted too much and you always give it to them and I'm furious that it's not mine alone. 

Jeongguk wears a mischievous smile as he makes you take several small steps back, the back of your legs hitting the kitchen counter. “Do you like it?” 

You click your tongue and shake your head. “No.” 

The reply startles him, and he feels his mood dim. Did he—

“I'm not a jealous person, but this… God, this hits a new level,” you finally admit. “They already drool over you quite enough, and now they even have a video of you shirtless. How would I not be jealous!? Half the girls would have snapped your neck. If Yoongi ever did this, Kitten would have his balls dangling from her Mercedes keychain. I don't even know how Lace and Princess are handling their boyfriends naked on everyone's phone. If I were Tae I would seek political asylum in Greenland. Or maybe Tibet.” You take a large mouthful of oxygen before you launch yourself in another tirade. 

“Everyone's talking about grabbing your waist, licking your abs, tugging at your hair and shit and hi! I'm here! I'm the girlfriend! Sorry I exist! WHAT THE FUCK!?” 

Jeongguk laughs and lowers himself to your chest, kissing where your heartbeat echoes like a crazed war drum. 

“It's not fun!” you complain, significantly agitated. 

“Mh.” He hums as he moves aside the hem of your shirt, meeting the soft, smooth skin of your chest. “It was supposed to come out on your birthday, that's why's a bit more racy,” he explains more patiently. “But they decided to release it early.” He kisses a tender spot and your left knee tingles a little. “It was supposed to be a slightly too public boudoir shoot. But secretly it was just yours.” Jeongguk finds the cup of your bra and stares up at you as his fingers reach the hem and slide the fabric aside. “I was thinking of you when I made it.” 

And once his mouth wraps around your nipple, your right knee starts tingling too. 

“Must admit I had to push the limits a lot to finally make you jealous,” he purrs once he is done with the licking, sucking motion of his mouth around your tender flesh. “But I'm sorry I crossed the line.” 

What line? You think, your brain already hazy. No sharp line exists in the world you’re currently in. Just the loving, plush hills of Jeongguk's lips, the slippery slopes of his waistline, the sinuous curves of his hip bones leading you to his pelvis, and the soft curls of his luscious dark locks. No crossed borders, only gentle waves licking the shore, water and land embracing one the other. 

“Remind me who's the boss here, Candy,” he says, and you know he's playing you right now. “Remind me where I belong.” His mouth is at your ear as he whispers, “Show me who owns me.” 

The tingles are spreading as his fingers grab at your ass, his lips connecting with your jaw. “Talk to me, Candy.”

You’re not sure you can articulate words at this moment. Talking isn’t as easy as everyone makes it seem. 

His eyes connect with yours and he can tell you’re staring at his lips by the poetic detail of your lashes lowered over your cheekbone. 

It makes him chuckle, very gently, that he has all these details of you he adores, and that you have the audacity of asking him why he picked you, and why he keeps choosing you over and over. 

He loves you, his family loves you, his dogs love you. This is the way it’s supposed to be. 

His finger reaches underneath your chin, forcing your eyes to actually meet his. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he purrs, and as your lashes dart up, he shakes his head a little, loving the way you arch up a fraction, as if pulled towards him. “There she is, beautiful.”

You feel completely neutralised. Disarmed. All the storms brewing over you a minute ago are forgotten as soon as his sweet smile shines like sunlight above you. 

His hand combs your hair back, cupping your cheek and landing a kiss on your temple. “Are you feeling better?”

You nod. 

“What mood are we in?” You’ve asked him this question thousands of times since the two of you became serious, ever since he opened up about feeling too closed off to make a relationship work; and now, the fact that it was such a solid, valid ritual in your dynamics made it natural for him to ask too. “You need to talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I’m better. I…”

“Tell me what you want.”

You stare at him, at his shoulders, at his biceps, you trace his tattoo with your fingertip, and he looks closely at your finger, at it drawing swirls and circles on his skin. 

“Pick me up,” you say softly. 

And he does, immediately. His biceps flex and he grunts a little, not at the weight, but just because he knows the sound can make your toes curl, and he likes that a lot. His hands are wrapped around the back of your thighs, then they adjust to your bottom. 

“Next? Counter? Bed? Shower?”

You kiss him. Impatient, and needy, you kiss him. 

He opens up for you without hesitation, moaning at the sweet invasion of your tongue in his mouth. God, he loves it. It makes him melt, to feel your tongue slip against his, moving wet and sloppy, your lips plush and hot pressed up against him. He loves kissing you. Actually, he loves making out with you. He’s pretty sure he could come of that alone, and he tries to remind himself you have to give that a try. Another day. 

He places you onto the counter because he fears his knees might give out on him. And once he has you there it means his hands can roam all over you and grab your chest and toy with—

“No touching,” you snap at him, gripping his wrists and pulling his hands behind his back. 

His eyes go wide at the shift in pace, but he obeys. He also feels like he's awakening from a dream only to find out reality can be so much better. 

You dig your hands in his hair and he hisses a little as you tug gently, but still roughly. You think of all the people who wish they could do just so as you stare into his eyes, seeing just how turned on he gets as you manhandle him. 

You lean towards him and you notice him trying to kiss you, but you tug at his hair harder, holding him in place as the heat of your exhale fans over his parted lips and his chin. 

“You want me to own you?” you ask him, watching his muscles twitch as he fights the urge to grab you and put you in place. 

He nods. “Do me all the things no one else can.” He has a roguish smile as he adds, “Do me everything they won't ever, ever do to me.” And he is god of deception when he finally tips you over the edge. “Do me everything I want just from you, and you alone.” 

You watch him intently, then tug at his hair so that his head is angled upwards, throat vulnerable and exposed. 

He's staring at you with a mischievous glint in his expression, a walking temptation, and you can almost hear him say it, 'come on, do it'. And you do it. 

You bend forward and sink your teeth in his flesh, the tender skin caving in as your bite marks him softly before your cheeks move into a suctioning motion that you know will turn into a bruise. It just pleases you so. 

“Take a step back,” you order as soon as you're happy with the hickey. “Take off your shirt.” 

And he winks before he does. You watch the plain of his chest, the valley in between his pectorals leading you down to his navel. 

“I hope you're wearing your Calvin's,” you tease with a cocked eyebrow. 

He smirks. “Always in my Calvin's.” 

You snicker and shake your head. “Take off your pants.”

His forehead scrunches up in surprise, but he eventually obeys. 

He's standing in a pair of socks and his white boxer briefs. At least he didn't lie, they are Calvin Klein. 

“Do you want—” 

“The Calvin's stay on,” you sentence, then you descend from the counter. “Head over to the bedroom. I'll come over in a minute.” 

He stares at you, flabbergasted. 

“Oh, and I almost forgot: don't touch yourself. Settle down, hands on the headboard and wait pretty.” 

He blinks, unsure of where this is going to end or where it came from, but so blazingly grateful for it. 

“Okay.” 

You give him a quick once-over as you stand in front of each other. His abs are toned and defined, but now less alarmingly than the days before the shoot. His thighs are strong and you love how the material from the boxers wraps around them comfortably and smoothly. 

You dare stare at his crotch, at the way the fabric traces the curve of his length, so perfectly long and so perfectly thick.

You allow your fingertips to trace the curve of his spine, so lightly that it causes him to close his eyes, his head inched to the side as he shivers in pleasure. 

“Can I be rough with you?” you ask him, your hand reaching the small of his back and cupping the curve of his ass. 

He moves his hands on you the exact same way you did. “Maybe I like pain,” he suggests, and from the collection of tattoos and piercings, but mostly from the supercut of memories of him getting bitten, spanked and scratched by you, you’re reminded that you’re not dealing with the edited version of him he has promoted publicly. 

This is your boyfriend. Jeongguk. Your Jeongguk. 

You sink your nails into the flesh of his ass, and he hisses but smiles, pulling you closer, swaying his hips to tease your crotch with his. “Go get ready, babyboy,” you croon.

He hums invitingly and kisses your neck, trying to get you to move with him, but you’ve made up your mind already. 

“Go,” you repeat.

He pouts and grabs your hips. “Come on, what are you trying to do?” he asks, his brow furrowed, his eyes dark and wide and imploring for you to just follow him and spare him whatever cruel surprise you want to use against him.

You grab his wrists, making him unclasp his hands. “Go and you’ll find out.”

He hesitates and then he faces away, still reluctant, turning around a couple times on his way, checking if you’re following him — perhaps, maybe, hopefully…

Yet, you don’t move, not until he turns the corner to the bedroom. And then you make your way over, slow, unbothered. 

And you close the door on him. 

You head to the bathroom, wash up quickly, and equally quickly you cover yourself in his favourite lotion, taking special care of your neck and chest. Once properly buttered up and covered in nothing but pretty Calvin undies and his favourite Calvin jeans jacket, you’re ready to attack. But you stare at yourself in the mirror, and you feel like there’s still something you could do to give him a heart attack…

Oh, that, you think. And you get to work. 

Apparently he has behaved, as you find him lounging in bed, with his boxers still on, his hands laced behind the crown of his head, a fine slab of abs in full glow from the dark amber hue coming from his led lights. 

“Are we on a sunset gold kinda vibe— Holy shit.” He didn’t manage to sound as cool and aloof as he’d tried to be once his eyes landed on you. 

He wished he could take a picture of you and spread it across town, just so he could stare at it while waiting for a bus, or hanging out at Hongdae with his friends, and excitedly point at it while tipsy to holler “that’s my fucking girlfriend, that fine piece of ass fucking owns me”. 

He wished he could put you on an album cover and fill it with all the insane stuff you do to his heart and his mind and his body. How his heartbeat does a little hiccup thing when he sees you first thing in the morning, and how he’s spent every wish on fallen eyelashes over you, and making you happy, and building you a house and having fireworks for your wedding night, and having all his fans seeing just how incredibly fantastic you are to him, how you make him so happy and deliriously smitten and barely coherent when it comes to talking about you, and just… He just wants everyone to love you half as much as he does. 

And maybe for you to be only ever in love with him, so he doesn’t risk anyone thirsting for you enough to steal you from him. 

“What were you saying about golden lights?” you ask, climbing on the bed, your hand modestly holding the lapels of his jeans jacket together — it’s not time to destroy him yet. 

“I— I…” He tries to sit up, but you push him back where he belongs with a well-placed hand pressed to the middle of his chest. 

“Put on the red lights, love.” You grin devilishly, watching his doe eyes glimmer with wonder and disbelief. 

“Have I ever told you I am one lucky motherfucker?” he says, staring at your neck, at your face, at your hand, his palms already moving to your hips as you straddle him. 

“I just know it.” You sit on your throne — his lap —, stretch to the end table to grab the remote to switch the lights to red, and once the deal is settled, you let the jacket open. “I mean. I’m the luckiest because I have these, but considering you profit from them… You know…” You let your breasts show. 

“I know…” he says, entirely mesmerised. God, he is so easy, you think, watching his eyes scan your chest like a cat playing catch with a laser light. You mix your standard level of charm with a slow grind of your hips, so slow and gentle that it’s straight up teasing, torture at its blandest level.

“You make it so hard to think,” he speaks with a strangled voice, trying to make you move the way he wants, but you grab his hands with the excuse of lacing your fingers with his, only to drag them back by the sides of his head. 

“I didn’t know I could turn your brain into mush just like this,” you reply, feeling your folds moisten in an attempt to ease the sliding of your crotch against his length. Too bad both of you are still clad in your underwear and, according to your plans, would stay that way for quite a while, as long as possible. “You’re so whipped.”

“I am,” he purrs, and tries to get away with moving his hands back to your hips, but before he can dig his digits in the soft of your flesh, you tut. 

“You’d better not touch that ass, Jeon. Keep your hands to yourself if you want my hands on you,” you threaten. “Just to remind you who’s in charge, sweetheart.”

His eyes go wide and he moves his palms back behind his head as soon as you finish your remark. “Yes, miss.”

“Good boy,” you praise him, and you visibly notice him holding back from smiling at the praise. “Did you see my little mark?” you ask. “Call it a slog

an of sorts. A vision statement.” You shrug and push back the lapels, hoping for the lights not being too low for him to see. 

It has taken a while for your handy work to happen, mostly because it can be absurdly tricky writing in reverse, but thankfully you’re quite prone to graphic arts. 

Jeongguk rises a little, getting closer to where he can recognise dark scribbles on your chest. Unusual dark scribbles. 

“Is that… Tattooed?” he asks, and his eyes go wide as he meets your face. 

You cackle at him, leaning over and licking his lips, sucking his lower one, then travelling along his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe in a way that makes his hips jolt against you, buckling. “I can't have that tattooed, can I? Unless the world knows and it gets a little too permanent.” 

He frowns, not at the way he loses contact with your warm crotch, but because of the unwelcome realisation of what it means to not belong to you entirely. “I'm so sorry,” he sighs, trying to hold you, but stopping his hands before he can touch you. 

He goes back to his assigned position and begs you with his eyes. 

“Oh, no. Don't worry, it's okay.” To keep him distracted, you get back to a soft roll of your pelvis against his, and he seems to oppose, but it only lasts for maybe five seconds. 

His wound-up exhale convinces you to reward him further, lowering your chest so that it drags against his as you keep grinding on him. 

“Jeongguk, baby,” you murmur fondly. 

“So unfair… That I don’t get you like a girlfriend like anyone else…” He speaks, his focus spotty and frail. 

“What do you mean, love?” you egg him on.

“All the public stuff… All the PDA and the grand gestures. The stuff that makes it official, you know.” His eyes are glassy and fleeting as he speaks, and it really feels as if speaking were like making a necklace except he can’t quite line up the beads the right way and he can’t manage to get the string inside the hole and it takes a very long time for the words to finally turn into meaning and it’s all so frustrating. 

“I don’t care,” you reassure him, and this time you’re not unaffected either, the sentence stumbling out of you before you can even fully register the meaning you were trying to convey. “Can you read the tattoo, Guk?”

His eyelids lift through great effort, and in slow motion. You stop moving to help him focus on the writing, and he grunts at the interruption. He does not like that at all, and having you so close, so soft, so hot and wet for him is making his instinct vibrate with need to be inside you, move inside you, and then finally find his release in the welcoming darkness of your womb. 

“I—” He’s really trying so hard, god bless his heart, but he’s so unfocused and his vision is blurry and he needs to blink for a bunch of seconds before he manages to spell the message, and then compute it, and then smirk wildly before he bucks his hips up against you, letting you know that you’d better move on him. 

“What is it, Jeongguk? Mind sharing with the class?” you bait him with a cheshire grin. 

“Not sharing any of this,” he growls, and you can feel his arms jolt at the urgency to wrap around you, press you to his front and shove you underneath him, so that he can finally move as hard and as fast as he knows the both of you need. 

“Oh, don’t be a greedy little boy! Don’t you want to test how it feels to say it?” you tease him further, ready to push him to his breaking point. After all, that is what you’re always trying to do, get as far as it needs to make him go wild on you, barely coherent and entirely animalistic. 

“You want me to say it, don’t you?” he provokes you, feeling just how much the humiliation will further send you soaring over him. 

“I do,” you admit. 

He bites his lip and you look at him, you study the shape of his lips, the glint in his eyes, the dark shimmering of his lovely ebony locks, and the way his chest heaves with effort and arousal. “These tits own Jeon Jeongguk,” he speaks, his gaze piercing yours, holding you accountable for the undoing he knows will follow. 

“That’s right, isn’t it?” Your smile is sardonic, evilly pleased with his admission of submission, with him confirming, with conviction, that he is indeed entirely enslaved to his fascination for your chest, that he is so deeply enticed by it that just a silly part of you can guarantee you his unflinching devotion. 

“You know it’s right,” he grunts as your movements resume. And at this point, he knows this is going to take a while, and it will most surely turn out vicious. 

“Just checking in on you, making sure you haven’t found a better pair—”

“Don’t you dare talk to them like this. Not in front of me,” he hisses with a passion, and you chuckle at how chivalrously he defends your breasts from your own ill assumptions. 

“That’s so gallant of you,” you reply, your hands pulling his hair back, your tone fond and just vaguely lined with mocking. “Let them repay you for your kindness,” you suggest, as you start crawling down his body, your breasts landing heavily on his lap. 

“Really…?” he asks, first distracted and then extremely alert as he connects the dots. “With my boxers on?” He says with a frown. 

You shrug and smirk. “Maybe we’ll get rid of them later…” You sprinkle some kisses on his abdomen, your chest dragging against his sensitive parts. 

He frowns at the weight of them, so welcome, and yet deceiving as the fabric is hindering him from fully enjoying the act. “Please, off,” he huffs, tutting and fussing a little, but you decide to reward his patience with your nails tracing patterns against his chest, your fingertips drawing his areolae, your eyes hungry on his lost, bewildered state. 

“Not yet, love… Be patient with me,” you reassure him, tracing the rift in between the crests of his hips, one side, then the others, ricocheting between the bones on the two sides. “I’m going to make it so good to you,” you promise him, placing kisses all around the underrated perfection of his belly button — a huge ‘fuck you’ to the people salivating over him and never, ever knowing how such a minuscule inch of his body has you so irreversibly whipped. 

“Candy… Mh, love—” His voice has grown unbearably raspy and airy, so light it feels almost incorporeal, if it weren’t for the velvet smoothness of his skin underneath your lips, like marble that has finally received the breath of life, your boy an ineffable Galatea. 

“If you knew, Guk, if only—” kiss— “you knew—” kiss— “how sexy, and erotic, and exciting and poetic you look right now, baby. You look like art.” 

“Lemme touch you, I need you, I need—” he gasps and you’re almost expecting him to release a groan before he comes, way too early, much earlier than planned. But fortunately he doesn’t, he holds back stoically and cants his hips away. “For fuck’s sake,” he whispers, an arm covering his eyes. “I need a second if you need me to hold back.”

“Oh,” you reply in surprise, lifting yourself off him. “Are you alright?”

“Just give me some quiet for a second, Candy, don’t you dare even speak.” Jeongguk’s chest is rising and falling in wide movements, enticing and captivating.

Finally he removes his arm from his eyes, but he barely makes eye contact. 

“Guk?” You ask, worried. 

“Just— I’m trying to keep it cool here, love.” He wiggles his body a little, trying to get his boxers to fit a bit less tightly around him. “We should be smarter about this, you know?” His hands clench as he stops himself from reaching for you. “We should get a cockring for next time.”

You ogle him, then smile excitedly. “Really?” you chirp.

“Totally,” he concedes. He smiles even bigger at your smile. “Don’t tell me you bought one already.”

“Uhm… No,” you admit with a pout. 

“Dammit. It would have been weird, but I wouldn’t even have complained about it since it would pretty much save my ass right now.” He licks his lips, stares at you some more, and he groans and throws his head back at the renewed flare of arousal after he’d just managed to tone it down a notch. 

“I’m so sorry, bunny.”

“I’m alright,” he admits, his tone defeated. 

“Is this the right moment to suggest I ride your face?” you say, your grin now sardonic, almost drunk on him and the sight of his body shutting down for you, malfunctioning at the mere touch of you. 

He stares at you, wide eyed, nodding energetically, like a kid being asked if they want to visit Disneyland. “Guess it took a half naked commercial to get you to finally ask for it like you own it.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Careful or I can keep going with torturing you. I’m liking it anyway.”

“No no no, come over here,” he says with a stern and determined expression on his face, his hands reaching for the back of your thighs. “I’ve been waiting. Get comfy,” he encourages you, and after some manoeuvring you settle on top of him. 

He nods to himself, his nose nuzzling against the crotch of your panties, his mouth opening so he can feel your heat with his tongue, trying to get as close as possible.

Unsatisfied, his fingers reach to slip your panties to the side, but you slap at his hand. 

“Nope. You wanted the Calvin’s, and we’re keeping the Calvin’s,” you scold him. 

He frowns. “No, you were the one wanting them,” he argues. “Keep them on, you said.”

“Whatever.” You arch an eyebrow at him, but you also know he’s right and this decision has come to bite you in the ass. “Imagine how good it will feel once we take them off… And it feels a bit kinky to keep them on. Like… Like we’re having a quickie and everyone out there is waiting for model Jeongguk to come out anytime now, but once he does, well, he looks freshly fucked and everyone can’t stop talking about it— Oh, that!” you moan, your musings interrupted by Jeongguk trying to get bits of you in his mouth. 

You’re thankful for the brazilian cut panties giving him plenty of stuff to work with even with the underwear still on. 

“Stop me if it’s lewd but, dammit, I love the smell of you.” He drags his face side to side, basking in the damp, salty scent of your arousal. “I don’t even know what it is about it, but I like it so much.” 

“Keep doing whatever you’re doing,” you comment, your voice breathy. 

“Do you want me to keep talking?” he asks, and you just rub yourself against his chin, his mouth, and his words come out muffled. At some point you think you might have hurt his nose, so you ease the pressure a little, but he grabs handfuls of your butt and keeps you snug to his face, parts his lips wider as if he were really trying to eat you. 

He parts from his designed heaven only long enough to announce, “I’m pushing ‘em to the side, fuck it.” And you’re barely coherent, and he’s speaking with that intimate lisp of his, his accent heavy, like he can’t pay too much attention to words anyway. 

You don’t oppose. 

In seconds, his tongue is tipping inside you, slippery, and so hot, and you moan without even noticing it. Everything is soaked, his chest is covered in perspiration, and so are your thighs. 

You dare look down, and his eyes are closed as he is filling all his other senses with the sensation of you.

You bask in the sight of him, one forearm draped against the headboard of the bed, your other hand reaching down, to his fluffy hair currently tickling your inner thigh. You grab it, careful to be right between gentle and aggressive, in that way he finds so pleasant and sexy. 

He opens his eyes suddenly, and the moment he finds your eyes already connected with his face, he finds himself more eager to give you just what you need to plunge into oblivion. 

He gives you lush, slow licks, from your centre to your most sensitive spot, he takes his time, and moves into more sinuous motions, drawing curve after curve on his way up. He is unrushed, patient, and eloquent. He is luxuriant, explorative, curious. 

He loves what he’s doing, and he loves you and he’s showing it, top to bottom, and all the way up again. 

“Guk,” you breathe out, and it’s almost a hiccup.

“Yes, I know,” he murmurs against the bend of your inner thigh, right at the fold to your crotch. It’s so private, so sacred. It’s heartbreakingly yours and his and no one else’s. You’re in a shared space where nobody else can tell what you and him know. 

“Please,” you manage to say. 

He rearranges his arm so he can move two fingers along the seam between your legs, and then they’re inside, and he’s moving them right, rubbing them against the back wall of your entrance. 

As you tip your body forward, he moans with his mouth to your clitoris, happy with the new angle, and once you start grinding against him, climbing your way to your climax, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t go faster, he doesn’t add pressure. He does not change one single thing, and you’re so grateful for the way he has come to understand you, your body, your tells. 

“Just right,” you encourage him. “You’re so damn perfect, love— Oh, there.”

That’s the last thing you can remember saying before he sets you off like fireworks. You don’t take much into consideration after that. All is fair, unless he’s holding you back. 

You grind, hump, moan, thrash just a little as you get too sensitive and fold in two, your forehead pressed to your wrist on the headboard 

as you shake your head ‘no’ but can’t bring yourself to stop from feeling everything he wants you to take. 

When you manage to recover, you whisper, “Okay, gimme a second.” And you try to unstraddle his face, but he holds you there, and simply avoids touching your sensitive parts, removing his fingers from inside you. 

“Are you alright, Candy?”

You nod and take some large breaths. 

He moves your panties back in place, then kisses your mound softly, affectionate, innocent even. 

“Can I do anything for you now, love?” He asks with a reverent, caring note in his voice. 

You shake your head, still recovering. “Can I lay on top of you?” 

“Sure thing,” he says, unlatching from you and leaving some room for you to realign with him, face to face, torso to torso, hip to hip, calf to calf. 

He’s still hard as marble, and the gentle grind of your pelvis against his causes him to groan softly. 

You press your lips to his to distract him. 

The jeans jacket you’re still wearing gives him something to ground himself, his focus aimed entirely at the feeling of the fabric underneath his fingers instead of the humid warmth of your crotch pressed against his. 

Just then, you bring your heels underneath your ass, rising to your knees as you swiftly remove your upper garment. 

The way his focus moves immediately to your breasts makes you cackle a little, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. 

“Candy, you’ll have to get that tattooed.”

“Nah, too dangerous. They might tell on you.”

He frowns. “You’re right,” he still agrees. Too dangerous. You’re dangerous to him too, and there are not many chances of him keeping some form of dignity if he could at any time see a tattoo calling him out for his undying liaison with your chest. 

He catches your wrists, making you lose your balance so that your torso collapses onto his. And he keeps you there, wraps you up in his arms. 

“Still jealous, love?” he asks you. 

“More than ever,” you admit, and you look into his eyes, recognising the feeling pooling in them. 

“I'm only yours,” he swears, kissing the side of your head, whatever he can reach, and it's so tender, so innocent, so magical. “What can I do for you?” he whispers, flirting with you. 

You wrap your hands around his forearms and bring them up above his head. “No. I want to do things for you.”

You press your lips to his gingerly, then start to kiss down, tracking his throat and moving further downwards, to his chest, stopping where his heart thumps against the petals of your lips.

“Beats so hard for me,” you comment lightly. “Do I make your heart race, love?” 

“You do, Candy,” his reply is strained, as if it hurt to speak at that moment. 

“But I—” You let your nails tickle the flat of his waist, the elastic band around his hips— “I also make your dick hard, don't I?” 

He moans eloquently, then chuckles at your teasing. “You so do,” he admits, embarrassed but also excited, and so so thankful for having found you. 

You grab the waistband of his underwear with your teeth, letting it slap against his skin with a dry snap. “Grab a pen from your bedside, will you?”

You look up just in time to catch his eyes flickering open, his expression coming to life slowly. “What?” he asks, confused. 

“A pen, from your drawer,” you repeat. 

“Oh.” He had been too unfocused and he hadn’t realised you were talking to him, as if the words were just sound with no meaning; however, now he’s paid attention, so he stretches to the side, exposing the slender twist of his waist to your reverent mouth. You kiss him there, his body contracting as your lips attack his ticklish spot. 

“You’re a menace,” he complains, giving you the side eye, but also offering you a boyish, loving smirk. 

“And yet, you love me.”

“You’re lucky,” he says, right before you nip at his skin in reprimand. “Okay, I am the lucky one,” he concedes, returning to you with a pen in his hand. “You want this one?” he asks.

You nod and stretch for it, then peck the mole beside his navel and make your way down. 

His underwear by now is bitterly persona non grata, still you make yourself okay with it and simply move the elastic down, exposing his hipbone more fully. 

“What you gonna do?” he muses, propping himself up and staring at you bent over his pelvis. You look at him and prepare the pen, staring in his eyes as you suck at your bottom lip, torturing it a little as you think. 

“Are you gonna mark me? Sign me up?” he asks, a mocking grin on his face. 

You move the pen away and loll your tongue out, drawing a thick stripe following the shape of him in his boxers. 

He immediately drops his cocky act and arches up, sensitive, holding on barely. 

“You think you’re so smart, huh?” you scold him provokingly. “Remember where this is all coming from,” you remind him threateningly. 

He gasps as your mouth sucks his tip through the fabric, your nails tracing the indentations of his quads. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You’ve got me.”

You nod to yourself. “I do,” you say, patronising just in the slightest. And because you can you rise, remove yourself from the way, and pull at his hipbone, trying to flip him around. 

He’s alarmed, but he follows your lead. You straddle the back of his thighs, bend down, and move his underwear down, the elastic stuck under the fold of his ass, further emphasising it. It looks plump and delicious, and for a moment you’re caught admiring him. 

He’s twisting his neck to try and see what you’re doing, filled with wonder at the way your hair tumbles over, and he’s mesmerised by the shine of it, the softness of the tips, like a brush, whispering at his skin.

You pick the right spot, then settle down, folded over his glute. His skin is hot against your touch and when you finally bring the pen to his flesh, you hope it won’t fail, despite the perspiration and the soft surface. 

Shamelessly, you draw the words like an inscription on a stone. 

Poetic, and dirty. Just the way you like it. However, you don’t give him the benefit of knowledge. 

You lean back, watch your little handywork with a surging of pride and love and confidence. You smack it, just because you can, not hard, not soft either, just sweet enough that it doesn’t feel like a violation doing it without asking his permission first. 

His muscles squeeze, and his breath catches. 

Because I can, your brain keeps telling you, over and over, like a mantra. You’re allowed to. He’s yours and you’re the only one allowed to. 

“You’re getting confident with this,” he comments, and suddenly your eyes are meeting. 

He looks like something you would paint. Something you would dream of, and then wake up and sketch down in the middle of the night, caught by some sort of frenzy, some urgency mixed with an impending fear of forgetting, of losing it. Losing him. 

“I’m gonna draw you.”

He doesn’t connect the words for a bunch of seconds. Not until you’re standing up and running out of the room and he asks himself, why, why the fuck is she leaving?

“Candy?” he calls, unsure. 

He tries to see what in the world you’ve written on his ass, but you’re making your way back in the room, tablet in hand, and your steps are bouncy and your tits follow the movement so his attention is divided. 

“What— Where—?” He’s confused. 

And then you’re perched on the armchair at the corner of the room, and the light from your tablet reflects on your face, and you look spirited, caught by some urgency he can’t quite find a name for. 

“Candy, for the love of—”

“Just a bunch of minutes. A quick sketch, no more.”

He’s been patient. He’s been understanding. He’s let you tease him, and he’s let you touch him, lick him, suck him. He still has your taste all over his face and chin and he still feels the phantom touch of your breasts against his crotch and all he wants is to feel you on him, around him, against him. 

“Please,” he whines. 

“Just a minute.”

He swells. Frowns. Thrusts his hips against the mattress. 

“Almost—” you say, drawing a couple more lines. 

You’re in his arms next. “Put that down, Candy.” His face is right above yours and he’s carrying you bridal style. “Put it down,” he repeats. 

You're very still. He's looking at your quick sketch, at the way it was all a rough frame and some basic lines. “You're gonna post that? Share it as some fanart instead of a live portrait?” He throws you on the bed and you clutch your tablet harder, trying to save it from any damage. He's on top of you next, grabbing the device and moving it to his drawer before he returns upon you, blocking your wrists above your head. 

“Are you maybe going to draw it faceless, so you can sell it as a picture, to decorate somebody's house?” He bends to your ear and nips at the side of your neck. “Let my ass hang naked on someone else's wall?” 

You feel overwhelmed and surprised by his counterattack, not really knowing how to react. 

He drags his body against yours, stealing a whimper from your lips. “I think you enjoyed topping a little too much tonight.” He flips you onto your front next, and you find yourself only mildly embarrassed that he's made only one tenth of the effort it had taken you to flip him. 

He slaps your ass, and it is nowhere as playful or light as the spank you'd given him. It is his turn to grab the pen. 

“Let's see if you can walk the talk, Candy. If you like the taste of your own medicine,” he muses, and he bites your ass cheek, bending over to start writing, but accidentally finding himself unable to resist the urge to sink his teeth in your plush flesh. 

“Since I'm not a selfish asshole, I'm gonna tell you what I'm writing. Here we go, 'This ass likes spankings from Jeon Jeongguk'. What do you say? Is it true?” 

You're panting, wiggling in his hold, trying anything to see the possessed look on his face. “It's true,” you admit, breathless. 

He smirks and lands one more hit on your ass. “Damn right it is,” he says confidently. 

He tugs your underwear off harshly, almost angry. 

Soon he's naked, and so are you, and he's slipping inside you while you're still on your front, your hips arched all the way up, cupped by his hands. “Let's make this fuck more fun than your drawing, huh?” 

And when he starts, goodness, you want him to never, ever stop. 

He's ruthless, and he only asks if you're alright once, after three strokes. After that, all's fair, and he's ramming inside you in a way that makes you gasp and arch further, trying to get him even deeper, to an even better angle. 

You can't really look at him, since you'd risk a kink in your neck, but he doesn't care. He only cares about his handwriting on your ass, and his name on it. He only cares about the way you're gasping his name, and sometimes, when he slams in at the right moment, the impact causes too much of your breath to come out, so the whispered begging gets punctuated by moaned-out, hiccuped syllables. 

He smacks your ass a few more times, his hand tingling, but the spanks seem to make you happy, so he doesn't stop, and he doesn't complain either. 

“You're jealous of me, Candy,” he manages to speak, slowing down just enough so he has more of your attention. “Do you have any idea how jealous I am of you? How hard it is to feel like you want to own me half as much as I want to be yours?” He's on his knees behind you, and his thrusts grow more patient, more luscious. Richer and fuller. “Sometimes I'm scared you'll leave me, and someone else will get to have all the wonderful sex I get to have with you. Someone else will get to see your face first thing in the morning, and become a character in your cartoons, and talk about you with their granny, and bring you home for New Year's.” His face collapses close to your shoulder. “What will I do with myself, then?” 

You turn your face and you finally get to see him. “Flip me around,” you order him, but your voice is fond. “I want to look you in the eyes while you fuck me like no one else has ever.” 

His hair is fuzzy with his perspiration, and his face glistens with a light sheen of sweat. “Sure?” he asks, in confirmation. 

“I'm sure,” you comfort him. 

He's only happy once you're below him, and he's on top of you, inside you. 

You clench around him, and he frowns deeply, trying to control himself. Still, he gives a sharp jab with his hips, and it steals your breath. 

“Like that,” you praise him. “I want you to fuck me like that. Like no one else can.” 

His eyes stay wide open, stubbornly nailed to yours as he starts moving. It's hard and slow, and it makes you see stars. 

“Do you still feel like drawing?” he provokes you, “Or am I fucking you good enough?” 

You hiss and bite his arm, both to keep him humble, but also, again, because you can — and nobody else does. 

“Maybe I could get on top of you so you can watch my tits bounce, and maybe that will make you want to draw,” you bite back, and next thing you know you're both sat up, you're on his lap and he's bouncing you on his dick. 

“Definitely feeling inspired right now,” he concedes. “Maybe I should stop and paint them.” 

You push him down and he's finally with his back to the mattress, you on top. “Or maybe you could shut your mouth and get busy so I can cum.” 

The slap lands almost immediately on your ass. “Dirty mouth. And a fucking divine cunt,” he speaks through gritted teeth. 

He lets you lead for about thirty seconds, during which he stays occupied with your boobs, grabbing them, slapping them, pinching your nipples, and then he grabs your hips and stills them. 

“Touch yourself,” he orders your roughly before he starts fucking up from below you. 

It escalates quickly from there, and in less than a minute you're gone, collapsing forward, against him, and he's so thankful because he's coming too and your kegels are squeezing him just right, and he only manages to say “fucking yours” before he abandons all his inhibitions and loses himself inside you. 

You come back to reality only, and you find yourself tucked in his embrace, his body above yours. You don’t know when he flipped the two of you over, but you like his weight on top of you. 

“Hey,” you murmur, combing his hair away from his face. 

His expression is lazy and satisfied. 

Well done, you tell yourself, almost giving a pat to your own shoulder. He looks fantastically fucked, deliciously edible and perfectly yours. 

“Hey you,” he replies, with the most heavenly, blissful grin on his face. No, too tired to be a grin, more like a glowy smile. It’s not fully on, it looks like those battery-operated lights when they’re almost out of energy, a bit faded, or maybe pale. Faint, feeble, dim. Soft. Muted. If his bunny smiles were jewel tones, this was the most delicate pastel pink. A powder baby blue, almost robin egg blue. 

You want to wrap yourself in the hazy glow radiating from him, gentle as a sunny dawn in late May. 

“So glad you got those Calvin’s,” you joke, and there it is, bunny grin, ten million watts. Apparently that makes his battery die because his head collapses to your neck and he doesn’t seem willing or ready to lift himself back up. 

“So glad I made you jealous. But also sorry,” he says, truly apologetic. “I’m happy we did this. I’m happy I saw you like this.” 

His lips tickle the side of your neck, and you squirm a little, but you try not to move too much. You want to be comfortable for him to rest on. You want him to stay like that on top of you forever. “I’m still maddish. But I think I can deal with it.”

“There’s more pictures coming,” he says tentatively, and he makes the effort to pick up his head to give you a helpless look, trying to protect himself already by giving you the sweetest pair of puppy eyes he’s ever used on anyone. 

“Oh, I’m totally getting your ass branded,” you reply, saccharine. “I was thinking I could make those ribbons, like the ones the police use, except I put my name on it and I wrap it all around your chest, so they can’t drool all over your abs.”

He laughs, and the sound is boyish and playful, and lovely. You fall in love a tiny bit more. 

“Can I see the pictures in advance?”

He hums as he thinks about it for three seconds, except he already knows how he wants to play it. “Mh…” he says some more, keeping you on your toes. “No.” He looks up, testing you. “But let’s say I hope you get that cockring ready.”

You pull your head back, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not naked in your Calvin’s, right?”

He grins, gives you a devilish wink. “Maybe.”

You grab his cheeks and squeeze his face and he laughs so hard you can’t be possibly mad at him for even a nanosecond. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“And your tits will be it for me,” he flirts back. 

You shake your head. “Brat.”

And he kisses you. Just that. 

Before he hits the shower the following morning, Jeongguk inspects the damage you’ve done on him. 

He’s quite happy with it. A very faint bruise on his neck. A red splotch on his abs, and another on his hip, but nothing that won’t fade within one or two days. He knows you know the drill by now. 

He turns around to inspect his back, and he’s okay with it, nothing that will get him in trouble in case he needs to be shirtless or generically undressed around staff members. He drops his underwear and it’s only once he’s making his way to the shower that he notices something strange on his asscheek. 

Oh, fuck. Suddenly reminded of your little handiwork with the pen the night before, he bends to the side, trying to get a better view at his ass. 

He finds himself wobbling side to side, like a silly puppy chasing his tail, and that is exactly the way you find him when you enter the bathroom. 

A laugh bubbles out of you and you smack his butt playfully. “Do you need help with that?” you ask, cheery. 

“No,” he bites back, but he has the most innocent, pouty look on his face, and he is having fun a little. “Maybe,” he concedes, his voice young. 

You wrap your arms around him and rise to your toes, propping your chin on his shoulder as you hug him from behind. “I wrote, ‘Candy’s babyboy’.”

His ears go red, just the tiniest bit. “Really?” His expression is so sweet. 

“Really,” you confirm, confident, serious, and loving. 

“You’re not making fun of me,” he asks, vulnerably. 

“I promise I’m really, really not, Guk.” You kiss his shoulder. “You’re my babyboy. And my sexy man. And just mine, generally speaking.”

He nods, a happy, fulfilled look on his face. “Right.” He’s once more confident. Entirely adult. 

“Love you,” you reassure him again, and then you kiss his shoulder, again. 

He grins. There he is, your boy. “Love you too.”

Hi it's Dita, the writer, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment to keep this poor gremlin fanfic writer motivated. Bye and I LOVE YOU!!!

[biancadjarin]

making out with Eddie on Halloween

em x fem reader

18+!

You walk towards Steve’s car as the cool fall air whooshes past your ears. The chocolate brown BMW 733i looks black in the setting sunlight. Goosebumps erupt on your exposed legs as you reach for the handle of the car. The muffled beat of Thriller thumping against the door. The darkly tinted windows reflect yourself back to you and the iridescent strands on your fuzzy white halo shimmer softly. Halloween in Hawkins is an especially spooky time so when Robin and Steve invited you to a costume party, you jumped at the chance to join them. Little did you know they invited Eddie too.

“Look how cute you are!” Robin exclaims from up in the passenger seat as you open the door and see two long skinny dark blue denim covered legs. You giggle nervously as you duck in and Eddie shoots you a wordless look, his eyes scanning your body more than your face. “Thanks Robin. You look cute too! Hi Steve! Hi… Eddie”. Eddie nods back an unenthusiastic “hey” and Steve turns around and wiggles his brows at you before putting the car into drive.

Nancy’s house is a 20 minute drive from yours and the thought of sitting this close to Eddie, his obsession by Calvin Klein cologne (no doubt borrowed from Steve) hitting your nostrils every few seconds and his lingering glances at you while he pretends not to, was going to drive you crazy. You played with the short hem of your white dress to appear busy, tiny sparkles shimmering on your thighs as they press into the leather backseat.

“You got that shit rolled up already right?” Steve asks Eddie, his eyes shooting up from the road to look at him in the rear view. Eddie reaches a hand into his leather jacket pocket and, like a magic trick, a long white joint emerges. He holds it in the air for Steve to see to which Steve lets out a “Niiiiice.”

Eddie places the joint between his full lips as he raises his hips and digs around in his pocket for a lighter. He flicks the black zippo and lights the end, inhaling until the tip glows an angry red and a plume of smoke flows out of his nostrils. You watch as uninterested as you can, but it’s hard to look away. The dim light of the last few minutes of sun dances across his features and you suddenly become very aware of how close he’s sitting to you.

“All you, man.” Eddie says as he passes the joint to Steve over his shoulder. Steve takes it and take a couple skillful puffs before handing it over to Robin. She takes a too big hit, coughing and choking for a few seconds as you all laugh at her. “Ok babe, your turn.” She says as she turns around to hand it to you.

You freeze. You’ve never smoked before. And you don’t think right now is the best time to make that big step. Robin’s eyes look at you expectantly, as you hear a scoff next to you. You take the joint in an awkward pinch and Robin drops back into the seat, her and Steve deep in some conversation about who’s hotter, Phoebe Cates or Farrah Fawcett.

“Do you not smoke?” Eddie asks as he scooches closer to you, his thigh touching yours. You look at him with panicked eyes. “Sweet innocent thing.” Eddie says in a teasing voice, his chin dipping low and puppy dog eyes looking up at you. “You really are an angel.” He says through a laugh. “Here,” he motions for you to hand him the joint and scooch even closer, “I’ll show you. You’ll love it.”

You feel Eddie’s hand snake behind your lower back, “watch real close now, angel.” he says softly as he pulls your body into his side. His hand rests there on your side, his thumb finding the skin between your skirt and top, rubbing it gently. “All you gotta do is breathe in like you’re taking a normal breath, see?” He demonstrates. “Then,” he says with his lungs full, “you just exhale.” A cloud of smoke rolls out like he’s the prettiest dragon you’ve ever seen. “Think you can handle that?” He asks as he hands the joint back to you. You take it from him and examine it closely, turning it in your fingers.

“Hurry,” Eddie says as his other hand lands softly on your thigh, rubbing it with urgency. “You don’t want it to go out.” He nods his chin at you, his eyes watching your lips. He licks his lips absentmindedly. Butterflies fill your stomach. “Ok,” you say with a heavy sigh “I’ll try.”

As you inhale, Eddie does a pretend inhale with you, widening his eyes so you know to hold it in. You try not to laugh when his already big chocolate brown eyes are staring at you like that. Then he pretends to exhale so you do the same.

“See?” His face unnecessarily close to yours, “wasn’t so bad was it?”

You shake your head no, going back in for another hit.

Eddie leans back in his seat with a smirk and watches you. You miss how his hands feel on your body. The weed starts to make you fixate on random things. The passing streetlamps lighting him up every few seconds as they pass. His eyes are low and glassy, pink to match his lips and cheeks.

You hand him the joint after a couple more hits and he takes it from you, hitting it once more before sending it back up to Steve. One of his hits equals at least three of yours if the smoke that he exhales is any indication.

A moment passes, he smirks and looks down at the space between you two, then at your lap, your hand resting there. He reaches for it slowly, first letting his fingertips graze the top of your hand then grasping it in his and pulling it towards him. He traces your fingers with his, not saying anything for a moment. His eyes stare at the sparkly white polish on your almond shaped nails, running his thumb over the shiny finish.

His hand comes up to tilt your chin so your eyes are locked on his. “You feeling ok?” He asks. You nod slowly, not sure what’s making you feel more dizzy. The weed, the way Eddie’s voice is filling your ears or Steve’s crazy driving. Eddie’s smile widens, his dimples showing. “I’m impressed, y/n.” You think this is the first time you’ve ever heard him say your name and it’s never sounded more beautiful. “Maybe you’re not quite the innocent angel that you appear to be.” He says as he nuzzles his face into your neck, testing the waters. Your body shudders against his, and he smiles. The soft warmth of his lips grazes your skin as they kiss your neck gently.

Your palms brace against his chest, the worn leather of his jacket feeling cool and soft under your touch. He watches you, his eyes studying your face like the textbooks in school he doesn’t look twice at. He’s waiting. Waiting for you to make the next move. Waiting to feel your glossy lips against his.

You look shyly towards the front seat to make sure Steve and Robin are still distracted. Eddie huffs out a small laugh at your innocence. He doesn’t care if Steve and Robin see. You look back at him and see the fire in his eyes. The heat radiating off his skin. The red brake lights ahead of you bathing him in a devilish light. And you let yourself do what you know you probably shouldn’t.

Your mouth collides with his in a burning kiss, your tongues dancing and darting and daring each other to go further. “You’re cute.” Eddie whispers against your cheek when he pulls away. “Your costume is so..” he sucks in a breath through his teeth as his hands squeeze your waist. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” you urge him on. “Mhm.” He nods. “I’m almost worried about walking into Nance’s party with you looking this good. Gonna have to…” his voice trails off as your hand starts to caress up his thigh, curious to feel what’s making his denim strain. Your fingers meet the rounded end of him and he groans. The opening notes of Black Sabbath’s Paranoid start up and Eddie’s eyes are watching your fingers curl around his erection through his jeans. You smile softly, feeling it throb against his thigh.

“You were saying?” You ask him teasingly. Eddie shakes his head and pulls you in for another kiss as you feel Steve turn onto Nancy’s street.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

[cherrygukkie]

Late Night Encounters| jjk

Summary: A student-athlete like you, who flies under the radar, never expected to become enemies with someone like Jeon Jungkook, an annoying talkative senior who goes out of his way to make your life a living hell. But what happens when your rivalry takes some twists and turns, and your hate turns into something else? Will getting too close to Jungkook reveal a side of him that you’ve never seen before?

Word Count: 5,2k

AN: Hey folks! This is something I came up with in the middle of the night, so I hope that you all enjoy this as much as I am currently planning all of this out! :) But yeah, I don't have anything else to say, but to enjoy this first snippet of Jk and OC's relationship. Love yah mwahh!!

Props to @dollfaceksj for beta-reading thank you <3

READ: (Pls comment and give feedback it's all welcomed. It'll help me stay motivated.)

Lmk if there are any errors please and thank you.

••••••••

Thursday, 7:03 a.m.

It’s early in the morning, and you know what that means…. School time!!!

Yay… school.

You’re currently at school, exhausted. That wasn’t out of the ordinary though. No matter how much sleep your body gets you still end up tired. At this point, you've accepted the fact that you’re a sleepy girl.

Putting on your beats, you turn the music volume to the max. Hopefully, music can give you a little energy and help you get through the day because you need it.

Surprisingly Yoongi or Taehyung weren't at school around this time. Usually, the three of you arrived at the same time, if something came up you’d receive a message from either one of them. They didn’t tell you yesterday or text you, so you check their location.

When you do it shows that they are on the road, moving in the same area. 

They were driving somewhere…

The direction they are going is further away from the school. You being curious, you took it upon yourself to see what’s up with them.

Letting out a yawn, you call Yoongi, and not even a second later, he declines.

What the fuck?

You decide to shoot Taehyung a message since they’re together and he responds…

You: um why aren’t you or Yoongi at school?

You: I see that you guys are driving and I feel left out.

Taehyung : Sorry Y/N. I was supposed to tell you, but It slipped my mind.

Yeah, just like how my foot is gonna slip up both their asses.

Taehyung: We got caught up in some last-minute shit.

•okay, but my question is still unanswered.

You: where are you guys going though???

Read.

Taehyung left you on read along with him being secretive about his location… that’s unusual and weird.

Extremely weird…

“Such shitheads for ditching me,” you mutter, shoving your phone in your pocket. Great… Now today is going to be the definition of boring without dumber and dumbest.

You open your locker, replacing your books with your skateboard. The bell is going to ring shortly, so you start walking to class. You slam your locker shut, striding down the halls with the volume of your headphones sounding out everything and everyone, just how you liked it.

Your face was frowned up until ETA by NewJeans came on. A smile creeps onto the corner of your mouth as angelic voices enter your ears and a flicker of amusement manages to lighten your mood.

“what’s your ETA!” “what’s your ETA!”

Just when your grumpy spirit is starting to lift, someone swoops in from the right, snatching your headphones off your ears. The music is gone and the little smile you grew shattered into a million pieces.

You freeze, taken back by his audacity. “You did not… just take my headphones.” 

You turn around to see the one and only, Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook who surprisingly wasn’t wearing his usual Calvin Klein attire. Instead, he had on a pair of distressed jeans with a soft blue zip-up jacket.

The way he has his jacket off his shoulder is so baby girl of him

Jungkook smirks, holding the headphones out of reach. “New Jeans? Really?” He could hear even while they were hanging above your head. That’s how loud the music was.

“Give it back!” you demand, through a big jump to retrieve your headphones. Each time you jumped, his hand went higher and higher. Jungkook enjoyed watching you struggle, especially if it’s because of him.

“You don’t seem like the type to listen to New Jeans,” he says, ignoring the fact that he’s holding your property. “They’re so uplifting and joyful… and you-” Jungkook pauses, eyeing you down. You could sense the insult coming.

You talk over him, not letting him finish. “Why are you doing this?”

It’s too early to play his stupid games. He couldn’t wait until Chemistry class? 

“Just doing my daily dose of annoying you.” He clicks his tongue, dangling the headphones with his index finger. 

“Well, congratulations, Jungkook. You’ve succeeded once again. Now give me back my headphones and leave me alone,” you demand again, reaching up only for him to hold them higher.

At this damn point, your arms are moving in the air desperately like a lunatic. This is taking place in the middle of the halls… in front of people. 

How fucking embarrassing is that?

ugh, I hope that people don’t think I’m a pushover now…

You raise your voice, walking up to Jungkook. “Give me my shit back!” 

The anger in your voice draws attention in the halls. Right after you speak, multiple eyes burn into your soul. You look around and people are staring at the both of you with concerned faces. Part of you wanted to tell them to mind their shit and keep it pushing, but you take a breath, taking a chill pill.

 “Jungkook,” you say through gritted teeth, bringing your hands together. “Can I have my beats back? They’re too expensive to be played around with.” You swallow all the bass in your tone.

“What’s the magic word?” Jungkook teases, exposing the dimple on his right cheek. Beasty, huh? you've never understood why he gave you such a nickname in the first place. Assuming it was an insult, you always ignored it.

Today wasn’t the day for his stupid games, he for sure wasn’t getting a please out of you.

You blink constantly, accepting your defeat. “You know what… I’m not doing this shit today. You can keep them, you jerk.” Walking away from Jungkook, you try to speed walk to class in need to get away from him. You’re already dealing with limbs that could barely function and heavy eyelids, you aren't in the mood to play.

Searching for peace didn't last how you wanted. Jungkook catches up with you, refusing to leave you alone. 

"Careful there or you'll drop your books."

You look over at Jungkook who was keeping up with your speed. “I hate you.”

A little laugh sneaks past his lips before speaking, “No, you don’t.”

He had the presence of a fly, no matter how much you shoo him away he always finds his way back.

Why do you despise him with a passion?

Why is Jeon Jungkook your nemesis?

The reason behind it is a story. It started when you ran into him on a chaotic evening at the worst moment possible, just when you thought the hole you were in couldn't get any deeper...it did.

*Flashback!*

4 months ago...

Friday evening, 7:37 p.m.

Stuck in the middle of traffic, you’re repeatedly hitting crazy turns, left, right, left, left, right, right, nonstop. You wanted to punch yourself in the face for missing the bus and being an irresponsible dumbass.

Yeah, it's true...you were late to a game. It's not all your fault, though. To be fair it was a last-minute one that the coach signed everyone up for. Earlier today, you had to stay after school to figure out some arrangements with your teachers for your grades. It was either that or nothing because bad grades equal no volleyball.

All work was uncompleted, besides Mrs. Parker's class. That was your favorite class and you had an A+, so you didn't have to visit her. You had to visit everyone else and it didn’t go as planned. Besides giving you an extension on the work, you were assigned a tutor for the next 2 months.

Your schedule was dedicated to volleyball, therefore you had no free days unless it was the weekend, and as much as you didn't want to sacrifice it, you had to.

Girl, your grades were crying.

You need to maintain them to keep volleyball in your life. Today was Saturday and you decided to start. It wasn't a problem because you had no plans at all… well that’s what you thought. 

You put your phone on do not disturb, just to concentrate, not to ignore anybody.

You just needed your mind to be fixated on school for once, not a ball, not a net, or a gym.

🏐🥊

During those long hours of catching up and studying you weren't aware of the messages in your group chat. You packed up all your things and you went directly to your messages to see 100+ texts from the group chat.

You open it thinking it's about the next practice or probably not expecting a message like this.

Coach [: "I'm sorry to spring this on you girls on such short notice, but I received an email from a coach from another district about playing against his team because apparently, the other team forfeited before the game.

Coach [: I agreed to it thinking maybe you girls could use the extra practice, you know? explore other teams and their ways of playing."

Coach [: "The school is far, so I recommend you gear up and be at the gym by school at 6:20 because the drive is longer than 30 minutes and we all need to ride the bus together, as a team."

Coach [: "There's no reason why any of you should be late because I'm texting you a couple of hours before, so please be on time okay you all know how I am about tardiness."

The more we are late the more we condition....

Coach [: "Okay, but that's all. I'll see you all in a bit, be ready!"

You take your phone off Do not disturb, then you exit the building, phone, and bag in hand checking your missed calls,

Reading that you had numerous missed calls from the coach, you call her and she answers immediately. The phone barely got through the first ring. You opened your mouth to speak, but her lecture overpowered you. "Y/N where the hell are you? the game is about to start!"

You're so stuck you couldn't give a proper answer so all you say is, "Huh?" the confusion in your response made her angrier.

"You are late Y/N! You were supposed to be on the bus an hour ago!"

Coach sent that message at 3:36 and when you checked the time it was 7:15 p.m. It was like glass shattering when your heart sank realizing you lost track of time. Your phone shook in your trembling hands, too stunned to speak.

It's been that long?!?

She tells you that the game has already started and that you need to be on your way now, especially with you being one of the main players you were needed no matter what, or the rotation would be switched.

It was still the beginning of the season, so people were only familiar with their positions. Having rotations changed and adjusted to something last minute during a game is a total mess. A rule in volleyball is if you were out of rotation they deduct points, and that was unacceptable.

"C-coach, I'm sorry-" you tried to sound sincere with a pounding heart and unsteady voice. "I'll get there as fast as possible." She ends the conversation by hanging up the phone.

Well goddamn.

Then and there you knew you were "Fucked." you muffled, in your hand. "I am so fucked...."

You start running as fast as you can and thankfully the dorms aren't too far from the school, so you arrive shortly. You swung the door open and rushed to your room not greeting your roommate, but that didn't matter.

She wasn't the nicest...

When you get in your room you start tossing things everywhere trying to find your jersey. That's what you get for misplacing important shit, that's what your mom would tell you after you'd lost something and it played in your mind on a loop.

At some point, you found everything and shoved it in your bag racing out the door to the parking lot. And there you are speeding recklessly in your car, slamming your fist on the horn honking at cars, cutting them off doing all you can to escape from this major traffic jam.

You weave through traffic pressing on the gas pedal, “Come the fuck on…” you yell, feeling your frustration build up. “Can these cars go any slower?!? I’m almost there!”

Why does everything go wrong on inconvenient days…?

Finally, you arrive at the stadium, and you pull into the parking lot and your eyes dart immediately to a good spot in between two cars surprisingly in front of the entrance. There were a shit ton of people here...

You turn the wheel parking your car thinking none of it, then suddenly there is this noise you heard. In the mise of hearing that sound, your whole car jolted back from the impact, even though it was the slightest tap.

Leaning forward a bit, you see the space you have in front of you and your jaw drops in disbelief. "Please no...." This could not be happening right now.... you're already in trouble for being an hour late and now you have to deal with this.

To fix your parking, you back out and properly pull in between the two cars. After, you take a moment to close your eyes and cross your fingers hoping that the damage wasn't too severe. Your pockets had flies coming out of them…. you couldn't afford to fix a damn car.

Let's pray that there was nothing there and you could move on with life, peacefully. You got out of the car to check yours first. It was in perfect condition and not a single mark was on it, maybe that was a sign of something good.

You rushed to the back of the black car to confirm that the crunching noise you heard was in fact the bumper that was dented up, terribly. The back of the vehicle even had scratches and the black paint was scraped off.

It was bad...

"Oh my god..." you mouthed nervously. The car did look fancy and highly expensive. It didn't take long for you to realize that the car you hit was a Mercedes-Benz, but not only that it was the newest version. "You've got to be fucking kidding me...." you screamed, burying your face in your palms.

How the hell were you going to pay for the damages on this car, a damn Mercedes?!? To be fair, you weren't poor, you just didn't have money like that, or you didn't have any on you. And bothering your parents with this rough situation was the last you wanted to do. They were already helping you pay for volleyball camp, so there was no need to shake them for more money.

Your hands found their way to your head gripping your hair, stressfully. "Ugh, I should've been on the damn bus!" you yell again, feeling stupid. You wanted to punch yourself in the face for the rookie mistake.

Too busy pacing back and forth and complaining you didn't notice that there wasn't a single soul in the car. By now someone would've come out to give you shit for hitting their vehicle.

You instantly got an idea.

And that idea was to walk away and pretend nothing happened.

Why not? nobody was outside, nobody saw you and nobody was inside the car meaning there's no proof of you hitting their car attempting to park.

That intense feeling wore off and your body relaxed a little. You look both ways before crossing the street.

Thank god, you didn't have to deal with a rich bitch or asshole who'd exaggerate the problem like the car was their child and make you pay more than you have to. You sigh, walking away, ready to enter the school and deal with the coach because that was next on the checklist.

You stuff your hands in your pockets, making your way towards the entrance, until you hear something. That something was the sound of a car door getting slammed violently.

"What the hell? are you fucking kidding me?!?" the mysterious man shouted. He sounded upset—a more fitting word, enraged. "Hey, you! black sweatshirt."

Yep, that was you. A girl in a black sweatshirt who was trying to ditch the situation.

"Hm?" you slowly turned around as if you were innocent.

Your guilty eyes met his deep brown cold ones. He looked very pissed right now. "Hm?" the mysterious boy mocked your act. "You fucked up my shit!" he pointed to the poor bumper.

You nibble on your lip, caught up and no he wasn't wrong that's exactly what you were going to do.

"What?” You fix your thick frames. "Dude, what are you talking about? I didn't fuck up anything. I was only walking out here getting fresh air, that's all..."

"Oh really?" He took a step closer moving under the moon. It was easier to make out the details. Soft dark curly long hair, muscular figure, piercings, tattoos.... a dangerous combination a guy could have.

Damn.

He wore a Calvin Klein denim jacket with a matching shirt and bold thick platformed boots. He looked like your typical bad boy or fuck boy, you choose. You’d never seen him before, ever.

You reacted, backing away from his unnecessary step. "Yes?"

"You are lying and you fucking suck at it.”

You tried flipping the script. “That’s what you think.”

“It’s what I know and now you’re starting to piss me off.”

"Okay, shit!" Your arms slap your sides, defeated. "I hit your car, okay? But it was a mistake. I was rushing to get to my game and I was going to leave because I needed to avoid this. After all, I'm already late and my coach is upset with me." Listening to you, his eyes were rolled to the back of his head, tired of hearing your sob story. "It was seriously an accident, I misjudged the distance between the cars," you continued. "I'm fucking sorry, okay?"

He was able to see that you were going through a tough time, but did he care? Hell no. He wasn't having any of that. For fucks sake, you hit his car and that's all he cared about, not some girl who's using being late as an excuse to recklessly drive.

“Do you know how much it’s going to cost me to get fixed?”

"No, I don't, but I do know that it's going to be pricey and trust me if I had the money I would pay for the expenses, but I don't have much money right now..."

"Oh, great. Miss careless driver not only hits my car, but she can't afford to fix it. Just what I fucking needed today."

You continued to apologize and reason with him, but he cut you off. "You expect me to accept your apology? That doesn't change the fact you hit my car. I could care less about a fucking apology right now.”

Now... it was bothering you a little. Despite the situation, this guy was being a dickhead.

Did you hit his car? Yes, you did and he has every right to be angry, but there should be some way that this can be resolved respectfully without being an asshole. And that's what he was doing, he's raising his voice, expecting you to stand there like a fool.

He had no idea who he was talking to. You frowned, no longer feeling ashamed or apologetic for hitting his car.

"No, it isn't but I'm sure that if you can afford a Mercedes then I'm sure you have the money to fix the damn bumper yourself," you argued.

"You're right," he chuckled, rubbing his forehead. "I can afford to get it fixed. I don't know why I thought that someone...." His voice trailed off as he faced your car. ".... someone who drives a 2010 Ford Taurus could even pay for a single scratch on my car."

broke bitch alert!!!

He turned around, lifting his brows, waiting for a response from you. The disrespect was too real and you blurted out an aggressive, “Fuck you.”

He was seriously calling you broke…

“And fuck you for hitting my car.” The guy got closer, narrowing his eyes at you as if you were familiar somehow. “You...” His voice trailed off from looking at your sweatshirt.

He got distracted from the words on it. It had your team and university labeled on it.

“You don’t even go to this school, do you?” he asks.

The mysterious boy’s question threw you off. Your eyes darted everywhere before talking. "No...?" you replied lost. "Why the hell does it even matter?"

“I knew you seemed familiar.” He nodded, getting struck by a moment of realization. "You're that one volleyball player who plays at ____ university?" He asked, reading your shirt. "And you're Y/N, right?"

“Yeah, why?”

"You know what-" he smacked his lips. "I'll let this slide this time one time.” You wanted to say thanks, too bad part of you was still heated from the argument, but how did he know your name?

You watched him walk to his car, and then he opened the door. “Just stay the hell out of my way, got it?"

He didn’t have to tell you twice.

"More than happy too,” you shout.

Once he got into his car, you turned around and ran inside the school. heading straight to the gym. You saw your team on the court, playing hard in an intense rally as you walked in. There was a shit ton of people cheering, yelling and screaming.

The noise was a mixture of good and bad…

You glanced at the score and thankfully, it was a tie. Coach gave you a deadpan as you walked towards her with guilt. Like you were expecting, she scolded you or whatever, and then she called a time-out.

All the girls left the court to get water and catch their breaths. Coach like usual, went over everyone's positions and dos and don'ts. While she did so, you slid out of your hoodie and sweatpants, revealing your jersey and shorts under.

You were prepared.

You scanned the crowds on your school's side and damn near everyone showed up to support the team. Some classmates waved at you and of course, you returned the kind gesture, glad to see them here to support the team.

Then randomly out of nowhere, you saw the same guy enter the gymnasium. He walks up a few flights of bleachers to sit with Jimin, Seokjin, and some other guy you don't know.

You assumed they were his friends.

When he's done greeting them... his attention landed on you, only you. It was weird after that interaction you had with him.

Looking away from him, you tried to regain your focus on the girls and coach.

"You all are doing great; except I need you all to make it harder for them. Let's stop fooling around and get in the lead and let it stay that way. Now that Y/N is here there's no more confusion now, the lineup is back to normal. Everyone with me?" Coach looked at everyone and they responded with nodding heads or a yes ma'am.

"Go out there and make them work, make them sweat."

The girls, including you, did your signature hand-stack a second after the buzzer went off. Girls that were benched sat down and girls that were on the court returned to the floor.

You simply do you and you get on the court to do what you're best at.

Play volleyball.

Things went back to normal, everyone played their hearts out, and in the end. You won the game.

But throughout the process, you couldn't help but notice his stares during the whole game. Anytime you'd look in his direction his focus was already on you.

The more you looked at him the more you remembered his identity. Now him knowing your name made sense because he attends your school along with him being in your 5th period.

Chemistry.

His name is Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook. He was a new exchange student from Seoul, but you couldn’t remember his major, although you did remember that he’s in a relationship with a girl named Alex who was well known at your school. Which is also how Jungkook was known in the first place.

It’s surprising because you hardly recognized him due to your head being on such a swivel.

It’s crazy that you've never even crossed paths before.

Ever since your first impression of Jungkook, the universe did its thing where he appeared everywhere now and you couldn’t escape him…

For some odd reason, he stood out even more because every day he went out of his way to bother you and piss you off, constantly. You haven't liked him since then and now you don't like him even more and couldn’t avoid him.

He didn't keep his word when you ran into him and he told you this exactly: "Stay the hell out of my way."

You’ve been stuck with this idiot ever since then.

*Present*

“Should I have taken your glasses instead?” he jokes, knowing damn well you are practically blind. You could see, but not too well.

You bark, “Why are you bothering me?”

“You should’ve never hit my car,” he says, words rolling off his tongue with a shrug.

“Oh, fuck off,” you aggressively tell him, wishing he’d disappear like dust into the air. 

How long was he going to hold you accountable for that? It’s been months.

“I’ll fuck off when you tell me what’s up with you. You seem more feisty than usual….” You immediately stop walking to glare at Jungkook who places his finger on his chin.  “Did one of your little boyfriends piss you off?”

He’s referring to Taehyung and Yoongi…

 “Wow… your detective skills are impressive,” you sarcastically praise him, dramatically rolling your eyes. “Is that all you got?”

Jungkook strokes his chin. “Am I right?”

“Those aren’t my boyfriends and you are wrong, but why do you even care about what’s going on with me?”

“I don't, I'm just curious,” He replies, sounding interested in the reason for your attitude. “And you look like shit and it’s not because of me… so I want to know.”

“Yeah, and I feel like it too,” You admit, feeling the sleepiness weigh you down. “Like always…” an exhausted sigh leaves your lips.

“Why?” he asks, headphones still in his possession.

Jungkook's questions make you rub your temples. “I’m exhausted and later today I’m gonna be busy. I have to attend the sports event. You know where all athletes are required to go?”

“I’m familiar.” Jungkook places the headphones around his neck. “They announced the dumb thing yesterday.”

“It’s not dumb, Jungkook,” you declare, folding your arms, giving him a deadpan. “It's an important and great opportunity for all college athletes. It only happens once a year.”

The sports event in the evening that you are attending is an event for all athletes. It allows students to meet other teams including school teams, professional teams and club teams.

It’s a chance to ask professional coaches and players for advice for future reference. Sometimes, people who are that good get recruited to play on a team outside of school with the professionals.

That happens to maybe a couple of students out of the multitude of schools put together. Being chosen is such an amazing opportunity, you get to be on national television, by any chance make history, and get paid tons and other good things, but you weren’t banking on it this year.  The odds of you getting scouted out were more than average, however, there are still things you’re insecure about when it comes to playing.

If anything, you need to secure those first before putting yourself out there, on national television.

“Beasty…” he says as if he had a question.

“Yes...?” you lazily nod slowly, watching his tongue glide over his teeth while smirking. 

He better not ask to be my additional person

Was he going to ask you if he could be your extra guest this evening? You’re currently figuring out who’s that going to be, but it damn sure wasn’t going to him.

“Will-”

You squint your eyes, hoping this isn’t leading to a proposal. “Wait… you aren’t suggesting that I should take you-”

 “No, I’m already going,” he claims, shaking his head. “And I have my date for this evening. I was just wondering about yours.”

Date, hm?

“So, who is it?” he asks, intrigued. 

It's purely silent for a moment, but you think of something quickly to save yourself from the embarrassment-

You quickly speak up. "I have a date,” you throw in proudly, ignoring how big of a lie that is. 

All you care about is covering your ass at the moment, not the backlash.

you’re such a fucking liar.

"Right, so who is it?"

You dodge his question. “Who's your date, Jungkook?” you ponder, pretending that your curiosity isn’t bouncing off the walls. You could feel it in your bones.

Jungkook isn't an athlete for the school, so that means the person he will be attending the event with is someone who goes to this school or someone else.

His face twitches with amusement. Seeing you in his business is a sight for him. “A very good friend of mine…”

“Is she on my team?” 

“I can assure you she isn’t.” Jungkook cackles before confirming, “Volleyball players aren’t my type.”

Then what is?

•that’s a relief

“She goes to another school anyway. I can guarantee that you don’t know her.” Jungkook watches your eyes drop from his face to his neck, then grips the headphones firmly.

“Enough about mine,” he says as he changes the subject unexpectedly. “Who’s your…” A smile plastered on his face. “Date. And don't answer my question with another question."

Hm, who is your date??

"It's a secret," you whisper, motioning sealed lips. "I'll reveal mine once I see yours.”

He gives a subtle shrug. "Fair enough," Jungkook says, nodding his head, acknowledging your agreement.

*Bell rings!* 

“Oh, won’t you look at that?” Placing your hands on your hips, you point out, “It's time to go class…so-” you stare at the headphones again. “Are you going to hand them over or what?” 

Jungkook looks down at your hand and laughs when you extend it out. “Should I?” He calmly asks, pushing your buttons. You start to tap your foot impatiently, exaggerating your irritation.

He thinks to himself for a moment, before his eyes drop to the beats around his neck, then shortly locks eyes with your frustrated ones. “Actually… I want to hang onto these for a little while. These will come in handy during my workout.”

“Fine! Keep them,” you express with a dramatic slap to the side of your thighs. “But don’t think that I won’t get them back.”

As the warning bell rings, you shoot him a withering glare and without wasting a single second, you storm off to class with only one particular thing on your mind… and it wasn’t the headphones…

Who is Jungkook's date?

To be continued…

♡︎Taglist is here, lovelies

[waklman]

In The Stands

summary: bradley makes sure you know that you're his biggest fangirl.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n. fluff, mentions of sex. bradley is a biter idc!! 18+ blog in general.

olympic swimmer au

take your marks masterlist.

While you would love to say that you were Bradley’s biggest fan, you were well aware that it was a title you had to earn rather than be automatically granted as his girlfriend. 

Though you had to admit, it was definitely a struggle to stay afloat in the rocky waters comprised of Bradley's fangirls. After all, they were always a bit extreme when it came to exhausting their free time towards deep-diving into your boyfriend’s life. 

The unwavering adoration they had for their favorite swimmer propelled them to know even the most obscure details about him—from which energy drinks he chugged before a medley to which brand of underwear he wore.

Anyone would have fallen to your knees like you did after finding out other girls knew of your boyfriend’s love for Calvin Klein. 

So what better way to take your righteous title as his number one fan from under their noses, than to corner the athlete after practice—demand said athlete to surrender unfounded information about himself—and transcribe every single word that leaves his mouth right into your notes app.

Rest assured, Bradley was more than pleased to have you perched on his muscled thigh while he was drying off on the rest bench. Enough so, that he started to run a line of kisses from your shoulder up to the familiar spot behind your ear as he diligently attends to your flurry of questions. 

“If you could switch bodies with anyone for a day, who would it be? And what would be the first thing you do?” You make sure to specify, thumbs eagerly hovering over your phone’s keyboard. 

“Easy, Seresin. And I’d hop out the nearest window,” he quietly hums, trailing his nose along your shoulder blade before capturing a piece of your flesh between his teeth, out of boredom. 

Too engrossed with the task at hand, his actions all go unnoticed by you. Luckily for Bradley, the rest of his team coming up for air at the starting blocks are also oblivious to it.

“…Seresin,” you absentmindedly mutter to yourself, eyes searching for ‘S’ on your keyboard. Hearing that, Bradley’s mouth latches onto an untouched spot near your pulse.

Instead of acknowledging the intentional nip, you hastily pound the backspace button to correct your misspell of ‘nearest window’ with a huff. 

About twenty minutes into your interrogation, the frustration stitching your brows together gradually lets up with Bradley’s cooperation. And between each question, the swimmer leans back, face glowing with a grin as he surveys the marks scattered across the right side of your neck. 

Readjusting yourself in his lap, you let out a relieved breath. “Okay, last one. What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re bored?” 

Bradley smiles against the curve of your neck, sheepish response weighing down his tongue. “M’ not sure if you wanna know my answer to that sweetheart.”

Stuck in interviewer mode, the insinuation goes flying right over your head and you twist your neck to shoot him an offended look.

“Yes I do! Did you know your fans on twitter have baby pictures of you that I haven’t even seen before?! I’m like, the worst fan ever!” You complain, accidentally veering off on a tangent. 

At the mention of your rank in his fanbase, Bradley sighs, playful expression fading from his face. “Bubbles, is that what this is all about?” 

Instead of answering him, you quietly remain seated on his leg like some empty ventriloquist doll, wooden legs stiffly hung over his knee and hinged mouth clamped shut because that’s exactly what this is all about. 

Taking the nervous dart of your eyes into account, Bradley pries your fingers off your overheated phone, dropping it inside the mesh swim bag by his feet. 

Sometimes, Bradley forgets that you’re unaware of his disinterest for things like that—the special attention from journalists, the throng of girls gathered outside venues to see him, and the endless clamoring for his signature. Because a part of him assumed that you already knew that.

It was in moments where his head broke the surface of the water, that Bradley knew he never needed fulfillment from other people—not when he instinctively searched for your proud face in the stands, rather than checking his own team’s placement on the scoreboard.

Turning you in his lap to face him, Bradley leans in to kiss your nose, making it scrunch under contact. “I don’t know why you think you got competition. I’m pretty sure you’re the only girl I take up to my room after a win,” he lightly teases, poking your shoulder. 

Slowly, a shy smile makes its way to your face. “I’d hope that I’m the only one. If not, we're gonna have some problems,” you playfully warn, kicking his ankle.

“Uh oh. We might have some problems on our hands,” Bradley shrugs, struggling to contain his laugh in his throat. 

“Hey! That’s—that’s not funny,” you break out into a fit of giggles, prompting him to join you with a slap to his bare chest. 

With you bending forward to simmer your laughter, Bradley takes the chance to extend his arm back into his bag, plucking your phone from the mess of swim caps and snacks.

All you do is confusingly look on as he types in your passcode, large thumb swerving to open the camera app.

“What are you—” 

The words instantly die on your tongue when he flips your phone, and you notice the litter of bite marks on your neckline.

“You did not!” You shriek, hand flying to touch your bruised skin in disbelief.

“Oh but I did Bubbles, for my biggest fan,” he settles with a shameless grin, clicking the side of the device to snap a picture.

note: i will say although i sprinkle random swimming analogies in all the fics for this au i had the most fun doing it here hehe. as always, thank you for reading, and reblog are greatly appreciated!

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @Genius2050@eli2447 @katieshook02 @mak-32 @domeafavour505 @s-u-t @averyhotchner @et-homephone @sgt-barnesveins @olymosity @wkndwlff @diorrfairy @cruelmissdior @eternallyvenus @laneylovesglen @queerqueenlynn @taytaylala12 @sushiwriterhere @ravenhood2792 @Natdrunk @theweekndhistorybook @goosterroose @Moon42flight

[btsficsandsuch]

I Know I Look Good, but That’s No Reason to be This Upset

You have insecurities after seeing how good your boyfriend looks in a Calvin Klein ad. Jungkook does his best to cheer you up in his own way.

Mentions of insecurities. Some hints of adult themes.

You watched the video over and over. Your boyfriend Jungkook dancing through a parking garage shirtless with a loose tie around his neck. He looks incredible. You’re going through comment after comment saying how sexy he is, how good he looks, how incredible his abs are, and so on. You know that you should be happy as you’re the person that this man comes home to everyday but you can’t help but take a hit to your self-esteem and your insecurities were starting to rear their ugly head.

You had just started getting over the first drop of photos from the Calvin Klein shoot that made you feel absolutely awful about yourself. Jungkook always tried his hardest to make sure you knew how beautiful you were and that he only had eyes for you, but there was always this thought in the back of your mind that you couldn’t get rid of. You felt that he deserved someone prettier. Someone with abs and curves in all the right places. Seeing him look like a legit model with people all over the world drooling over him made you realize just how “plain” you were. You saw yourself as just average on a good day and when you were feeling down, like right now, you couldn’t even dare to look at yourself in a mirror and you definitely didn’t understand how Jungkook could even look at you.

For some reason you just couldn’t turn your laptop off. You played the ad over and over, each time a little piece of your self-esteem drifting away. Before you know it there were tears rolling down your face. You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking of all the reasons Jungkook would be so much better without you. He should be with another idol or even a model. Someone he could be proud to be seen with. The fans knew about you two and at first things were rough with hateful comments and posts but after Jungkook went live and gave them a stern talking to explaining that he loved you and them being mean towards you wouldn’t change anything they did start to treat you better, for the most part. You still got the occasional comment saying how ugly you were or that Jungkook could do so much better. Usually you could just ignore them except when you felt like this. You start to think back to every hurtful comment and post you’ve seen, including the few under the ad asking what this man sees in you. More and more you start to believe them.

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don’t hear Jungkook walk into the room. He slowly makes his way behind you hoping to scare you in a playful way but then he notices your shoulders shaking and he can hear your sniffles. He looks at your laptop screen and sees his ad playing on loop. He can also see some of the comments saying not so nice things about you. Deep down he knows why you’re crying but he’s hoping he can cheer you up with some humor. “”Aww Y/N, are you crying tears of joy at the fact that you get to sleep next to a stud like that every night?”, he says startling you.

You quickly wipe away the tears that have fallen and chuckle, “Oh yeah, I’m just over the moon.” Jungkook walks around and sits next to you on the couch wrapping his arm around your shoulder, “Y/N tell me what’s really wrong?” You shake your head not wanting to involve him in your insecurities, “Nothing, I’m fine. I just got a little emotional.” Jungkook knows you better than you think. He smiles, “I know I look good Y/N but that’s no reason to be this upset.” You smile at his attempts to make you laugh. You lean into him resting your head on this shoulder, “Why are you with me Kookie? Do you ever wish you could have someone else?”

Jungkook squeezes you a little tighter, “Never Y/N. If I didn’t want to be you I wouldn’t. That’s 100% the truth.” You look up at your boyfriend and you can see the sincerity in his eyes but you still need reassurance, “Do you mean that? Sometimes I just think you could do so much better but I think you’re too nice to leave.” He softly wipes away at the last few tears left on your cheeks, “Y/N I think you’re beautiful. Everything you hate about yourself I find a reason to love. There isn’t anything about you I would change.”

Slowly with his words you begin to feel better. Jungkook closes the laptop and slides it under the couch so that it’s out of site and out of mind. He grabs your hand and starts to pull you towards the bedroom. “Kookie what are you doing?”, you ask with a giggle. “Well I’m currently wearing all this Calvin Klein merchandise.”, he says showing you the band of his underwear. “And since it seems to make you so upset I thought maybe you could come help get it off of me.”, he says with a smirk and a wink before pulling you even faster to the bedroom.

[0613magazine]

032923 ELLE Singapore

EXCLUSIVE! 6 QUESTIONS WITH JUNG KOOK, CALVIN KLEIN’S NEWEST GLOBAL AMBASSADOR

BTS’ Jung Kook is officially the face of Calvin Klein! The South Korean singer-songwriter, record producer, and dancer joins Calvin Klein as the newest global ambassador. But let’s be real… Fans made their theories and saw it coming shortly after the global head of creative Cédric Murac followed him on Instagram (back when he had Instagram). We knew it was going to happen, we were just waiting for the official announcement (and pictures, let’s be honest).

He makes his debut for the brand in a new campaign wearing the brand’s Spring 2023 collections. Shot by Park Jong Ha, the campaign captures him in new styles, including the 90s Straight denim and Body Jeans, Relaxed Fit Denim Shirt, Oversized Denim Jacket and Relaxed Fit Standard Logo Crewneck Tee.

On this announcement, Jung Kook shares “I have been a fan of Calvin Klein for a long time, and I’m thrilled to be their newest global ambassador. This partnership is very special, as Calvin Klein’s heritage and brand values resonate with me. My music is how I communicate with my fans around the world, and I see this partnership as an opportunity to connect with them in a new way. I’m incredibly excited for people to see a new side of me in this first campaign for the brand.”

In an exclusive interview with ELLE Singapore, Jung Kook talks about his latest creative inspirations, where he feels most comfortable, and what boldness means to him.

When did you first hear of Calvin Klein? What was your first impression of the brand and how has that changed since?

I don’t exactly remember when was the first time I heard of Calvin Klein, but it was after I moved to Seoul. At that time, I wasn’t familiar with many designer brands, but I knew Calvin Klein mostly for their signature underwear. Since then, it’s always been my favourite brand that I wear all the time.

How would you describe Calvin Klein? What Calvin Klein items do you wear on a daily basis?

I would say Calvin Klein is “one of my closest friends.” I do wear Calvin Klein underwear on a daily basis, and I can’t even pick one particular item as I just have so many. Actually, it was my first time wearing essential items from Calvin Klein Jeans when I was shooting the brand’s Spring 2023 campaign, and I loved them. It’s a new look for me, but I feel comfortable and confident that I think I would wear them a lot.

What has inspired you creatively recently?

I don’t think I have any specific inspirations lately, but usually, I get inspired by people who are good at what they do—like artists who make killing music, for instance—or people whom I respect.

What’s a place where you feel most comfortable being yourself?

Home is where I feel most comfortable and being myself. Like the feeling you get when you are wearing Calvin Klein underwear! (laughs)

What does boldness mean to you? What makes you feel bold?

To me, boldness is like energy that comes from a powerful desire for something. I’m normally not a bold type, but when I get drawn into something I want or like, I suddenly become a different person.

What does it mean for you to join Calvin Klein as a global ambassador?

I’m very happy to be the face of Calvin Klein Jeans and Calvin Klein Underwear. Calvin Klein has always been my favourite brand. Regardless of ambassadorship, I would wear the brand for its unquestionable quality and timeless designs. My Calvins elevate my everyday.

Source: ELLE Singapore

[steelycunt]

Hi! Why is it so hard to fancast Remus? Is it because he is just some guy and most fancasts are famous people? Anyway I would like to put fort Levan Gelbakhiani and also recommend the film “And then we danced” cause its beautiful!!!

hey!! for me personally its hard because i can't imagine clear faces when reading/writing--i can imagine facial features, but i can't picture them all on one cohesive face (and the features i do imagine are sort of sketchy/cartoonish rather than that realistic), so its like trying to match a real person to a vague blur of an image in my mind that is incredibly specific but also v hard to pin down. i rambled in the next bit a little so i'll put it under the cut xox

more generally, the reason i find most of the common ones so terrible is because they're usually brown-haired extra conventionally attractive celebrities who are either models or looks like models. and i do not think he was an especially conventionally attractive guy at all i think he looked like a normal guy. in fact i think he was kind of ugly. i don't care that much about canon but sirius is specifically referred to as handsome, where remus isnt, ever, so i just don't really understand where it comes from. i also feel like a lot of these fancasts that are sooo desperate to make every character ridiculously hot as if otherwise they are not convincing love interests / interesting or redeemable characters / of any value as elements of a narrative (as if any deviation from the beauty standard is a sin that renders a literal fictional character unworthy of any further discussion) are just kinda fucking weird lol. idk why average looking people are so frightening to read or write about to some people but yeah :-/ soooo sorry anon to hijack your ask to go off on a tangent like that i know its really not that deep!! i've just massively overthought my answers to your questions xx

in reference to gelbakhiani--i KNEW i recognised that name and i realise now i think another anon way back mentioned him!! he's not QUITE perfect for me but i remember him being a pleasant surprise when i googled him the first time and he was a pleasant surprise this time too xx you understand the assignment!! im not mad about it!! in terms of the individual features i dont have many personal criticisms at all!! ++ also also thank you for the rec!! <3

[lowkeycasanova]

#mycalvins

plot: photoshoot for Calvin Klein, with your ex Vinnie

I had this idea in my drafts for the longest and finally go around to writing it.

masterlist

—————————————————————————

You admired your makeup in the mirror. It was simple. Concealer, foundation, and mascara. The theme was “At Home”. You felt like a real celebrity looking at yourself in that vanity mirror and white robe on, which was covering the classic gray bra and underwear that you’d be photographed in.

But you weren’t alone, you were told that you’d be with a partner today.

A knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Come in.”

A lady opens the door and peeks her head in. “Can we start in fifteen minutes?” She asks with an excited smile.

“Yes, I’ll be ready.”

“Great.” She opens the door a little wider. “Vinnie is going to meet you on the set.”

Your face bared confusion, your eyebrows furrowed. "Who?"

"Vinnie, the guy you'll be shooting with today. He's right down the hall." She gestured to her left. Then she noticed your facial expression. "Is something wrong?"

No!" You replied instantly. "I'm good."

"Okay, I'll be waiting out there."

She closes the door and you lean back in your chair. It's odd that you hadn't even seen the guy you'd be working with today. Didn't even know his name until just a few seconds ago. Realizing it's a good idea to introduce yourself, you hop off your seat and make your way down to his room.

After a two knocks on the door, you wait there with your fingers clasped together, but there's no answer. You know someone is in there because you can hear them moving around. After two more knocks, the door whips open.

And there stood Vinnie. Your ex boyfriend, wrapped in the same white robe as you.

You took in how much he had changed since the last time you saw him. He looked broader like he’d gained muscle and his hair had been chopped off. The curls you loved so much were now shorter and for the photoshoot, blown out so it appeared straighter.

"You're-" your mouth gapped open and you cleared your throat. Shaking your head as you tried to process that he was standing there with you. Yes, the thought of "what if it's (ex boyfriend) Vinnie" crossed your mind but you quickly shook it off as there are other people in the word with the same name.

Just your luck though.

"You're the one shooting with me today?"

"Surprise?" He shrugged.

"Huh." you nodded, putting your hands on your hips and turned away so you didn't face him.

A few minutes of silence went by until he asked, "So, how are you?"

"How could you not tell me that you were gonna be here today?" you blurt out.

"I didn't even know until a couple days ago. And when I did find out, I was going to say something, but decided not to because I didn't want you to back out. You deserve to be here."

"Thanks." you mumbled and crossed your arms over your chest.

"More than me." he finished and leaned his back against the wall behind him and used his hand to try to push his hair out of his eyes.

It fell quiet between you two and then Vinnie cleared his throat. "So listen-"

"We should actually head to the set now." You used your thumb to gesture over your shoulder. "They're waiting for us."

Vinnie knew what you were doing. Trying to avoid the small talk.

"Y/N-" he said but you already started walking away.

This is the first time seeing each other in months and that’s how you react? He sighed in defeat and went back into his room.

**

The set was pretty simple.

Minus the tripods, cameras, and laptop where the pictures would automatically show up.

A bedroom with white/cream colored sheets on the bed and the paint on the wall matching. A dresser with a small fake plant and white silky curtains.

A lady was doing last minute touch ups on your hair and makeup when Vinnie walked in. You made eye contact with him because you were already looking in that direction but quickly looked down as a man came to make sure that his hair looked good.

You felt the nerves come and your hands got clammy.

One, you were about to shoot with one of the biggest brands in the world. That was enough pressure on its own.

Two, your partner for this is your ex boyfriend? Now you had to do it without being awkward.

And three, the idea of this seemed cool and exciting. But now you were minutes away from having to take off the white robe and be vulnerable in the bra and underwear in front of all of these people and it was scaring the shit out of you.

You trudged over to the snack table and grabbed a water. As you took a swing from the bottle, you heard footsteps behind you.

“Everything okay?”

You looked over your shoulder to see Vinnie.

“I’m a little nervous to be honest.”

“Why?” Vinnie stiffened. “Is it because of me?”

“No,” you assured him. “Well a little, but not in a bad way. You being here caught me off guard. This is a huge opportunity and I just don’t wanna mess anything up. Maybe I’m not the right person for this.” You fiddled with the belt that held your robe together.

“Hey don’t say that. You are the right person for this. You know why? Because they don’t just choose anybody for these campaigns. They had to have seen your previous modeling work and they obviously saw something special so they handpicked you.”

You couldn’t argue with that. He was right. And the statement was relevant to him also. There was no doubt he had talent.

Calvin Klein has always known how to captivate with their advertising. And landing a job with them set the scene for so many famous models. You’d grown up wearing the brand and seeing the iconic pictures in billboards and magazines. Now you and Vinnie are about to be a part of that legacy. You were damn sure you were gonna do your best.

**

The photographer introduced himself as Gio. With his camera in hand, he explained how you and Vinnie would each do separate takes and then take pictures together. He also told his vision of what the concept would be.

You and Vinnie would each do shots on the bed and then some by the window, getting the natural lighting from the sun.

It also made you feel safe when Gio asked for y’all’s input.

“If at any time you don’t feel comfortable, please do not hesitate to speak up.” He said and looked genuine. “Alright, so let’s get started. Y/N, you’re going first.”

Vinnie stepped to the side behind Gio and an assistant came over to you to take off your robe, with your back facing them. The cool air hit your body as soon as it was off. You turned to face them and Gio gestured to the bed, to do that first. Vinnie have you a reassuring smile.

Hopping up on the bed, the sheets felt crisp as they were probably brand new. All you did was lean back with your forearms behind you when you saw the flash of the camera.

“That’s perfect!” Gio exclaimed.

Before you knew it, you were already shooting.

“Wait what poses do I do?” You asked before he clicked that camera again.

“You could lay down and put an arm by your head, lay on your stomach, hug your knees to your chest. But honestly, so whatever comes natural to you for the most part.”

Gio put his camera up back to his eye. You immersed yourself into the shoot, forgetting about the people around watching. It became comfortable. Starting on the bed and moving to the window, you did every possible pose you could think of and Gio got you from angle after angle. Up close and farther away. There were also other cameras rolling to get video footage that would be other edited and posted onto the website or other social media platforms.

He probably took a thousand pictures before it was finally Vinnie’s turn. You put the robe back on and took his place on the side. He was dressed in black pants with a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the front unbuttoned.

Your pupils dilated at the sight of his body. He really started taking working out seriously as he had definitely gained muscle weight. The sleeves around his shirt were showing it. And you mentally gasped at the amount of new tattoos that you didn’t recognize. You wonder just how many he had gotten in your absence.

He did the same as you until it was time to shoot together.

Vinnie takes off his shirt, leaving him in the pants that hung low in his waist where you could see CALVIN KLEIN on the band of his underwear.

You on the other hand went over to the wardrobe rack and put on a white crop top.

He grabs your hand and pulls you onto the bed, making you laugh and Gio got it on camera.

Although you two weren’t together, you had to make it look like you were comfortable being in intimate positions. The poses ranged from you laying in his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist, you on a pillow looking at the camera while he looks at you, laying your head on his shoulder.

This went on for about an hour until Gio finally said, “Okay, that’s a wrap guys!”

The crew clapped and cheered and Vinnie sat up from his position on the bed and balled up his hand to give you a fist bump.

“Take a 10 minute break. I will be right back you guys. Sit tight.”

You two do as your instructed while everyone turns to have their own conversations.

Vinnie rubbed his hands over his thighs and you twiddled your thumbs.

“So…” he started.

You just shrugged.

“What you thinking about?” He asked and bumped your shoulder with his.

You sighed. “This whole thing reminds me of when we dated.”

He was silent for a moment. “Do you think we did the right thing by breaking up?”

It resulted in both of you thinking you didn’t have time for one another. You thought back on it and just maybe you could’ve worked things out if you would have just sat and talked about it and tried to make it work.

“I think…if we had communicated better, maybe it could have turned out differently.” You replied.

“I wanted to talk to you about some time ago, but then I heard that you were probably seeing someone and I didn’t want to interfere.”

“Wait what?”

“Your friend Lauren?” Vinnie said without trying to sound fake. “She said that you were seeing some guy. Zach, I think.”

You rolled your eyes. Now you knew what he meant. “She gets too excited sometimes. He’s just a friend. Someone that I was working on a project with. Plus, he has a girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Vinnie breathed out.

“What about you?” You cocked your head to the side and he gave you a confused look.

“I saw the pictures of you hugging that girl.”

“Also just a friend.” He said. “Well, more like acquaintance. I had met her that night at this birthday party and she hugged everyone in our group. But of course, everyone made a big deal about me.”

“A man of honesty.” You smiled and he laughed. “Looks like we both got things wrong.”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his head. “Well, if you’re not doing anything after this, you wanna get a donut or something?”

“What?” You chuckled.

“Sorry, it’s too soon. My bad.”

“No. I’m laughing because I’ve never heard anyone ask that. You know, it’s always ‘hey let’s go get a drink or grab lunch’ but a donut? That’s new. But sure, I’m down.”

“Cool.”

Gio came back in and he invited you both to come over to his laptop to see how the photos came out.

“They’re amazing.” Vinnie smiled as he went through each one.

He was right. In fact, there was one photo of Vinnie in particular that you would actually pay good money to see on a billboard in Times Square.

“The team is going to have a hard time picking. You two have great chemistry. Oh I love this one.” Gio pointed to a picture of you but the window, posing like you were fixing your hair in a ponytail. “You did great Y/N.”

“Not great.” Vinnie interrupted and your head shot up to look at him and you met his eyes.

“The best I’ve ever seen.”

[sunkissedpages]

dirty reflection || th x reader

Summary: fulfilling a long held fantasy with your boyfriend (cockwarming him in front of a mirror)

Warnings: swearing, smut (18+)

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: this was a piece for @honeymoonlover's birthday that i inserted tom into :)

Masterlist

"Tell me!"

“No!”

“Please!”

“No, I’m too embarrassed!”

You turned away from your boyfriend on the couch with your arms folded across your chest in protest. If there was anyone who could get you to spill something it was Tom, but you were determined not to break.

“Please, baby?” he asked again, and walked around to the other side of the sofa so that you could see his big brown eyes.

You squeezed your own eyes shut, as to not let him guilt trip you and shook your head stubbornly. Tom let out a sigh of frustration and you thought that maybe he had given up until you heard him chuckle above you.

“Fine, then I guess we won’t have sex at all.”

“What?”

You opened your eyes again and stared at your boyfriend in disbelief. He smirked.

“You heard me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re bluffing.”

“No,” he insisted, doubling down. “If you won’t tell me what you want, we won’t have sex until you do.”

“You know what I want! You already know how to make me feel good.”

“I thought I did,” he huffed, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout.

“You do!”

Tom raised his arms above his head, bringing the hem of his t-shirt up to reveal a small strip of his stomach and the elastic of his Calvin Klein’s. You sucked in a breath and pursed your lips, ignoring the sight before you.

“But not this!”

The this he was referring to was just a silly fantasy of yours, one that you had purposely kept secret because you were embarrassed to admit to wanting something so... filthy. You had never planned to fulfill it- you were more than content to simply imagine the scene playing out when Tom wasn’t home, and use your own hands instead of his to take the edge off. But as of 20 minutes ago that wasn’t an option anymore because your boyfriend had come across your messages with your best friend about that very fantasy.

He hadn’t meant to pry. He had just gotten home from shooting and grabbed your Mac off of the coffee table to check Twitter. You weren’t around, but he always used your computer to scroll through social media anyway so he figured he didn’t need to ask. Your last iMessage conversation with Sloane was still up, and he went to minimize the window when he read his name at the top of one of your blue bubbles. He knew he shouldn’t have been reading your private messages, but he couldn’t stop himself.

s: you should just tell him

y/n: idk how to bring it up

s: it’s not that hard

y/n: would it be weird to ask you to tell him for me?

s: bitch yes

s: i don’t want to talk to your bf about your sex life

y/n: tom knows you though! You could just sneak it into conversation casually yk?

s: i’m not telling him you want to be-

That was as far as he got before you walked back into the room and he slammed the laptop shut in panic, looking like you’d just caught him watching porn- which to be fair, you had done before.

Before you could say anything, or even process what had just happened, Tom flipped it around on you.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Your brain still hadn’t processed the situation so you furrowed your brow in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean-”

“Why are you talking to Sloane about our sex life?” he demanded. It finally clicked. “And what about it is so terrible about it that you don’t want to tell me yourself?”

“There’s nothing terrible about it!” you assured him.

“Then what?” His face was starting to turn red like it did whenever he got worked up. “Have you been faking-”

“No!”

You could feel your face starting to heat up as well at the implication.

“We were just talking about a dumb fantasy of mine, that’s all.”

And that’s what led you to where you were now, staring each other down over the edge of the couch, daring the other to be the first to break. The room was still filled with tension, but there had been a shift in context.

Tom's eyes were dark and nearly unreadable in the dim light of your living room.

“You’re really not going to fuck me until I tell you?” you asked. He nodded again in earnest, and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “But what do I get out of telling you?”

He gave you a look like it should have been obvious. “We’re going to do it.”

You hesitated. “What if you’re not into it?”

He shrugged and brushed off the possibility. “I’m into whatever you’re into.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I promise,” Tom said and pressed a kiss to your lips as if to seal it. “I’m not going to judge whatever it is you want me to do to you. No matter how gross it is.” You scoffed and swatted at him, but he dodged your hand easily.

“I can’t stand you,” you muttered.

“Oh, is that why you’re always kneeling for me?”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?”

The smirk fell from his face as he hastily cleared his throat and beckoned for you to continue.

“You know that mirror we have in our bedroom?” you asked.

Tom nodded, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth as if he had an idea about where this was going.

“I’ve always wanted to cockwarm you while we sit in front of it.”

Your boyfriend was smiling from ear to ear now. He had you right where he wanted you.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“I mean, pretty much, yeah.”

“Pretty much?” The next part you mumbled under your breath. “What was that?” Tom asked, leaning over the couch so that he could hear you.

“Yes,” you bit out and clenched your jaw in a pathetic sort of pout.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he teased, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Okay, get up.”

“What, why?”

“I’ve got some lines to read over. You can keep my cock warm while I do that.”

“Right now?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“It-it is.”

“Then get up.”

You did as you were told and stood up from your spot on the sofa, watching as Tom grabbed the back of one of the kitchen chairs and began dragging it behind him.

“Why-”

“I don’t want to ruin our armchair,” he said as an explanation and jerked his head in the direction of your bedroom, motioning for you to follow him.

The mirror in your bedroom was one of your favorite things in the house. It sat on the floor leaned up against the wall with a large ornate frame encompassing it. It was almost taller than you, and weighed about sixty pounds. Its gold paint was chipping in the corners and it was a bit scuffed up, but it was still the best find you’d ever made at the antique fair and you stood by that. You still remembered carrying it home the day you bought it. Tom had filmed the process instead of helping, watching you struggle with the newspaper-wrapped package through the screen on his phone with a smug grin on his face the entire time.

Tom set the chair on the floor in front of the mirror and began to strip, pulling off his hoodie first before shimmying out of his joggers. You followed in suit by unzipping your skirt and letting it fall to the ground. You stepped out of it and went for your shirt next, yanking it over your head. Your hands went for the clasp of your bra after that before thinking twice.

“Do you want my bra off or-”

He seemed to think about it for a moment before answering. “Leave it on.”

You nodded and dropped your hands back by your side, watching him grab his notebook from the desk and settle on the chair. He was completely naked now, and you were left in just your underwear, a scene you both were intimately familiar with.

He spat into his palm and took his cock in his hand, pumping a few times before you stopped him.

“Let me,” you offered, kneeling on the floor in front of him.

He groaned and handed over his control easily. You grinned to yourself before taking him in your mouth. You knew he’d never pass up an opportunity to have you suck him off.

You worked slowly, taking your time, enjoying the feeling of him getting hard on your tongue. Tom gripped your hair with one hand and clutched his notebook with the other. He fought to keep his eyes open, to keep his head upright. In the mirror he could see the back of your head bobbing up and down on his lap, the expanse of your back, every scar, freckle, and mole he’d seen a thousand times before but now from a different angle.

You hollowed out your cheeks and took him to the back of your throat, trying not to laugh when you heard him curse.

“Stop,” he breathed out, pulling you off of him by your hair. “You’re a menace.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and smiled. “Thank you.”

He glared at you for a moment before flicking his gaze downwards.

“I’d ask if you want me to return the favor, but I don’t think I need to.” He reached out to prove his point and brushed a couple fingers over your panties, ignoring the way you trembled as he did. He held his hand up to you to show you the wetness gathered on his pointer and index before bringing them to his lips and sucking it off. “You’re plenty wet already.”

You suppressed a moan and pursed your lips, nodding in agreement.

Tom didn’t have to say anything for you to know what he wanted next. You slipped out of your panties and tossed them to the side. He wrapped an arm around your waist as you straddled him and lined yourself up. You both sighed as you sank down onto his cock. He kissed you deeply, winding a hand through hair and moaning your name. You let your head rest against his shoulder and tried not to rock your hips forward. Your boyfriend was having similar issues, hips stuttering underneath you, head falling back in pleasure.

“T-tommy,” you gasped.

“Don’t,” he warned through gritted teeth. You clenched around him involuntarily and whined. “What did I just say?”

“Sorry, can’t help it.”

He took a deep breath and began flipping through the pages of his notebook. You craned your neck to look back at your reflection in the mirror, smiling weakly at the sight. Tom had an arm slung loosely around your waist still. His cheeks were rosy and warm to the touch. Your ass was on full display at this angle, but you didn’t mind. You knew it was your boyfriend’s favorite view anyway, and you weren’t ashamed to admit that you could see why.

The way you were seated on his lap made it look like you could have just been cuddling. The reflection didn’t show Tom's cock buried deep inside your pussy and your breathing had slowed to somewhat of a normal pace.

Tom began to recite his lines to himself and you turned your attention back to him, admiring how he looked while he was concentrating. His eyelashes were so fucking long, it was something you had always been jealous of. The light filtering into the room made them look blond...

You were doing so good. You were relaxing comfortably, lost in your own thoughts, when Tom moved for the first time. He was just scratching his ankle, but the sudden movement made you yelp.

“Don’t do that!” you cried.

“What, this?” he asked and bent down to scratch his ankle again.

“Yes, that,” you growled.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“What about this?”

He leaned back and stretched his arms above his head.

“That’s worse!” you hissed.

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.” He just shrugged and tossed his notebook on the bed. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Could use a break,” he replied simply, “and it’s hard to focus with distractions.”

The last part was pointed at you and you narrowed your eyes.

“I have been perfectly still.”

“Yeah, but your... impatience is, well, physical.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re soaking, love.”

You looked down at Tom's lap and suddenly realized what he meant. Your arousal was quite literally dripping onto his thighs and the chair beneath you. That was why he didn’t want to use the armchair. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment and buried your head in your boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Fuck, I’m sorry!”

He chuckled and rubbed a hand up and down your back comfortingly. “Don’t be! I know you can’t help it, and it’s honestly really fucking hot.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No,” he promised and shook his head adamantly. “I like that I have this effect on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

“I know.”

“So this fantasy of yours,” he said, clearing his throat. “How does it end?"

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“You.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I get to pick how it ends?”

“Mhm. I usually leave it up to the imagination so it’s open-ended.”

“You mean when you masturbate to it you cum before it ends so you lose interest?” Tom clarified.

“Maybe.”

“I know you,” he said cockily.

“And like I said, you know what I like.”

“I like to think I do.”

“So tell me what to do.”

“You just like being bossed around.”

“And what about it?”

“Brat,” he spat.

“Bitch.”

Tom smiled and jerked his hips the slightest bit, making you whimper. “Stand up.”

You tried not to show your disappointment, but did as you were told and stood up, wincing at the empty feeling that followed.

“Just for a minute, baby,” he assured you. “Turn around.”

You turned so that you were facing the mirror and let yourself be pulled back onto your boyfriend’s lap. He slid his cock back inside of you almost immediately and praised you for taking it so well.

“I thought you should see yourself,” he whispered against your shoulder.

You moaned, only able to nod in agreement. You were positioned at a bit of an angle now since you were facing forward, but any discomfort you felt evaporated when Tom kissed the back of your neck. He unclasped your bra and let it fall to the floor.

“Look at you,” he murmured as he urged you to start riding him, “fucking yourself on my cock like a slut.”

“Fuck, Tom.”

You forced yourself to look at your reflection, straining your neck so that you could see clearly. You made eye contact with yourself only to see a stranger stared back at you. The person in the mirror looked like a fucking pornstar, tits out, legs spread, but also fucked out of their mind.

“Feels so good,” you panted.

“I know, baby, I know.”

Tom brought a hand down to your clit and started to rub in circular motions, a clue that he was getting close. Your legs were shaking at this point and you could feel your own orgasm starting to creep up on you as he slammed into you from behind.

“You look so fucking hot like this,” Tom grunted.

You met his eyes in the reflection and gave a weak smile. “I know.”

“Fuck, y/n!” He came suddenly with a moan of your name. You watched in the mirror as his eyes screwed up and his whole body tensed underneath you.

“Can I- can I cum?” you begged, not even sure if you’d be able to hold out if he said no.

A mere nod of his head was all it took for you to tip over the edge. Tom weakly fucked you through it, still riding the end of his own high.

“So good for me,” he managed in broken breaths.

You arched your back against his chest as you came, mumbling profanities the entire time. You tried to keep your eyes open to watch yourself fall apart, but you only caught glimpses.

You collapsed back against Tom as the aftershocks of your orgasm subsided, gasping for breath like you had just finished running a marathon.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Tom wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head gently. You were both covered in sweat and cum, but neither of you could find the energy to care.

“Of course.”

You let yourself relax against his body for another moment, observing your reflections in the mirror. Your hair was a tangled mess, but so was Tom's. Hickeys were already beginning to bloom on your neck and shoulders, reminders to follow you in the days ahead.

Your eyes wandered up to meet your boyfriend’s, who was already gazing at you tenderly. You shared a brief look and smirked at each other.

“Round two?”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

[writtenfromhawkins]

daylight.

ship: photographer!jonathan byers x model fem!reader

summary: reader finally gets to work with the jonathan byers.

word count: 6.5k.

warnings: drugs/drug use (there is one brief scene where the reader actually uses a hard drug, otherwise it’s just mentioned), swearing, smut, eating,  mentions of creepy behavior and assigning morality to food i.e it being good or bad (it’s the 90s and the fashion industry is gross). just listen to supermodel by maneskin and you’ll get the vibes. minors do not read or interact.

authors note: totally self-indulgent fic here, but i hope you enjoy it anyway. getting this out later than i had anticipated, but if there’s interest, i’ve already come up with some ideas for additional parts.

there are so many lines that i've crossed unforgiven.

Early spring on the East Coast is a dreary affair and even a city as magical as New York can’t escape it. The air crisp, a light downpour made the already heavy traffic come to a standstill and you arrive outside The Plaza a good twenty minutes after you were supposed to.

You probably should have felt at least a little bad about it. Showing up late was never a good look. But hey, you couldn’t control the weather or the traffic or the fact that the photographer’s assistant scouted a hotel that required you to travel to it. 

“Shoulda did this at the Carlyle,” you tell your manager, Murray, who, much to your surprise, had been in the car that picked you up from JFK. This was all a very last-minute affair. You’d sent your own assistant home and had expected to be alone in The Big Apple.

You don’t get a real response, just a gruff laugh as he continues perusing your schedule for the next few days. 

He was a strange man, one who seemingly did not belong in the fashion industry, but he knew what he was doing and made you more money than you thought possible. That was certainly enough to endear you to him.

“Alright,” he says, slamming the planner shut, “this Guess shoot should be over and done quick. I hear this Byers kid is a real professional.”

You don’t say it but you’ve heard the same thing. Somehow this would be the first time working with Jonathan Byers but you certainly were familiar with the name.

Some of the girls had gushed about him—he was so cute and nice and made them feel at ease. Others complained that he didn’t accept their advances or entertain their diva antics. Even worse, one regaled you with a horrific tale of getting caught doing blow on set. He’d tossed the little baggie in the trash without a word. 

Personal opinions varied from model to model but one thing stayed consistent: he was really, really good at his job.

“That means,” Murray continues, “you have the rest of the day and night to yourself. Have fun but, for the love of God, behave yourself. I’m begging you, please. You’ve got two big campaigns coming and name-dropping Gianni can only save your ass so many times.”

You huff at that. You don't even do anything that bad—the tabloids liked to pick on you. Sure, you might have gotten kicked out of a club or two and yeah, you trashed a couple hotel rooms with your shitty ex-boyfriend. You might have even accidentally shoplifted a Chanel scarf once but who hasn’t?

“I’ll be good,” you assure him anyway, properly admonished despite your refusal to accept any wrongdoing. 

“That’s what I like to hear. So, all you gotta do tomorrow is a fitting for Calvin Klein and then you’re free to fuck back off to the West Coast for the rest of the week.”

“Great,” you nod, opening the door.

“You’ll notice the vultures aren’t out right now. Since you just got back from Milan, I figured you could use the break.” You’re actually about to thank him when he says, “but they’ll be here when you’re done so whatever shit they put on your face? Keep it on.”

Asshole. “See you later, Murray.” You don’t give him the chance to say anything else before you’re outside and walking towards the building.

Head low, sunglasses on, you’re able to cross the lobby with zero issues and snag yourself an empty elevator. You settle into the corner, back pressed against the wall as you grab ahold of your Prada bag, dipping into its contents to pull out a tiny, clear vial. You almost salivate at the sight.

Though the neatly packed powder excites you—probably more than it should—the tiniest bit of shame creeps its way in, the way it usually does when you know you’re doing something wrong. It’s for the best. Fashion Week just ended, your flight was long and you were tired—you needed the energy, after all. 

You twist the top off with ease, holding it against the neck of the bottle, so you can slip one manicured nail inside. You pucker your lips, wiping the digit across your top gums once, twice, a third time for good measure, and then you’re putting the lid back on and carefully tucking it away. 

By the time the doors open up on the top floor, you can already feel it. Your body feels warmer, and there’s an extra pep in your step. You’ll feel like shit in a couple hours but for now, you’re golden.

The whole floor was booked, a way to give you privacy and a quiet place to work, but the room you actually needed to be at has its door cracked, they were expecting you. You push your way inside.

Jonathan is directing his assistants as they set up the lighting until he spots you. He pats one on the back, giving one last instruction before heading over.

You’re surprised at first. With the way some of the girls talked about him you expected a little more Brian Austin Green and a little less Kurt Cobain. But then he’s smiling at you and you think you get it.

“Hey! Jonathan Byers,” he introduces himself, extending a hand to you.

You know who he is, he knows who you are, but only pretentious assholes acknowledge that so, you shake his and return the pleasantry.

“Nice to officially meet you.” And the way he says it lets it be known he’s not the only one with a reputation. Yours, though, is a little less sparkling. “Right through there,” an arm extends, motioning towards the bathroom and you catch yourself admiring the sinewy muscle the action exposes before following its direction, “is Gina and Zack.” With both doors open, you can see them in the adjoining room. “They’ll take care of you and then send you back to me.”

It’s most definitely not your first day on a set and, if this was coming from anyone else, you’d find it condescending. But with the way Jonathan says it, it sounds nice, like you’re being looked out for.

“Cool,” you acknowledge the sentiment and head right towards hair and makeup.

—

In no time your hair has been teased, your cheeks highlighted and your lips glossed. You emerge from the bathroom in a black cocktail dress.

Jonathan claps his hands together when he sees you. “There she is! We’re gonna start off on the dresser. Can you get up there?”

You can and you do. Once you’re situated, you pull the hem of the dress down slightly and look up at him expectantly.

“Need you to move a little.”

When you do, he shakes his head. “No, no, I need you…” He trails off, sighing. “Back, a little more to the left.”

You shimmy your entire body in the direction he mentioned but he still doesn’t look pleased. “That’s not—“ His gaze flickers from you to Gina, the makeup artist, who is lingering nearby for touch-ups. “Can I do it?”

In quite literally any other situation a photographer wanting to touch you would be enough to send up hundreds of red flags and set off all the alarms. It’s their way of trying to cop a feel or start something equally unseemly. But, despite all your experience and years in the business, nothing in the request was enough to unnerve you. 

You just met the man and you were finding yourself trusting him, feeling as though you were actually safe. So the decision was an easy one, you nod your consent. 

Once you agree, Jonathan loops the strap of his camera around his neck and steps toward you, the heel of your stilettos brushing against his knee. Two big hand grabs ahold of your hips and, with surprising ease, slides you back to your original position, only with your left hip cocked back leaving you at an angle.

Somehow you’d just been manhandled in the gentlest, most respectful way possible.

You gaze up at him to see he’s already looking at you. Jonathan studies you for a moment—really, really studies you—and seems to see something he doesn’t like as the corner of his lips twitch downward before he steps back. 

“Perfect. Don’t move, okay?”

You take a few pictures exactly in that position. Another with you bent down, cleavage exposed, one finger hooked in the back of your heel as if you’re taking it off. Another with your legs spread but only slightly—we’re not shooting for Penthouse here, Jonathan had said.

The next outfit is a completely unbuttoned white dress shirt, a lacy black bra, and a pencil skirt in the same dark shade. You don’t know if slutty businesswoman really fits Guess but who are you to complain?

From the door to the nightstand by the bed, you’re photographed undressing as you cross the room. The shirt is discarded immediately, the rest is an illusion, hinting at nudity as you unzip the skirt but never pull the fabric below your hips.

Last is a tiny little romper and stockings which you’re donning as you’re sprawled out on the mattress, arm by your head. It’s fitting because all you want is to crawl into bed minus the glitz and glamor and the designer clothes. By this point, you’re coming down. The high never lasted long enough but, after only getting a tiny amount far too long ago, it was painfully brief. You’re a little foggy and tired, and you hope, as you switch poses, Jonathan can’t see your hands shake.

“I need you to kneel on the bed for me now.”

You’re a little slow, but you get into position as requested—

“Ass off your heels, please.”

Okay, almost as requested. At the order, you lift your bum up, looking at Jonathan, almost expecting some praise. It doesn’t come. You only know you’re where he wants you because he raises the camera. You drop your hands to your thighs, tilt your head and prepare for the telltale flash that never comes.

“You’re totally dead behind the eyes.”

“What?”

He looks at you with a frown. “Nothing is going on up here,” he points to his own visage, “you look bored, tired.”

You freeze, feeling like you’re caught. “I-uh,” you stammer, wincing at your lack of an immediate answer. Could this get any worse? “I am tired. I was just in Italy and I came here right off the plane.”

“Uh huh,” Jonathan nods. You don’t think he believes you. “But the people who see these pictures aren’t gonna get the backstory. You gotta grab them on first look so I really need you to try to perk up a little.”

You bristle, embarrassed to have let anything affect your work. “Got it.”

“Look at the camera like it’s a delicious, juicy steak.”

“I’m a vegetarian.” It’s supposed to be a joke but he doesn’t laugh.

“Then a nicely seasoned chunk of tofu. We’re almost done here, let’s get this last shot and finish up.”

You sigh as you look at the gadget, desperate to finish the shoot off on a high note. You do everything you can—you picture the camera as a beautiful man, a beautiful woman, a brand new Balenciaga.

You have no idea if it’s working until Jonathan says, “that’s a wrap.” He comes around to your side of the bed and offers his hand, which you take. “Let’s get you changed.”

Once you’re back in your street clothes, you say your goodbyes and thank yous to the people on set. It’s a nicety that you don’t partake in often, just when you’re trying to make a good impression. 

The rounds, as expected, take a while and you’re deliberate in their order, saving Jonathan for last. When you approach him, drained but still enthusiastic, it’s with a smile. “I wanted to say goodbye! It was really nice to work with you.” It’s true and you hope to do it again.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It was a pleasure.” He sounds sincere as he grabs your elbow and leans close. You almost think he’s going to kiss your cheek but he goes past, lips an inch from your ear, his voice just a whisper. “Next time, show up sober.”

—

maybe i've stormed out of every single room in this town.

It doesn’t take long for your jet-set lifestyle to have you back in New York. It’s closer to summer, still a little cold, but not enough to deter you from wearing your favorite little red dress when night hits and you receive an invitation to hit the town with some friends. The Roxy most certainly deserved to see you at your best.

Besides, you believed that part of feeling good was looking good and you were certainly both as you settled into the VIP section your group had snagged, bottles and shots flowing. You’d just gotten comfortable, only able to drink half of your vodka cranberry, when, without even really thinking, you grabbed a Marlboro Red and lit up. You didn’t even get the chance to take a drag before security was stomping over.

“Hello, miss, we’re gonna need you to put that out. This isn’t the smoking section.”

“Excuse me?” You pull back, instantly bothered by the intrusion.

“You can’t smoke here,” the security guard explains, a little more straight to the point this time.

Entirely out of spite, you bring the ciggy to your lips, inhaling deeply before exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Interesting, because it seems like I’m managing to do it just fine.”

The man’s jaw clenches, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “I’m going to ask you one more time, please put that out.”

You shake your head, stubborn, annoyed that your buzz had been killed before you could even get a real one going. “Don’t think I’m going to do that.”

“Okay, then you need to leave.”

“Yeah, don’t think I’m gonna do that either.”

You’re being unreasonable. He’s rough and a bit loud, he’s a New Yorker after all, but the man just doing his job certainly has not been unkind to you. There's no reason for you to not comply with the club rules… besides the fact that you have a problem with authority. You hate being told what to do and you’re beyond frustrated that your night out—always damn near a religious experience for you—had been interrupted.

“Well, those are your options. Put out the cigarette or go.”

Eyes rolling towards the ceiling, you grab your purse from beside you and wiggle it. “How much to make you go away so we can go back to enjoying ourselves?”

“Alright,” he says, reaching over to grab ahold of your arm, “it’s time for you to go.”

“Hey,” you call out, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. He tightens his hold as you struggle. “Let go of me.”

“You need to leave now!” Still doing his best to be gentle, he pulls you to your feet and leads you down the stairs.

“This is ridiculous.” All the way you’re pulling, pushing, all in an attempt to get free. In the may lay, the still lit cigarette fell from your grasp, getting stomped out shortly after by another patron’s dancing feet.

“You had your chance.” He’s talking to you the way one would a naughty toddler and it rubs you the wrong way—as if he hadn’t already done enough to end up on your shit list. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you scoff, ignoring the curious stares as you pass, “Do you even know who I am?”

“Yup,” he’s quick to answer. “You’re the lady too stubborn to put out a stupid cigarette.” You don’t know how he’s managed it but he’s gotten you to the door much quicker than you could have anticipated.

With a soft push to your back, he’s nudging you through it. “Now, you enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Asshole!” You call back of your shoulder, arms crossing over your chest.

You’re alone, it’s late and you need to figure out a way to call a car—there’s no way you were going to take a taxi, you were down bad, but not that bad. Before you can make any plans, you hear a voice behind you say, “Man, that was really embarrassing.”

It’s been a while, but you still recognize it instantly. “Jonathan Byers,” you almost sound impressed. “What are you doing here?”

“Once a year they let me out to socialize with all the beautiful people.” He moves so he’s beside you now. You can see he cleans up pretty well. “Got here just in time to see the end of your temper tantrum.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“Right.” He’s smirking because you’re full of shit and he can tell. “Can’t believe they threw you out like that for no reason. Don’t they know who you are?” His amusement, though, fades as he leans a little closer. “How fucked up are you?”

That was the problem. “I’m not, I’m totally sober,” you bemoan as if there was no bigger tragedy than not being plastered on a Friday night. “Listen—”

You’re ready to ask if he had a cell on him—your hunk of brick had taken an unfortunate trip earlier that month backstage at a show when you were feeling particularly miffed—when you’re interrupted by flashing lights. Paparazzi, of course. When you first got there, you’d been able to enter through the back exit. Now, though, you got thrown out the front door and were a literal sitting duck.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You become frantic, hands jumping to your hair, patting it down, moving to your stomach, smoothing wrinkled fabric. “Murray is gonna kill me if they catch me lookin’ a mess.”

In a second, Jonathan gets an idea. It’s probably (definitely) not a good one, impulsive, sure to disrupt his night. But he’s certain the friends he’s going to have to ditch will understand. “Think you can run in those?”

You follow his gaze down to your shoes. They’re sky-high and strappy. “I’m sure as hell willing to try.”

Before you can react further, Jonathan grabs you and is leading you down the sidewalk before you both break out into a full-on sprint, the sound of your name getting more and more distant. All the paparazzi get are a few shots of your back, hand-in-hand with a “mystery” man.

A few poorly lit, sketchy alleys and sharp turns later, you’re in a parking lot. You practically throw yourself against the nearest car, cold metal soothing your warm skin. You hunch forward, breath labored, smile wide. Jonathan is right beside you, laughing, face flushed and you take a moment to just appreciate the sight.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Heard that a time or two,” he teases, catching your gaze. “I’m parked somewhere in here… You need a ride?”

“You have a car? In New York City?”

“Makes escaping from paparazzi really easy.” It’s a total joke. 

Up until a matter of minutes ago, he had zero experience with the concept and hadn’t even been sure his plan would work. Outside of those in the industry, he was able to maintain a certain anonymity and that was a serious benefit to being on the other side of the camera. “Come on, where am I taking you?”

You didn’t think it was possible but somehow your grin gets bigger.

—

In record time, you’re idling outside the Carlyle, the only hotel you’re willing to stay at in the city, a few slices of dollar pizza Jonathan had insisted on paying for on your lap. You’re quiet, so is he. But you’re not sitting in silence, Man In the Box plays on the radio. You picked it out.

As soon as you’d gotten settled in the passenger seat, you started rummaging through his CDs. Turns out, you had very different taste in music, not a surprise, and that was the only band you recognized. Your latest douchebag you’d dated for a couple weeks had been a big fan and dragged you to a show.

“So…” The word comes out in a single breath as you grip the handle but don’t open the door. “Do you wanna come up with me?”

He takes so long to answer you think he’s going to say no but, much to your surprise, he says, “Yeah, sure.”

One quiet elevator ride later, you’re opening the door, kicking your shoes off, and tossing your purse and room key on the bed. You plop down on the sofa and motion him forwards. “Come on,” you hold up a piece of pizza in each hand, “let’s eat.”

He ends up on the opposite side of the couch, pressed as tightly to the armrest as he could be while you take up the rest of the space, legs stretched out and toes tucked under his hip. 

You take your first bite and hum in pleasure, eyes closing. “This was a really good choice.”

“I practically lived off this shit when I first moved here,” Jonathan admits. “I know all the best cheap spots.”

“How did you even end up in New York?” The question falls out before you can even think about it. You don’t want to come off as nosey, but you’re curious. “Aren’t you from, uh, Illinois?”

“Indiana,” he corrects. “Hawkins, Indiana.” You blink, you’ve never heard of the place. “It’s a tiny, tiny town a couple hours outside of Indianapolis.”

You nod as if that clears everything up. “Big difference compared to here.”

“Huge,” he agrees, wiping the corner of his lip with a napkin. He misses a spot, you don’t mention it. “Always wanted to go to NYU, though. So I think I was prepared for it in a way.”

“NYU,” you repeat. “Good school. I’m guessing that’s where you majored in photography?”

“Yup.”

“How’d that translate to you getting involved in fashion? Doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“You got that right,” Jonathan laughs. Not your first time hearing it that night but you decide in that moment you really like the sound of it. “I honestly kinda stumbled into it by accident. A friend of a friend needed a photographer for a show and she sweet-talked me enough that I couldn’t say no. 

“Then I guess I liked it enough that I never stopped.” Younger him would be shocked. He always pictured himself photographing world events or foreign conflicts. “Not as cool of a story as yours, though. Didn’t Vogue say you were discovered in Paris?”

He says it like it’s no big deal but you’re honored that, not only had he read something about you, he even remembered. “Yeah, I was on vacation with a friend. We went out one night, ran into the right person, and here we are.”

“So you just went out to grab a drink and someone decided you should be on magazines?” He shrugs. “Makes sense. So you were on a trip to Paris but you’re from…”

“Here, actually. Born and raised on the Upper East Side.”

Jonathan can’t help himself. When you admit you’re a born and bred New Yorker, he looks around, wondering why you’re here in a nice, yes, but impersonal hotel room. He doesn’t ask about it, though. Instead, he settles for a diplomatic, “Must be nice to be able to come back so often.”

“I guess.” You’re non-committal because, while you love New York, there’s no real sentimental value to it. You’re not close with your family and you always avoid the Brownstone you grew up in. “It’s nice to visit some of the old haunts, for sure.”

From there, with the basics out of the way, the two of you settle into an informal game of 20 questions. You find out he has a young brother, his favorite color is green and he really likes the Friday The 13th franchise.

You talk about your love for travel, how buying beachfront is the best decision you ever made, and your almost excessive collection of glass dolphin figurines.

You trade facts, both important and seemingly insignificant until it’s the wee hours in the morning and you can’t keep your eyes open anymore.

—

When you wake up, still on the couch, a blanket has been draped over you, the sun is shining through the open curtains and you’re alone. It doesn’t surprise you, there was no need for Jonathan to stay, but you still find yourself disappointed as you swing your feet to the ground and sit up.

You’re mid-stretch, arms raised to the ceiling when you heard the door open. You jump, contorting your body so you’re both cowering behind the back of the sofa and peeking over it.

No masked intruder appears. it’s only nice, totally not scary Jonathan with your room key in one hand and a greasy paper bag in the other.

He seems amused by your reaction but still manages to let out a barely believable “sorry” as he walks towards you, handing off both items.

“Didn’t think you’d be up yet,” he admits, fighting a smile. “I’ve got an early morning shoot so I need to head out. I figured I’d drop by the bodega and grab breakfast before I do.”

You didn’t even notice you were hungry until you realize what you were holding—a delicious, totally bad-for-you bacon egg and cheese. You can’t remember the last time you had a BEC, too much fat and carbs and far too naughty, but you’ll enjoy every second you spend devouring it.

Your finger pokes at a spot where the grease made the paper especially thin, and you grin. “You’re a bad influence, Jonathan.”

“Jon.” The correction is a knee-jerk reaction, one even he hadn’t been expecting. The list of people who call him that is very small and you apparently just got added to it.

“Well, Jon,” you put emphasis on the second word, “thank you. For breakfast and last night. I had fun.”

“Me too.”

A silence falls over the two of you, neither speaking until Jonathan clears his throat and motions towards the door, “Well, I should…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. See you around?”

“Definitely.”

—

all of you, all of me intertwined.

The next time you see Jonathan it’s in Paris for Fashion Week.

“I can’t believe they brought you all the way out here for runway work.” You associate him with editorials, high fashion magazines, and designer campaigns.

He waves that off. “Karl’s always been so good to me. If he calls, I answer.”

“So you’re just doing the Chanel show today?”

“Mhm,” he confirms, nonchalant. 

You’re a bit busier, having to walk for Givenchy, Dior, and Jean Paul Gaultier. For models, being a bigger name was both a blessing and a curse: more shows, more publicity, more money. But a busier schedule also meant more pressure and less free time.

“It’s gonna be a while, but do you wanna grab dinner or something later?” You weren’t one to beat around the bush. It’d been a while and the two of you ending up in the same city in another country felt a little bit like fate.

“Don’t they have parties after these things?” He knows they do, he just can’t believe you’d willingly miss out on one.

“Yeah, why? You going?”

That gets a chuckle out of him. “Fuck no. I guess I figured you would be, though.”

You shrug. “I think I can miss one. So… dinner?”

“It’s a date.”

He says it so casually like it’s nothing, but the implication weighs heavily on you. Through hair and make-up, last-minute fittings, and the actual shows, that’s all you can think about.

—

You decide on a little café near your hotel. It’s not the height of cuisine, especially not in a city like Paris, but Jonathan certainly wasn’t going to complain and it’s easy for you.

It had been a long day and you were feeling the effects. You rarely did a show without a little help, let alone three. But you hadn’t forgotten the first time you met Jonathan.

Next time, show up sober.

Sober was an interesting concept, something you didn’t find yourself being often. Sometimes it was a more hedonistic desire—to indulge, to have a little fun. Others it was purely professional, a little bump here and there to give you some energy, to give you an edge. It was a routine—definitely not an addiction, as you always insisted—that you’d been so quick to disrupt because… well, you weren’t entirely sure why.

You were drawn to Jonathan. In an industry full of fake and phony, he was real, refreshing. Maybe—just maybe—that made you wanna do better. At least, you know, when he was around.

You lounged in the dark, iron seat, picking at your croissant between breaks in conversation. A full meal seemed like too much so you both decided on pastries and fancy little drinks.

“I saw your last show. You did great.”

You look up, surprised. “Seriously?”

“How did those giant ass hats not mess up your balance?”

“What?” You guffaw, hand flying to your mouth in hopes of quieting the noise. Givenchy’s show had a few fanciful accessories, but none that obstructed day-to-day movement. “They’re just straw, Jon.”

“Oh. Well, they were still kinda silly.” He leaves forward conspiratorially, voice quiet, a brow quirked. “I don’t think I understand fashion.”

You beam back at him, “I promise your secret is safe with me.”

“You looked beautiful, though. Even with the hats.”

You preen at the praise, practically glowing. But you play it off, tone almost teasing as you say, “Alright, you sweet talker.” You still want to seem cool and collected.

Jonathan picks up his cup and takes a sip. Left behind is a little whip cream mustache.

“Oh, you got a little—“ You point to your mouth, watching as he gets the message, hand dropping to the table to grab a napkin.

He doesn’t get the chance to make another move before you’re leaning over the table, thumb swiping over the smooth skin. You’re the closest you’ve ever been to him. You can feel his breath, see the way his brow furrows, the way his eyelashes kiss his cheeks when he blinks.

Head fuzzy, abandoning any restraint, you cut the little bit of space left and press your lips to his. You’re in public so it’s not as wild and passionate as maybe you would expect—or hope. But it is nice, soft. He tastes like mocha and Chapstick and it feels right.

You don’t want it to stop but he pulls away far too soon for your tastes. He’s quiet and you’re worried you crossed a line, maybe read some signals wrong. But then he’s smiling, resting his forehead against yours. “Where are you staying? Are you closer?”

—

The walk to your hotel is brisk and fun. You’re holding hands, bumping shoulders, giggling. You feel like a teenager again. If that was innocent, sweet, the ride in the elevator is anything but. You get in more messy kisses and heavy petting than you thought possible in a brief lift ride.

Even then, you’re both holding onto the little bit of self-control you have left until you’re in the safety of the hotel room. The door shuts and a switch flips, Jonathan spins you around so your back is pressed against it. His hands grip your hips, yours rest on his chest.

He’s always gentle, and deliberate in his actions, but now he’s running on instinct, primal need. His hands move to your chest, fingers sliding into the gaps of your blouse. There are too many buttons for him to mess with so he pulls them apart, sending them flying to the floor. His eyes widen, and he licks his lips—you’re not wearing a bra.

You pull away, gasping. “Jon, I liked that shirt. It was Chanel.”

He’s in no way apologetic when he says, “I’ll get you another one. I know a guy.”

He means it too. But exploring the newly exposed flesh is far more interesting to him than discussing clothing. Pushing the now torn fabric off your shoulders and tossing it to the ground, his mouth attacks your neck, sucking on a sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into shoulders, back arching, and god, he would do anything to hear that noise again. Only once he’s sure he has paid enough attention to that side, he switches, still being mindful of your work, careful not to leave any marks.

Your grip moves from his shoulders to the hem of his shirt, tugging on the fabric. “Wanna see you.”

How could he deny you of that? He breaks contact just long enough to rid himself of the garment before he’s back on you, lips moving from your neck to your chest.

You marvel at the smooth skin that’s been unveiled, surprised by the hard muscle beneath your touch. His definition is a sneaky one, he’s lean, almost kind of soft looking, but built. He’s beautiful.

Jonathan’s mouth is occupied, tongue flicking against one hard nipple has his hands travel lower. With the ease of experience, he pops the button of your jeans and slips a finger past the band of your panties, swiping it against your folds.

“You’re soaked, baby. Soaked.”

You practically whimper at the words, rutting your hips, desperate for some friction. “More, please.”

“I hear you, baby, I hear you.”

He has all sorts of ideas in mind but they require there to be far less clothing involved.

Jonathan pulls his hand back, grabbing ahold of your pants and underwear, pulling them down in one swift motion. He helps you step out of them, his hand finding the small of your back to urge you forward. “Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

The rest of his clothing joins you on the floor—in his haste to get to you, his foot catches in his slacks and sends him stumbling, he prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that you don’t notice—and by that point, you are sprawled across the bed, chest heaving. You’re desperate for him and he has to take a moment to just marvel at you. “You are…” every word in existence flies through his head—breathing, stunning, exquisite—all are fitting but he settles on “incredible.”

“Just c’mere.” With more skin exposed, you’re even more eager, hands reaching out towards him. He’s not just beautiful, you’re able to confirm, that he’s beautiful from head to toe.

He indulges your desire, crawling into bed, hovering above you, his hands coming up to rest on either side of your head as he dipped low, mouth finding yours. This kiss was different than the others. Sloppy, but with the knowledge that you didn’t have to rush, that you both could take your time and enjoy each other. Caged beneath him, you think you can get used to this.

Almost reluctantly, he pulls away, his lips leaving a trail down your neck, your sternum, wet kisses being left on your stomach. The lower he gets, the more time he takes until he’s right above your pussy. On instinct, your legs spread and he settles in-between them.

“This okay?” He asks.

Eyes squeezed shut, you’re beyond words so you nod. He nips at your thigh, not hard but enough bite behind it to get your attention.

“Gotta be sure you want this, sweetheart. I really need you to use your words, okay?”

You let out a huff of air, body on fire. “Yes, yes, it’s okay. More than okay. Want you.”

Satisfied, he lowers himself back down, but your hands stop him before his mouth can make content. “No, no, I want to feel you.”

He’s surprised and, wanting a taste, a little disappointed. Jonathan sits back, looking at you. “You sure?” His gaze moves to his crumpled pair of pants where his wallet sat. “I didn’t bring anything.” He sure as fuck did not expect the night to go this way.

“I’m on the pill, it’s fine.” You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Just need you inside me.”

Well, fuck. Who could say no to that? He dips two fingers in your wetness, and curls them inside you, just teasing at this point, before wrapping the digits around his length and pumping it a few times. He lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes in, inch by inch.

His hands fall to your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh. “How you feeling, baby?”

“Good,” you assure him, “need more.”

At your assurance, he starts thrusting, not too hard, but steady. He looks down watching himself go in and out of you, still amazed he ended up in your bed.

You moan and tremble underneath him, enough to spur him to go a little harder, a little faster. Your whines and his breathy groans mix in the air. It’s a nice sound.

Keeping up with the pace he set, he leans forward, bracing himself on his forearms so he can capture your lips in a bruising kiss. You’re sweaty, out of breath and Jonathan is sure he’d never seen you look better—not even on the cover of magazines.

He dips to nibble at the flesh of your neck, across your collarbone. You arch off the bed, almost embarrassed by how quickly you came undone and you can feel that familiar tightness in your belly.

“I’m close,” your voice is husky, barely above a whisper.

That’s all he needs to hear. He balances him on one arm, the other sliding in between your two bodies, the pad of his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in slow, tight circles.

Your arms fly up, wrapping around his shoulders, manicured nails digging into the flesh there.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he encourages, continuing to pump into you. “Let go, need to see you cum for me.”

His words alone are enough to send you over the edge but coming with his strong, steady strokes and his thumb on your clit, it’s almost too much. Your thighs clench, your toes curl and you come completely undone.

He’s not long behind you. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” your quick to answer, still coming down. “I want you to come cum inside me.”

He groans, taking one deep thrust and he’s done, officially too far gone, spilling his seed. Jonathan pumps into you, slow, milking the rest out of him before he comes to a stop, staying perfectly still for a few moments before pulling out.

He collapses beside you, trying to catch his breath.

You’re tired, legs still quivering and you’re totally on cloud nine. “Can’t believe that just happened.”

“I’ve been thinking about it since I met you,” he admits. “Next time—“

If possible, the words perk you up even more. Gone is any desire to seem cool, unbothered. You twist around to get a good look at him. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Jonathan pauses, bravado slipping a bit. “If, you know, you want to.”

You shift a bit, pressing a kiss to the part of his body closest to you—his bicep. “I definitely want to.”

—

[ktheist]

take my whole life too | m

muses. jeongguk x heir!reader

genre. chaebol au. arranged marriage au. expecting parents au.

words. 5k

warnings. dad!jeongguk, house husband!jeongguk, simp!jeongguk, implied smut verging on actual smut, mentions of break up and arguments

x

you never gave much thought for jeon jeongguk - not for how he looks, not for how much he makes, not for how compatible you are together. nothing. so much for promising to stay together through health and sickness till death do you apart.

but that’s just the thing, you were willing to let go of your heart in exchange for the wealth of your family. which is inherently yours until the findings of your grandfather’s will appointing his administrators the task of safeguarding the billions of dollar estate against his unmarried granddaughter who to be fair, has always had her eyes on that bejeweled ring of his. it’s less about the diamond and more about what possessing - legally, of course - the ring could do. for one, nobody could challenge your legitimacy as the chairman of luxean. and boy, do your overbearing aunties like to nitpick every little thing you do at the board meeting just to put their sons and daughters in a better light.

so yeah, you would say sacrificing your non-existent possibility of falling in love would suffice. plus, jeongguk can go shopping for convertibles with a swipe of a card, fly from london to italy to greece and back to london within one night. heck, he can even have a steamy hot night with the locals and bring back a greek goddess of a mistress if he wanted to.

except for one problem: he wants to do all those things with you.

well, considering how he stripped down to just pants with the buckle undone and protrusion of well defined abs that leads to a tantalizing v-line beneath the contrasting black band of his calvin klein halfway to the bedroom of your suite after the ceremony, completely disregarding the fact you never spoke to him unless you were in the presence of other people - watching eyes - and the limited time you have to change into your second outfits, you figured he’d want more than just hot and steamy nights in paris and peaceful quiet mornings in athens in your sundress and off white spring hats.

he either hasn’t figured out that he’s just a tool for you to gain public opinion or he doesn’t particularly care as long as he’s getting some.

“you’re leaving?” the voice that asked the very obvious question bears a sort of despondency to it.

when you turn to face the man lying naked - and looking like a well sculpted greek god at that - in the bed, you curse yourself for forgetting the one simple thing that you promise yourself not to do: look at him in the eye. by god, you’ve never seen anyone -  any man - who could be so good at weakening your resolution and making you want to climb into bed and cuddle him like a puppy.

“didn’t soyeon tell you i have a meeting?” you manage to sound casual about it for the most part as you put on the earrings that lie abandoned on the vanity when jeongguk came in just before you were almost done with your make up and bent you over the vanity to fuck you once before carrying you to the bed and fuck you in your sensitive state.

“i know,” he mumbles.

and when only silence follows suit, you can’t help but let your hands rest on your hip as you raise your eyebrows, “but?”

it takes a moment of the man trapping his bottom lip between his teeth and leaving it with a sort of pinkish shine when he releases it, “can we have another go?”

“you’re hard?” this time, the surprise in your voice is unconcealable, “again?”

“i know - i’m sorry - it’s just... that dress looks really good on you,” he doesn’t even bother to hide his ogling.

so to answer the question of whether you fucked him that time at your suite when you were supposed to change, yes you did.

“sounds like a you kind of problem,” you wave with the hand that picked up your purse - all your essentials already there, “go out and have a look at athens before we fly for london tomorrow - oh and maybe grab some dinner for yourself.”

“when will you be back?” as much as you like to think you’re indifferent to your husband, you can’t help but think he looks endearing for shying away from your gaze and rubbing the back of his head hesitantly, “i thought maybe we could have dinner together.”

there’s a strain in his voice but you brush it off, shrugging, “what do you think meetings like this are held over? i am going for dinner,” you want to take that back as soon as it escaped your lips but instead, you turn around, “anyways, don’t wait up.”

that’s one habit that he seems to have - waiting for you until you climb into bed with him after long hours of frying your eyes in front of the laptop in the common area.

either way, you strut out of your suite, leaving your husband with a semi-hard cock, you didn’t miss the way it twitched at your blatant rejection just before you turned your back on him.

and so you go about your day, the meeting coming to a close flawlessly as with a signed contract and a meal worthy of the restaurant’s reputation. by the time you thought the approaching figure from the corner of your eyes is the waiter bringing your desserts, kim taehyung was in the middle of thanking you “for meeting me on such a short notice, on your honeymoon at that.”

“i should thank you for reaching out to my secretary when you heard i’d be here too,” you chuckle, hand pushing a stray hair to the back of your ear before your gaze travels up to meet the man’s, “my grandfather always says, there’s no security on this earth, only opportunity,” raising the wine glass mid air, you offer him a smile, “and god does not help anyone seize it unless they do so themselves.”

“the late chairman was a wise man,” he raises his own glass, only to freeze at an awkward angle when the waiter finally approaches you.

except it isn’t the waiter. 

it’s-

“___,” a voice fills your ears like velvet on skin, you already know who it belongs to before you even look up at the man whose out-of-character furrowed brows and pressed lips all but makes you want to shoot up from your seat and spout out explanations you don’t even owe him, “i thought i’d pick you up since it’s,” he checks his rolex - it was the first thing you bought him after assessing his lack of accessory after you’d both signed the contract, “half an hour till midnight and the polignotou isn’t going to wait for us.”

taehyung is the one to break the silence, “it seems i’ve taken up too much of your time.”

before you can even refute it, he’s already standing up and fixing his blazer before stepping to the side to properly face your husband. 

“congratulations of your marriage, mr. jeon,” then he turns to you, his smile just as excellent at yours when it comes to hiding your emotions and that could only mean that tonight is drawing to an end on a bad note thanks to your husband’s interruption, “mrs. jeon.”

and with a final words of ‘i’ll have my secretary send you the papers soon’, he’s gone like the wind.

“what are you doing here? i told you i had a meeting! not gallivanting with some greek men!” the words come out in a low hiss when he takes the abandoned seat across from you as you gaze around the vicinity in case there are other business acquaintances that happen to know you.

“i’m sorry -” he mumbles out, “i was walking down the streets and i saw you at the balcony of the restaurant and-” he stops short of his words, tongue darting out over his lower lip for the briefest moment.

“and?” you echo, brows arched.

“i got jealous of seeing you with another guy,” his voice is barely above whisper but you hear it loud and clear.

you’re almost sure that you’ve slipped but and let your eyes narrow at him like a puzzle that you can’t figure out but it’s gone in a heartbeat as you pick up your purse and clear your throat. possibly in search for the right words to say but perhaps also an admittance of your caught-off-guard situation.

either way you stand up, “let’s go, the street starts getting scarcer by 2 and i’d rather stay safe and walk with more people than less.”

x

you did end up walking.

it was a halfway walk but it’s still a walk, that was, until you saw jeongguk pulling on the material of his pants every two minutes. the lack of lights did well to hide it but even then, your eyes automatically pans towards the noticeable protrusion in between his legs. as if your body has completely adapted to his scent - that subtle but evident scent of masculinity, his gaze - the pure, unadulterated desire within the shadows in his eyes and his touch - the way his hand seems to inch lower down your ass before he traces back up to settle on the dip of your spine before it left you cold and unattended when he started to tug on his pants.

“jeongguk -ah, fuck,” you bite back the moan that spills over your lips, “you’re making too much noise.”

“yeah?” his voice bears a lull to it as he thrusts in and out of you in the way that makes your legs come together and your heart leap all the way to your throat as your hands grip onto the dampened cart jeongguk pushed you against in the closest alleyway you were walking towards before he bent you over, lifted up your dress and pulled your panties down.

not even a minute passed before you felt him inside you. and by god, did you feel filled to the brim. the sheen of sweat coating your skin is cold against the chilly night air, the sinful sounds echoing off the walls makes you pray for the first time in a long time that no one is nearby and the way jeongguk is hitting all your sweet spots has you gritting your teeth in hopes that it’d be one less sound to get you arrested for public indecency.

in a country that you’re not a citizen of, at that.

you’re not sure how you got back to your suite and how the hell did you switch into your night dress but you have an inkling that it has something to do with the man whose arm traps you against a hard, muscled body when you started shifting to wake.

his breath fans the back of your neck as he slurs his words but you can make out a ‘five more minutes’ after a grumble and a faint ‘chaeyoung’ at the end.

“no,” you’re not sure what or who you’re saying the words of rejection to, but you slam a fist into arm that’s holding you, “let me go! jeongguk! let me go!”

he finally does at the bloodcurdling scream that could wake up the whole city. but somehow security hasn’t come bursting through the door and the streets in front of your room hasn’t halted its hustling and bustling.

“wh-what happened?” jeongguk’s wide eyes scan the room for the one, solid minute before they rest on you but instead of settling with the deduction that your scream was caused by his own entrapment - possibly the unfamiliar name he blurted out - he crawls over to you, “are you okay?” hand on your cheek as he checks for something.

they return to your eyes when you slap it away though.

you’re not even sure why you’re seeing red but you attribute it to the fact that- “how did i get in this?”

he takes one look and blinks, “i changed you because you fell asleep in the cab and i carried-”

“why?” arms crossed over your chest, you speak over him.

“i... i thought you might be uncomfortable sleeping in that dress,” you can almost hear the screws in his brain turning in search for answers.

“stop, okay? don’t act like you’re some award-winning husband - you’re not, you were broke and was about to lose your only source of income when i came to you and asked if you wanted to not have to work a day in your life,” he must’ve not known that his eyebrows twitch at the words, “it’s always been about the money - i get it, so you can stop now. we don’t have to play house when no one’s around because this isn’t an actual marriage and we don’t even love each other.”

you expected the stars in his eyes to dim out, expected him to avert his gaze somewhere to the most random thing like the ugly vase next to the door or the phone on the nightstand or the window where the sound of kids laughing and vendors across the street obnoxiously greeting his neighboring competition.

but instead, he looks straight at you, “what is it then?” he asks, “what are we if those good night kisses, cuddling into each other in the middle of the night when we woke up briefly before falling back to sleep, holding hands while walking and making love every night-”

“i don’t know where you got that because i never kissed you, i never asked you to wait for me to go to sleep together and i never touched you first - they were all you,” your head dips to the side just the slightest bit, “and we had sex every night. that’s it - it’s just sex.”

the last thing you see before you climb off the bed and lock yourself in the bathroom, dialing up your secretary’s number to book a plane ticket for yourself, is what you’ve initially expected to see.

stars that don’t shine as bright as the morning they twinkle and greet for the first time of the day. brows that knit together but not because he’s anxious or nervous about telling you something.

when you stepped out, he’s gone and you don’t leave any notes. not even a text after you packed up your belongings, hailed a cab and went straight to the airport in your darkest shades and brightest dress.

and so it goes, not a single rumor about your early arrival in seoul and your lack of spouse with you. mainly because jeongguk and you have put up quite a show for those watching eyes. a love story worth spectating and an ending keenly awaited. but you’ve made it clear, during your about-to-hit one month honeymoon that you’re truly, deeply, madly in love with your chosen husband, so much so, that you’re willing to leave the chairman seat unguarded. 

it’s a gamble but it worked like magic. the board members welcome you back into the company without any inquiry even though you’re one week too early. mr. yoo even seems relieved to see you when you’re on your way to your office on your first day back.

“it’s nice to see you again, miss ____ -” he stops himself, “i mean, mrs. jeon.”

you shake your head, laughing, “miss ___ is fine for me, everyone’s known me as that for so long.”

when you reach the end of the hallway where you have to part to go to your office, and him to his, you tap him on the arm once with a hand that lacks a wedding ring but he doesn’t seem to care as he dips into a bow and bids you a good day.

and so it goes, you start burying yourself in your pending works while also juggling surprise visits from two of your aunts, to which each does not fail to not-so-discreetly give your left hand a once over. but you’re faster, having kept your ring in the drawer and pulling it out and slipping it on under the desk before standing up to greet the elder women both times without fail.

on the day jeongguk and you were supposed to return, you’ve debated on booking a hotel just because you don’t want to face him - soyeon briefed him about your sudden departure back to korea and that there was no reason for him to come back with you. and so he stayed. travelled to london and then to glasgow with a black card and unlimited possibilities - just liked you promised him on the day you signed the contract.

things might have gotten off track but coming back to the familiar scent of ocean from your candlewicks and the bonzai that belonged to your deceased grandfather in the corner of the room, you’ve found your purpose again - the reason you would go so far as to sacrifice your heart for this position.

you’re never going to lose sight of it ever again.

but when the door beeps once after you punched in the code, the smell of something delicious waft in the air after you stepped into your apartment and jeongguk greeting you with a pink apron with printed with hearts all over it, you feel yourself freezing in your spot.

“oh, you’re back?” his back is on you as he redirects his attention to the sizzling goodness in the hot pan, “i’m making fried noodles, it’ll be done it 10 minutes - why don’t you go and change first?”

it takes a moment of you staring at the black tresses of his head and the broad shoulders with a pink string hanging over the back of his neck before you actually take a step towards the stairs. once you’ve showered and dressed in your pajamas - you prefer those than the lingerie jeongguk has only ever seen you in - it takes another moment for you to stare at the golden strings layered with button mushrooms, beef slices and prawns and a fried egg over them.

“okay,” you shake your head, as if to shake away the trance that seems to come over you - jeongguk’s already looking at you with a curve on his lips, “what is this?”

“friend noodles,” he says simply.

“no,” another round of head-shaking passes, “i mean, what are you doing? i literally insulted you and called you a bum and a gold digger.”

he takes a minute to mull over the matter, bottom lip jutting out as if to say, “yeah, i kinda am.”

“you must also not realize that i only talk to you when we’re in public or when we’re having sex,” you point out, fork gripped tightly in your hand to which he gives a glance at before reaching to pull it out of your grasp and setting it on the napkin next to your plate.

“love making,” he reiterates but before you can even get a word out, he holds up a hand and tilts his head in a ‘wait’ kind of manner, “and a relationship is 50-50, you work and i cook and clean.”

your eyes narrow at him for the longest moment before you pick up the fork again, this time dipping it into the strands of gold and twirling it before directing it to yout mouth. an appreciative moan leaves you as the spice and sweetness spread over you like a whole new experience.

“good right?” jeongguk mimics your action, digging in and smiling proudly with the first bite.

it’s only when you’re done and loaded the dirty dishes into the washer, as you watch him take off the apron with his back on you whilst you lean against the edge of the counter, do you finally ask, “who’s chaeyoung?”

the way he freezes up with hands middair, in the middle of hanging the strap over the hook - isn’t the least bit surprising.

“wh-who?” the hesitant way he looks at you and then to his feet and then to the sink with a hand rubbing the back of his neck - is familiar. welcomed even but you don’t show.

“you tell me,” you shrug, “must’ve been someone important - someone who you’re used to having wake you up.” you let the silence hang in the air for several heartbeats, watching as his adam’s apple bob whilst his wide-eyed gaze shifts from the sink to the block of knives to the stool before they rest on you.

“maybe a girlfriend you left behind in exchange for money - the money i offered you,” and with that, you watch as his gaze shakes and his pink move but no words come out.

it’s only a long moment later, that he finally manages to find them, “i... i haven’t seen chaeyoung ever since we got married.”

“well, congratulations!” you bring your hands together in a crisp applause, lips curving into one of your schooled smiles, “soyeon contacted her and guess what she said? she said you told her you were going to the city to find a job and didn’t want her to wait on you which was why you broke up but poor little chaeyoung is still waiting for you on the country side - you can go see her and your parents.”

and with that, you turn your back on him for the first time since you left him to an empty suite and a cold bed. 

“why are you so...” but just as thought you could walk out of this like a winner, jeon jeongguk somehow manages to pull you several steps back with just words and eyes that bears more emotions than you can handle, “mean?”

“you’re always smiling and laughing with your secretary like you’re best friends, you always look sad when you talk about your grandfather and you always kiss your parents on the cheek every time you meet them... why-” he stops short when he meets your gaze - you’re not sure what he sees that makes him look like he’s been punched in the face with a wild ball. 

“i’ve always been mean,” you feel your eyebrows rising before you blink once, “you just had your head in the clouds, dreaming about how you can make a girl with a rotten attitude change and maybe fall in love with you along the way - well guess what? i’m not her,” and just like that night in athens, something in the way he stands, stiff like a rock and eyes darkened with a sort of desire, your eyes travel down to his pants where a painfully obvious erection protrudes against the fabric of his pants, “...and you like it.”

“no, i - this - it’s...” he fumbles on his words as he clasps his hands over his crotch, but the way his eyes seem to find solace at the sight of your cleavage screams desperation and agony.

“___... you don’t have- fuck,” the first moan falls out of his mouth when yours wrap around him. 

“only because i can’t have a proper conversation when all you’re concerned about is how to take my blouse off from all the way across the room,” you say after a delicious ‘pop!’ when your cheeks hollow out just before you pull away.

it takes only a few more pumps before he’s begging you to “wait- please - i want you.”

it’s the ‘please’ that gets you.

“fine but don’t come inside,” you relent, hands fiddling with the zipper of your skirt before jeongguk’s polite ‘let me’ as he bends you over the counter, chilly air kissing your skin as a tear echo against the wall and you wonder if you’re free in the weekend to go shopping for-

“oh my god,” the moan slips out of your mouth in a pleasured surprise - you didn’t expect him to get your pantyhose, panties and skirt out of the way that fast.

thought with the barely noticeable discomfort of your panties digging into your hips, you figure he opted for keeping them pushed to the side instead of getting rid of them completely.

they do come off anyway, left in the trail of clothes strewn along the way to the stairs where jeongguk decides to have you bend over because “it’s a perfect place for a doggy,” and you concur as you moan and whine while he fucks you like he owns you. hand keeping your hair in a lock whilst he holds your upper body up whenever you’re about to lose yourself and bury your face in the steps. 

but you do manage to get to the bedroom, just not the bed. you made a mess on the carpet - it’s going to stain an ugly shade of sex and lust but soyeon will probably not even bat an eye once you ask her to schedule an appointment with an interior designer. might as well give your room a make over.

so it goes, jeongguk likes to call your eye rolls and offers to lend him a driver to drive him to his hometown to meet the love of his life - cute. alternatively, jealousy. which you simply roll your eyes at, again.

at times, he comes over to your office - mainly to take you out for lunch but ends up fucking you over your mahogany table. and later in the car on the side of the road where an officer came knocking on the fully tinted window - you had at least 60 seconds to button up your shirts and pull down your skirt while jeongguk zips up his pants with a whine before you roll your window down.

how the rest goes, you rather not say.

but you’ve sworn against car sex - at least in daylight and in an open space.

so when you end up walking past a mirror in your room, just as you’ve donned an off white blouse and a grey pencil skirt, you find yourself freezing in shock. hands coming to cup your stomach, you squint at the woman who’s squiting back at your belly.

“honey, breakfast is ready,” jeongguk pokes his head into the room, the infamous pink apron tied around his front and a pair of light orang oven mitts on his hands.

“do you think I gained weight?” you quiz, knowing full well that he’ll spout a heartwarming but blatant lie about-

“no, i think you’re a healthy weight,” a man that looks like him comes to hug the woman in the mirror, kissing her head before glancing at his reflection once and turning back to it, squinting his eyes at the part where your hands are.

“uh,” he hesitantly starts, “how much chipotle did you have last night?”

“not enough that’s for sure,” you turn to him with an incredulous look, “i went to bed hungry,” a light smack lands on his chest - to which he doesn’t even bat an eye, “cause you keep stealing my food!”

“maybe we should book an appointment,” he suggests, voice smooth but the glint in his eyes and the suppressed smile on his face gives away his exitement.

“no, i can’t be pregnant,” you shake your head, walking over to the vanity to pick up your purse and keys, “it’s not the right time.”

“but what if you are?” you hear the hurt in jeongguk’s voice but your interest overrides your emotiones.

“i just can’t be,” and with that, you place a kiss on his lips, “i’m sorry, baby.”

and with that, you left for the kitchen when jeongguk still tried to reason with you. he tried again for the next few days until you set your food down and told him a baby is never going to be in the picture.

but two months down, you barely fit your clothes and jeongguk has been kissing you good morning before bending down and pressing his ear to your belly, “and good morning to you, my little blueberry.”

and he’s been kissing you good night before pecking your stomach and wishing the life form growing inside you a ‘come out fast so mommy and daddy can meet you, okay?’

“good news and bad news,” soyeon said exactly one month ago after you’d fainted in a middle of a meeting and woke up in a hospital room, “you can’t be pregnant but you are and you’re gonna need an heir soon anyway so...”

“it’s bigger than a blueberry now,” you point out  - jeongguk’s been calling your child a blueberry ever since he rushed to the hospital after getting a call that his wife fainted and once he was there, got flashed with a sonogram the size of- “the doctor said it’s as big as a blueberry, not chipotle,” you’d been indifferent, mainly because a child wasn’t in your plan and you’d been taking birth control since way before you got married.

but jeongguk had been overjoyed. taking care of you everywhere you go, he didn’t even let you drive and instead searched up for drivers with a long list of the lowest rates of accidents in their records. he gets into the shower with you because he “can’t wait to have a family shower together” and packages of baby clothes have been pouring in with matching shirts and ‘mom’, ‘dad’ and ‘baby’ printed on each one and he shows them to you after you got back from work.

his love for your child had made you fall in love with being a mother. with having a family of your own - the two notions you never thought you could wrap your head around as you made your vows to each other two years ago. 

and it’s somewhere down the line, as you watch jeongguk rock your baby in his arm as she sleeps soundly amidst the beeping of the heart monitor, jeongguk’s voice like a lullaby as he murmurs ‘you’re so beautiful, you have mommy nose, and my lips, thank you for being born,’ and when he twirls around, probably feeling the heat of someone’s stare from all the way on the bed, he looks at you with that lost, wide-eyed wonder before his lips curl into a smile, eyes disappearing into crescents.

-it’s then, do you realize that jeongguk has become the person you smile and laugh with, the person you greet with a kiss and the person your heart beats for.

he’s your husband, lover, soulmate.

x

note. i have another preview with the same title and characters but from a historical era which i haven’t managed to finish but if you see a marquis!jk and x heir!reader then yk hehe. also if you like arranged marriage au’s do check my masterlist! i have a lot of them apparently (i just realized while writing this fic lol)

i’ve been super stressed and feel like i haven’t actually been doing anything i really like in the weekend so i sat down and decided to finish this draft idea once and for all! 

first off, oc is a douche bag who cares about herself a lot but it’s written in her pov which i hope portrays a justification (which isn’t necessarily okay) to the things she do. but in other people’s story, she’s that woman who stole a person’s man, or she’s that hard ass boss that nobody really likes but pays good, or that graunddaughter that seems to think about her grandfather’s money only. but no one is easily good or bad, it’s more than that just like oc. and i hope to send at least that message through this story. not one can be just ‘good’ or ‘bad’.

in my opinion, there’s no development in her character bc of the word count and the fact that i didn’t plan for it to be long enough to include a development. i just wanted to write about an asshole who has feelings and can be nice to certain people. she’s probably still an asshole but her feelings for jeongguk changed and so is her treatment towards him (as per foreshadowed) and he became one of the people she loves - and i say probably because we’ll probably never know for sure and it’s also not up to my interpretation alone. you, the readers, may think she has or may think she hasn’t - either way, this is just a story about someone who you might know, maybe someone who you’d dupe as selfish. either way, i hope yall enjoyed it!

[sweetestofchaos]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 🍬 1,026

Request #24, SFW, Pure Fluff, Period Talk, Use of Prescribed Pills, Bambam is just a super sweet friend

Thank you for waiting! I hope you enjoy this one, it was a nice break from all the angst that is to come

Staring down at the tile floor beneath your feet, you groan as you feel another clot of blood pass as you sit on the toilet. You hate your period with a passion, it’s one of, if not the worst thing that you have to go through once a month. It’s day two and you want to scream, it’s always so much worse on your second day. The cramps steal the air in your lungs, you sweat like a pig and it’s damn near impossible for you to move. Thankfully, your job is one of the more understanding ones that’s owned by a female, so she gives every female the option to work from home when it’s that time of the month.

From the pocket of your sweats, your phone goes off and you want to cry. Who the hell is calling you right now? Reaching down, you grunt and dig into your pocket to grab your phone. Looking at the screen, you sigh when you see your best friend’s picture flashing on the screen. Swiping the green call button, you accept his call and sigh.

“Yes, Bambie?”

“Yo, girl! You dressed?”

“Dressed?” You look down at your worn grey sweats and white Calvin Klein sports bra. “It’s one in the afternoon, what do you think?”

Bambam chuckles, “I’m ten minutes out. Put something half decent on, okay?”

“Why?” You whine as you hold your phone between your shoulder and ear. You quickly clean yourself up as Bambam tells you that he’s craving ramen and a melon pop. You can’t even lie, that sounds amazing right now. “C-can’t you just bring everything here?”

There is a long pause before Bambam responds, “Do you need anything from the store?”

“Huh?”

“N-never mind. I’ll be there in about half an hour or so.”

“You’re the best, bestie!” Before Bambam can say anything else, you hang up and shuffle your way to the bedroom. Bam’s coming over. Guess you have to change your bra. You throw on a pair of black leggings with a large yellow and olive-green tie dye shirt dress. You debate on what to do with your passion twists and just decide to toss them into a low ponytail on the back of your neck. Don’t want them falling into the broth, right? A sharp pain shoots up your spine and your curse as your right leg gives out making you crash into the wall. Tears blur your vison as you wait for the pain to subside and when it does you head into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

Opening the cabinet farthest away from the sink, you grab the bottle of Cyclobenzaprine and quickly pop one into your mouth before you down half the bottle of water. Your sciatic nerve always acts up while you’re bleeding and it’s dreadful. The muscle relaxer helps to ease your pain and makes you less of a grump. Putting the pill bottle back, you head into the living room and sit on the couch, settling on watching a movie while you wait for Bambam to bring your ramen.

A little while later, you hear your front door unlock and Bambam calls your name before he shuts the door behind himself and kicks off his shoes. “Move your foot!” Bambam whines as he drops six large bags onto the couch while still holding onto one smaller bag.

Staring at the bags beside you, you raise an eyebrow, “What’s all this?”

Huffing, Bambam sets the smaller bag on the coffee table and runs a hand through his hair, pushing a few strands out of his face. “This, my dear is everything you need to make this week easier.”

“Huh?” You blink up at Bambam confused and he rolls his eyes.

“See, look.” Bambam digs around in the bags and pulls out candy, pain killers, pads as well as tampons and you can even see some frozen treats as well. You stare up at Bambam in awe and his ears turn pink, “I-I um yeah, well…I know your periods are really painful and I have it tracked on my phone from the last time you were in the hospital an-” Bambam’s eyes widen when he sees tears rolling down your face. “Why are you crying?! Did I get the wrong things?”

You shake your head with a laugh and wipe at your face with the back of your hands, “I-it’s just really sweet of you, Bambie. Thank you.” You smile through your tears and Bambam lets out a deep sigh.

“Right…lets me put the frozen stuff away and then we can eat, okay? I’ll even rub your calves if you want.”

“My calves?”  You reach for a snickers and Bambam shrugs his shoulders.

“That’s what my dad would do for my mom when she had her period.”

You smile at Bambam and nod your head, “That sounds, really nice. Hurry up, then!”

Bambam grabs the two bags of frozen treats and heads into your kitchen. You glance into the other bags and giggle. Bambam is so endearing, he remembered the correct pads and tampons that you use, plus the amount of chocolate, gummy bears and nerds bites he got is crazy. It makes you smile, and more tears fill your eyes.

“Now why are you crying? Does your stomach hurt?” Bambam rushes to your side and sits down, pulling your legs into his lap. “Do you want me to rub your stomach?” You shake your head and Bambam pouts but says nothing else as he gets the ramen all set up. He hands you a bowel and a set of chopsticks. “I don’t know if I can handle all this spontaneous crying, bestie.”

You snort at his words and quickly slurp up a mouth full of noodles, “I’m just really touched, that’s all. Sorry for thinking you’re sweet.”

Bambam smirks at your words and nods his head, “I am pretty sweet, huh? Perfect boyfriend material, right?”

You roll your eyes and continue eating, not even paying attention to the movie on the screen and the two of you talk for the rest of the day, going well into the night.