#he’s like very pretty very soft looking but

[jarofstyles]

Juno

Based off of the song Juno, I tried my hand at writing song inspired one shots again! this one is filthy but I hope you guys enjoy it anyways.

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WC- 3.5k

Warnings- heavy breeding kink, cum play, soft dom H, slight restraining, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up yall)

It had been a long fucking day.

Being the boss wasn't for the weak, apparently. Harry had been through the ringer today especially. People unable to communicate, an overly long and exastrubsating meeting, having to terminate an employee, all of it had made him itchy for the day to end- only for him to have to stay late to fix a problem. He had felt guilty texting his girlfriend that he was going to be home late, telling her his day had been a bit hellish.

Thankfully, he had been blessed with one of the most incredible women in the world, who assured him she was fine, not to worry about her and she would see him when he got home- but he hadn’t expected just an incredible sight to greet him as he opened the bedroom door.

It was like a vision he’d see in the most incredible of dreams.

Y/N was stretched out on the bed, her head propped up on a pile of pillows. She was wearing a tiny, frilly pink babydoll nightgown that barely covered her assets and showed off her legs- god, her fucking legs. The delicate fabric shimmered in the soft lighting, catching Harry's eye and drawing his gaze downward. Dragging his eyes down the perfectly wrapped present, he counted every single one of his blessings.

“Hi.” She spoke softly, clambering up to her knees and crawling to the end of the bed. “I missed you today, H.”

Harry's heart skipped a beat as he watched her crawl towards him, his eyes taking in the delicate nightgown that flowed over her curves in all the right places, riding up her thighs as she sat on her knees waiting for him. He felt a surge of love wash over him, his exhaustion melting away at the sight of her. Crossing the room in long strides, he met her at the end of the bed. "I missed you too, baby," He murmured. “What’s all this, hm?”

“I got a package today. This was what was in it.” She shrugged, running her hand down her waist to show it off. “I figured you had a rough day, but you like when you see the pretty things I buy. I thought…. Maybe this would make you happy.” Her hands ran over his chest, peering up at him through her lashes. “I wanted to make you happy. I love you so much.”

His eyes softened, warmth spreading through his chest as he took in her words. She really had no idea how much she affected him, how much he absolutely adored her. Reaching out, his fingers brushing against the delicate, shimmery fabric, slowly running it up her thighs until it bunched around her waist. "It makes me very happy, my sweet girl." He murmured, his voice raspy as he took in the sight of her bare hips and thighs. "Come here." Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he urged her to straddle his lap, which she did without complaint.

“I know it’s hard to be the boss all day.” Her voice was silky as she ran her finger through his hair, the gel keeping it back having failed hours ago. The man looked slightly disheveled, and that did something to her. “I know you need to come home and have a soft place to land. You’re so good to me. I brag about you to my friends all the time. About everything.” Even the not so appropriate bits. She couldn’t help it! “I want to be the one to help you make your fantasies come true. You pay the bills here, so…” Shrugging her shoulders, she bit down on her glossy lip. “I figured I’d give you something pretty to come home to.”

Harry's large hands palmed her ass, squeezing lightly as she straddled him, her warmth pressing against him. Her words, her kindness, her thoughtfulness, it all made him want to be a better man. She was the soft place he landed every day, his happy place. He leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers combed through his disheveled hair. “You are… incredible. Fuck me. Can’t believe you’re real.”

“Do you like it?” Pressing her lips to the corner of his, she hooked her finger in his shirt and tugged the half undone tie to the ground. “What I put on for you? I know you like to say M’your little angel. Figured this was a little angelic for you.”

He growled softly in approval, his hands tightening on her ass as her fingers made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. "It's perfect, just like you." He sighed, his voice hoarse with the amount he had yelled today, and his desire for the girl on his lap. His hands roamed over her curves, his touch gentle but greedy. The man could never get enough of her. He loved how she would let him have his way with her, no matter what he desired. Nothing and no one could compare to how she made him feel, playing into every base level instinct he had. "My little angel... Dressed like that... S’almost unfair."

Y/N let out a giggle, loving the effect she had on him. Knowing he was such a powerful man and yet he had a weakness in her was more arousing than she could have prepared herself for. She loved being his soft spot, his little angel. “It is fair, though. I wore it just for you. And I decided…” This was the part she had been nervous about all day. The decision she had made. She wanted him to lock her down. “I know we aren’t married yet, but I don’t think I can let you wait any longer to give you what you want.” Brushing her nose against his, she spoke against his lips. “I think m’gonna let you get me pregnant.”

Harry's breath hitched, his eyes widening for a moment before they filled with a heat that almost burned her. "Y/N..." He growled, his voice low and loaded. "Are you sure? We can wait if you're not ready." Even as he said the words, his hands tightened on her, pulling her closer against him. He wanted it, he wanted her, like this, forever. When she nodded to agree that she was absolutely sure, he let out a deep groan, eyes wild as they searched her own. " Say it again. Please."

“I want you….” She purred, leaning in so their chests were pressed together. “To get me pregnant. Knock me up.” Smearing their lips together, she sucked a soft kiss to his bottom lip before murmuring again. “Put a baby in me.”

A shudder ran through him at her words, his control snapping. "Fuck, Angel..." He groaned, crashing his lips against hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue delved into her mouth, claiming her, tasting her. She tasted so fucking good, so much like his. He couldn’t get enough. One hand tangled in her hair while the other slid down to grip her thigh, squeezing, owning. Pulling her down fully, he ground up against her, letting her feel how hard she made him. It had started the moment he walked in to see her splayed out on the bed, but this was something else. His weakness. "You want my baby?"

“Uh-huh.” She giggled against his mouth, turning it into a whimper as she felt his cock rub up against her. Since coming to the decision she had been wet, aching for him to actually do it. She wanted to keep him, lock him down in every sense of the word. Be the only one for him. She wanted to be the mother of his children, all of them. There was no patience for waiting. The ring could come later- she had known he got one anyway. “I want to be yours so badly. I need it.”

"Shit, baby, you already are.." Standing up and with her in his arms, he turned them over and set her down on the mattress with her back against it, looking at her with intense eyes. "M’going to give you my baby, my everything. You're going to be so fucking pregnant with my child, everyone's going to know it." Fumbling with his belt, he tossed it down and hurriedly stepped out of his trousers, letting his shirt fall off his shoulders as he watched her sit back up.

Her hands went for his briefs, tugging them down with shaky fingers. Y/N was just as needy for it as he was, and it showed. He let his head fall back, a low groan rumbling in his chest as she wrapped her hands around his shaft and pumped slowly, leaning down to lick the tip. He twitched in her grasp, throbbing in her palm.

"That's it, baby..." He encouraged softly, his hands tangling in her hair as he guided her head down, slowly thrusting into her warm, wet mouth. "Just like that. Get it nice n’wet for me." He pulled out, his breathing heavy.

She came back up for air, her hand pumping him slowly as she looked up at him with wide, eager eyes. "Open up for me, sweetheart. Stick out your tongue." He watched intently as she obeyed, baring her neck and tilting her head back. He wrapped a hand around the base of his erection and slowly pumped, his eyes rolling back as he grew harder. "Thatta girl..." He guided the tip to her lips, rubbing the head on her bottom lip.

He fed her his length slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he savored the hot sensation of her mouth wrapping back around him. He pulled back and thrust into her mouth again, his hands tangling in her hair and guiding her head. "Look at me, Y/N. Keep your eyes on me."

Her eyes fluttered open, her lashes casting shadows on her flushed cheeks as she looked up at him, her mouth stretched around his thick girth. She hummed against him, eyes watering as he thrust further into her mouth. She looked so good, taking him like that, and he couldn’t help but groan, his pace quickening. "That's my good girl. Such a sweet little thing f’me."

He gently thrust in and out of her mouth, his hands cradling her head. "Relax your jaw for me, Y/N... that's it... jus’ like that." He praised her softly, his voice a husky whisper. "You're doing so well, m’love." He thrust a little deeper, pulling back quickly when she gagged slightly, his eyes flashing with concern. "Careful, careful. Breathe through your nose, baby, you can take it… Y’know how to do it."

She breathed in through her nose as he instructed, her chest rising and falling. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes from the push but she didn't pull away, determined to please him. Her hands came up to grip his thighs for balance as he continued to slowly thrust. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked gently, her tongue swirling around the tip each time he pulled out.

He was absolutely stunning, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his chest heaving with each breath. The sight of his strong thighs tensing and flexing under her hands, the way his abs clenched... it was almost too much. She wanted to memorize every detail. She needed to be his, forever. His skin was flushed and damp with exertion, his hair disheveled. He was the picture of raw, masculine beauty. And he was all hers..

It was adorable, how she whimpered at the loss of his cock as he pulled it from her mouth, but he needed to have her fully. Claim her in the way she had promised to let him. “Mmm, shit. Baby, you’re too good. S’okay.” He panted, pulling her up by her arms and crushing his lips against hers. "I need inside, love. I can't...I can't wait any longer. I need t’put my baby in you."

She nodded eagerly against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck as he adjusted her against the fluffy duvet. Never in her life had she been this fucking horny, but that was simply the way the man tended to affect her. Her legs spread wide for him, her heels digging into the bed as she watched him move to hover over her. Positioning himself between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips firmly, admiring the beauty that was his angel underneath him. "Y/N...look at me, sweetheart. Keep your eyes on me, okay?" His voice was gentle, loving, but his face was contorted with raw, unbridled desire.

"Need you t’watch while I knock you up." He grit out, pressing forward and filling her with one long thrust. Letting out a low groan as he bottomed out, his eyes fluttered shut in rapture. "Oh, fuck." He hissed, reveling in the feel of her wrapped around him. This was what he needed, the remedy to his long day. Always her. He stilled for a moment, giving her time to adjust to his size. It was a stretch, and he knew it. "Okay?" he asked softly, his hips flexing forward slightly.

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes were glued to his, wide and glassy as he filled her completely. The sensation of being so full, so stretched, was overwhelming. It never got old. When she got tipsy and slightly loose lipped, it was one of the things she alluded to with her friends- how big he was, how fulfilled he made her. She could feel every thick inch of him inside her, his heavy balls pressing against the plush of her ass. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she adjusted to his size, her walls clenching around him in a desperate attempt to keep him inside. "S’so good.”

He began to move, slow and deep at first, savoring the exquisite drag of her silken walls. "That's it, baby... take it. Take every inch of me." He whispered, his hips rolling in a hypnotic rhythm. One hand slid down to rub tight circles over her clit as he fucked into her. "Gonna fill this sweet cunt. Pump you full of me."

His cock stretched her, a dull, delicious ache as he drove into her again and again, the wet sounds of the thrusts filling the room. He angled his hips, searching for that perfect spot inside her. He always did. He loved to make her go crazy, see her buck and cry out when he got it. They fit together so well, sometimes it was hard to believe they’d found each other naturally. When did find it he heard it, music to his fucking ears. The borderline frantic cry as she grabbed his arms where they held her hips, her back arching off the bed. "Yes, there! Just like that." Her nails dug into his forearms as he hit her spot dead on with each thrust.

His balls slapped against her ass with each deep stroke, the sound echoing through the room. “Yeah, I found my spot. Didn’t I?” He crooned, smirk on his face as he kept it up. If there was anything he allowed himself to be smug about, it was how good he made his woman feel. “S’good, I know. Hitting right where my girl needs. God, you’re fuckin’ perfect. Dressing up for me…” He grit his teeth. “Tellin’ me I can finally give you a baby. You love me, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I do. Shit, Harry.” She cried out, her voice high-pitched as her inner walls tightened around his thick shaft. She could barely think, let alone speak, with him filling her so perfectly. “Y-Yes, I love you so much- Please, please, please, please!” She chanted, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her as he continued to fuck into her sopping cunt. “Please what, baby?” He taunted, looking down at her beautiful form. It was the prettiest picture only he got to see. “What d’you want?”

“I-I want you to-” She gasped as he hit her spot again, her toes curling in ecstasy. “I want you to knock me up, H. Please knock me up, get me pregnant like y’wanted. I don’t care, just wanna feel you inside me, I want my tummy to grow, I want all of it.” She pleaded, tugging him down to her as she felt her eyes water, looking up at him. “Please, baby- please, please.”

His face contorted as he looked down at her, love and possession shining in his eyes. "You're really going t’let me breed you like that, huh? All for me?" He grit out with clenched teeth, his hips snapping forward as his hands gathered her, wrapping around her wrists and pinning them above her head. "Y’want to carry my baby, grow round with it inside you?"

"Yes, yes, yes." She chanted with a lovedrunk smile on her face, her back arching as he took her harder. The new angle had him hitting impossibly deep. "Please Harry, I need it. Need you to fill me up, make me yours. I want everyone to know I'm your girl, carrying your baby." Her voice broke, overwhelmed with pleasure. "Fuck, I'm getting close."

"That's it, cum on my cock like a good girl." He growled, feeling her tighten around him like a vice. "Milk me, I'm gonna pump you full. Gonna flood this fertile little cunt with my cum." His balls drew up tight as he pounded into her relentlessly, the wet squelch of her arousal obscene in the room. "Fuck, m’close too. You want it baby?"

Y/N could barely speak as her orgasm took her faster than she had anticipated. It was his voice, his promise that took her there. The sensation was indescribable. Like being consumed, each hard thrust sending wave after wave of intense heat through her veins. She could feel every ridge and vein of his thick, pulsing length as it slid in and out of her slick hole. Her whole body was alight, every nerve ending on fire as he stretched her to the limit. The pressure built and built, her muscles tensing as the first waves of her release washed over her.

"Please, please... I want to feel you, inside me, filling me up. I want your baby, Harry. I want you to breed me." Her words were barely coherent, her mind fogged with desire as he continued to thrust into her, his powerful hips driving his thick cock home again and again. She could feel the heat of his body, the tautness of his muscles as he held back, intent on pouring into her just as she'd begged. “Wanna be the only one.”

“Shit.” He whined weakly, losing all resolve to hold on. Hearing her beg for it was the final straw on his composure. This was a day he had dreamed of, and she had so willingly handed it over to him. It was his turn to give it to her, just as he promised. “I’ll give it to you baby. Give you everything- only t’you. Fuck.” With a feral groan, he lost all control, slamming into her one final time as he erupted inside her. His hot, thick cum flooded her, painting her insides as he filled her to the brim. She could feel it pouring in, the warmth spreading through her belly as he continued to pump her full, his cock jerking and twitching inside her. “Take all of it.”

Her mouth parted on a silent 'O' as she felt him surge inside her, his warmth spreading through her. Her eyes fluttered closed as he released her hands, and her fingers immediately digging on his back as she found a way to cling to him, her legs wrapping around his waist to hold him closer. She didn’t want him to leave, wanted him to stay buried.

"That's it, baby... take it all." He encouraged softly, nuzzling her neck as he slowly thrust in and out, relishing in the feeling as he pulsed inside of her.

She moaned softly, her head tossing on the pillow. "It feels so warm, so good... S’so much inside of me. I love you so much." She whispered, a fucked out smile painting her lips. "I hope it takes."

Pulling out slowly, his cock glistened with them combined as he held her open, his load leaking out of her. The scene was absolutely filthy and everything he had hoped to see when they tried this. "Look at you... so full of my cum. So fucking perfect." He gently held her thigh open with one hand, his fingers on the other spreading her open to show off his work. "Look at how full you are, baby."

She whimpered, her eyes fluttering open as he displayed her to him. "Harry... It's so much. I can feel it dripping out of me. Don’t waste it." She whispered, her voice tiredly giddy. "We should try for round two... just to be sure, right?"

[luveline]

missing spencer x stripper reader these days

—Spencer visits the strip club unannounced. fem, 1.1k

Spencer can’t be clinical about it forever. You’re a sex worker. He doesn’t care, but he can’t ignore it when you look like that. 

You’re standing by the bar slouched backward, your abdomen bent forward, an unsexy position if you were to ask a patron, but weirdly endearing from where Spencer’s standing. Your heels are completely clear. He can see your toes, their painted nails, and the bandaid on the back of your foot where you twist. “Can I have another water, please?” you ask. 

The lingerie is blue. Spencer loves blue. Three pieces, a bra, underwear, and a suspender belt holding stockings the colour of your skin. He knows this is just work, that he’s not being a good friend thinking about how pretty you really look, but it’s not just pretty. His ears start burning the longer he sees it. You shift your weight from one foot to another and your thighs looks soft. 

You take your new glass of water and press yourself flush to the wall. Then you level your gaze and see Spencer watching you, expression jumping from happy to confused to knowing. 

“Hey, Spencer,” you call, hard to hear over the music pounding and the sound of men jeering at to the left near the big stage. “Are you here to see me, or is it a pleasure trip?” 

He clears his throat as discreetly as possible and makes his way to you. The heels make you taller, your legs longer, and the lingerie reveals simple things he doesn’t often think about, the shapes of your breasts, the curve of your sides, your hips leading down… Oh, god, he thinks, feeling sorrier than sorry. 

“You okay?” 

“I came to ask you that.” 

You frown, perturbed. “Why?” 

“You didn’t answer your phone. I just wanted to make sure everyone was still being nice to you.” 

Your frown softens but doesn’t fade. “It’s broken.”

See, he’d believe you, but you used to wear this Tiffany necklace with a soft bevelled heart around your neck until recently, when you told Spencer you lost it, and showed him your second tell. When you’re in pain, your hands tend to strain from you, pushed out and fingers curling. When you lie, you smile too soon, and your eyes catch on the freckles on his nose. 

He pulls open his messenger back and sorts through papers for the black and silver mobile. It’s his emergency phone; should something ever happen to the first, he still wants to be able to contact the outside world. “Here,” he says, offering it to you. 

You’re still. “I can’t take your phone.” 

“It’s a spare. A burner phone? I bought it for emergencies, and this could be one.” 

“Spencer, I can’t…” 

“Please, will you? I’ll get another one.” 

You need a phone. Maybe ten years ago you could get by without one, but you need a phone to arrange bills, talk to your landlord, your boss, your doctor, whatever. Being without one in an emergency could mean bad things. 

You take it, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not very fast,” he says. “There’s a prepaid sim in there for now, but I can get you a real one.” 

“I can do that. Thank you, Spencer. I’ll pay you back.” 

“I don’t want you to pay me back,” he says with a real smile. 

“I could pay you back… with a dance?” You lean across to tap his elbow. “I saw you looking at me, Spencer Reid. We can go somewhere private.” 

Suddenly, it’s like the air in the room is being sucked out, leaving him, and you, and your beautiful bare skin alone in a tight space. 

He raises the arm you’ve tapped to tap you back. “You’re beautiful,” he says, sure you can see the blood in his cheeks, “but I don’t need anything from you. I want you to have the phone because I know you walk home by yourself most nights, it’s not so you owe me. You don’t owe me anything.” 

He shouldn’t have added that last part. He’s worried you’ll be angry with him for saying something that might embarrass you, but you give him a softer smile. Real, and nothing like the playful fire you’d held when you were offering a dance. “You sure?” you ask quietly. 

“I thought we were friends?” 

“I think so too.” 

“Can I ask you something unrelated?” 

You squint with mock suspicion. “That depends.” 

“Are you cold?” 

You laugh, grabbing his arm as you do to steady yourself on your precarious footwear. “I’m surprised I haven’t got hypothermia,” you say, face tipping gently to your shoulder. “But I don’t think I’d make any money in a hoodie.” 

Spencer doesn’t see how that could be true. You're one of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen, if not the prettiest, and even if you were in a hoodie that would still leave your legs to make money. He’s sure they could. He’s also sure that he shouldn’t say that aloud, instead digging through his bag for the real thing he’d brought you. “Here,” he says, handing you a chocolate chip and strawberry protein bar, “for your rumbling stomach.” 

Those few nights you’d stayed with him, you’d been a little shy and more afraid, probably worried he’d hurt you while you were vulnerable, though he had no intention, but you’d start to let pieces of you through the cracks. You like dancing but not men. You like fresh fruit, the smell of a new car, and buying new clothes. Stripping isn’t, like, easy, you’d said once, sitting cross-legged on his couch with a bowl of soup and that awful shiner, It probably looks easy. People think that the hardest part is being pretty, but it’s not. 

What’s the hardest part? he’d asked, sympathetic and curious simultaneously. The hardest part statistically would be the high rates of femicide and assault. 

It makes you so hungry. It’s like constantly working out every night.

“That’s for me?” you ask. 

“So you can survive your workout.” 

“Spencer, I think you’re the most romantic guy I’ve ever met.” 

He presses the protein bar in the same hand as the phone, ducking his head just a bit, just to see you clearly. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” 

You seem to think this is the funniest thing he could’ve said, pressing your face briefly, heart-achingly to his shoulder, before pulling away to beam at him. “Don’t be sorry. You’re the best guy ever. And I had this investment banker come in a few days ago who gave me a hundred dollars to listen to him talk about his new kitten.” 

“I’m surprised I beat that.” 

You spread a hand over his heart. “I wouldn’t worry about competition, Dr. Reid.” 

[kamaluhkhan]

WE DESERVE A SOFT EPILOGUE, MY LOVE.

pairing: vi x firelight!reader word count: 2k summary: after years of thinking her dead, ekko brings vi to the firelight base. you don't really know how to react when the girl you grew up loving is now a woman you know nothing about and still, somehow, feel everything for. warnings: arcane level angst + lesbian yearning. reader is referred to with she/her pronouns. reader has tattoos and a star-shaped birthmark behind her ear (y'all know vi loves a nickname and i thought 'stargirl' was v cute so i had to make it work). fic gets slightly suggestive at the end ;) author's note: happy act iii release day!!! i wrote this instead of working on my thesis oops. in my defense, vi has sparked something in me that i simply cannot ignore. i'm also working on a werewolf! pitfighter!vi x vampire slayer!reader fic (set in the same universe, just with a slight twist) sooo that might be done before part 2 of this fic (which is where the smut happens hehe). anyways, thank you for reading!

inspired by that quote: "i think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. we are good people and we've suffered enough" by nikka ursula

even after all these years, vi is still the first one to notice you. 

her eyes widen as she hesitates to pull away from ekko, but you clear your throat to catch both of their attentions.

“i thought we were gonna question her together.”

ekko wipes a stray tear from his cheek and stands up a little straighter. 

“you were taking too long,” he shrugs. “don’t worry — she’s clean.”

you trust ekko’s judgement, but you still can’t reckon with the fact that vi is alive. you’d splashed cold water on your face just before to make sure you weren’t dreaming. 

“i don’t know.” you walk closer until you’re standing arms length from vi. “the vi i knew wouldn’t be caught dead with a topsider, let alone an enforcer.” 

you examine her carefully, and you imagine she’s doing the same to you. vi looks more grown up — stronger and sharper. you’d spent so much time in limbo, not knowing if she were alive or dead. you aren’t sure how to react when the girl you grew up loving is now a woman you know nothing about and still, somehow, feel everything for. 

“i guess the shoddy undercut is a pretty clear give away,” you deadpan.

vi quirks an eyebrow at you. “shoddy, huh? you know, your tattoos look like they were drawn by blindfolded children.”

she smiles, all bright and toothy. the scar on her upper lip stretches, achingly familiar, and you decide there’s nothing you want to do more than to bring her into your arms, to bring her closer, so you do. 

her hair tickles your cheek as you whisper:

“i did those tattoos myself.”

vi chuckles, and you feel it vibrate across her body to yours.

“i know. they’re beautiful.” her index finger traces the star-shaped birthmark behind your ear; you shiver. “i was just messing with you, stargirl.”

vi was the only one who ever called you that, said you made her life brighter or some other sweet nothing that would effortlessly fall from her mouth.

gods, she was the first one who even noticed that birthmark on your skin. 

“i was messing with you, too. the hair — you look hot.”

you feel her heart beating faster against your chest as she smiles into your shoulder.

she’s here.

she’s not some ghost from your past.

she’s really here. 

you’re so overwhelmed by how solid she is against you that you start to pull away, but vi catches your hand before you can fully untangle yourself from her. 

“that’s all i get?” she wonders, licking her lips.

you’re tempted, very tempted, to give her more. maybe you would have, until ekko clears his throat behind you.

“should i….give y’all a moment?” ekko asks. “i’ll go get the piltie.”

you then remember who vi came here with; she might not be working for silco, but you stand by your suspicions at her bringing a topsider to the lanes. 

you slip your hand from hers. you roll your shoulders back as if that would really shake away the hold she’s always had on you.

time has passed. things have changed. neither of you are kids anymore, and you don't have the luxury of indulging in a frivolous crush.

“it's fine, e. let’s show them around.”

“still a night owl, i see.”

vi finds you perched on one of the trees highest branches, surrounded by firelights as you sketch something. you close your sketchbook instantly and place it on the other side of you when vi sits down.

“thought you’d be in bed with that enforcer of yours.” 

“her name’s caitlyn.”

“caitlyn,” you scoff, shaking your head. 

the bitterness you try to hide is all too transparent to vi, who has to bite back a laugh at your pettiness. 

“you say her name like you’re gonna hex her. never pegged you as a jealous ex.”

“technically, we never broke up,” you point out. 

a firelight lands on your hand, and you let it crawl up the lines etched on your skin. 

“if that’s the case, i owe you an apology for cheating on you when i was in prison.”

you frown, but say nothing, your eyes following that same firelight as it illuminates your tattoos. 

“don’t worry, i’m kidding!” vi pauses. “mostly.”

the firelight flies away, and you huff out an annoyed breath. 

“whatever. i don’t care who you’ve fucked, or who you’re fucking. and, you don���t owe me anything. it’s not like we’re anything to each other, anymore.”

vi sucks in a sharp breath — she wouldn’t have expected such harsh words from you.

“is that why you can’t even look at me?” she finally asks.

you’d been strictly business since you first reunited hours ago. you expertly distanced yourself from vi all throughout the tour of the firelights’ base, and throughout dinner, too. 

where’s the girl she’d spend hours goofing around with, who always had a witty response to her sarcastic remarks, who smiled at her in such a way that made her chest glow? where’s the girl who brightened vi’s life when it seemed like the darkness would never leave?

“i don’t know,” you admit. “part of me still can’t believe you’re alive. i know that i should be happy that you are, but i keep thinking about everything i could have done to protect you, and powder —”

“hey. it’s my job to worry about everyone, remember?”

“you weren’t here.”

“i am now.”

she gently moves your chin so that you face her, so that you can see that she’s not going anywhere, at least for tonight. 

which is probably more time than either of you thought you’d ever have together again.

vi notices how your eyes flick down to her lips and back up, and she feels something spark in her chest. but then, you shake your head as though trying to wake up from a dream and turn away once more. 

“that enforcer of yours —”

“she’s not my —”

“whoever she is, she talked about how we all need to heal. i just keep thinking about what you’ve been through, what we’ve all been through…. how it never really stops. healing would be nice, but it’s hard when you have to keep fighting every day. you remember what ekko said, about why we chose this place?” 

of course, she remembers. 

“that if even a seed can survive down here, maybe we could, too.”

 “we. who’s ‘we,’ vi?” you laugh, but there’s no joy behind it. “we’ve gotten used to surviving without each other. maybe it was meant to be that way.”

“that’s not fair.” 

“a lot of things aren’t fair.” you gesture around at the base. “this — this community — took blood, sweat, and tears to build and i just know how easy it would be for someone to destroy it all. which is why we fight, obviously, to protect all this and each other, but i’m scared that we can only do so for so long before we burn out.”

you press your knees to your chest and curl into yourself. vi notices then — the slump of your shoulders, the shadows beneath your eyes, and just how deeply exhausted you must feel, down to your bones. 

you let out a shuddery breath. “is it even all worth it?”

vi swallows the tears building in her throat. you had always been the hopeful one, and it makes vi’s chest ache to think about what you must have endured to lose the brightness that had been woven into your being. 

that's part of what got her through these past few years, and there's no way she's going to let it fade.

“i....i think so,” vi starts, trying to find it within her to be inspirational. “maybe it'll make a difference in the long run, even if we don’t see that now. maybe someone, someday in the future, will be able to not just survive, but live in a better world.”

you raise an eyebrow at her, and vi swears there's a slight smile on your face.

"what?" she asks, her cheeks heating up.

"i'm just...surprised. how is it possible that prison made you less cynical?”

there's a glimmer to your eyes that wasn't there before, something playful, and vi decides to lean into it.

"oh, it wasn't prison," vi says, nudging her shoulder against hers. "see, i ran into this pretty girl from my past and she's this totally badass freedom fighter now, so i think there's some hope in the world."

you snort. "good to know you're still an unbearable flirt."

"i thought you loved that about me."

you laugh, a sparkling sound that vi wishes she could carry with her wherever she goes. it’s contagious, too, and vi finds herself giggling along with you. when it dies down, you rest your head on her shoulder, something you did even back when you were only friends.

“i missed you,” she admits. 

“yeah?” your voice is softer than a whisper. 

you lift your head and vi cradles your face in her hands.

vi nods. “so fucking much, and i want to prove it. if you’ll let me. please.”

“vi,” you exhale. she’s so close now that she can feel you breathing against her lips. “i can’t. you’re with that enforcer.”

“we’re not together,” vi assures, bumping her nose against yours. 

she leans in ever so closely to kiss you, but you move away. 

“you’re still with her, though, and you’re leaving in the morning,” you continue. “things are already so….complicated. i just don’t think we should start something we won’t be able to finish.”

with nothing more to say, you gather your sketchbook and pencils. vi’s sure that you’re not going to bed, just off to nestle into another hiding spot for the night, away from her.

maybe you’re still putting up a cold front, protecting yourself because that’s how you've been surviving in this world where the risk of losing everything lingers, and only gets heavier as you grow older.

but, gods, vi really has missed you, the you she remembers so vividly, the you that shone through just moments ago. she knows that glowing heart of yours is hardened by layers of ice, and she’s determined to make them all melt away.

so, vi gets up, heart beating in her throat, and calls after you:

“haven’t we already?” 

you stop in your tracks. you slowly turn around to back at her.

a moment passes, maybe more. the two of you suspended in time. your eyes are telling her a million different things – you’re confused, you’re scared, you’re tempted, you’re tired – and all vi can do is unsuccessfully blink back more tears because it’s true, how your story together never got the happy ending you deserved. 

“please, y/n. if this is our second chance, even just for a night —”

she’s cut off by you crashing your lips against hers.

the two of you were young, really, just girls when you first kissed. it was awkward and messy and though it ignited something in the pit of vi’s stomach, it was nothing compared to this.

she lets you guide her as you please, lets you press your warm body against hers against the trunk of the tree. she lets your lips mold into hers until her lungs are burning. 

your chest is heaving as you pull away slightly; vi bites back a whine, feeling empty. but air isn’t what she needs, she’s sure of it. what she really needs is more of you.

you study her like a work of art, like you're committing her to memory in case she slips away. your thumb wipes away a fallen tear, across the tattoo on her cheek. 

fuck, no one's held vi this tenderly since, well, you.

“you’re so beautiful.”

vi blushes, becoming increasingly flustered. she'd wanted to make this about you, take care of you in all the ways she'd imagined, but the way you're looking at her, touching her....she's not a religious person, but vi thinks she might have stumbled into her own, personal heaven, with you having some divine hold on her, soft and bright and passionate.

you're kissing down her neck, nipping at her collarbone when you repeat: "you're so fucking beautiful."

“yeah, i know. they should build statues of me,” she breathes, closing her eyes and trying to keep upright on weak knees. she squeezes your hips in an attempt to keep herself steady.

you’re the only person vi can recall calling her beautiful. 

sexy? oh, yeah. charming? definitely. hot? often. 

no one else calls her beautiful, though, let alone makes her feel like it the way you do.

“bad at flirting and full of yourself," you tease. "some things really don't change."

by now your lips are travelling lower, and vi doesn't want to miss a second watching you have your way with her. when her eyes flutter open, vi gets a glimpse of something over your shoulder.

“hm, i guess drawings are a good place to start.” 

she gestures with her chin, which she instantly regrets as you pull away to follow her gaze, eyes landing on the sketches of her from your fallen sketchbook.

“you weren’t supposed to see those,” you groan. "they're personal...."

it's cute, how flustered you get after making vi all hot and bothered.

vi smirks. "personal, huh? had some fun picturing me when i was gone? missed me so much you had to draw me back to life?"

"well, no - wait, yes, obviously, i missed you, but --"

vi cuts you off with a searing kiss.

she tugs on one of your belt loops to bring you closer to her. vi presses her thigh between your legs, relishing in how your mouth opens in a perfect gasp. vi takes the opportunity to bite your bottom lip and you whimper.

“don't be embarrassed, baby," vi mumbles against your mouth, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hips. "you know i missed you, too. 'cept i'm not talented like you, so my creative imagination had to carry me through some long nights."

“is that so….” your hand slips underneath her tank top, and you manage to pull a groan from vi by scratching your nails against her stomach. “maybe you can clue me in to what, exactly, you’ve imagined.”

vi grins triumphantly. she places a kiss on your birthmark before whispering in your ear:

“sure thing, stargirl.”

[jayybugg]

drunken confessions

Theodore Nott x FemRavenclaw!Reader

Summary: Theo drinks a little bit more than he should....

Warnings: Drinking, No use of Y/N, Only mentions being in Ravenclaw once, and very cute???

Word Count: 1.6K

Note: Long time no see, my loves! I took a really long hiatus abruptly because life was kicking my ass badly. I decided that my first fic back should be a Theo fluff because who would I be if I didn't give this boy all of my attention? I hope you guys all enjoy it.

Banners by @cafekitsune

Music boomed through the Slytherin common room as you tried to navigate the sweaty bodies and screaming teens. You were trying to find Theodore, the person who had invited you. It was a celebratory party for Slytherin winning the quidditch game against Hufflepuff. You were in the Ravenclaw house but are good friends with many people in Slytherin.

"Oy," Draco pulled you to the side, "Looking for Theo?"

"Yeah, you've seen him?" you asked, gripping his arm so no one could separate you both. Draco nodded, pulling you to a separate room where Pansy, Daphne, Blaise, Enzo, Mattheo, and Theo sat.

"Finally, you're here." Daphne pulled you in for a hug, whispering in your ear, "Drunk pants over there have been asking about you for the past hour."

You glanced over at Theo, who was very drunk. "He never drinks this much." You whispered back to Daphne. She shrugged. "He caught the stitch. Winner of the game tonight."

You nodded, walking over to Theo and sitting next to him. He immediately grinned and wrapped his arms around your waist. "I've been waiting for you all night," Theo said, speaking slowly so his words didn't get slurred.

"I'm sorry. Why'd you drink so much without me?" You asked, tapping softly on his wrist. "I didn't mean to." Theo said, "Won the game, so people had given me a bunch of drinks."

You nodded, allowing Theo to go back to being the life of the party. Enzo sat down next to you, to keep you company as the party continued.

"So, what's your excuse for not being at the game tonight?" Enzo asked.

"That project for Transfiguration. My partner is an idiot who waited last minute to do his part, so I had to help him. I feel bad for missing it." You said, taking a sip of your water.

"Theo was upset that you weren't there. Probably what motivated him to win the game. That boy is obsessed with you," Enzo said, nudging you. You cleared your throat, feeling a sudden sense of nervousness. "We're just friends, Enzo."

"For now." Enzo wiggled his eyebrows. You laughed at him, rolling your eyes.

Did you like Theo? Yeah, but you didn't think he would like you back. He had a lot of girls on him and he could choose any of them. You were so wrapped in your mind and your conversation that you didn't notice that Theo had wandered off until you heard your name being called.

"Take Theo back to his dorm, please!" Blaise pleaded as he and Mattheo held a nearly blacked-out Theo up. You hopped up, grabbing Theo from them.

"Oh, hey, pretty girl." Theo drunkenly grinned at you. You smiled back. "You should've stopped drinking, Teddy."

"Really should've." Mattheo agreed. "You know where his dorm is. Don't worry about cleaning up down here, we got it."

You nodded, saying your goodbyes to everyone before walking upstairs to Theo's room.

"Pretty girl." Theo dragged out the pet name. "Your hair is so soft."

"Thanks, Teddy." You opened the door to his room, switched on the lights, and put him on the bed.

"Come on, let's get you in pajamas." You tapped his nose lightly, making him smile at you.

"You're so pretty, pretty girl. That's why I call you 'pretty girl' because you're so fucking pretty. Sometimes I think you're otherworldly because of it," Theo gushed, falling back on his bed. You felt your heartbeat pick up as the compliments flowed from Theo's mouth.

"Thank you, Theo. Here, put this shirt on." You handed the shirt to Theo, who shook his head no. "I like to be shirtless."

Theo pulled his shirt over his head and threw it in the hamper. You tried your best not to stare at his chest before handing him a pair of pants.

"You're taking good care of me, pretty girl. I wish you could always take care of me. Merlin, I love you so much." Theo spoke again. You felt your eyes widen as you looked at him. "What?" You said softly.

"I love you like I'm so in love with you. I just want to be with you all the time." Theo continued. You cleared your throat, pushing him under the covers. Theo was clearly saying anything to you because he was drunk. If Pansy or Daphne were here, he would probably say the same thing. You forced yourself to repeat that to yourself repeatedly so you could believe it.

"Get some sleep, Theo, goodnight." You switched off his light as you swung his door open. "Goodnight, my pretty girl. I love you." Theo said.

You quickly shut the door, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. You didn't know how to interpret what had just happened. Theo admitted to being in love with you. Or did he? He was drunk, so he probably wasn't serious. Yeah, he was drunk. You took a deep breath before making your way back downstairs.

Mattheo saw you hurry down the stairs and raised his eyebrow at you, "You good? Is Theo okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. I'm just gonna go back to my dorm," You said. Mattheo eyed you, "What happened?"

"What? Why would anything happen?" You asked, diverting your eyes anywhere but to Mattheo's.

"..."

You sighed, glancing down at your feet, "Theo said he was in love with me."

The room froze as everyone turned their heads to look at you. Suddenly, you felt tiny. "What? Why are you guys staring at me like that?" You asked.

"Nothing! It's just...." Daphne glanced at everyone, "We didn't expect Theo to confess that when he was drunk."

"Yeah, I had galleons on an angry confession followed by an angry, passionate kiss," Draco said, causing Pansy to hit him in the arm.

You blinked. Confess? Confess as in.... he's been holding this in for a long time?

"Wait, so he's telling the truth, and you all knew it?" You asked. Everyone made noises in agreement.

"I mean, everyone can see how head over heels he is for you. You were the only one denying it." Blaise said. Your face felt hot, and you shook your head, "I'm going to my dorm."

Everyone laughed, bidding you goodbye.

Theo woke up the next day with a terrible headache.

"Ahh, there's our champion." Blaise's teasing voice caused Theo to groan.

"Why would I ever drink that much?" Theo asked, mainly to himself. Enzo laughed, setting a cup of water and some medicine on Theo's bedside. "I don't know, but it was quite entertaining to see you get taken care of by your pretty girl." Enzo's voice was teasing and light.

Theo's face immediately heated at the idea of acting like a fool in front of you. "Did I do something stupid in front of her?"

Blaise and Enzo shared a look before shrugging. Theo looked at both of them. "What? What did I do? Oh, Merlin, tell me I didn't embarrass myself."

"I wouldn't say you embarrassed yourself," Blaise said.

"But sober Theo definitely wouldn't have confessed to her that he's in love with her," Enzo said.

It took Theo a moment to realize what Enzo had said before his face turned completely red in shame and embarrassment.

"I told her I was in love with her?" Theo groaned loudly. That was not how he pictured confessing to you. Well, he never pictured confessing his feelings to you because he was scared and had no intentions of doing it.

"It's a good thing, don't you think? I mean, she finally knows." Blaise said, "Although she might need some convincing because she thinks you only said it because you were drunk and probably didn't mean it."

Theo hopped out of his bed, finding the nearest t-shirt before slipping on his shoes. He had already confessed how he felt and if it's already out there, there's no point in hiding it.

Theo spirited to your dorm, not muttering a good morning to anyone as he pushed past them. Finally, he got to your dorm and banged on it until he heard your feet shuffling.

"Teddy?" You asked groggily before focusing your eyes on the out-of-breath and frizzled Theo in front of you, "What the hell happened to you?"

"I meant it."

"What?"

There was silence between you two. He knew you knew what he was talking about, so it didn't take long for realization to take over your face.

"I meant it." Theo repeated himself, "Every word I said last night while I was sloppy drunk was true."

"I have been trying to work up the courage to say something about it for the last year or so. Granted, I didn't think it would be while I was drunk."

"How long?" You tilted your head to the side, with a hint of amusement gracing your face.

Theo's face flushed pink, as he knew you were teasing him, as well as being genuinely curious. "Since first year. When I saw you on the train to school."

"You didn't even speak to me until third year."

"I was nervous." Theo let out a breath. "I watched you, though."

You held back a laugh as Theo immediately turned even more red. "That was creepy. I didn't mean it like that! I just— we've shared a lot of classes and— I'm going to shut up."

You stood on your tippy toes, kissing Theo's flushed cheeks. "I've had a crush on you since second year."

"Really?"

You nodded, smiling. "So what now?"

"Um, will you go on a date with me? Maybe next weekend after the quidditch game?" Theo asked, feeling more nervous than ever.

"I would love to, " you smiled. And I won't miss this game, I promise."

"I'm holding you to that." Theo smiled back.

You gave Theo another kiss on the cheek. "It's still early. I'll see you later, okay?"

Theo nodded, and you smiled, closing your door. Theo stayed there for a few more seconds until he realized he probably looked crazy for just smiling at your door.

Who knew getting drunk had some perks?

[mxrcielaguito]

Oh boi, I've been wanting to write Elliott x Farmer for a while so here we go:

Based off one of the comments of the original post

"I would suggest we make time for a little 'rendezvous' in my old cabin... But I'm afraid it's become rather... Musty... In my absence" Elliott says. I'd like to think he's being playful but I can't really tell. His words are mischievous but his eyes seem melancholic. I mean, well, he writes angsty stuff all the time, why would this be any different, he loves feeling melancholic. He's an overemotional drama queen, and that's pretty much why I fell for him in the first place. But something's off today.

I look at him, up and down. Wouldn't be the first time we escape a social gathering and make time for ourselves. I work relentlessly. He writes relentlessly. Our kids mess around the house relentlessly, too.

"Why not?" I suggest. "It's not like anyone's paying attention."

His green eyes widen, his face blushes for just an instant and I recognize his look. He bites his lower lip, grabs my arm and pulls me into the cabin so quickly I can't even react. As soon as I step into the cabin I understand what he meant by "musty". The air feels heavy, humid, and the wood is starting to decay. His old piano is still there; withering away.

He locks the door behind us and I can already feel his heavy breath. I can't help but find it cute. It's been three years and he still gets all hot and bothered. He's turning his back on me, his hand still on the door knob.

"Elliott? Are you all right?" I ask.

"I have really neglected this place, haven't I..." He murmurs. "It's- it's not romantic at all, I-..."

"Love, it's okay, I don't mind" I try to reassure him, rubbing his back. Something's wrong but I'm not can't put my finger on it. "It's been quite some time since the last time you came here, huh."

Elliott laughs nervously and forces himself to let go of the door knob. He turns around and looks at his cabin, his eyes scanning every corner.

"I really used to live like this, didn't I?"

"I didn't know this place brought you bad memories", I say, my voice soft, almost a whisper. I know we don't talk much; my words are usually rather scarce, I can't remember the last time we sat and spoke to each other. I'd rather listen, but Elliott doesn't speak too much, either.

He runs a hand through his copper hair.

"Once upon a time, there lived a man by the sea..." Elliott speaks quietly, absently. "He dreamed of fame and greatness; he dreamed of people remembering his name. However, that day never came, and his little cabin by the sea, he let it rot away."

I frown, trying to make a meaning off of this.

"My father bought this cabin a long time ago, we used to have our vacation here, when I was a kid. With time I guess we all forgot about it, then I remembered it when he kicked me out."

My eyes widen.

"He... Kicked you out? Why am I learning about this just now?!"

"Well, he wasn't happy when I said I wasn't pursuing a career in the family business." Elliott runs his hand through the dusty desk, then fidgets around with an old inkwell. The ink has been dry for a very long time. "I didn't have much money. I was running out when I met you."

"That part, I remember, yeah", I reply.

"It's not that this cabin holds bad memories, as you said. It just a reminder of almost everything that hasn't worked out in my life. All the scrapped manuscripts. All the arguing with my father. All the times I stayed up late, trying to come up with the perfect plot, the perfect words, the perfect... Everything" he closes his eyes and sighs. I look at him and take his hand in mine. I love it: it's so soft. "And then, one day, you showed up and took care of that old farm nobody cared about. And you took care of me..."

He leans his head over mine. His hair tickles my nose, and it smells like pomegranate shampoo.

"I can take care of this place, too" I suggest, trying to cheer him up. "Just like I did with the farm."

"No, no. This place is mine to bear, not yours. However I would like to take your example and make this old place something worth the effort. Something out kids will be happy inheriting."

I look up at him and smile.

"Yeah? You wanna do that?"

Elliott smiles and nods. I feel his hand make its way through my eternally sore back to my waist. I rest my hand on his, fidgeting with his wedding ring.

"It's not that musty", I tease, after a very long silence. "The bed's still in good shape."

When you're just trying to make some goddamn soup but Elliott wants to have sex in his mouldy ass cabin.

[lvvrmel]

CORRUPTION .ᐟ

DEAN WINCHESTER X ANGEL!READER

PAIRING: Human!Dean Winchester x Angel!Reader.

CONTENT WARNING: corruption, innocent!reader, slightly sleazy! dean, gn! reader, nsfw, smut, oral (dean receiving), mdni, 18+

SUMMARY: dean cant stop himself from corrupting your angel-like innocence.

>> word-count — 1.2k .ᐟ

.ᐟ not proofread .ᐟ

Dean had first met you through Castiel, both of you being angels who knew each other from Heaven. You had been tagging along with the Winchester brothers for an indefinite amount of time, occasionally dropping by to visit and help them out a bit.

Dean didn’t really care for you too much at first, although you eventually grew on him. Maybe a bit too much.

Your constant innocence and naivety was adorable in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but imagine what it’d be like to be the one to take that from you. Could you really blame him though? When you bat your eyelashes at him like that, what do you expect from him? He’s a simple guy, of course he’s gonna be attracted to a cute little thing like you.

Sam found Dean’s attraction to you fairly obvious; with his constant staring — not just your chest and backside but your wide eyes and glossy lips too, his never-ending flirting and teasing he continuously aimed towards you. Although, unlike Sam, you did not catch on to Dean’s relentless innuendos, no matter how often he said them and no matter how suggestive he made them. You were just too much of a pure and innocent angel.

Dean really looked forward to the times you’d randomly decide to drop by unannounced. But this time? When you’ve dropped by when he’s all alone? Dream come true for him. Getting you alone plays a huge part in his fantasies.

Dean and Sam had found a motel to stay at during a hunt, both of them in separate rooms that are just next door to each other, and Dean did not expect to get back from the bar and see you sat there on the centre of the bed. It was a nice surprise though.

He raises his eyebrows at the sight of you randomly visiting, shutting the door behind him while he keeps his gaze on you with that smug look on his face, running his hand through his hair as he makes his way over to you, speaking in his usual gruff tone. “Hiya, Sweetheart. What’re you doing here? Decided to drop by?”

Dean watches as you nod your head and smile slightly at him, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a small grunt. “Missed you, yknow, darlin’. Should come visit more. I’d love to see your pretty face more often.” He smirked, reaching over to gently pat your thigh with his hand.

Dean watches as you smile a little more at him, probably appreciating that he missed you and thinks your face is pretty, which only made him think of you as even more adorable. “You’re a cute thing, sweetheart, yknow that? Caught anyones eyes yet?” He sure hopes not. Dean wants to be the first one to touch you, take that innocence from you that he loves so much.

Contentment washes over him when he sees that shake of your head in response, the smirk on his lips widening slightly. “Oh yeah? No angels fallen in love with you? You ever been with a guy before?” Which you responded with another shake of your head and a small “No.” in that soft, sweet voice of yours.

“Never? Oh, darling, that’s adorable. Not even had a quick peck on the cheek?” Dean very clearly loved how innocent you are, how you’re too precious for your own good. Each visit you make to Earth, the more captivated he finds himself.

“Want me to show you what it’s like?” Dean leans forward slightly, the two of you now very close as he watches you consider his offer for a moment, grinning slightly more at your small nod, enjoying the fact your curious to what a kiss feels like.

Dean wasted no time when he saw you agree to his offer of showing you what it’s like to kiss someone, moving closer to you on the motel bed as his hand goes to rest against your cheek, gently pulling you towards him while he leans in, starting off with a chaste, innocent kiss against your lips before deepening the kiss more, his lips pressed against yours as his thumb gently rubs against your inner thigh.

He continues to kiss you as his tongue slips past your lips, reluctantly pulling away after a while once he decides he wants a little more than just making out.

“How was that, sweetheart? Y’wanna go even further than kissing?” He suggests in a low, gruff voice, moving a strand of hair from your face and tucking it behind your hair as you hesitantly nod your head a bit after thinking about his suggestion.

With that, Dean gently guides you onto the floor, propped up on both of your knees as he sits on the edge of his bed, his hands hastily unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans, freeing his hard-on from his boxers.

Deans hand loosely pumps himself up and down a bit as a little precum leaks from his tip, eventually resting his hand on the back of your head and guiding you to his cock, quietly instructing you to open your mouth before placing his tip on your tongue, his hand on the back of your head slowly moving your head forward to help you take his whole length, those cute noises you make when his tip prods at the back of your throat sounding like music to his ears.

Your pretty lips wrapped around his cock makes his head roll back, groaning while directing your head back and forth, gradually getting quicker the more he gets closer to cumming.

Dean pants heavily as he slowly starts to thrust his hips, his cock going deeper into your throat at a faster pace than before, letting out a low grunt every now and then as he feels himself getting closer.

When he finally lowers his head to look at you, it does nothing but speed up the nearing climax. Your head relentlessly bobbing back and forth, your eyes ever so slightly tearing up at each inch you take down your throat, he can’t help but grind his hips even quicker at the arousing sight.

Dean can’t take anymore, the view he has of you throating his dick, the sounds you make each time it reaches the very back of your throat, and the way your mouth feels wrapped around his cock, all just becomes too much for him, cum eventually oozing out, landing on your tongue and some of your face from Dean pulling out, his hand pumping his dick a few times while cum continues to land on your lips and chin, watching your eyes close tightly in reaction to the sudden sticky nut that’s now all over your face.

Dean breathes heavily at the sensation of finishing, watching you try to spit his seed out, probably not liking it from how new it all is to you. He gently runs his fingers through your hair before reaching over to the nightstand beside the bed, taking a few tissues from the tissue box that was sitting there, using it to wipe away the cum that had planted on your face.

“God, you’re a natural, sweetheart…” Dean pants out after finishing with wiping the stickiness off your face, leaning down and leaving a soft kiss to your forehead. He was definitely going to be doing that with you again. It was just too good not to happen again. And hopefully he might be able to eventually go further than just a blowjob with you.

[v6quewrlds]

can u write a fluffy clingy joe one shot?? maybe building legos or something!! i love ur work!! i hope u have a nice day!!🫶🏾

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: here's a fluffy little palette cleanser <3

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 0.9k.

The scent of cinnamon wafted through the air as you stirred the pot of homemade hot chocolate on the stove. You glanced at the clock; it was already past six in the evening, and the darkness outside pressed against the windows like a heavy blanket.

"Joe," you began as you poured the steaming liquid into two oversized mugs, "I understand you're upset, but maybe you should take this week to recharge. Watch some movies, play some video games, do something that doesn't involve football."

Joe sighed, taking the mug from you with a nod of gratitude. "You're probably right," he admitted. "But it's hard to sit still when all I can think about is what we could be doing to fix things."

You kissed his forehead gently. "You can't control everything, Joey. Sometimes you just have to trust that things will pan out the way they're meant to." You leaned in for a quick peck, then stepped back to pick up your warm mug.

Joe sighed again, his eyes lingering on the TV that was muted in the living room, displaying highlights of the Cavs-Pelicans game. "Fine," he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

"Fine," Joe repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Can we build that Lego set we got last Christmas?"

Your eyes lit up. "Seriously?" You had been dying to tackle the intricate, sprawling Star Wars that had remained in its box since Joe's brother, Dan, gifted it for Christmas. "You know I've been waiting for this moment."

Joe nodded with a hint of excitement in his voice. "Yeah, I figured it's time we put it together." He followed you to the living room, where you cleared the coffee table with a dramatic flourish.

You sat down across from each other, the instructions sprawled out between you. You picked up the instructions, your eyes scanning the pages. "Okay, we're building the Death Star," you said with a smile. "Where do we start?"

Joe leaned over, his sarcasm in full swing. "I'm surprised you remember what it is. You're the one who said it looked like a giant space donut when we opened the box."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Hey, I know my Star Wars!" you protested. "The 4,000-piece count kind of took me by surprise, though."

Joe chuckled, sifting through the pieces. "Alright, space donut expert, let's get to it."

Your eyes were glued to the instructions, the pieces scattered around the two of you like a colorful minefield. A soft laugh filled the room as you held up a tiny Lego stormtrooper, your thumb and forefinger framing it like a photograph. "Look at this little guy," you said, grinning. "He's so cute."

"Cute? He's a symbol of imperial tyranny, babe," Joe retorted with a chuckle, earning a playful shove from you. Despite his initial hesitation, Joe was fully invested in the project. His mind was clear of the team dynamics that had consumed him all week. The Legos demanded his focus, and he gave it willingly.

You took a sip of your now lukewarm cocoa and leaned in closer to examine Joe's progress. "Looks pretty impressive," you said.

Joe glanced up, his cheeks reddening slightly. "It's just Legos," he said, but you could hear the pride in his voice.

"No, it's not just Legos," you replied, setting your mug down. "I love it when you get all focused like this for something other than football. It's cute."

Joe rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Cute, huh?"

You nodded. "Yeah, like a big ol' teddy bear."

"Teddy bear?" Joe scoffed, but the playful teasing had lightened his mood. "I'll have you know I'm a very intimidating Lego architect."

You couldn't help but laugh at his defensive tone. "Oh, absolutely," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm quaking in my boots."

Joe smirked and tossed a Lego at you. It bounced off your arm and you feigned injury. "Careful there, Burrow," you said, your voice full of mock pain. "You wouldn't want to hurt the one who's keeping you fed and hydrated."

"Well, you're not helping much with the whole 'keeping me hydrated' part," Joe quipped, nodding towards his nearly empty mug. "I'll need more of that hot cocoa if I'm going to get through this."

You stood up with a smile. "Your wish is my command," you said, practically skipping back to the kitchen. As you brought the pot to a boil again, you watched Joe through the archway. The stress of the season had etched lines into his face, but as he worked on the Death Star, you could see them slowly smoothing out.

When you returned with the freshly filled mug, Joe took a grateful sip and leaned back, eyeing the progress. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I've been so caught up in work that I forgot how much I enjoy just... doing nothing."

You sat back down on the floor, your mug now steaming in your hands. "It's important to have hobbies," you agreed, your voice gentle. "Things that make you happy outside of football."

Joe nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before returning to the Legos. "You're right," he murmured, his voice a mix of acceptance and regret. "I just... I want to win so badly."

You leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "I know you do," you said softly. "And you will. But you'll have to wait a week to do it. For now, just enjoy the quiet."

[taegularities]

candles & flames: downpour | jjk (m)

bonus chapter II: downpour

Summary: One knock at your door — that’s all it takes for the clouds to burst. Because when it rains, it pours.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; angst!!, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: ok ok – rain metaphors, mention of a traumatic past, daddy issues?, illegitimate child plot, backstories, mention of mentally abusive relationship, cheating (not between jk and oc), jk kinda a homewrecker, lies, tears, breakdowns, panic, fears, abandonment issues, craving/pining sigh, arguments and fighting, very sweet kids, dad!jk <3; explicit sexual content: oral (m. receiving, super brief f.), fingering, teasing, kissing/making out, manhandling, biting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, soft/hard sex, unprotected sex (shhh, they're married), he spills on her ass, cmnf for a bit, some aftercare; hm… the ending. ➳ wc: 31.8k ➳ a/n: alright. i courageously fought through the pain; not sure how this will go for you. we've waited quite a while for this, and all your support for this series really pushed me to no end <3 i hope this is all you guys expected it to be. take it easy with this one; love y'all sm and as always, let me know what you think 🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3 and the collaborative playlist here!

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s fall.

Orange-red, beloved, drizzling fall.

And everything falls with its emergence. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth.

You’re bummed, experiencing the prior season coming to an end again; the colours are fading and the flowers disappearing. The trees are empty; pretty but a little eerie, too.

Hana insisted on a stroll since the sun still graced you this noon; by now, it’s gone again, hidden behind grey, monochrome clouds. It looks much later than it already is; great call to march outside since you were still able to pick leftover flowers in the garden with her.

In the middle of the drawing room, Hana leafs through the basket. Jungkook is largely free today, but he’s still busying himself with papers of some guest he’s expecting tomorrow. The man wishes to open a bar in the village and asked for an appointment with the town’s royal to discuss the profitability of the idea.

Jungkook is lost in thoughts, thick eyebrows furrowed, but your eyes are scurrying across the room, settling on your daughter. She’s carefully inspecting each flower, remaining on her favourites a little longer; kneeling with pursed lips.

She resembles her father down to each smileless dimple. She’s staring down, the same shape and arch of her lips, eyes big. Whenever she finds a particularly good flower, she jumps to her little feet, walking up to Jungkook to present her choices for him to admire.

Once she reaches her last favourite, she holds it up to him with a tongue sticking out, proud and childishly joyous as she says, “This is for you.”

“For me?” he drops the papers to the table, mouth open; cautiously takes the daisy between his fingers. “Gorgeous. I thought I was not allowed to have one?”

“You can have this,” she mumbles, lisping here and now, “I have many.”

“Right. Let’s see.” He lays it onto the documents he inspected, stretching out his palms for her. Obliging, she lets him pick her up and place her on his lap, immediately pumped when he asks, “Where did you find it? Want to tell me about it?”

And she does, with sheer enthusiasm so, explaining the spot and the colours vaguely. You know Jungkook still isn’t any smarter, probably not quite remembering where the daisies grow. He prefers the field in the distance over the garden.

Concluding her story, she soon tells him, “Can you keep this? Until I am big like you?”

“Oh…” You tilt your head. Your cheeks are hot like the summer that passed, watching him blush, melting with her in his arms. “Of course! Do you want to tell me why I am getting this one?”

“It’s pretty.”

“Ah. Like you then. You’re pretty.”

And Hana, aware and oh-so-humble, responds with her eyes on her fingers, nodding, “Yes.”

They do this sometimes. Exchange pretty things. She enjoys sharing her food or her collections with him, stuff she loves. She’s learned to show affection like this; makes him and you a part of herself this way. It’s a slightly different dynamic with the others in the room, though.

Because the moment her tremendous eyes look up, they darken a shade, displeased with the little body crawling to her basket, close to reaching in. Hana wriggles and jumps off Jungkook’s lap, her voice high-pitched when she starts whining, “Nooo! Not you!”

Right. There’s that, too.

The miniscule hand almost knocking over the basket, the same eyes as his sister’s, but the expressions a lot closer to yours. The surprise in his gaze is similar to the one you see right behind him, belonging to the partner in crime.

You rush to lift the near-accomplice before Hana can reprimand them both. And he looks just like you when he stares at you in shock, not minding the warmth, hands close to his body before they settle right on your clavicles.

He averts his gaze, following the drama on the ground. And the other twin, the one he’d been hurrying to, looks like your occasionally whining self, too, when Hana reaches him.

Jungkook might have enjoyed a copy of himself in her for years now, but you got two boys with your features instead. They clutch at you at all times, much as Hana sticks to her father.

Jaehoon, clever and thoughtful, secure in your arms, and then Jaehyuk, usually radiant, on the floor. Only right now, he isn’t as cheerful anymore.

Rather devastated, startled as Hana opens the small fist crushing a flower. He ogles around with wide eyes, already breathing towards crying, and then, finally — juts out his lower lip. Seeks your attention; and when he catches your tilted, worried look, he starts weeping.

As if your presence permitted his breakdown. You sigh.

His fist is closed tight, but when Hana sharply orders again, “Let go!”, he does, scrabbling away from her. She collects her possessions with a grunt; you inch closer to her the same moment Jungkook rises from his seat on the diwan.

Lifting the crying Jaehyuk in his arms, he plants a soft kiss onto the child’s temple, shushing him with a gentle, “It is alright. Look, nothing happened.”

But Jaehyuk still buries his face in Jungkook’s chest, crying harder, actual tears this time around. Jungkook squats down to Hana with a scolding look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked as he explains, “Suhana, it is good to share.”

She doesn’t quite look at him; throws the remainders of the demolished flower into the basket, grazing the petals. Sulking, she defends, “But he destroyed them.”

“He is little. You did this as well when you were small.”

Hana shakes her head, convinced, “I do not think that I did.”

“Ah… really?”

“I don’t destroy pretty things!”

Jungkook mimics your sigh, kneeling down, and you shift your eyes for just a moment to check on the baby in your arms. He’s the calmest in the room, observing the rest of his family with curiosity. You smile a little; he’s beautiful, so innocent, so clueless.

So empathetic.

Worried when he sees his brother still crying, not imitating his sobs, but pointing to his other half before he looks at you as if you understood. Awaiting your answer.

You did understand, actually; you often do. So you nod, telling him, “I know. Jaehyuk is a little sad.”

Jaehoon points again, and then suddenly leans forwards. You hold him tight, walking closer to the rest, and he relaxes. Happy you obliged, a finger in his mouth. You set him on the ground when Jungkook does the same with Jaehyuk, listening in as your husband tries again—

“Look. You gave me a nice flower, so give him one, too. He’s your brother, right?”

Hana hesitates. Then, “Yes.”

“Don’t you love him, too?” You hum at his words, enforcing the message. “You should give nice things to people you love.”

“Yes. But he is annoying…”

She grants her siblings a look, a little calmer when Jaehyuk sniffles. Jaehoon shifts closer to his disheartened brother, touching his hand, knees close. They can finally sit on their own now, and they use the ability to keep themselves glued to the other.

A second passes before Hana adds, “Alright, he should have one. He is too small to get his own.”

You agree, “That’s right.”

Holding two different flowers towards the now far calmer Jaehyuk — Jaehoon’s presence seems to help — she inquires, “Good, which one do you like better?”

Her voice is authoritative, the classic older sister. It affects the twins for just a moment as they blink at her; but then, Jaehyuk regards the choices presented to him — though his eyes settle on the marigold quickly.

Opting to grab it, he hits the void when Hana pulls back, shaking her head. You’re about to nag again, seated on the ground next to Jungkook, much like royals should as your sister would jest, but then hold back when Hana speaks again.

“No. Grab it from here, yes?” She hands him the stem, and he listens, takes it as carefully as a baby can. “Yes, like this.”

And then he’s raising it to his cheek, fascinated by it, touching the petals after all. Jaehoon watches quietly before his beseeching eyes drift to his sister. His plea is soundless, but she understands; says, “You can have this, Jaehoonie.”

The daisy he receives is from the same spot she plucked Jungkook’s from. Pretty things for her pretty brother. He’s not sure what to do with it, though, but he imitates the way Jaehyuk plays with it so tenderly, more than happy to accept.

You catch the smile spreading on Hana’s countenance, balanced out by her sassy little, “But you have to work for more. These are mine.”

You laugh, content, “This is good enough.” You reach out to her cheek, caressing for a moment. “Be nice to each other. They love you a lot.”

She only nods, yet baffled when Jaehoon suddenly opts for her, climbing half onto her lap. She gives in, though she can barely properly hold them yet; so she reshifts him as well as she can, placing him in front of her, between her legs.

Like this, they look through the basket; he’s kind and soft, so he doesn’t do much anyway. Just stares while Jaehyuk busies himself with the flower until he gets bored and targets the toy he abandoned minutes ago.

They’re cooing and conversing, Hana speaking, Jaehoon incoherently babbling. You’ve heard this is good, talking to your kids; apparently, they’re vocal much more later on.

But the room is filled with noises and a stack of papers, so you turn to Jungkook and suggest, “I can take them somewhere else. You’re working, so I reckoned…”

“It’s alright,” he, however, assures, “I am already done. This is rewarding, actually.”

“Isn’t it tiring?” You regard the scattered children, full of love for them, but brimming with fatigue, too. “I am so… exhausted.”

“I know. I understand that you are,” he says, grasping your hand, knuckles to his lips, “which is probably why I should stay, too.”

He gets it. You know he truly does, never just says it.

Ever since the birth of your twins, stress, anxiety and restless nights came together to an undesired mix. Barely sleeping makes you prone to headaches and mood swings; one child was already difficult to manage, but three…

You haven’t rested in years. Your skin and your eyes have changed. More tired, more sensitive, your heart a little more feeble.

And the birth wasn’t easy, either. You lost a ton of blood again, another source of Jungkook’s resurfaced panic; but this time because there were two kids at once. You feel grateful, you do — but the days and weeks after they were born were hell on Earth.

You didn’t quite feel like yourself for so long.

But their warmth and Jungkook helped. Honestly, you can’t anyhow fabricate a world without him and his support even just in theory. And beware, such love isn’t given; you’ve seen friends and relatives wade through terrible experiences.

Jungkook is a man they don’t place in every corner of the world, so you’re thankful beyond imagination.

Because you survived due to him. You live because of the humble personalities in this brightly lit room, dimmed only by the grey afternoon sky. It’s a cruel world at times; some pasts are an accumulation of everything bad. Jungkook’s more than anyone’s you know.

Looking at him now, you can hardly believe he was once the sad boy stranded in the rain.

That crying, sobbing mess, freezing, seeking peace when he was inundated by misery. But…

Things came together well, right? The world is less terrifying like this.

You guess the warmth might fall outside all the time, but it never does in these rooms.

“And?”

The answer echoes less than it did a moment ago. The peeking head is retracting just slowly, still frozen between the open door and its frame. You don’t think his eyes are spying much of concern, and he confirms it when he shakes his head, responds—

“Nothing.”

“This should be good enough then.”

“Hm, yes. I don’t know. It took hours last time, as well.”

Without a piece of context, it’s a hilarious picture. Somehow, it even is with context; so you can’t help the quiet chuckle, silencing quickly to avoid waking up the tiny bundle slumbering in your arms.

You reprimand your husband, “But you can’t keep standing there for hours.”

The sigh you receive is deep and long. You understand his worries.

It hasn’t been long anyway — the night transpired just a while ago. Still in the back of your mind since Hana waddled to your room, knocking with the might that her fist could possibly conjure; you barely heard it, but you did.

You have been a light sleeper since she was born, so you were shaken awake rather fast. You welcomed her in with softness, veiling the horror in your voice. You were devastated when you saw her feet bare, standing in the dark hallway.

Luckily, the moment turned out not quite frightening — she couldn’t sleep. That was it. So you pulled her into your arms and off the ground, stroking her back and her head, planting kisses in her hair.

It took a while to lull her to sleep; to be certain, you kept her right next to you for the remainder of the nightly hours, even though her room was next door. She’d mumbled something about a poor bird, and you’d understand only minutes after her silence that she had seen a dead pigeon in the garden that day.

The nightmare this scene called forth prevented her from sleeping comfortably in her chamber for some days to come.

Jungkook had come to bed late that time, so he was long knocked out when Hana came. The regret doubled the next morning when you told him about the occurrence, and Jungkook blamed himself for the coming hours — only, the guilt extended. Still prominent.

Because he’s still glancing out, fearing she’ll come and knock again; fearing it might go unnoticed once more.

“I would hear it,” you reassure, “I always will.”

“What if you don’t?”

“I will,” you try again; you keep your voice low, soft, understanding his string of thoughts. But you miss him next to you, and you want the door to close. You insist, “I will, love. Don’t blame yourself for not hearing it, yes? You were tired.”

Jaehoon moves in your arms, a small fist loosening. He’s fast asleep, but you still wait before you speak again, assuring that he won’t wake up again. Jungkook must be thinking the same, because only once you sigh a breath of relief, he says, “You are tired, too. Don’t undermine your importance here—”

“Just come to bed, darling.”

Interrupted, his lips morph into a pout, round eyes regarding you for a moment. But it seems you render him at least a little delicate, aware of your effect on him, tilting your head by a few degrees. Your smile must be jarring; because the second you flash it, he gives in.

The door shuts behind him, and he offers an upward twitch of his mouth in response before he asks, “Would you reckon she’s too young to have her own room?”

“Perhaps… I don’t always feel very comfortable with her absence at night either. We have gotten too used to her, haven’t we?” You shake your head as he steps towards your side of the bed. “But she wanted this so bad.”

“Hmm… good thing she spends half of all her nights here anyway.”

“True. She got too used to us, as well,” you say before sitting up, eliciting a brief groan as you prepare yourself to put Jaehoon back in his crib. You can barely stand up; your body is exhausted, begs to stay in the resting state for now. “Alright then…”

But by then Jungkook’s helping hands are already reaching out, his back arching, bowing forwards. Carefully, sweetly, he mutters a little, “No, let me—” before he’s sheltering his son in his hold, slow and gentle as he tackles the task for you.

For a minute, he remains there, standing over the crib, gazing at the babies so peacefully dreaming away. He does this sometimes — lose himself in the sight. This is a fairytale for him. When he read all those books on parenting years ago, he didn’t think it’d come this easily to him.

Not that parenting has ever been particularly easy. Tears and arguments were frequent at points in time, but so were sacrifices and compromises. You knew what such a change did to a vulnerable heart and mind, so you fought through the difficulties with courage.

And it was worth it every single time. All in all, you don’t regret a thing; you’d repeat it all if you could. Jungkook is your dream; this life is your dream.

Never ceased to be.

Even now, as he returns to the bed and jumps under the blanket, you register an odd, sparkly feeling in your tummy. It always existed underneath, never diminished or decreased. Ever-so-present, you still cherish its intensity, even after all these years. Or perhaps because of the time that has passed.

Such passion isn’t a matter of fact. You know it isn’t.

Triggered by the funny, pleasant feeling in your body, your smile grows a little. Softer and more loving when he kisses your shoulder as if to greet you. Proceeds to place his head on your chest as his arms snake around your body, settling in his very own safe space.

“Are you feeling well?” his drowsy voice questions, just a little muffled as the lips graze your gown’s cotton.

“I am. You?”

“Just cold. I need a bit more of this,” he cuddles in, kissing underneath your breasts, right above your ribs. “It has been raining so much.”

“It has been indeed.”

“But,” he shifts, closer to you, “I’ve learned to appreciate it now.”

You chuckle. Time steadily passes, but some memories stay right at their assigned spots, like an immovable anchor. You’re proud, having replaced his terrifying images of nature’s showers with fond ones. And ever since, the rain has felt closer to you, too.

“That is something, then,” you say, “I’m just sad for the kids… they can’t stay out too long without feeling under the weather. If I could, I’d show them the sky all the time, too.”

“And how we’re connected to it?”

You laugh again; you wonder if he’s feeling warmer now. You’re inundated with the heat, at least. “Yes, this.”

His grip tightens just a little, a fragile attempt to draw you deeper into him. This is all the laws of physics allow — no gap left for him to close. Yet, he tries. His kiss wanders up as he raises his head, lips missing your clavicles by a bit; thumb stroking the side of your mounds.

“Love,” he calls quietly; when your eyes move to his, you see a change in them. They’re fog-shrouded and somehow questioning. “Do you feel tired?”

You’re surprised; you expected something else. The question doesn’t match his expression.

For a moment, you assume that your answer might serve a bigger purpose, so you weigh it back and forth before you decide on a straightforward, “Less than usual. It’s been so long since we fell asleep together.”

Maybe that’s what’s keeping you awake. Maybe that’s what he wants to hear.

Because he nods fervently against your breasts, cheek pressing against them, and agrees, “It has been. Yet, do you know it has been only three days in reality?”

Oh. Dang. You guess there is no true limit to your mutual obsession. You shrug, “Feels much longer.”

“Well, in that sense…” Warm digits touch your arm, circling your elbow and then travelling up your skin. “There is one good thing about Hana sleeping in the other room, yes? We’re alone for once.”

“Unless she once again catches us in the middle of—”

“Don’t remind me.”

You giggle, but the sound dies when he pushes his palm under your short gown sleeve, caressing your shoulder and then the lower part of your neck. Angling your head, you close your eyes, somehow spitting, “Are you planning something, Sir?”

His leg moves further over your own; there’s a growing firmness between them that you can’t ignore. He teases, “Sir? Now, that is new.”

“Mmh, do you like it?”

“Admittedly, it is somewhat odd, but… it’s still something.”

“Then, what is going on now?”

“Well, it’s… very boring to talk about it. Lemme just—”

The palm covering your tits is sudden, but the mouth exploring them isn’t. You felt the touch from miles away, satisfied and alight when his teeth graze over your perked nipple. His hand, restless, works on pushing down your nightgown to bare one side, and he’s…

Impatient, as you’ve known.

His tongue is hot and soft, the tip of it merely teasingly brushing over the freed nipple as his hand pushes your tit up, further into his face and towards his mouth. You sigh. He sets fire to your nerves; you feel each of the licks affecting your body.

Then, amidst the comfortable, sweet journey, he suddenly bites.

You gasp, followed by a tiny exclaim of an, “Ouch,” and work on playfully escaping his advances — to no avail. He laughs against your bud, his hands stronger than your dishonest attempt as they pin your arms to the mattress.

His eyes are evil, an eyebrow cocked, lips parted as he breathes, “What?”

“You’re about to lose it again. I can see it!”

“Ah… do you— do you not want me to?” He’s still in a daze, his words mumbled. He moves back just a little, wondering if you’re not quite where he is tonight. But you shake your head the moment he suggests, “I’ll hold myself back if I need t—”

“Oh, can you?”

You’re smiling, so he’s quickly encouraged to offer a grin of his own; honestly admits, “No… but I will for you.”

“You will for me?” The everlasting beam on your face is inevitable; how could you keep your cool, pretend you’re not thoroughly warmed when he says things like these? “While I appreciate how thoughtful you are… I’m not a fool.”

Not a fool. I won’t decline.

“Then… May I kiss you?”

“You’re asking so politely, how could I—”

There’s no time to reject, even if you wanted to. His kiss is abrupt and hard, though his lips still refrain from any aggression just yet. He lifts his hands from next to your head to above it, dragging your captive arms with them.

As his head tilts, deeper in the kiss, his tongue mingles with yours with a tempting hum so unique to his voice — as if he’s tasting a delicatesse. Your mouths are in main action, but both your bodies are reacting in their entirety, too.

In constant motion, winding, closing in.

His upper body urges you down until you’re flat on your back; the nightgown settles back over your tits again as you move, but he grabs your flesh above the clothing, kneading. Clumsily, with his eyes still shut, he attempts to unlace the front of your gown.

You wait for his intention to manifest into reality, readily letting his palm brush over your hot skin, your neck, your jaw. But once he opts to undress you fully, your patience dwindles, and you let him know, “I don’t want to wait this time.”

“Ah, alright, alright… This is how we’re doing things tonight?”

Your poor dress will be wrinkled up by the morning; you know by the way he’s hiking it up your leg this time, stopping at your waist, force of habit. There’s a satisfying, delighted smile on his face, mixing with a pleased sound when he discovers you’re bare underneath the gown—

And it seems it motivates him more rapidly to tug at his own trousers. You nod as if to encourage him further, hands seeking out the hem of his pyjamas. But you’re as useless from this angle as can be.

So he sits upright, slipping out of it, pushing it down his thighs until it’s wrapped around his knees. He’s no better, really; just as naked, just as uncovered underneath the trousers, as if the two of you planned this, or hoped for this.

Kneeling, he pushes your legs apart, spreading until your flexibility stops. He settles between them properly, leaning down, and uses the position to kick off the rest of his disruptive trousers. The length of his cock, as unbelievable as ever and quickly hardening, presses against your damp cunt — bliss for the moment, but torture for the next.

The way his cock dips between your folds and rubs along your pussy’s growing dampness feels almost deliberate. As if he’s tormenting you, demonstrating his power over you, stiff past your hole and up your tiny clit without ever diving in.

But you won’t lie — you could probably come from this alone. It’s embarrassing, being so weak in his presence. And the filthy sounds, wet and inappropriate, don’t help a bit.

So you’re not sure whether you’re relieved or agitated when the touch finally vanishes but his mischievous smile doesn’t. It’s somewhat weak, hindered by the lust clouding his brain, but it’s insane and misbehaved either way.

He’ll kill you one day; or you might kill him. You don’t know who might end up asserting the more hazardous dominance.

For now, it’s you who’s surrendering. How could you not, considering he’s conjuring his own battle plan right above you, hand reaching between his and your legs and underneath the blanket to—

Damn the tip of the digits against your clenching cunt. He’s not even inside, but you react immediately. Know to bite your lower lip when he circles your clit a little, the position and the spread legs keeping you from shutting your thighs.

Your head falls to the side; Jungkook considers it an opportunity. He plays around your nub further, testing the waters, and when you moan out, he closes the gap between the two of you, latching onto your neck to suck and kiss and bite.

“Fuck,” you curse, incessantly hoping the kids are deeply asleep and won’t have to witness their mother’s foul language this early on. “Fuck, start already—”

He knows you aren’t talking about his fingers; they’re already in action, tapping your clit, drawing over it. Then moving down, slipping along your wetness, already drenched when he decides to ram a finger in.

Yet, he understands you’re still referring to the member standing tall, anticipating and urging for you but holding back either way. No, instead he chooses to drive you crazy first, using a free hand to grab your chin and turn your head back to him, going for another messy kiss.

And you can’t do more than give yourself to him so willingly, wincing and whimpering as he finger-fucks you as well as the position allows. It’s not ideal like this, and to your chagrin, he can’t use his skills fully, but the fact that he can turn your thoughts this incoherent speaks volumes already.

You can’t wait… can’t wait for him to bury himself in you.

Half hovering over you, he soon loses the strength to keep himself afloat, dipping and retracting his fingers to lead his cock there instead; still, once again, without fucking you dumb yet. You’re drifting, but still too sane for your liking.

Your wetness helps him toy with you some more; he keeps pumping with his hand as he humps you once, twice, and you mutter his name and a couple mumbled pleas — but he remains as wicked as ever.

But when the dam breaks and your mind explodes, you exclaim his name again in pure desperation, half your brain gone when he pushes just his tip inside you and continues jerking off to make himself as hard as he can.

Eventually, you demand, “Put it in!”

The shake of his head is vile. Your eyebrows furrow at the man, and you try to grind up into him — he doesn’t let you. Only the head remains inside you, and he keeps doing his thing, not leading it in or out, just drenching himself.

You reprimand, “You’re being impossible tonight.”

“Aren’t I?” he responds, like a naughty child who’s caught and proud of its sins. He presses another peck to your lips, his words breathy when he reveals his true thoughts, “No, sweetheart, it is just that— you aren’t ready. That’s it.”

You aren’t ready? You feel like you’re overflowing. But you understand; there’s no room for impatience after all. It’s happened before — him pushing in, only to realise it was too early, that it pained you instead of pleasuring you.

“Well…” you start, dumbfounded. He noticed and you didn’t — the ultimate proof that he knows you inside out. “You could’ve said this earlier. Put it in my mouth then.”

“Huh?”

“Right now. This will help, too.”

“Oh… yes? I— I won’t reject the offer.”

Of course he won’t. In fact, he climbs up the bed quickly, lifting, caging your body between his knees. The sight is incredible; thighs as wide as your face, muscular. You hold onto them, bask in the sight of the dangling package, harder by the moment.

With effort, he says, “Just for a second.” The tip taps against your mouth, hot as he pushes it inside. Thick and heavy on your tongue, his cock twitches, affected by the swirl of the wet muscle and the hollowing of your cheeks. “Yes… not long, no—”

He must be talking to himself. Keeping himself from thrusting and fucking your mouth all the way to the end. And when you bop your head up and down, lightly touching his balls and the parts of the length you can’t swallow, he restates, “I really do not want to wait.”

You let go for a moment with a slurping sound, agreeing, “Fine by me,” before you come back to go in harder. Giving him all you can, crossing your legs, seeking reprieve.

And you think you’d quickly overflow, by virtue of his enticing reactions, if the moment wasn’t so short lived.

Because it seems he reaches a limit when your drool starts flowing down the side of your face, nasty and warm, your throat still working full time on not gagging. On staying quiet. It’s become a task by now.

And for the first time tonight, Jungkook doesn’t serve the devil, but pulls back.

While it’s a pity — why didn’t he finish in your mouth? — you won’t deny your selfish part. The one that craves and awaits, glad when his body disappears beneath the sheets again, his head with it.

What—

Won’t he start? You didn’t expect him to fall out of your sight entirely. And there’s not much guessing needed until you understand that he’s aiming for his favourite spot, his tongue lapping up your juices a moment later.

He kisses your cunt just once, slides a stripe between your folds, and you’re certain his goal is much more profound. Normally, you’d be fully down for this, but you’ve reached a limit you can’t bear anymore.

So you whisper, “You don’t need to.”

He doesn’t register it right away, spitting and feasting further; more kisses, more tongue, untamed until you grip his hair and raise his head off of you. He obliges surprisingly easily when you pull him back to your lips, reiterating, “I don’t want to fucking wait. Just…”

“I know,” he says, peck after peck, in between each word, “I know. I have had enough, too, I have—”

His arm steals your breath when he twines it around your body like a vine, arching your back, lifting you by mere inches. Both his hands are busy; caressing your sides or your face; he’s confident about the touch, about the eagerness the two of you harbour for each other.

Which is why he doesn’t even guide his length towards your pleading heat anymore, gliding up and down; hard enough to stand tall against it, poking as if knocking. The thought makes you laugh for only a moment before your lungs suddenly empty—

Part of his cock slips in effortlessly; there’s no resistance, no struggle, no need to glance down and complicate matters. You welcome him easily; match his smirk, proud and unsurprised about your keen craze when he says, “Wasn’t supposed to happen already. I wanted another moment to—”

You vigorously shake your head. “Too late. Too damn late—”

The last word comes out strained as your body comes in motion, moving against him. And he matches your pace and fervour, shoving himself in harder. Unable to resist anymore, all the teasing vanishes along with his patience.

Instead, he bottoms out at once, and you yelp, an unintentional volume that he immediately shuts with a hand over your mouth and a chuckle. Jungkook enjoys playing the beast when he’s with you like this, but he can’t suppress his amusement when he shushes you.

“Are y-you trying to wake the mansion, huh?”

But his words are nothing but a breath, airy and quiet. Such a whistling whisper that it, much as your noise, might just be enough to wake everybody, too. The irony is comical.

You shake your head and his hand with it, relying on your nose to breathe the oxygen still left in the room. Your neck feels hot, your face and body burning up. Not quite sure whether it’s the way he’s handling you or whether your leg is actually trembling like this.

His strokes, slowly starting, shake up your body at least. The friction drives you insane; his length, reaching a mind-boggling depth, renders you so stupid each time. Thick against your walls, leaving no gap, no spot untouched. 

You’re boiling under his hand, somehow glad about the muffled sound. Because if he didn’t silence you like this, you’d be wreaking havoc right here, an unbridled mess wrapped in your husband’s body.

They say love and passion fade sometimes; that affection lessens when you get used to it, bored of it. But the two of you haven’t reached that stage yet — you doubt you ever will.

Because the flames that have surrounded you ever since you fell into these depths for the other… they don’t ever seem to dim. Who would’ve thought that a candle could turn into an inferno?

No, your body signals more than enough; this isn’t boredom. This isn’t a reduction in adoration. You feel the devouring and the worship in each thrust and touch and kiss and gaze.

In each curse and movement, how he shifts you and you wind. Dancing in the sheets and shivering under the goosebumps as he hears your stifled moans drowned out by his palm. If he could, he’d listen all day; if the circumstances allowed…

He rams into you hard but slowly and only raises the pace gradually; once he’s gotten used to the effect, however, and seeks to possess you more, he sends your body up the sheets. Each time, over and over again, restraint thrown overboard.

You mewl with a raised head and tightly shut eyes; his hand drops just a little, and you, in your misty moment, dig your teeth into the finger still covering your lower lip. The sound he lets out suggests pain here, but then again… lust there.

His voice is feathery, mellow; as if he’s softly charmed, seduced rather than achingly bitten.

Lips apart and eyes hooded, he relocates his hand just a little, twisting it until the thumb grazes your chin, hand laying on your cheek as the forefinger dips into your mouth. It’s difficult to focus; what does he look at?

The way his digit is gently trapped between your teeth, the tip of it teased by your tongue? The arch of your mouth and how his finger presses against the lower lip? Or the heat that grows under his palm, the rise of your chin, the eyes rolling back before shutting?

A feral urge expands in him, growing like a well-watered seed; he doesn’t know how you do it, but you encapsulate all his beginnings and ends in a moment, now and always.

Your hair is a mess by the time he removes his other hand from it, not quite sure when he grabbed a patch at all. He pins one of your legs to the side, angling it, and you breathe unsteadily, mumbling a tiny, “Oh— Kook—”

“Yes.”

It’s not quite a dialogue, but neither of you cares for it. There isn’t much to say at all. And neither any calls of his or your name, nor his quiet, “I love you so much,” do the emotion bubbling in his stomach justice.

In all honesty, he could explode just looking at you. You’re a wonder of nature, aren’t you? You pump relief and craze and comfort and insanity into him, one after another and all at once.

“Baby,” you call out the moment his teeth drag your damn gown down your tits again, kissing them, nibbling at your nipple. “I think I might already— soon…”

You don’t know whether it’s because it’s been so long, or because Jungkook knows just well how to fuck you right, but you’re nearly bursting. Or is it the mental picture of the movements he’s granting you?

Elegant yet beastly thrusts, hips and ass and upper body swaying up and down steadily; slow, then fast, then soft, then hard… rhythmic and then stuttering—

He wipes the hair off your forehead, and then whispers warm and close to your ear, “Hey, do you… know how obsessed I am with you?” A peck to your earlobe, and you wind, ticklish and pleased. He shifts to your lips, the kiss an inch away. “You—you’re all I’ll ever need.”

You can’t serve as much of a smooth and rational answer as him, but you still tell him all lost, “Then— be with me… me, always, yes?”

He chuckles; you’re not sure why. Perhaps this is such a matter-of-fact for him that he doesn’t need it spelled out. “Yes… yes. What else? Where else would I go?”

Away from you — even for a moment, even just a bit. Right now, you can’t bear the thought of a hint of a distance between the two of you. You want him close, closer, part of your heart, thawing with you in cool falls and cold winters.

“You’re pretty,” he then proceeds, tugging at your lip, “don’t know where to touch you. So pretty.”

“Everywhere. Just don’t stop— touching me,” you begin, every now and then interrupted by an exhausted kiss, “at all.”

“Right.” And still, he backs away out of the blue, all touch gone except the gentle rub along your hip, and you stare up at him with big eyes, body so empty before he orders, “Turn around.” He’s acting tough, but you see the madness in his eyes the moment he says it. “Quickly.”

Quickly.

You know what he’s thinking without him vocalising any of it. Know what he’ll do before he does it.

With quivering limbs, you oblige, helped by his hands as he hauls the gown easily over your body, crumpling it up and placing it next to the pillow. Within a moment, you’re bare, head to toe.

He keeps you on your knees, reluctant to wait a second before he enters you again. His hand lands on your ass, pulling apart to see better, and once all in, he starts moving again.

You don’t need to glance back to know that the muscles of his back and his ass are flexing, tanned and golden. The veins of his arms are probably protruding, his abs and chest damp, latter heaving. You know he probably resembles some textbook God, and maybe that’s what topples you over the edge.

That and… the hand on your clit.

Softly circling, the nub immensely sensitive, limbs buckling and weak. You require all your might to not fall and close your legs and sob.

But the tears are inescapable; one or two tip over your waterline when you finally come to an end. His prior teasing and the anticipation already drove you too close to the peak, and it seems that now you’re surrendering eventually.

You shake, your arms more so than the rest of your body. Wobbly, you try to keep yourself upright, but as the blur covers your vision and the waves crash over your pelvis and stomach, you let your cheek fall to the pillow. Hands clutch the sheets.

The tremor is out of control.

And you’re still riding out that high, aided by his continuing shoves and hammering. He’s generous when he pushes you all the way down, a hand on the small of your back as he says, “Take your time— I’m almost there, fu—”

Take your time with what? You don’t know; the chances are high he doesn’t either. Or is he talking to himself again?

To no avail, though, because he’s manic, uncurbed. Your cheek digs into the pillow, the bed moving more than it has during these moments lately. He’s chasing ecstasy, calling your name and little words, such as, “Love, sweetheart, darling,” over and over again like it’s his sole vocabulary.

His lips move over your shoulder and to your back, featherlight as opposed to how he’s fucking you. The care with which he kisses your skin leaves you gasping, affects you whole, and you feel the shiver down your spine, along your arms.

You want to stay awake all night. Want this to keep going.

Funny, how this very thought is followed by a question you neither expect nor grasp, “Have I… kissed you too much already? Are you sick of it?”

You think your eyebrows furrow, or perhaps you imagine it, because there is no way your facial muscles still have that much energy left. But he must be out of his mind, daring such questions. Is there such a thing as getting sick of him?

“Why—”

This man never lets you finish. There is an art to interrupting without irritating, and he’s mastered it — because you can barely complain when his hand wraps around your neck, cautiously lifting and turning your head to make out with you again.

The tongue sneaks into your mouth right away; the kiss is barely a kiss, too filthy and chaotic to be called such. Rather, you’re eating each other up, mixing your moans, crazed by his drilling until his breaths turn laboured and his sounds hoarse.

They come straight out of his throat, sweet in your ears. And before you know it, he’s getting to his knees and rapidly pulling out; you feel vulnerable and tender, thoroughly worn out. The heat is blistering and your mind gone — but you still notice the ropes landing on your ass.

Sticky and hot and plenty. Scattered over your flesh; you contribute some, too, moving your ass left and right just a little, and it seems he’s enjoying it. Groans as he pumps on; when you look back at him, eyes halfway closed, you give him the rest.

And a couple seconds later, tongue poking the corner of his lips, he’s done.

Panting, whispering something you can’t understand, weak… but done. Close to falling onto you until he realises he probably shouldn’t.

Instead, he lays down next to you. Your eyes are closed, but you immediately feel a loving brush over your cheek, ridding it of the strands sticking to your face.

You shake your head — or at least, you think you do. It’s probably more of an attempt, just a slight movement before you playfully scold, “Great… what do we do about this now?”

Jungkook swallows, calming down as he responds, “Over there— there’s a jug of water on the table still.”

“…And?”

“I will go and find a cloth?”

The careful question in his tone is so sweet. You’re not sure if he intended to stain your skin like this before the lust took over him. What a fool for you. Enough to barely ever think of the consequences, be they big or small.

In this sense, you could say that falling for you happened without a single thought for him, too, didn’t it?

He was chasing a different plan. Didn’t fathom that he was losing himself in you. And when he did, he didn’t consider the aftereffects and the risks of what his uncle had come up with; Jungkook didn’t care much about anything at all but being with you.

He’s told you many times.

Back when you hid in that room, or touched in the carriage — in those fleeting moments, the future didn’t consist of what his relatives needed, but of what he could give to you. Who he could be to you.

In hindsight, he was so in love with you. Looking at your relationship, you can’t compare the affection you started out with for each other with the overload of passion now, but… goddamn, he was so in love with you. You know.

And the truth is that no matter what obstacles life may place on your road ahead, neither of you will love the other less than the minute before.

You laugh when you meet his big, brown eyes, asking, “Is there any cloth in this room?”

“I… I think I brought one before. Should be on the table…”

“Might be good enough.”

“Or I can get one from the kitchen.”

You scoff. “You want to sneak around the mansion now? Really?” You lift your upper body, balancing it on your arms, catching him as he licks his lips at the sight of your bouncing tits. You nod towards the table. “That will do. Go and free me from your stuff.”

“Tsk. Good.”

You were right; his idea sufficed. And the kids are still asleep — a double win for you. In theory, you’re ready to crash for the night, succumbing to fatigue. But the truth is that only your body feels spent; your brain doesn’t just yet.

So as Jungkook wipes over the flesh of your ass, you confess, “I’m still not tired enough.”

“Mmmh, me neither.”

“…So what now?”

He falls back to his side with another grunt, throwing the dirty cloth to the floor. You reach out, grazing his chest, playing with the cotton he’s still sporting. He probably knows what you’re hinting at, despite being already battered, but he ignores your advances just to—

“Mh-mh,” he rejects, “I want to talk. I just… I need to hear your voice for a bit.” He stops the finger on his chest, raising your hand to his lips, and kisses each knuckle. Dramatically, he adds, “What would I do without your voice?”

You ponder. Then jest, “Still hear it in your mind somewhere.”

“Yes, very true. I still always do in the office.”

You laugh, so gripped by the emotions stuck to your heart. “So, what would you like me to say?” He shrugs, an indicator for, “Anything.” So you ask, “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

“Yes… story. Yes, tell me one.”

“I can think of one right away. Sort of a lullaby.”

“So it’s got to be a good one,” he says as he covers you with the thick blanket. An arm over you pulls you closer to him. “Right?”

Your eyes drift to the window. You’re lucky, sleeping in a bedroom with a view. Jungkook’s office has one, too, but Hana’s room, while next door, doesn’t. You’re at the far end of the corridor and this mansion’s wing, risking much, so exposed.

Perhaps you’ll move your room to a safer place in the mansion soon. But for now, you’re grateful for the sky, the stars, the moon. The pouring cloudburst.

Jungkook might have caught your distraction; because he wraps one of your hair strands around his finger, inquiring, “May I guess?… Is it a story about the fall and the rain?”

Your lips twitch upward to a smile. Flooded by past pictures, you refuse to end the night, preparing for a concluding tale as you say—

“How did you know?”

When it knocks at your chamber door the next sunrise, you could swear you haven’t slept more than a handful of hours. The exhaustion weighs on your eyes and muscles, body limp as you stir awake. Your voice is still hoarse.

So you’re startled.

Not just because it’s early or because of the interrupted, peaceful slumber; and not just because there’s a knock at the grand, adorned door, either. In reality, it occurs regularly — for Jungkook and his work, or to remind you of your children’s riding and violin lessons, or to inform you of the arrival of guests.

This time it’s the latter. Yet, you’re alarmed, not even because of the guest, but because it’s Sunday, and you don’t usually expect a visitor on Sundays — unless, perhaps, something is transpiring down in the village that needs your urgent assistance.

But — these things are rare. People here regard it as their rest day, too. It’s why you wake up drowsy and confused, ready to sleep the fatigue off and hoping it’s nothing too grave. Squinting an eye shut, you glance at the longcase clock in the corner of your room.

Seven in the morning.

You register a mumble of a voice next to you, low and gravelly, welcoming the staff inside who, a second later, informs, “Visitor for you, Lord Jeon.”

Jungkook sighs. A hand emerges from under the heavy, floral blanket, rubbing his tired, puffy eyes. He hums in gratitude, telling the informant he’d be downstairs in a minute; and when the young man has stepped away, Jungkook half turns to you.

His voice is still husky and half asleep when he gently wipes a strand behind your ear and says, “Go back to sleep. Might be Byun for the boxing ring. I should be back in a little.”

You only nod, moving his cradling hand with it. You can barely speak, fighting the urge to yawn. Frankly, you wouldn’t know what you’d be uttering anyway, though your mind is still present enough to understand that he’s kissing your knuckles and then leaving his side empty.

Falling back into the mattress, you once again hope for a speedy get-together on the floor down below; but when you awake again, the clock indicates the passing of over a full hour. The bed is still half vacant.

You wonder what’s going on, gradually cracking your eyes open to the ceiling until your brain fathoms well enough that a meeting this early shouldn’t take so long, and that anyway, there’s no reason for a business visitor to come by this soon into the day.

So you clear your throat, sitting up at the edge of the bed. You wrap yourself in your gown and your silk coat, arms folded as if to protect yourself. It’s just cold; a chill autumn day.

And as you walk down the staircase, you hear faint chattering from the main hall, like a tiny whisper from here. There’s only some staff in the welcoming hallway, but they’re guarding the parlour. That’s where the voices are coming from.

Nobody hinders you from entering the room when you do. Of course not; there’s no reason to.

But the atmosphere is still oddly charged when you step in, meeting Jungkook’s pale face from afar. You blame it on the sleepless night, just as much as the somewhat dark circles under his eyes.

Still, it gets weirder as you near; because he’s looking at somebody who has their back turned to you. A woman with long black hair, gazing down; and when Jungkook detects you, he looks terrified.

Uprighting himself, blinking, drawing a breath too deep to not worry.

You automatically assume the worst; bad news from the city? Some issues in the village? Or a girl trying her charm on your husband? Wouldn’t be the first time.

You round the chair she made herself comfortable on; and your surprise increases, skyrocketing when you notice that she didn’t come alone. There’s a child next to her. Proper and sweet, certainly older than Hana.

His hands are neatly folded in his lap, hair combed back. He’s just listening, it seems, to whatever they spoke about. And his face… his face looks familiar somehow; as does the girl’s, yet in an entirely different way.

“Good morning,” you greet the woman and she responds with a nod. “Is everything alright?” you finally ask, turning to Jungkook, a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t come back.”

But Jungkook doesn’t answer. Your heart grows a little more wary. Because, why is he so speechless? Why does he look scared, eyes wide, chest risen, as if he’s holding his breath? Blinking faster.

The woman is back to staring at her legs, shifting her hand to grip the little one next to her; and the boy looks like he doesn’t want to be here at all. At the same time, however, he starts to admire the fancy interior of your mansion.

The lustre, the floor, the table, the chairs. Everything you’ve grown used to.

“What is wrong?” you try again. Panic watered by Jungkook’s lack of response, you gulp, but still steady yourself and remain polite. “May I ask… who are you?”

You’re looking at the woman again. She glances up to you. She’s gorgeous — full and curved lips, light brown eyes, pitch black hair. Looks young; about your age. She doesn’t answer, but Jungkook’s quivering voice does.

“This is Jihyo, darling.”

Well, alright. Doesn’t tell you much. You’ve seen her, maybe even heard the name, you think. Is she from your town? But you can’t assign her any significance…

“What does this mean?” you inquire.

“She… She wanted to talk to me,” he explains, “she came all the way from a village close to our hometown.”

“Ah. To say what, exactly?”

You don’t want to sound agitated; but the suspense is growing unnecessarily, and you want whatever truth out. And honestly—

The tension forms a little something in your head. Not enough time has passed for him to properly answer, but you still repeat, “To say what?!”

You feel like you have a hunch… you’re starting to come up with theories. And the worst of them dizzy you, make you want to yell and throw up, tempting you to smash a nearby vase.

Did he… could he do this to you…

No. 

“Jihyo and I knew each other… way before you and I got married. Way before.”

He echoes the last two words as if to reassure you; like the verbal equivalent of a soft hand on your back, rubbing you in comfort. But… the tactic doesn’t quite bear fruits. Your chest tightens more; the fatigue of the morning eventually fades.

“And?” you prompt, regarding her. “Why aren’t you saying anything then?”

“I have… to him. I—I do not quite know if it is my place to—”

“No, it is not,” you interrupt, “maybe you’re right. My husband should explain, no?”

But he’s stuttering as much as her. You don’t lose your patience often with him, or with people for that matter. You’re a cheerful person, fuelled by the miracles of the world. But…

This is pulling out your worst self.

“I—” he starts.

Terrified. What the hell is going on? You wait — wait more as he swallows. And then, when he drops the explanation, your heart falls with it. Bursts, plummeting from such a height.

“Jihyo and I met for a while and… she just came and told me that this… he’s—”

You understand.

You understand immediately because your guts warned you the moment you saw his expression. You look back and forth between him, her and the child, realising the similarities once and for all, well aware from experience why similarities are a thing in a family and…

You can barely hear yourself emit the words once they tumble out; like your voice isn’t your voice, and your thoughts aren’t your thoughts, “This… is your son?”

Like you’re living somebody else’s day who’s about to trudge through a life-changing, agonising event. Because this can’t be happening to you. Actually, it’s not sinking in at all; you’re fantasising, and you refuse to believe reality. 

“Jihyo says he is my son,” he paraphrases, as if he doesn’t really believe her, either, “he’s uhm. He’s six years old.”

Your mind begins to calculate immediately. Sudden dread fills you — because wait. Weren’t you together at that time? Did Jungkook hide from you, lingering in the dark, and yet another past is catching up to the two of you?

No. Hold on once more.

You got married to him five years ago. Were engaged and together for a year before. That makes six. You curl in the fingers in your mind, keeping up your math.

It’s been wrong all along, so you need to be correct this time.

Okay, so, if her — no, his, their son was born six years ago, it’d mean that Jungkook had been with her not too long before you. That’s not way before you got married, is it?

Your breath hitches. You blink the way he did before — not sure what to do or say. Your eyes move over to the rosy cheeks of the child again. He looks so innocent, still clueless, even though he perfectly understands what Jungkook just said.

Who the man is to him.

Of course. Same doe eyes, button nose, shape of face; like a damn copy. Not that the truth hurts enough, no — it had to be accompanied by another of his faces. Not in your own sons, somewhat in your daughter, but in him.

But you guess everybody is confused.

Even Jungkook. Most of all Jungkook, right?

Jihyo says he is my son.

Why? Does he not realise it?

That must mean he didn’t know, did he? And the child didn’t know either.

Jeon Jungkook, your husband of half a decade, has a son he never knew of. Older than Hana. Predating all of your history with him, alive and a toddler already back when you so profoundly believed that you were the first to share this very bond with this man.

To be the first for him at least once. But…

You’re not.

“Say something,” you hear him plead.

His voice is a little farther away. Your eyes drift back to him; he looks miserable, a hand reaching out. His fingers graze the tip of yours, but you retract in time. He sighs in absolute sorrow, face falling, as if his chest is surrendering.

You barely whisper when you answer, “What do you want me to say?”

It’s him and you; the woman is quiet, and you’re shattering. She can’t do anything anyway. Only contorts her face in pure guilt when Jungkook, defeated to the core, begs, “Anything.”

“As you wish.” Another glance at her. She’s looking at you, too. “Why are you here now?”

Her eyebrows raise; she’s caught off guard, but she still has an answer ready. Of course; Jungkook heard all of it minutes before you are, so it must be easy.

“I… I haven’t been doing well. The man I was supposed to marry left when he found out I carried somebody else’s child… even— even before that, actually.” Jungkook breathes air through his lips as she explains; you can’t tell why. “And I need help. Any help.”

“I see… And you couldn’t come years earlier, I assume? When I didn’t have three children of my own?” You lift the corresponding number; your cheeks are fiery hot. “When there was nobody I’d have to explain this to? How…”

You shake your head, disgusted with your attitude, but more devastated by the situation. So you spit, “How selfish are you?”

Her mesmerising eyes are so big; with her and Jungkook’s lives combined, their son could only end up with these grossly sweet eyes, pupils fracturing your heart. She’s looking at you as if you’re about to eat her.

Then she apologises, “I’m sorry… I tried to get by for as long as I could.”

“Didn’t you know we have a family?!”

“I knew! I— Of course I knew.”

Jungkook is royalty; people in your city know the two of you. Know your story. You wonder what this will do to you both.

“And,” you continue, “you still thought it’d be a good idea to bring chaos to our home.”

“I did not wish for this at all,” she defends, “I felt terrible all the while, and… I was so desperate, please try to understand. I need something, anything and… If his father can provide any of it in any way…” 

His father… his father…

You might spiral. The same thoughts circle your head at a pace that might make you faint.

This woman. This child. And his father.

You can’t breathe.

So you don’t respond to the sheer idiocy she just uttered, still in disbelief; the denial will be over in a minute. But for now, it hurts and you’re confused and absolutely out of touch with reality, and… fuck, your stomach—

You put a palm to your chest; the rise and fall is heavy. And just as he calls your name, you bolt away.

Just a second before you once again feel his fleeting digits miss your wrist, a lingering ghost touch as you run.

The first instinct your feet follow leads you to Jungkook’s office.

Somewhere in a corner of the mansion, you have your own chamber, dedicated to your time and your moments; but somehow, you still land in a room drenched in the scent you’re fleeing from.

And it’s counterproductive, the way you’re moving. Fast enough to dim his calls, but slow enough for him to catch up, too. Like you want him to follow. You know he’d find you even if he wasn’t hot on your trail, because you like to hide there.

But on other days, it’s you finding solace in him, not away from him.

You’re dizzy, deeply breathing when you shut the door behind you, both palms on the heavy door. You keep them there as if they could guard you from the disaster outside. But they don’t. None of it might.

Because he’s still right there, busting your glass heart when you hear steps outside, nearing; closer, too close, the corresponding voice hesitating for not a moment—

“Open… open, please.”

And suddenly, you’re crying.

There is no warning, no quiet tear falling, no steady progress. The stream of shock and grief is immediate, and it leaves your eyes, passes your cheeks, collects at your chin so fast that you barely notice the door blurring.

You’re sobbing; your forehead collides with the cold of the door, the carvings unpleasant against your skin. Where are your kids? They must still be asleep. Or maybe somebody is already — hopefully — taking care of them.

Jaehyuk gets all moody when Jungkook or you stay away for too long. You don’t think he should be this attached to you, to not learn to trust others. But trust is fragile and the child seems to know and… and… you know as well. You wish you could be as oblivious as him, though.

The world doesn’t work that way. No, it’s cruel and painful and everything good spoils someday, becomes rotten.

Doesn’t it?

Why does the voice on the other side cut you in pieces?

God. You want to return to your children. You want back to what you had last night; you crave their warmth, and his warmth. Of your children, his children.

But wouldn’t it remind you again? That the number isn’t uneven as you thought. That there’s more out there; he has more pieces out there that you’re not part of and… fuck. Fuck.

“I d-do not want to,” you finally reply, stuttering, words cut.

He silences. Maybe because he can hear you weeping. But he tries again, “Please… open.”

You shake your head against the door, but you know such a choice won’t lead anywhere. He’ll stay right there and you’ll keep telling him to leave, and despite his guest downstairs, he’ll persist.

So your hands sneak to the handle, weakened by the shaking. Jungkook doesn’t barge in until the door cracks open a slit; and when he steps into the room, you tumble back, out of his reach.

You don’t want his embrace. You don’t need his arms.

No, that’s a lie.

You do, but you can’t brave them right now. Body weightless, you rely on your voice, stating, “You never told me.”

His face is fallen, cheeks rounder when he looks to his feet. They’re flushed; the hue is so different from what you’re used to seeing. It’s always accompanied by a smile and crinkles around his eyes, sometimes shy, sometimes delighted.

This time it’s something else. Embarrassment and guilt and pain.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows, smoother due to your quiet tone; but it’s still there, distressed. Pained when he admits, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know a thing.”

“Who is she?”

He knows that, at least. You need to move away from pointless questions and throw those that you’re certain he possesses knowledge about.

He says, “She’s somebody I knew… so long ago.”

A thought after another creeps into your head, like a parasite, feeding on your sanity. You feel crazy and sick when a horrifying idea makes its way through, but you can’t resist the question regardless of the answer.

“Was she… was she one of the people you tried things with? To escape town…”

“No… she wasn’t part of any of this.”

And you cannot say if this is better or worse than what you expected. He wasn’t as terrible as to try with this many women. But if she wasn’t part of that stupid plot, and you were, does this place her higher in worth than you?

You weren’t good enough to be approached without a deal. To be fallen in love with unintentionally. But she was something else. It seems there was something, right?

But he’s with you. He chose you. You’re his wife, the woman he spends his days with, the only thought in his head. He’s loved you throughout the years; he’s devoted to you like the moon to the stars, not to her.

And he’s standing here, his eyes begging, his fingers quivering. You’re the subject of his desire and the name in his heart; he never even mentioned her. Fuck, he breathes for you… but you can’t seem to breathe.

You’re the mother of his children, yes. But so is she.

“Did you… did you get with my sister or me to forget about her?”

Fuck, you’re breathless. Why are you breaking like this? Why does the moment feel like this? When is it going to be over? Will you wake up easier?

“No…” he says, shaking his head immediately, “no. You know how it started. It had nothing to do with her, just with him…”

“So what?!” you spit, unable to contain yourself, somehow not affected enough by the big, sad eyes, pleading and fearing. “Who was she?”

It hurts. It hurts not only because of the obvious circumstances but — your love was born out of a facade, out of a lie. Even if he loves you genuinely now, even if you’d die for him without hesitation — the two of you happened as part of a different purpose.

But she never did.

She was real. Whatever he had with her or felt for her, it stemmed out of something authentic.

Your face heats up when you inquire, “…Did you love her?”

“I…” He hesitates. Fucking hesitates. But then says, “I didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

You don’t know if he is. You can usually tell; this seems a little more complicated. One, you’re clouded by your own judgement. Second, the situation isn’t easy; Jihyo so obviously belongs to parts of his history.

Jungkook insists again, “I didn’t love her.”

“But you felt something.”

“I don’t know,” comes back, and something inside you falls, even if it shouldn’t, even if you had nothing to do with whatever was before you came along. You hate it, but you can’t stop yourself from plummeting face-forward into pain when he says, “But she was nowhere close to where you are now. Or where you were even back then.”

Can you believe this? The but pierces through you, repeating in your mind, as if saying, “No, she was less than you, but still something.” How do you know none of it will return with a child present in his life?

“But she was enough for a child,” you retort, “and… I don’t know how careful you were with others, too…”

“I was. I was careful.”

“But not with her!”

He doesn’t respond. This isn’t you; you don’t make others feel bad. You endorse empathy and joy. No, this isn’t you and it frightens you. If you had it in you right now, you’d take him into your arms. He’d deserve it, considering that he’s as surprised as you, falling as much as you.

Suffering like you.

But your thoughts are going haywire, and they keep falling out, “I thought I was the first one. I wanted our children to be our first—”

“I thought so, too,” he defends, “it’s what I would have preferred, baby, I… If I could just…” He gulps; it’s as if you can hear it from afar, in this quiet, empty room. There’s a pause between his words before he steps closer, whispering, “Please, I love you—”

“No, I…” You back away again. Shield yourself. You can’t take a single touch right now.

“Can we mend this?” Jungkook asks; the question splits you in half.

Because what could you do, really? This very real fact looms over you, might do so forever.

“Mend what?” you echo. “That you have a child with another woman? What is there to mend? This is reality and you cannot undo it.”

When you look closely enough, his eyes shimmer with tears, too. The sparse sunlight seeping through the windows for the first time in hours upon hours highlights the glimmer, but there’s nothing soft about it. You recognise dread in it.

Jungkook has been abandoned before, and ever since he married you, he’s been just as afraid, too. It took months and years for the two of you to find a remedy, to decrease the terror. To make him trust your presence entirely. To help him understand that you’re here.

Now, by the looks of it, it seems he isn’t sure anymore.

He tries again, desperate, out of his mind, “Just somehow. Somehow, we can fix this, right?”

“Fix what, Jungkook…?”

“Please.”

You’re moving in circles. He keeps imploring you to reconsider, and you remain clueless about what exactly he’s begging for. You just want to know where this is going. Who she is. Who she was. 

“Please what…” you whisper, eyes drifting to the ground. “What are we going to do about it, Jungkook? It’s important to think about, right…? Who was she to you?”

Who she was?

Jungkook’s memory is fragmented.

Pieces of what she really used to be to him evaporated long ago, just when he turned to look at her properly for the very last time on that warm early summer night. Back then, her smile was fake, apologetic, as if she’d committed an unforgivable crime.

As if sorry for wasting his time, for hurting him, for watching him leave when she wished for him to stay a little longer.

A similarly sad smile, yet so different in nature, appeared when she greeted him so gently in the hallway today. He was frozen in the staircase, stuck on that damn smile that haunted him for weeks and months back then, trying to understand whether she was actually here.

Wondered how he could make her disappear again. It wouldn’t fare well with how he lives his life with you now, he already knew. She was interfering.

And… the familiar smile told him she wasn’t here to deliver any good news. And even though he doesn’t remember it all anymore, he hated how the expression brought back the flood of past images.

The first fuzzy image was of a smile, too, albeit incredibly faded. More optimistic, tender. Enthusiastic, craving the solace and joy of the night as much as Jungkook had.

She stood on the far opposite side of the spacious hall back then; even through the dancing couples, he could see her gleaming, absorbed in a conversation with her dearest friends.

Jungkook had seen her before; perhaps once or twice, but he could barely remember her face. It was as if he was actually looking at her for the first time that night. He didn’t think she generally attended too many parties; and when they’d crossed paths before, they’d probably been a little younger.

He just…

He couldn’t remember her being this striking.

He couldn’t recall the dimples or the vibrant smile or the sparkle in her large eyes. Far away in the room, Jungkook lightly bit his lip as he observed, cocking an eyebrow when she gasped to something her friend had said.

As if he was standing next to her and hearing it, too. Mimicking her reaction, caught in a bubble.

And it took her a little to notice him, too. But when she did, her friends’ eyes followed, an immediate elbow teasing her sides as much as their words. Jungkook could only imagine what they were saying.

What are you looking at?

Is it your turn already? With him, yes?

Oh, and the season has barely begun!

He could read parts of it off their lips. Lifted his ego a little. But he averted his eyes nevertheless, despite the resistance in his movements, only to shift back every now and then.

To his chagrin, the night didn’t offer too many opportunities to near where she stood, but as the event snuck to its end, at least a sliver of hope twinkled, even for just a minute. Approaching the carriages at the same time, he found her waiting not too far from him.

Her family was missing just like his; but he was comfortable here, staring at the sky, breathing in the late spring breeze. But her gown, while heavy, wasn’t accompanied by a shawl, her arms bare.

He used the chance to ask, “Aren’t you cold?”

She stared up in surprise, not quite expecting a conversation. Yet, smoothly, and either bold or courageous or sweet, she answered with a confidence so enticing, “Hmmm, no. I guess I felt warmed enough throughout the night.”

Interesting. So very interesting.

Jungkook’s lips twitched upwards, an enthralled smile; his voice sounded somewhat different when he asked, “Is that so?”

“Mhm. I’ll thank you another day, though.”

Behind her, her folks neared, and he looked ahead and then down, smile still plastered to his face. Even when she’d left, the sparkle remained in his eyes.

That was it for now.

Jungkook’s and Jihyo’s paths crossed again merely a week later. He understood in that time apart that the tiny interaction had caught him somehow; he was relieved when he saw her again at the next party.

Brave, he joined her where she stood, scanning the finger food before settling on some tartelettes. He’d been hopeful throughout these days, yes, but Jihyo didn’t show her face too often; so he didn’t lie when he confessed, “I didn’t expect you here.”

“Well…” she answered, “I hoped to see you. I told you I’d want to thank you.”

“Mhhh, I’m still not sure what for, though.”

She shrugged her shoulders, smile so vibrant. “It was a pleasant night. I felt warm throughout.”

She’d said the same thing last time, waiting at the carriage, moonlit and breathtaking. He smirked a little, satisfied by the flow of the dialogue; then argued, “But it is the summer season. Heat is all that is ahead.”

“…Isn’t it?”

Something stirred in Jungkook. He wouldn’t analyse her words on other days, but her expression was telling. Made him fearless, whirling his mind as he asked, “Have you explored this place yet?”

“No. I never get to do so much. But,” she said enthusiastically, licking cream off her snack. Jungkook couldn’t look away. “I wouldn’t mind walking around. It is hotter inside anyway.”

And matching her fierce response from before, Jungkook added, “…I doubt it.”

He was right. She’d prove it quick minutes later. In the backyard, stopping in the middle of their walk, he felt the warmth, the heat when she pushed him into an empty corner, lips crashing against his.

Jungkook’s blood scorched indeed; the outside wasn’t cooler. In fact, it burned. He burned. And she burned, too. Her skin, her shoulder, the mounds of her breasts underneath the dress that he pulled down.

There wasn’t any room or chance to proceed too far, but somehow, Jungkook was content with this.

It made him crave harder; and he enjoyed the feeling. The temptation. The yearning for all he hadn’t yet seen, yet felt. He hungered for her; she was the opposite of what the world held, brought him excitement.

Today, he doesn’t know if it was this very exhilaration or the need for distraction or something else that dragged him back to her over and over again. He recalls his heart nervously jumping, but he can’t recall it blooming. Never the way it did with you. Never.

But she still evoked something different. Reprieve from his days, his sorrows, the grief in his big, old home.

He never told her any of this, but he assumes she saw. Sometimes, she’d raise his chin when they met in private, mouth breathing close to his, asking if something was wrong. He’d deny. He’d dive into her eyes and lips instead, forget about it all, enjoy her empathy.

She’d somehow worry, he thought, and then kiss him, tell him it was alright, no matter what it was. That she was there. And he’d appreciate it. Would like the warmth, the care.

And still, he’d go home to tears, suffer all over again. But when he fell asleep, he’d think of her, forbidding the last thought of the night to be anything dreadful, anything but the same pretty smile.

She offered madness. She offered humour, sweetness, and most of all, relief.

Jihyo always refused to walk around town. She never hesitated to decline his offers.

Jungkook was alright with this; didn’t question her rejection at first; he didn’t know what the two of them were, anyway. There were fuzzy feelings somewhere, something twinkling in his mind and his guts and his chest.

He didn’t think love felt this way, however.

He regarded love as a much stronger sentiment than what they had. What was it that they indulged in anyway? Ablaze days and nights, baring themselves behind locked doors, lips on her skin, her sides, her waist, her flesh. Hands on, under, between her legs.

The digits would dig into her hips and remain; his tongue tasted her up, up and down, in and out. Taking in her scent, lapping her up, showing her new things. Body against body. Buried in her, glued to her — could that be love? No.

It was just that, wasn’t it? Yes, he’d stopped meeting other women. Yes, he’d be distracted at events.

He would spend his time with his boys, but let his mind and eyes travel far from them; even the presences hiding in those halls that he’d usually mock or annoy or disregard, projecting his own insecurities onto them, dulled.

Jihyo was beautiful. Jihyo captured focus. And he called Jihyo’s name until he even muttered it when alone; she breathed it until he could only hear his own name in her voice.

But.

It wasn’t love. Even today, he knows it never was.

Yet, even then, he could imagine this for a while. If he couldn’t love her now, he thought, maybe he could love her some day. He couldn’t tell, but he could imagine it. Who knew? 

Then again, it seemed he would never find out, anyway.

Some days, some time later, Jungkook eventually started thinking how odd it was that Jihyo never wanted to go out. To tell somebody about them; would it be so bad?

He presumed it was because she didn’t want others to know. He understood, truly; at an age where people would pressure one into obligations just when they saw others together, he didn’t want them to rumour yet.

Then again, Jihyo and he were connected somehow; sometimes he thought that was enough, too. Deep under the sheets so often, sharing stories sometimes, and perhaps they weren’t for the public to hear.

And there was something mysterious about them that nobody would understand, anyway. He couldn’t wrap his finger around the mystical nature of the two of them, but he started to understand she had him good.

Yet…

Yet. Something was wrong with her. So entirely wrong when she’d keep him hidden in rented rooms or in the dead dark of the night.

When she’d refuse his offer to promenade through the park, be fully against his invitations on some days without a proper reason at all. Or, when she’d skip events that she promised to attend, and then told him she hadn’t been sick — just not in the mood.

And one day, he decided to ask.

A very futile intention; the urge to ask was quickly overshadowed by kisses too intense. He already wanted to see her again even before the evening was over, no matter what she’d answer. He was already dreaming of her body, despite towering over it right now.

Would these dreams ever stop?

His nights were sleepless anyway, just like this approaching one. Hands on his own skin, today replaced by her, pumping and fondling. All over him when he climbed onto her and pushed in again.

He couldn’t free himself of the itch she caused just yet; kept scratching. Then again, he was so clueless about who she was at this very moment. Fond of her, but confused, too.

Aware of how much he thought of her, but having no issues retorting things snarkily, like when she mumbled underneath him, “You can’t live without me,” and he effortlessly rose from her neck, swollen lips answering, “Oh, I can.”

And he could. They were confusing in nature, but he knew that he could.

Because she was veiling something that he thought might distance her from him, so he started keeping himself mentally distanced either way. Even though it proved harder these days.

But the two of them were still something. They got along; there was humour in this, attraction and fire. And he felt heavenly inside her every damn time.

In the midst of it, he told her, “We could try harder.”

Perhaps she misunderstood; perhaps she couldn’t read his eyes and his tone yet, because she pulled him closer, deeper. He let her. Wouldn’t voice these thoughts properly again until he dropped next to her and said, “I like spending time with you. And I want to try more.”

He didn’t notice right away — her hesitation, her silence.

It took a second to even look at her; and when he did, he recognised the sudden guilt in her eyes instantly. Remorse, pain. Like he’d just broken something with his idea that she’d kept whole. Only now, she couldn’t save it anymore.

He didn’t know what it was, so he wondered, “What is it?”

“I…”

Then again, it wasn’t hard to figure out anyway. He deduced, “…You don’t want it.”

“It’s… not that I don’t want it.”

“I mean. It’s alright, you see? We aren’t this far, so if you want to reject this, I do understand. I will live.”

“I might have to reject it… you, Jungkook,” she confessed, and he had to admit that he wasn’t overly enjoying what he was hearing, “not because I want to, but it’s…”

And the universe had cruel ways of interrupting. Always.

Because her words halted somewhere between him and her and then vanished into thin air. Cut by strong, arhythmic knocks at the door. The sudden interjection startled them, dropped the quiet hearts into the pit of their stomachs.

As the door worked on being unlocked, she whispered a tiny, anxious, “Please… you might get hurt.”

And Jungkook understood; jumped off the bed, slipping into his trousers within seconds before dashing to the back. The wardrobe was empty, ideal to hide; it’s what he knew she wanted, for him to stay anonymous.

Jihyo, still bare, sat up on the bed, and Jungkook, in the dark with only a gap to observe the outside happenings, waited. Waited until the door opened. Until a man, more or less a stranger to him, only minimally familiar, stormed in with furious eyes.

He didn’t stall a second before his anger ambushed her. Jungkook’s fingers tingled to crash the door of the wardrobe open; even from here, it was abundantly clear that the man struggled to not hurt her.

But right now, he relied on the fury in his tone; Jungkook assumed it was a brother or friend raging about her indecent behaviour. But it soon became all too obvious that he wasn’t. Somebody of such a relationship doesn’t snap like this.

No, Jungkook understood. Knew what the issue was when the man asked, “So you’ve started getting naked for others? Is that it now? That’s what you whore have been doing?”

For others…

She tried, “Listen, I—”

But he cut her off, “No! I promised you everything. Why do you despise me so much? You couldn’t wait for us to be wed, but needed to satisfy your needs elsewhere? Why do you despise me, huh?”

Jihyo didn’t hear much of what he said, zeroing in on specific statements, and whispered, “You do not give me everything. Not even close.”

Fuck.

If it wasn’t clear already… Jungkook’s mind spun.

Jihyo was promised to somebody else and was using Jungkook with a purpose and intention, as a means of fulfilling whatever she needed to fulfil. And he— he was the homewrecker, the third wheel, not her focus the way she was his focus.

Despite the mistakes he’d ever made, despite his damn flaws, he never wanted this.

What was he? A placeholder? Thrown aside the moment she’d marry him? Why was it that Jungkook’s existence was regarded as something so low, stomped beneath people’s feet, like he was nothing at all?

Who knew? There wasn’t even a second to think about it, to ask about it.

Priorities shifted, inquiries shoved away; when the man reached low, snatching a patch of her hair to pull her off the bed, sirens chimed in Jungkook’s head. It still mattered to him, not seeing her hurt; but his instincts were deep-rooted.

Nobody, including Jihyo, should have to experience this.

So Jungkook pushed the door open, met with a gasp, surprise and wrath. The man didn’t need to ask who he was or what he was doing here; he knew immediately, more than cognisant of the wretched situation.

Jungkook was ready to throw some insult onto him, words already on his lips, arms reaching out to defend her. But he didn’t need to; the guy had already let her go, taking a swing within a second before his fist landed on Jungkook’s jaw.

It could’ve been worse; he could’ve broken it. Jungkook knew right away that the damage wasn’t as terrible as it had the potential to be.

But his tongue still felt warm, tasted metallic. He took a deep breath through his nose, dizzy for a moment, still sane enough to hear the stranger say, “You can have the slut.”

There was another blob of disgust landing on Jungkook’s face; no doubt that the man bid him farewell with one last literal spit on Jungkook’s cheek. Then, the door fell into its lock, and it got quiet again.

Or… not quite.

Jungkook lacked words; there was nothing to say anyway. He was the culprit after all.

Worried hands settled on his body; he didn’t notice how much he’d sunk to the ground, one knee hitting the floor. But when the exploring fingers touched his waist, up to his armpits and his elbows, he stood tall again.

She was trying to lift him. To check for wounds, despite the clear drops of scarlet red he was leaving on this rented room’s floor. Eyes shutting for a second, he slapped the concerned palm off his arm, dodging it when she came back with a quiet, “Jungkook…”

“Shut up.”

“Please listen—”

“Listen to fucking what? You’re…”

There was no ending to the sentence. He didn’t know what she was. A fraud, maybe. But he didn’t have it in him to insult her somehow; perhaps because she, too, was already in enough pain as it was.

When his eyes opened, they glared. To his feet, to the side, into her wet gaze. She was nearly hiccuping, but he couldn’t get himself to give into the empathy entirely; the anger simmered in the pit of his stomach, threatened to come to a full boil.

Yet, he registered when she said, “He doesn’t treat me well, he— he’s controlling. And emotionally abusive, he— please,” she grabbed his hand, but he pulled out of her grip, “I can’t marry him, not if— not if I’m scared he might raise his hand at me.”

“Then don’t fucking marry him. You have this choice,” Jungkook said, spitting into the corner; the colour was disgusting. “Controlling and abusive, however? You sound perfect for him.”

“I don’t… I can’t. I can’t stay with him, but I— I could stay with you. I would.”

Jungkook scoffed. She had to be joking. Undoubtedly; there was nothing in him capable of believing she meant this. Not when she’d refused just this idea mere minutes ago.

He shook his head; he wouldn’t have any of this. Even if she left this man… even then…

He couldn’t do this because she made him do something so easily that he abhorred. He’d seen the love between his father and his mother before, and then witnessed the hatred between her and his uncle.

After all these years of affliction, he knew the difference between love and despise.

Knew where affection could grow, where it would wilt. Where it’d be replaced with hostility.

She wasn’t made for him; he wasn’t in the mindset for her. And he was wrong after all; he didn’t love her and he never could have.

“Please, don’t go,” she begged as he picked up his clothes, wiping his mouth on the bed sheet, ready to leave. “Please, I—”

She followed him all the way to the door; Jungkook resisted each push and pull, charging towards the exit with resolution. And when she blocked the door for too long, sobbing onto her body, he fletched his teeth, sharpened his jaw, clasped her wrist before he turned her around.

Arm pinned to her back, cheek pressing into the door, she kept crying, and then, finally, sighed. She gulped; then lowered her face, forehead to the cold of the wood, and too courageously as always pleaded, “Be with me one last time. Just… just once.”

And her tone… her voice… her curling fingers…

They tempted him. Something about this, something about her tugged him in again, like an invisible force. And for the tiniest moment, he hated himself for thinking this way. But deep inside he knew the truth.

That he still craved her. Still wanted to feel her once more. Still hungered to bury himself in deep, leaving scars and marks as if to punish her just once. But…

But he remembered. She’d turned him into somebody he wasn’t. So he couldn’t. He’d carry the regret to his grave.

So he let her go, using the moment of weakness, shoving her away slightly — she let him. She understood to give up. And he, with a coat over his shoulder, left.

A hand over the bleeding wound, and the other over his injured mouth.

If he wakes up now, you won’t be able to take it.

It was already difficult, breathing through every second of the rest of the day. Overthinking, but never quite processing the information you received. From the very moment you woke up to the story Jungkook narrated and everything that followed, the seconds have been hell.

Everything… everything—

The remaining conversations. With her, with the village bartender he expected. You don’t know how he survived any of it, functioned at all; using his brain at full capacity, reading through papers when you were sure the letters were blurring in front of his very eyes.

And how he looked at you after he was done and returned to you, reaching for your limp hand…

The hurt was prominent, your heart still reluctant, but you let him; what good would it have done to send him away? He kept coming back. Sat there for an hour until you told him to tend to his guest, to discuss whatever he needed to.

Truth was, you didn’t want him to go… but you didn’t want him near, either.

Your mind kept circling around a hundred and thousands of things. The woman sitting downstairs, fiddling and nervous, the child still next to her. Possibly bored. She’s aware of her past as much as you are, of the role she played. Of the hurt she caused.

The more you think about it, the more it pains. The more it seems like a tragedy, like an anti-fairytale. Fabricated.

So unreal.

It’s as though thinking it senseless could make it less real. You’re married to him now, but you still feel small, shrinking, insecure and hurt and unable to make any of this coherent.

You needed silence today. You wanted your mind to divert, conjure different, more pleasant thoughts, memories of better times. But this proved worse; so somehow, you ended up overthinking the situation to death.

You don’t want the children to wake up again. Hana is fast asleep, Jaehyuk dozing. It was Jaehoon’s subtle whimpering that finally shifted your attention twenty minutes ago; your arms were too weightless to carry him, but you did, swayed him, blended out your brain with his sounds.

By now, he’s already drooling over you again. You hope he stays just like this; hope Jaehyuk doesn’t notice the empty side of their crib. 

There’s something about this, the twin intuition. You had heard about it before, but it is truly fascinating, the way they communicate. You’re still baffled that Jaehyuk stayed as unmoving as he did when you pulled his brother towards you, comforting yourself with his warmth.

But you have to admit…

You’re exhausted. More so mentally than physically. Your body yearns to drop. The up and down pacing only drains you further.

You should set him into his crib again. He’s fast asleep anyway; everybody is. Just you aren’t. And your husband isn’t.

In fact, he’s not even in this room with you. Heart palpitating and chest paining, you’ve been waiting. He slipped in and out of the rooms you were in for hours, and you kept sending him away, sickened by the apologies, not even certain what exactly he was apogising for.

For having a child? For once tending to secret meetings with a woman you don’t know, ambiguous about what he felt for her? You don’t know.

And…

Honestly — your heart isn’t splintering because he made a mistake, really, did he? You and him were nothing back then. No. You’re fractured because of your own damn expectations. And because you wanted life to lead somewhere else.

You didn’t want somebody to become such a part of your love and marriage like this.

You sigh to breathe out the ache, deep from your stomach, hoping it’ll lighten the load. But it doesn’t really. Not even Jaehoon’s little hand over your chest does, his head on your shoulder, the scent of his baby hair.

And once the door to the bedchamber creaks open, you don’t feel relieved, either. Your heart stirs more, if anything. Scared your son might hear or notice, you hurry to put him down again, draping a blanket over his little body before you shut your silken robe.

Jungkook appears as if he’s lived a dozen lives in a day. His pupils have shrunk, shoulders low, hair as uncombed as in the morning. He didn’t bother; as little as you. He halts when he sees you standing in the middle of the room, surprised about the random spot you chose.

Endless affection flashes across his face, transparent yearning, as though he hasn’t seen you in days. Within a moment, the expression calms a little, and he pulls himself together enough to ask, “You are still awake, darling?”

You hold yourself tight, as if binding your body together. Clearing your throat, you say, “It’s… I don’t know if I will be able to sleep tonight.”

“…Me neither.”

“What happened?”

You gesture to the ground, referring to the parlour. She’s probably not even there anymore. She was all day; and she journeyed. She must be tired.

Jungkook explains, as if reading your mind, “Jihyo… she’s in one of the guest rooms.” You nod. He cards through his hair, continuing, “She said the guy she was supposed to marry never told anyone what had happened that night… I— I don’t know why. He never came back at all, but I figured that bit. She didn’t want him to, and I told her he shouldn’t have either way.”

He sighs; so do you. Feelings or not, you guess Jungkook has never been a bad person. It still feels odd. He then says, “And then she was abandoned by her family when they learned of her pregnancy and she wouldn’t tell anybody who the father was…”

Of course not. Somewhere, she must have cared.

“They sent her to some faraway aunt who was apparently a tyrant… and she ran away when her boy was a year old.”

Your dropped chin lifts, an immediate response forming in your mind. Your boy. Your boy, too. But you don’t spill it. In truth, you don’t even need to. As if written all over your face in big, bold letters, Jungkook sees right through you.

He halts, gives himself a moment to be sure it’s what you’re stuck on, and then tells you, “…I know but… I have no connection to him. She does. I have none at all.”

“She does, and now she’s here… actually here…”

“She’s here because it was nearly impossible to survive for her,” he insists, the tone of defence sharp and clear, “but somehow she still did. It’s gotten more difficult now, however, and—” He’s struggling more now; while some words pour out, others are whispered. Like, “As the father of her child… she says it is both our responsibility to ensure he is well. But…”

As the father of her child, as the parents of their child.

He’s not wrong; and you guess that if it wasn’t happening in your own household, you’d be much more lenient about this. You’d be nodding along, agreeing that a father should be present, that a child deserves it.

You’ve been part of an orphanage filled with lonely kids for too long to think otherwise.

But it surely is different in moments like these. You feel like a hypocrite.

“But?” you prod.

“She understands if I say no, too. I have my own family now.”

Yeah…

Did she need to tell him that? Did he know by himself; are these her or his words? You wonder…

“You say she always struggled,” you draw back to again, “why did she never reach out when she knew she was with child already?”

He rubs his eyes. Tired, his body somewhat more worn out than ever. Barely looks active; the shoulders are in an entirely new position. Or no… not new. You’ve seen it before — it’s just been years now.

“She thought I wouldn’t bother,” he says, “she thought… I’d abandoned her once and for all. Which I reckon I did.”

“And…” You’re scared to ask. You swallow. “Would you have aided her? If you’d known.”

He quietens. You’re not too fond of the hesitation loudening the silence. You know he’s thinking, eyes unfocused, imagining the scenario you narrated without probably really wanting to. You brought this to yourself, so you’ll need to be patient.

And you are, until he finally concludes, “I would have… I— I would have felt like I owed this to my child. I can’t— sweetheart, it’s not my nature, please understand. I wouldn’t leave a woman alone with this if I was anyhow part of it and—”

“And… If you’d known… we wouldn’t even have happened, right?”

Jungkook shakes his head again, the movements even lazier now. You’re afraid he might drop and faint. But he breathes in, then out, uprights himself, “It doesn’t matter what would have or could have happened. I did approach you and I did fall in love with you and we did happen. Isn’t… isn’t that enough?”

You blink; then blink more. A shaky breath escapes your lips to keep your voice as steady as doable. “Yes… I assume…”

Another pause. More stalling until the thoughts previously forming in your head become less of a tangled, messy garn and get clearer. You just do not know how to voice them; to keep the man who brought stars down to the ground to you whole.

You don’t want to hurt him. But you don’t understand how to handle the next few days any other way.

But you don’t say it yet. You wait. Listen as he begs, “Please tell me… tell me what you’re thinking. I don’t know what to do.”

You lie, “I don’t know, either, Jungkook.”

His strong hands get ahold of tufts of his hair again, butchering his mane more. The gesture isn’t aggressive, but he still looks so out of his goddamn mind. Desperately, he steps closer, breathing, “You know that I love you, yes?”

…You’ve seen needles at your seamstress’ place before. They always strike you as effective, professional. Sharp. The sting you feel reminds you of when her needle digs into fabric. Perhaps worse.

Perhaps it’ll turn into a sword in a moment.

“Only you,” he adds, but then halts, a shake of his head correcting himself before he tries again, “no. Only you and them.” His eyes briefly dart to the crib, a reminder to lower his voice, even though the shudder makes it hard. “I haven’t thought about her in yea—”

No…

“You haven’t thought about her once?” you interrupt. It’s one of the things your derailing mind tried to convince you of today. That she never really disappeared. “The woman you were involved with like this… you never ever thought of her or regarded her important enough to tell me about her? To think about her?”

And now he’s confused. Why do you keep asking questions? You’re your own worst enemy, really. Then again, how does one stop this toxic curiosity from overflowing in a moment like this?

“I don’t know,” he admits. Not a needle anymore… “She might have crossed my mind as somebody who once existed in my life. Not in a romantic manner. Nor in a yearning manner. I did not miss her, you see?”

He moves closer, hands lifting. You only now see how pale he is, his skin so close, eyes nearly lifeless, but not quite. They’re still filled with so much emotion and pain as he continues, “And I certainly did not care enough to prioritise her over you anyhow.”

Palms cradle your face. Usually so warm and comforting, they’re icy today, as if his blood has frozen in his veins. And he sounds so utterly dehydrated when he says, “She was never important enough, no…”

“I— I see.”

He waits. His breath falls on your face before he runs his tongue between his lips nervously. His waterline is damp, but holding back. You wonder when he last ate, when he last drank.

You guess he’s not as concerned about himself when he requests, “Tell me what you are thinking.”

A lot. Too much to condense into one single thought. But you still pick out one of the million swirling around and throw it out, “I am wondering… about what you will do now. I will assume you will help.”

You see how much he hates to admit it; you nearly take it back before he, however, tells you again, “I may have to.”

“And… if you do. What will it look like? Will you— I do not know. Will you meet her regularly, send her money, see the child? Build a bond? Have… have two families on either side?”

“I d-don’t think it will be like this, I—”

“How will it be then?”

His hands drop. He shuts his eyes, but opens them again a minute later. “I will provide… I might get to know him. But I do not plan on making them an integral, main part of my life. I don’t want this to come between us or have the children think wrong of me, and… you’re my priority.”

You know…

As the wife of somebody like Jungkook, you have seen the hardships that come with a traumatised mind. One that so deeply fears he will step into his family’s shoes, mimicking the misery he once experienced.

He’s been afraid of passing on generational trauma for years, and he battled the fear… you know he doesn’t want to start at zero. You don’t want it either. And you genuinely do not perceive him as a bad father; quite the opposite.

Jeon Jungkook gives his all. He loves with his all. He worships with his all.

But you still think this needs time and patience.

So you confess, “I believe you… I do. I just. I think this will change things. I cannot stop thinking about you moving back and forth, nurturing two families, and yes, I am selfish, but… I always assumed I was the only one.”

Not before. Not long ago. But now.

You would’ve been content with somebody like her being out there and never finding out about it. For the very first time in your life, you’re selfish, and it hurts, it burns, and you loathe that you cannot turn it off.

“I did, as well…” he confirms. “But you’re the only one that matters.”

“What about your son? Do you have it in you to not care?”

“He’s a child I never spoke to!” he argues, voice rising by an octave. “I just… fuck, I do not know. Baby, I… I don’t want to be a pendulum. I’m not swinging between two spaces… I will never perceive anyone as more important than you.”

“I see.”

Pause. Then, “…Please look at me.”

You feel another clump rise to your throat. It’s more dense this time, inevitable, and it affects your speech. Accompanied by something lifting to your head and making it heavier. You tell him, “I can't.”

“…Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“You ca—” He shifts, eager to bring you back to him; you’re already miles away and he knows. “Baby… Do you still love me?”

You could scoff. But you don’t; instead, you feel the liquid starting to pour. Like the rain these days, less comforting now, it drops out of your eyes. You somehow very well expected it, but the amount of the drops still surprises you.

Like a grey sky indicating a gloomy day, yet not a reliable preparation for a downpour.

Your inhale is sharp, cuts the air, and your eyebrows painfully furrow when the tears collect. You answer, “Of course I love you, I— Fuck, of course I do. It’s why this hurts so much!”

“I… I know.”

His gaze is similarly wet, suddenly an ocean, but he blinks the despair away before he crushes you in a hug. Jungkook is never afraid to cry, but restraining himself is something he’s practised for the kids… and even for you, it seems.

Shit, but— you’ve told him so many times. So many times to not hold back for you. You don’t either. You don’t either, right?

“I know,” he repeats, “I— I don’t know why these things happen, I’m—”

You shake your head against his chest, sogging his clothes as you mumble, “I can’t blame you, can I? It was your past, yes, but I wasn’t part of it, and… it’s still so much.”

“For me, too… for me as well, darling—”

“I just— I think I need distance, Jungkook.”

Wait… 

Wha—

That’s when the world stops spinning, frozen like his blood. The heart he has so gently guarded so far detaches from the rest of what lies beneath his ribs, and jumps into his throat, pounds in his ears.

The profound hope that he misheard you is needless, he already knows. He’s been hyper aware of your every movement and word today; he knows what you said and he knows he’ll have to let you. But…

“…What?”

The decision still leaves him stranded on an island. Away from this house and you and his children. Desolated, he as its lone habitant. And the image is surreal.

“I need to go away,” you elaborate again, digging deeper into the wound. Can he rewind the morning? No. You add, “Just until you have this sorted out with her and it’s done, and—”

“I have,” he carefully voices, convinced, so, so convinced, “there is nothing more to say.”

But you’re not with him just yet; you argue, “But she should stay for a little, shouldn’t she? I… I am not too fond of the scenario, but from an empathetic perspective, you should know about your son. Be in the loop…”

Yes, you do hate the idea. Yes, it contradicts your distaste for the image of him walking to and fro between families, providing and keeping her in his life. But, after all is said and done, his son will still be his son.

And you are only heartbroken, not heartless.

“I just…” you continue, gulping. “I can’t be here while she is. And I don’t want you to send her away already, either. Her journey seems to have been long and… she’s just trying to live.”

“Where… where do you want to go?”

“Home.”

The resolute tone you decide on hurts. Not because he’s against your family or your place back in the city, but because you seem to have thought it out already. That you want to leave. That you want to be away from him.

The woman that latches onto him the moment he crawls into bed after work; from the man who clutches your body throughout the night, wakes up delirious from your scent.

It stings. It burns.

“Just for a little,” you say, as if to cure the injury. “I… I need to be away.”

Jungkook’s throat is knotted up and dry. He almost doesn’t dare to ask, but he knows he’ll keep wondering when you’re gone. So he spits, “And then?”

“And then… I will see.”

Doesn’t matter anyway. He guesses that the wondering part won’t change, no matter what he inquires, no matter what you respond.

“…Why does this sound like a possible goodbye?”

He might faint. He doesn’t know how long he’ll have to be awake without you. Doesn’t know what’ll follow this disaster. Doesn’t know anything. Most of his life, he’s been haunted by this uncertainty, and he hates the return of it.

And you’re not saying anything; the moment gets worse as you close your eyes for a bit, staring down, unable to answer because you probably don’t know, either.

But…

“Please say something,” he urges, abandoning questions and pleas, diving straight into statements as if this could make them definitely true, “you… you will come back. You won’t leave after this.”

There’s agitation in your voice, merged with desperation when you speak again, “Jungkook, I can only think so far right now—”

“No, please…”

“What do you mean, pl—”

“I can’t lose you, no matter what.”

“But right now, I can’t take this either, Jungkook!” you snap. Perhaps it’s his big eyes throwing you off guard or the unknown future or the fresh hurt. Something in you breaks as your voice starts to vibrate, eyes watery. “I don’t want to be— another. And I can’t fully make you abandon them either, and… I still don’t know how to live with such a change and—”

And. And. And.

The list goes on. That’s the problem. It’s an overwhelming mess, a never ending string of thoughts. 

As the light in your eyes dims, usually so blindingly bright on other days, Jungkook’s eyes overflow. First a single drop of a tear, then half a dozen. He blinks them away, but suddenly there’s a river across his cheek, collecting to a sea at the chin.

And you look similar.

Shattered like glass. Your broken pieces are tiny; they resemble dust. God, albeit without a single intention, Jungkook has hurt the wrong person.

Desperation at the front of his tongue, he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing more to do but to revert back to pathetic begging—

“Please… don’t go.” His voice quivers, the sigh even shakier; his soft hands, the ones that held you just last night, rub his face in anger towards himself. “It’s who I used to be… I didn’t know.”

“Yes, it’s what used to happen, b–but it doesn’t hurt any less, fuck, and…”  Breathing is as hard as speaking. Your tears run again when you add, “And what if there are more? What if more of them come knocking at our door and we don’t know yet?”

His chest is rising high, falling low. Lower lip never still. You know panic is growing beneath his chest, and you want to wrap your arms around him, keep his pure heart from breaking. But what can you do?

Yours is splitting, too.

Worse when all he whispers again is, “Please don’t go.”

It’s a hopeless attempt. You know; you hear it. He’s still trying but he’s not truly expecting you to change what you decided on. Yet, you ask, “Please understand.”

He’s still not moving; but you think he understands indeed. Because he nods. Doesn’t look at you anymore. The sniffles are familiar, painful as he questions, “What about the children?”

You feared this question. The delivery of it proves harder than you thought; your tongue nearly gets tied, “I… I will leave the twins here. Travelling might be difficult with both of them when I am alone.” You look to the wall; to the little beds on the other side of the room. “Can I take Hana with me?”

You know it’s killing him as much as it is messing with you. You know what it means when he breathes in, but doesn’t argue with you as he nods again. Jeon Jungkook loves you; he loves you to every end of the universe.

And you’ll love Jeon Jungkook for the rest of your life, too, despite it all.

But this is needed.

He asks, “How long will you be away?”

“I don’t know…” you admit. “Hopefully not long.”

“I see.”

“I am sorry.”

All grand arguments end in silence or insults or apologies. There are no more words to utter. Jungkook is at a loss for hope, at the far end of a tunnel. If he could still convince you, he would; but your decision sits.

So all he manages is—

“I am, too.”

There’s a nod. Your tired eyes. You looking to the side, then to the bed, approaching it a moment later with a body falling so weightlessly. When he joins minutes later, you’re turned to the side, and he watches the back of your head, the mane falling, urging to touch it just a little.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns away, too. 

Until you fall asleep and for the rest of the night, you don’t feel a touch on you as you do on other days; but relying on your remaining senses, you do hear the sniffle. Do register the movements next to you.

One more time for a little, approaching while.

The place is empty when Jungkook wakes up. He’s woken up three days in a row now, and he’s never wanted to — every damn time, the place would be empty.

And he can’t breathe.

Ever since she stepped over the threshold and re-entered his life and you chose the sheer opposite, he hasn’t drawn a proper breath. This isn’t how things should be. They’re switched up, plainly wrong.

The room is empty; it has been this vacant before, but the void is yawning now, tormenting. Feels like it might never end.

A couple sunrises ago, you left with a lasting, gnawing touch. Before you stepped down the porch, your palm lay in his for a minute; despite the hurt, you still seemed to want to leave remnants of what he means to you.

Your hand was warm in his; and your eyes, albeit filled with some sort of cold distance, still carried some of the warmth, too, your gaze glassy. You were pulling yourself together so well. For him, yourself, the confused child clinging to you.

Hana thought you were visiting the grandparents out of nostalgic longing. She thought she’d be away from him for a fleeting moment. She’s too young to understand the passing of time, after all.

So she didn’t complain, but she looked dissatisfied. Unwilling to embark on this little vacation. Pouted at her father, but listened to her mother.

For her, he was keeping himself whole, too — but when your fingers slipped away from his, the heat still lingered. Like a red scald, as if he’d held his palm into a flame. Perhaps that’s what set him off.

Perhaps just as much as when the hole between your bodies widened bit by bit, and you disappeared in the distance after the carriage had engulfed you. The impulse to run after you grew consistently and rapidly, but his feet were cemented to the spot, legs stiff.

When the carriage turned, however, and only then, they carried him down. There was a faint sound in the background, like the whispering breeze of autumn, and Jungkook barely understood what it was until he realised his lips were moving.

It was him, not the wind.

Him, in a quick downward spiral, bedazzled by the lunacy and the tears obscuring the world; repeating something he knew you were already too far away to hear. You wouldn’t register any of it anymore; he hoped you’d feel it somehow.

“Please, don’t leave,” it was, wasn’t it? A desperate, “Why would you leave?”

The echoes in the mansion were suddenly much more prominent. Not just of his steps; his own voice in his head had an echo, too, but it was a lot louder, pure torture. Pressed against his ears, as if he was falling from the clouds and into burning hell.

The sounds were blocked by nothing but the wind.

This has been feeling neverending ever since. So infinite.

And maybe it’s this very horrendous fear that disables his lungs; that he might end up like this, without your touch, without your smile, without the future he drew in his mind every single day. It always, always contained you.

He loves you; he’s told you so many times, but it’s never been this apparent. And it’s drying him out, the goddamn loneliness. Blocking his throat. Shit, this place he settled on for you and his family, to give you the best life possible — its vast size is backfiring.

Because—

Fuck. Fuck. What is a spacious room good for if he can’t fucking breathe?

There isn’t anybody in here to hear him panting, surviving; he forbid it. But the loneliness dawns on him again, and he chants with tears dropping on the ground, not making any particular sense, over and over again, “Don’t leave. Please. Please don’t leave—”

As if his brain got stuck here the moment you left, playing the pleas on loop to drive him insane. His own brain is driving him insane. The betrayal is beyond belief.

He’s losing his mind; he’s well aware of this. Pondering, thinking whether the empty rooms in this mansion compete with the vacancy in his mind. Maybe not.

Because the mental rooms are plenty; his hand trembles to push down any handle on his way. There’s this long corridor, leading to these rooms, and whenever he does find the courage to open one, he finds himself in a void.

And he opens them every day, all the time. When he’s asleep. When he’s eating. When he’s wandering around, downing yet another bottle. Always hoping there are scenarios where you’re still with him, in his arms, leaving the pain behind to steer towards the same eternal love you’d been targeting before you left.

But he comes out hopeless each time. And it’s cruel, how vast the corridor is. As if his mind is deceiving him, making him believe there’s a future somewhere that you’re in… but your absence says differently.

He understands; the rooms in the mansion are empty because you’re physically gone, but the ones in his mind inhabit only him because the joyful hopes faded the moment you stepped into the carriage.

Now they’re filled with darkness and fear. What if you don’t come back? What if you do, only to deliver words he doesn’t want to hear, and then to depart again?

He hears nothing but his own voice in those rooms, and it keeps convincing him of his own barely-there worth, and that he always fucks up and that people leave and that they stay away. Convincing him that this is it.

This is how his life was supposed to go. To lift him up, but then to throw him into purgatory again  because somehow, this is what he deserves. Karmic payback.

The times he ever stops hearing these accusations and destructive statements is when other sounds interrupt them. Which has been rare, since he’s avoided conversations and social touch, except for when it was necessary and the village demanded it.

Luckily, this hasn’t been the case, and he’s been able to wither in peace.

There are still exceptions. He still has his children. He remembers; he tries. But his body is frail. Attempts its best to keep him a good father, like now.

Now, when it reacts to the incoherent call. It’s a quiet cry, a sign of waking up; Jungkook can’t remember arriving in his bedroom, but he knows exactly he’s here when he hears the sound.

Ah… right. He told the maid to get them to sleep and then bring them to their crib only ten minutes ago. He did, right? There’s been plenty his imagination has been conjuring, but the conversation feels real.

Even in a state like this, he doesn’t think he’d ever leave his children alone in this room, if he could prevent it. Sometimes, staff is around. Sometimes, he is. Sometimes, you are.

Were.

Right. Right. You might not return. But then again, you will, won’t you?

You love your children as much as he does; you’ve given all of you to the boys as much as you did to him and Hana. They have captured possibly bigger pieces of your heart than he has. You will return, even if just for them.

And then…

What if you take them with you? Or, what if you leave them here? What if, either way, he has to live a life without you?

These little pieces of him would remind him of you, too. They’re part of you, they’re half of you — but he’d see the entirety of you in them. He does even now as he walks over, watching Jaehyuk stir and Jaehoon weeping.

He hasn’t woken up his brother, but he surely has shot an intense ache into Jungkook’s chest.

Looks like you when you cry. Is this odd? Is it even possible, comparing such round, young features to your more defined ones? He doesn’t know, but he can’t unsee it either way.

And his hands burn and pain, his eyes on fire when he lifts him up, whispering Jaehoon’s name with a shush. There’s a change in behaviour immediately, but it’s not enough. The sobbing turns into quieter cries when he sees his father, but…

There’s something else Jungkook interprets.

Your scent is still everywhere. And for those few days, their way of feeding has been slightly different, too. They’re probably noticing the sudden shift. And yes, Jungkook offers comfort, but your absence lingers, and they understand it as well as he does.

“I’m here…” Jungkook whispers, standing in the middle of the room. For a second, Jaehoon grips the strings of his father’s white cotton shirt, but then his lips arch downwards again. “I know. But I am here, you see?”

As Jaehoon’s sorrow doesn’t lessen, Jungkook sniffles, too, lifting his head for a moment to prevent the tears from falling onto his boy. He takes a couple steps back until he plops back on the bed. Offers a hand to Jaehoon who wraps his tiny fingers around one of Jungkook’s.

Jungkook shakes his head, his sigh tired, and then opts for a nod instead as he repeats, “I know. I don’t think it’s enough either, me being here.” He gulps. “And her being away.”

His throat clogs up. He clears it, the tremble coming back to his lower lip as he asks in his son’s direction, “You miss Mama, don’t you?”

And as if aware, Jaehoon cries harder again, winding in Jungkook’s arms. He doesn’t know what to do to calm the tantrum, doesn’t know how you do what you do that he’s not able to do. He doesn’t think he’s failed as a father. He doesn’t think of himself as incompetent.

But he’s helpless without you. The two of you operated as a unit so far, as one big part of this universe. With half of it gone, he feels like he’s lacking half a brain, not quite functioning.

So he adds, “I do, too. Believe me, I miss her so much, too…” Ongoing crying. “I know.” Ongoing crying from both sides. The adult and the child, hurting the same. “I am sorry, sweetheart.”

And he’s not sure who he’s saying it to. To Jaehoon; to Jaehyuk. To Hana. To you.

To the hurting child he used to be, and the longing young adult that craved for too much. He’s apologising to everyone and over all the mistakes he’s made, all the regrets he carries with him.

And as he does, he’s not certain when his cries overshadow the ones of his son, or when the latter’s finally stop, only Jungkook’s misery still sounding. He doesn’t know how to stop this from hurting and how to nurse two children in a room without you, because you’re a piece of this—

You’re a piece of the picture. With you ripped out of it… isn’t it too lonely?

It is. God. God, the void swallows him whole.

And he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know where to go and how to bring you back; if he ran to your city now, where the two of you grew and loved, would you appreciate it or hate him more?

Wait…

Do you…

Hate him?

He doesn’t know. How could he, sitting here, breaking down, mind all empty yet filled. Cruel. This is cruel.

So cruel how he forwards his mood to his children the way he learned never to do. How he can’t breathe, can’t think. How his words lose their meaning after a while, yet stay a mantra, still true  but so out of your reach.

I’m sorry.

I messed up.

I’m sorry.

Please come back.

Your seamstress is as clueless as you'd like to be.

It's probably part of her occupation, the cheerful, sweet, chatty nature, or perhaps, she's in that line because of that very characteristic of her. She's always been like this, so you shouldn't have expected anything different today.

It isn't as though the world joins you in your grief just because you're feeling it. Earth keeps moving.

Coming back home alone was hard. Hana was asleep most of the time, but the moment she woke, she sought his presence profusely.

You wonder if she noticed why he kissed her goodbye so often and told her he loved her a dozen times and gulped down the first hints of yearning with a clogged throat and damp eyes.

She probably doesn't know. His adoration was quieter than hers — because she wailed when he didn't come home, hated the surroundings she'd already seen before but forgotten.

Her father isn't around and she's angry about it.

Maybe you should've left her there. She isn’t as connected to you as she is to him, and while the twins might notice your absence, they won't quite make sense of it yet.

And you, you're stuck in this absolute consciousness that comes with adulthood, aware of everything.

Aware of where you are, who you're with, who is missing. Aware of how you won't be able to weep in your sister's arms forever; so aware that having beautiful dresses sewn won't bring you permanent satisfaction.

But everytime you think back to the last days, you break. The picture of him home alone, theories about what he might be doing, how he might be coping. Whether he's crying like you, fallen like you, feeling incomplete because he's in those rooms with only half of him.

That's how you've been feeling. You're a fraction of yourself.

After three days of solitude, Hana has learned to settle on pouting. It’s odd, the contrast between her and the town, always the same. The latter is as alive as you knew it. And Seung, the seamstress you used to frequent, is still the same amazing woman, too.

Grown, a little older, but the sheer opposite of a quiet Suhana, of a dejected you.

Your sister is holding Hana’s hand, the other tiny fingers busy with the fabric of the dark yellow dress. You’re in a cursory surface conversation with Seung, trying to be polite despite everything, asking how she’s doing, how her husband has been.

She got married years before you did, and she was always incredibly vocal about her relationship with her spouse. They’ve been a key and a lock; she’s spread hope for love amongst many other girls before.

You were one of them. And the hope bloomed, even when you were met with hurdles and thought you’d end in misery.

In all honesty, you truly thought you were an exception to the many rocky marriages. Sure, you never assumed yours would end up a constant fairytale; Jungkook and you have your days, too.

You just… held onto hope, more so when you fell for him, and you never ever thought you’d experience such a low.

Seung still tires of babbling about her husband soon; she enjoys detailing her fabulous life, but she never makes the entire talk about solely herself. So you expect it when you soon hear a question back, “Lord Jeon has also always been such a gentleman, too, though. I enjoy his company thoroughly. Is he not with you today?”

You barely manage the lazy shake of your head, but you smile to cloak the hurt covering your heart, flooding your insides. The agony is always searing; you feel it everywhere, as though a torch lit you on fire. Every damn mention of his name makes your body sink.

In this town, the people have gathered that he’s a fragment of you, that he’s right wherever you are. But not today. Today, he’s with somebody else entirely; it enrages you, and yet also reminds you of how much you miss him every sickening moment of the endless day.

But you still act as though the praise towards the wonderful man you know doesn’t drag another knife across your heart. You suppress your tears and nod, agree with her.

Of course you do. You enjoy his company, too. You’re not oblivious to your husband’s charm; he’s the heart of every conversation. The poetry in every novel after all.

“He did not join me this time,” you answer, smiling away the seconds to hide the difficulties in your home. Hana sighs, as though she’s understood that something went awry; as if she doesn’t believe it when you say, “But perhaps next time!”

Perhaps. Hopefully. 

Your sister brushes the topic off with a wave, focusing on the task on hand. You welcome the diverging topic, just in time for the finishing touches on the dresses you ordered. Seung asks you to slip into them for a final inspection.

The first one is a light purple gown; you do not have a clue where you might wear it, but you enjoy the feel of it. Your sister nods in approval, compliments, “This colour suits you well. You haven’t worn it in so long.”

“I have. I wear it a lot back at home,” you say, remembering a similar shade in your mansion, unaware of where your thoughts are heading until you say, “Jungkook got me a gown in this colour once.”

She pauses for a moment. Seung fumbles at the hem of the dress, busy making it and you pretty; but your sister notices, sighs for a second before she responds, “He has a good eye, then.”

“Yes… he does.”

He likes you in almost every colour, though. He’s baptised you with the name of the rainbow many times before. Thinks every hue brings out something different in you; and that you lend it some additional meaning. Your aura and your energy mix the colours in a palette.

“To something new; to something special.”

You nearly whimper when his voice returns in your head. Despite the circumstances, all you ever remember it in is in joy. When his words are followed by a chuckle and dimples. When the bangs, not cut recently, fall into his eyes, like curtains.

You don’t think of the shaky goodbye days ago… rather, you recall the moments before the world fell apart, drenched in sweetness and grace and warmth.

It becomes difficult to stand here, to let Seung fondle with the fabric. To listen to your sister’s praises and watch Hana’s feet dangle off her seat, hitting the leg of the chair with puffy cheeks and a jutting lower lip.

The view is already too much, and you close your eyes, blending it out. Which proves hard when your husband is mentioned over and over again; of course he is. Two halves of a soul… of course he is.

It’s been like this at each visit, so nobody would expect things to change this time.

And every damn time his name falls, Hana looks up. Big eyes, akin to a doe, personifying hope and love and yearning. If… if there was a way to contact him and let her talk to him for only a minute, you wouldn’t hesitate.

In fact, leaving her there with him could’ve been an option. But you need some comfort, too, don’t you? And he might not be in the proper state to take care of anyone right now. You intensely hope he is looking after himself.

But she keeps sulking. Despising the distance as much as you fear it, asking over and over again, and your dam only breaks and overflows when you step down the podium, asking, “Do you like this?”

And she, uncaring, shrugs, asking, “Can we go back to Daddy?”

You take a deep breath. Your skin tingles, a wave of discomfort filling you head to toe. Head heavy, you yet again register the change in your throat and voice, holding back as you try to pacify her, “Soon, darling. We’re just visiting aunty and the grandparents for a little, remember?”

She does, but it doesn’t help. Somehow, it makes her pout harder. Yesterday, she was crying; now, she’s handling the bad mood differently. Maybe this is worse. You thought children forget, that they distract themselves easily, but Hana’s affection is infinite. Integral to her.

How could she forget? You know who you’re talking about. How could anybody forget about him, ever?

You tuck in one of her black locks, inquiring, “Which dress do you reckon I should get?”

Another shrug. Seung tries, “Would you like to take a look for yourself, as well?”

“Be nice, Hana,” you say, “do you want to? You can say no, too, though.”

It takes a moment until she looks up. Her eyes change when she sees the variety presented to her; as if she didn’t regard any of it since you stepped into the shop. But eventually, she says, “Alright. I will.”

She hops off the chair, small hand in Seung’s palm, walks around to take a look at her choices. Her forefinger is hooked in her mouth as she focuses, only coming out, slightly damp, when she points at something she likes.

Your seamstress approves of most of what Suhana prefers before moving to the colour, “Which one shall we pick for you?”

“I like them all,” Hana says. It’s tough to choose until it isn’t. Once she’s settled on one, staring at it with intensity, you understand she’s decided, calling for you, “Mama.”

“Yes?”

“This is Daddy’s favourite colour.”

A tender shade of sea green. She’s right, it’s his favourite. Or at least a preferred one. You guess you can’t escape him, no matter how much you try, no matter how many miles you leave between him and you.

You ask, “Do you want to take it?”

But she seems unsure all of a sudden again. The finger has dropped with her expression, and she digs the heel of her shoe into the floor, yet nodding, “Yes… I want to surprise Daddy.”

“He will love it, baby,” you say, blinking rapidly. You point to the colour she chose. “This dress then, please?”

“Certainly. Measurements?” Seung says, material already draped over her shoulder; she walks over to the measuring tape, readying herself but…

Hana has long lost her motivation again. You see the light dim with each second, and you prepare yourself to convince her to bask in the excitement a little longer. But she won’t. Instead, she declares, “I don’t want to.”

“What?” Seung voices. “It only takes a moment—”

“I don’t want to,” Hana repeats, “I want to go home.”

“The dress?”

“No.” She inhales, arms dangling at her sides, the childish whining painful when she pleads for the millionth, aching time, “I want to go back to Daddy now.”

Fucking hell, Suhana, how?

How do I take you back already?

If you could, you’d step out and curse into the world. He’s too far away. You’re too far away.

You left with a purpose, bid him goodbye to find peace within yourself. Peace with the fact that a woman is probably still sitting where you have welcomed guests so happily before. The woman that presented him yet another child, his blood and soul.

How do you explain to your daughter that returning might hurt worse than being here, and that his expression will shatter you? That he’ll fall to his knees again, remind you that nobody has ever loved a girl before like he loves you.

That nobody will ever find this much adoration again. But that then, a second later, you’ll remember that until you die, you won’t be the only one anymore?

How do you cope with this? How do you bring your child back into this home, in a mood like yours, without a solution just yet?

In that house where he’s grieving like you, you’ll hear the echoes from everywhere, and the pain will intensify. His touch might linger on you, and the walls will scream and the bed will scream and the rooms will scream.

Yell the memories you made there.

The dinners you shared. The food he fed you with his spoon. The times he’d spill soup on you in the process and laugh it off, crack a dirty joke when the tissue drew over your cleavage.

And the times he kissed you at his office door, promising he’d be in the bedroom soon; the times you still knocked an hour later because he isn’t just a good husband and father, but a good leader for his people, too.

And… and…

The bare skin on the mattress next to you. Warm, sweet, hugging you in, lips on your shoulder, your back, your ear, your body. Engulfing you. Under you, above you, with you. The whispered words and the promises.

Vows that he fulfils during the days and the nights. Raising his children with deep-sitting sentiments, turning his own pain into power and using it to bring happiness to them and to you all the damn time.

Sleepless nights, giggly days, dances in empty rooms and conversations in laughter and tears and hurdles and successes.

Every wall and bed and room will scream out the question whether you remember.

Do you remember it all? Everything you’ve become with him in all those years. Do you remember? Do you? Will you ever forget?

Everything falls. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth. Your damn heart.

And it’s then that you can’t take it anymore. Maybe because you see him in your own daughter’s eyes; maybe because she keeps trying to manifest him, as if he’s right here.

So you break. Quietly but aggressively, grabbing her hand as you say, “Enough. No dresses for you. We’re leaving.”

And you do. Suhana doesn’t like the way you pull yourself and her out of the shop. It’s not painful and you’re not violent or rushed; but maybe she hears your altered voice and sees the torment in your face, because she keeps calling for you until you’re home.

Your sister attempts her best to distract you, promising she’ll grab Hana’s gown before you leave and whatnot — but you’re lost in thoughts, still overwhelmed by a flood of memories. You don’t snap at Hana, even though she taps your wrist, asking why you’re mad and where Daddy is, and once you enter the hall in your previous house, you finally snap—

“Get yourself together!” You’re glaring. You never usually do. “I cannot fly to him. Practise patience for a while, alright?”

It shuts her up, but it does something to her expression, too. She’s tearing up, sniffling all of a sudden. Close to breaking, too, when your mother comes out to greet you, and you ask, “Could you just… could you play with her for a bit? Distract her? I just…”

“Yes,” she immediately says, offering Hana her hand, who takes it reluctantly. She’ll be a little angry at you for a few hours. Won’t want you near her. So she obliges. “Take your time, love.”

So you do. Instantly so. Your sister helps, dragging you up to your old room by your elbow, just in time before you finally break down.

She wraps her arms around you as your tears cascade, your chin on her shoulder, shaking, hands unsteady as you lower the sound of your sobs. This isn’t your first time crying here; but it’s the first time the tears blind you entirely.

Your sister lets you mourn for a while, rubbing your back, sitting at the edge of the bed as she mumbles something you can’t make sense of. She’s always been good at comforting you, but this time, she doesn’t know much about the issue itself. Unable to say much.

Instead, she asks, “This isn’t just a casual fight, is it? You had a very bad one.”

“I’m just…” you try, but she shushes you again, tells you it is alright to take your time. You gulp, then start again, “I don’t know what to do.”

“It is this serious? What happened?” She’s concerned, but curious, too. “You still don’t want to tell me?”

You shake your head against her shoulder, and she sighs. You say, “I need to figure this out with him first. Unbiased…”

“I understand. I am here, though. You can stay here or with me… Seokjin knows, so he won’t mind.”

“But… I just—”

“These things happen, love. You know it. Marriage is all compromise and patience.”

You know. Of course you know. Didn’t you have these same exact thoughts all day? You’re aware of the basic foundation of marriage, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“Does it… always work out?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I have a strong feeling that he and you will.”

“…Why? How?

Maybe she’s saying it because she’s trying to lift you up. Maybe it’s part of comfort, to say things people want to hear. But your sister isn’t this type of person; you’ve appreciated her straightforward nature since the beginning of time, and if she didn’t believe in what she said, you’d consider her switched with somebody else.

Which is why you trust her words when she speaks, partly because the sincerity seeps through them from beginning to end, or because you’re well aware of this universal truth, “It’s rare… seeing somebody love like this even after years. Of course there’s always affection, but… sometimes love fades. His doesn’t. He really does feel strongly about you.”

“…He does.”

“See, you’re not doubting it. Maybe that’s enough for now.”

You would never leave such a statement open to debate. Even if a dozen women stood at your doorstep, reminding you of his lustful past and little mistakes, you’d send them away with a nonchalant wave.

Yes, the situation now differs from such a fantasy to its core, but even then, you know to trust in his heart. It’s just the future you’re scared of. The back and forth, the facts presented to you; in the form of a memory and in the form of a child.

Breath heavy and chest aching, you tell her, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know either,” she admits, voice quieter now. “But— my first instinct would be… to tell you to go home. I think you need it. Your actual home.”

“And then what…?”

“Whatever your guts tell you to do. What are they telling you now?”

You puff out an exhale; you’re sick of crying. Your head hurts, as if devoid of oxygen. “That I am scared.”

She nods, well aware, digs further, “What else? If you think about the situation, do you see a solution at all?”

Thinking about it… thinking about it…

Properly pondering, you guess you’re not quite at the end of the road. There’s a wall in front of you, but it’s shrinking; if you give it an actual thought and look up, you might be able to climb over it. It’d just need… inhumane strength.

“Maybe… in theory,” you say. “Perhaps.”

Short pause, silence cutting the air. It’s still light outside, but the sky is grey again. No birds chirping, streets and alleys quieter. You think you hear a couple voices, a carriage passing under your window…

You miss the noise. You miss his voice.

You miss the way he sighs in the evenings, staring into a book you might have annoyed him into reading before looking up, noticing your gaze. Smiling at you, overwhelmed by love, leaning in as the novel closes and his lips open…

So your answer shoots out of you when your sister asks, “What else are you thinking?” Clear and ardent and brimming with certainty as you say—

“That I love him.”

The smile she flashes is tiny but telling. Something blooms in her eyes, as if filled with hope, and the little, unconscious gesture, manifesting in her expression, returns the longing to your heart.

A thumb wipes your tears before her hand covers yours, and with a voice so soft and gentle, she concludes, “You really do. Go back, yes?”

And you don’t have it in you to consider her wrong anymore. No matter the hurt, you don’t think you should stay any longer at all. You won’t deny that you needed the escape for a bit; but maybe this suffices.

And in hindsight, maybe you knew how this would end all along.

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

tumblr doesn't allow making very long posts due to the 1k block limit, so you can find the rest of the chapter and its 7k portion in this reblog! <3

[hitomisuzuya]

I REALLY LOVED YOUR STONER/ SMOKER SCARA FIC WHERE HE BLOWS SMOKE INTO THE KISS AUHKJAFSHKD Maybe something like a part 2 of that? A smoky (literally) kiss now sounds 😳 Bonus if you make him put the cigarette on reader's neck and lick the burn mark cuz it's kinky (Class of 09 reference HFDSJFHD)

stoner scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. dry humping. kissing. use of pot and cigarettes. burn/pain kink. degrading praise. soft!dom scara.

i really enjoy writing stoner scara, being a stoner myself. also, i love class of 09. nicole is legit a female scara🤣

the deep, physical intimacy of sharing a joint and a cigarette with you is something scaramouche incredibly enjoys. he likes everything a specific way when he does, which is daily.

you, on your back, submissively looking up at him with your pretty eyes, the same red tinged and hazy look reflected in his own. honestly, he didn't know how well you would like pot at first when you asked to try it. But judging from the relaxed, mellow look in your eyes it was a good thing for you. you were a highly anxious person, so it was great you discovered something that could dial that anxiety back a few big notches.

he was quite relieved.

your lifting your head a little to receive his kiss gave him the added pleasure of putting his hand on your shoulder to gently push you back on the bed as he parted your lips with his tongue, exhaling his pot smoke into your mouth.

his tongue would slowly explore your mouth a little as you inhaled his smoke, moaning softly into his mouth. this physical, intimate connection also made him very horny. pot being a natural aphrodisiac only added to that.

inevitably, scaramouche would have to pull away so you could exhale. he either uses those few seconds to either take another hit of his joint to shotgun another hit into your mouth or simply start kissing you again until he wanted to take another hit. his kisses only grew lingering and more hungry with every hit.

the perfect way to unwind after a long day of classes.

by the time he shared a whole joint, followed by a cigarette, which he also kissed drags into your mouth, he was past trying to control himself. in a fit of aggressive passion, he put the lit end of his cigarette on your neck. he held it there for a few moments, taking it off hearing a moan bubbling up in your throat and hastily putting it out in the ashtray.

you shivered feeling the sting on your skin, your cheeks flushing as your pussy clenched around nothing. "such a good girl," scaramouche murmured shakily, leaning down to prod his tongue soothingly on the burn mark.

you'd taken it so well, and seemed to enjoy it. this fact made his cock pulse and harden more. the cool, soothing sensation of his saliva and tongue on the burn jerked your hips up to grind against his erection. your clit throbbing from his approving praise.

resting his weight on you, scaramouche groaned as he grinded between your legs. his tongue flicked and slowly licked the burn mark. you rocked your hips up to match his grinds, putting your arms around him. you smoothed your finger nails along his scalp, making him shiver as he sucked around the burn mark.

bringing his head up, he pressed a lingering kiss on your lips as he moved off of you to unbutton your jeans. you lifted your hips as he tugged them off. "your clothes are little in the way," he mumbled hazily, hastily pushing your shirt and bra up off your breasts.

he needed to feel your panties soaking through his boxers. he just as hastily discarded his jeans, his lips finding yours in a deep kiss as he resumed his grinding between your legs. you moaned into his mouth, obediently opening your mouth for his tongue.

his cock rubbed friction on your clit, your panties clinging and unsticking to the throbbing nub. you rocked your hips in perfect time with his grinds as you chased the delicious feeling that was amplified by the effects of pot. his mouth swallowed every sweet whine and moan.

"such a good girl," scaramouche said, pulling away to lick his lips, "moaning and whining like an obedient slut for me," his teeth nipped at your lips, "my cock is making you feel this good and i haven't fucked it inside you yet.

his precum bled into your juices rapidly soaking your panties, your pussy clenching hard around nothing from his degrading sweet praise. "i want you, scara," you replied, delivering a submissive lick on his mouth, "i always do."

"fuck, you are twice as breathtaking when you talk to me like that," the submissive action only made scaramouche harder. his lips were aggressively back on yours, his grinds increasing in urgency. his hand alternated between stroking your cheek, and groping your bare breasts.

you mewl as his fingers pinch and stroke your nipples, angling your chest up into his hand a little. every fiber of your being screamed that you crave him. and he fed off of this.

"my good girl. my sweet girl," scaramouche babbled against your lips, moaning huskily as his cock throbbed. "shit, i am so close," from how wet you feel, your pussy soaking onto his cock through his boxers to almost embarrassing degree, he knew you were to.

you could do nothing but twitch and moan underneath him, your lips hardly ever leaving his as you surrendered yourself entirely to the friction of his cock rubbing your panties on your clit. for him, cumming on you was just as erotic as cumming inside of you.

your moans rose in octave as your orgasm washed over you, clinging to him as you quivered in hazy bliss. scaramouche let out a shaky chuckle feeling your cum soaking onto his boxers. he pulled away to watch you twitch in pleasure as he chased his own orgasm.

he held you down on the bed as cum spurted into his boxers, soaking onto your panties. once his cock emptied itself into his boxers, he gently collapsed on top of you. he nuzzled into your neck. "you wanna share another joint?" he asked, lifting his head to see you nod.

the rest of your clothes and his were coming off this time.

[gothghostiie]

replaying some of mwii and price saying "slow and steady" has given me price teaching babysitter!reader how to suck cock brain worms

cw: oral/handjob (reader giving), Virgin/inexperienced! reader, implied age gap, facial, corruption kink if you squint, gn!reader

you're so fucking inexperienced, it almost makes him feel bad for getting as hard as he does when you look at him with those pretty eyes. you look at him with trust and admiration, his baby on your hip making it even worse. he wants to grab you, kiss you, manhandle you, fucking hell, if he could he'd press you face down into his pillow and take your innocence right then and there. but he had to go to some spontaneous meeting, he had to fucking leave you. he stays strong, smiling at you and ruffling your hair as he leaves. "behave, yea? both of ya." he says with a wink, your giggle making his cock twitch.

once in the car and on the road he's really debating jacking off so he doesn't have to go into the meeting with a boner, maybe it would even help him later so he doesn't get painfully hard the moment you say hi to him when he's back. he ultimately decides against it, he's a grown man for fucks sake, he needs to control himself. so he goes through the meeting, it gives him some distraction, at least until he's back in the car. it's already dark when he's coming back, quietly unlocking the door. he prays you're asleep so he can just put a blanket over you and let you sleep, but you're awake. you smile brightly as he comes in, a soft "hi Mr. Price!" coming from your lips.

"John." he corrects in a stern but gentle voice, taking off his jacket, it makes you chuckle.

"I'm sorry, John." you say in a teasing tone, sometimes he wonders if you really are this innocent or if you just act like it. but god, if he wasnt as stressed as he was from the god damn meeting his cock would already be hard again. he just sighs and drops on the couch next to you, head fallen back and body slack. you tilt your head with a frown. "whats wrong?" the words make his heart flutter.

"just stressed, is all. dont worry your little head, love." he murmurs, reaching out to gently pat you on the head. you hum a bit.

"is there anything i can do to help you relax?" you ask, his mind immediately down the gutter. he suddenly wants to tell you all the nasty things he wants to do to you, shove your face into his crotch to make you nuzzle his cock, but he just stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours before looking at you. he opens his mouth to speak, but the look on your face makes him stop. your eyes are wide and glued to the bulge in his jeans, your mouth hanging open. his cheeks turn pink in embarrassment, he fumbles with his words.

"bloody hell - fuck, 'm sorry, I-" he pauses as he looks at your face properly. the shock isnt mixed with disgust as he initially thought, oh no. it's the opposite. you look curious, almost intrigued. he holds his breath as you make eye contact, then asks quietly. "do you want to help?" he asks, voice low and husky, filled with anticipation and a bit of fear of rejection. "you don't have to, if you don't wanna." he says gently, making sure you don't feel forced.

"i.. I never.. did anything.." is all you can get out, voice tinged with embarrassment. despite already being very sure you're a Virgin he's still mildly surprised to hear you say it, eyebrows raising a bit.

"I can teach ya. if you want." you hesitate for just a second before nodding, his heart skips a beat.

"okay.." you say softly. he has to take a moment before he nods softly, hands going to his belt and trying to not just rip it open.

"I'll just show you, so you can get familiar with him, yea? if you wanna stop at any point you tell me. understood?" his tone is serious, he waits until you nod before letting his fat cock spring free, slipping his pants and underwear down just enough so you see his heavy balls. your face heats up, mouth dropping open again as you stare at it, the tight balls, the angry, red tip, all have been begging for release for hours, and finally they'll get it. he waits until you seem a bit more composed before reaching his hand to you. "gimme your hand darling." he orders gently, you put your hand into his. your skin feels like heaven under his calloused fingers, even better as he wraps it around his trembling cock. he groans, squeezing your hand as he holds it in place; your fingers can't even fully wrap around it. it twitches eagerly, tip weeping as he guides your hand up and down slowly. low moans escape his lips, eyes lidded as he holds back. "you okay bird?" he pants, his voice a bit more rough than usual.

you nod, your trembling hand slowly moving at your own pace, watching intently. it makes him chuckle, letting go of your hand and putting it on your head, petting you as a silent praise. "doin well, love. keep going for me, yea?" he murmurs, you nod again. his tip starts leaking precum, you bite your lip. "don't do that. your lips are so pretty darlin." he frowns, his own words burning the image of your lips wrapped around his dick into his brain. he hesitates before speaking again.

"want to try sucking it?" he asks gently, your eyes widen. you hesitate again, his hand cups your cheek softly. "don't worry. I'll help ya."

"..okay." you say, taking a breath. his hand slides to the back of your head, guiding you closer - kissing your forehead before guiding you down.

"open your mouth nice and wide. watch your teeth." you open up wide, tongue sticking out a bit, he guides you down just so the tip is in your mouth. "wrap your lips around it." you follow his order and he groans, straining to not cum right this second. he takes a breath before speaking again. "now suck a bit. start gently and slowly do more. run your tongue over it too." he instructs in a soft murmur. "it might taste a little funny." you suck softly and lick the tip, making a face and pulling back. he laughs, patting your head softly. "I warned you darling. that bad?" he grins as you lick your lips.

"no... just.. surprised me.." you admit in embarrassment, taking a deep breath before dipping your head and trying again. this time you don't pull back, John's hand rests on the back of your head as he breaths heavily.

"good job, sweetheart... thinking you can try bobbing ya head a bit?" his jaw is slack, eyes rolled back when you actually do it - way too fast and too deep for your first time. as much as he loves the feeling of his tip hitting the back of your throat, the immediate gag and your face scrunching up in discomfort break his heart. he grabs your head firmly but not roughly, pulling your head up just enough to make you look at him. "don't do that. who taught you that?" he asks sternly, you shrink a bit under his gaze.

he hums. "try again. do it slow and steady." he says lowly, the tone making you shiver. you nod softly, letting him push you down much, much slower, letting him guide your head as your lips wrap around his cock again. "there we go. just like that, bird." he groans, already closer than he wants to be. he slowly guides it deeper into your warm mouth, your adorable attempts at using your tongue making his tip leak again. it doesn't take long before his hips stutter. "fuck... gonna cum, angel..- " he grunts, voice strained as he pulls you back, free hand wrapping around the base of his cock to steady himself as he cums all over your face. you gasp loudly, eyes shut tied and mouth open in shock as the warm, sticky liquid hits your skin. his moans quickly turn into chuckle as he sees the state of you. "aw, sweetheart, are you alright?" he cackles, shaking his head.

still chuckling he reaches to the coffee table and grabs a tissue, wiping your face off quickly before pulling you to his chest, kissing your head. "there you are, good job darlin. you okay?" he asks again, rubbing your back as you nod. "good... I'll get you a cup of water."

───── ⋆⋅Taglist⋅⋆ ─────

@captainchrisstan @maplewhisk

[sammyluvr]

broken, fine for tonight — sam & dean winchester

cw : gn!winchester!reader, hurt/comfort, some angst, reader's the youngest sibling, injury/pain, nicknames (kid, bud, sweetheart), 1.3K words. requested !

summary : you break your ankle but your older brother's are convinced it's just a sprain and leave to finish up a hunt.

dean sounds all gruff and almost annoyed when he says you’ll have to stay in the motel while they take down this nest of vamps. “you’ll be no help with a jacked up ankle,” he grumbles, because it’d be easier with three than two. but his eyes are a little soft as they flick down to your injury and you know it’s just because he’s no good at dealing with being worried about you.

sam comes back from the bathroom, giving you a sympathetic smile as he sets another pair of pain pills on the bedside table next to your half empty plastic water bottle. “you’re good to take these in half an hour,” he says, “and we’ll grab you a proper brace on the way back, alright?”

you give him a tight smile, your breathing measured so it doesn’t come across as labored. “sure,” you agree, still fighting against the pain in your foot in order to appear as composed as you’re expected to be. when you twisted it earlier today, sam and dean brushed it off as a sprain and haven’t stopped to think otherwise since then. 

dean had hauled you back up with strong hands and a comforting pat to your back. you’re alright, he insisted, ‘s just a little sprain, you’ve dealt with worse. he wasn’t trying to be dismissive, but you’ve felt a sprain before, and you’re sure that this is worse.

it must be a pretty bad sprain, sam said with a soft frown when you let out a pained gasp after trying to put just the slightest bit of pressure on it. he looped your other arm around his shoulders, and the two of them practically carried you back to the motel room. they set you down on the bed, and you know that sam normally would’ve checked your ankle with a bit more precision and care most days, but you’re all pretty sure that the vamps have caught on to you, which means the faster they get into the nest, the better. so he simply propped your foot up on all the spare pillows in the room with gentle hands, cringing each time the movement made you wince in pain. he wrapped it in an ace bandage, and you nearly cried out loud as he did. mind otherwise occupied, he’d just told you the pain would fade soon enough.

you think that somewhere in the back of their minds, both of your brothers know that you’re in enough pain to understand that this is worse than they want it to be. their concern is easy to read, but sometimes they hate the prospect of you being hurt so much that they’ll focus that energy onto a different problem until they have to face this one. so they’re out the door before you know it. 

hopefully they’ll give you a longer look when they get back. you’d very much like to go to the hospital to get checked out and hopefully return to the motel with a cast and pair of crutches.

the pain only gets worse and the minutes just drag. time flows so slowly that you start to worry, just like you do every time they’re off on a hunt without you. if they’ve been gone this long, something must’ve gone wrong, right? you check the time and realize it’s been less than a full hour. the ibuprofen you took a bit ago does nothing to help. 

your ankle hurts so badly that you’re teary and sniffly and even though no one’s here to witness it, you’re embarrassed by it nonetheless. but you might as well get the tears out of the way before they come back.

you’re convinced that it’s broken, and by the time the headlights of the impala shine through the half-closed blinds of the motel, you’re in too much of a haze to notice the door unlocking and the boys tramping into the room.

sam’s through the door first, and the second he lays eyes on you, he knows something’s not quite right. he says your name, soft of course, but still loud enough for you to hear. you don’t look over, and he drops his bag on the floor to rush over. dean immediately picks up on the tone of sam’s voice, following close behind.

sam’s big hand on your forehead rouses you. “hey. you with us sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice quiet and clearly concerned. your eyes flutter open and the only thing you can think to do when you register the worry on his face is give him a rueful smile.

“i think it’s broken,” you mumble, voice quiet and tired. you’re somehow numb and still hurting so much at the same time. dean gives a little scoff, more so out of affection than frustration, and rounds the bed to look at your ankle. you wince when he moves it, this time not bothering to hide just how much it really hurts.

“you think?” dean repeats back to you, “jesus, kid, why didn’t you say something before?”

“you didn’t give me a chance,” you retort, frowning deeply but too tired to actually sound upset. “you both said it was sprained.” before dean can make some comment about how it’s your ankle, not theirs so how would they know, sam intervenes.

“we’re sorry, bud,” he murmurs, “we should’ve paid you more attention.” you don’t see the pointed look he gives dean not to argue with you right now, or the way dean puts his hands up in frustration, then softens when he looks back at you. he knows that sam’s right, it’s not fair to get all snarky with you. he’s just fueled by worry and he forgets that his worry very easily turns to anger and irritability. dean’s not upset with you at all, but he is at himself for not noticing just how badly you were injured.

the way that he gently carries you to the back seat of the impala is his apology, plus the promise to find your favorite food after you get checked out from the hospital. sam sits in the back with you to keep you steady. steady and held. his hand holds your head softly, his other keeping your leg still as the car rumbles down along the road.

tonight, everything will be fine. your ankle will heal and once properly treated, it’s true that the pain will fade. sure, they won’t pay the medical bills with real credit cards and the doctor might be impressed or concerned, or both, by your pain tolerance. because this certainly isn’t the first time you’ve been cooped up in the back seat of the impala, hurting and maybe even a little scared while sam holds you and dean drives.

he always steals glances back at you through the rearview mirror, making eye contact with sam to be sure you’re awake and well. but he has to be the one driving because he feels like that’s the only thing he has control of when you’re like this. he just absolutely horrified by the thought that there might be a dark night on empty roads after a hunt or a nearly world-ending event where his can’t drive fast enough. what if, someday, you die in his car and your blood stains the leather, because how could he wipe your blood from the seats like that?

and sam’s the one who’ll be holding you, staunching your blood with his jacket, whispering assurances that you’ll be alright. he’s terrified by the thought that there might be a night where, in the backseat of this car, the place you all silently call home, you’ll die in his arms.

those are the sorts of things they think about. they know that you think about your own nightmares of them dying too. but in this life, the only thing you can do is tuck those thoughts away, somewhere deep and hidden, because tonight, everything will be fine.

[madamechrissy]

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- Descriptive edical procedures, reader has a medical issue, crazy sexual tension, light angst, tons of humor, workplace relationship, kissing and teasing, the hospital is lowkey slutty. Reader like 26, Dr. Gojo 34- Grey's vibes ✨️

=͟͟͞♡ Word Count- this chap- 8.7k

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

♡ Reblogs and comments appreciated ♡

=͟͟͞♡ Part Two =͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist

♡ Part Three ♡

One Week Later- the OR

“Intern, those fingers ready?” Dr. Gojo says to you, as you hold the severed finger of the patient in front of you, you’ve already cleaned them out, removing the damaged tissue. Maki is watching you eagerly from the window above, as if she’s dying to get her hand on the fingers, nibbling on a snack with Yuta as they watch. You look at Gojo, nodding now. “Perfect, now come over here.”

You stand next to Dr. Gojo in the OR now, a little overheated in your face mask, holding the finger steady as he begins to work on restoring the ligaments. You watch him avidly, his expert fingers under those latex purple gloves, precise to every millimeter, wiring the finger as you hold it. It’s quiet in the room, just the two of you and the sleeping patient, along with one of the nurses checking the vitals.

“What am I doing right now, Intern?” Satoru asks, peering up at you through his goggles, only serving to magnify the blue of his eyes.

 “Wiring the tendons, Dr. Gojo.”

“Exactly, and how many hours do we typically have to do this successfully?” He asks softly.

“Twenty four hours, though everything after six hours poses a risk.”

“Perfect. How are you at sutures?”

“I’m the suture queen. I am in quilting classes, you know.” You tease, he chuckles a bit then, as the nurse hands you the needle and thread. You take it with steady hands, pouring antiseptic on the exposed finger, now put back together from Gojo. He’s right next to you, watching everything you do carefully.

“Nice, very nice. Almost as good as me, actually.” You smile under your mask at the praise, as he stands so very close you can smell his cologne even in the room that smells like pure rubbing alcohol and cleaner, you can feel the body heat of him, but you focus.

You slowly continue your sutures, making sure to be as even as possible, looping the skin together bit by bit as Dr. Gojo watches you. He does not instruct you, he merely holds it in place and allows you to finish, once you do he inspects it and hums to himself in satisfaction.

“Do you want to wire the tendons?”

“Fuck yes! Oh shit…” You blush now, thankful he can’t see, but you hear his soft laughter then. “Can I?”

“Only way to learn is to do it. I’ll be guiding you.” One hand presses against your back for just a moment as he switches your positions now, making you tremble, nerves going insane as you see Maki giving you a big thumbs up. Gojo laughs as he looks at her. “You have a fan club.”

“Not like yours Dr. Gojo.” You tease, now grabbing the wire.

“And what’s this technique called?”

“Tension band wiring.”

“You’re a little nerd.” You gasp, and the nurse laughs a bit. “It’s not a bad thing, you just are one.”

“Aren’t we all who go to med school?” You ask, carefully starting to gently wire the tendons together, Satoru is right against you now.

“Figure eight motions, there you go. Beautiful.” He murmurs again, and you’re eating up the praise, the nurse steps out for a moment since he is now stable, as you’re finishing up, when suddenly something is stabbing you in your temple. You cry out, gasping, and Satoru looks at you with concern.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers, leaning closer, and you shake your head, taking a breath as you continue to finish suturing his finger up.

“I’m so sorry.” You manage to say.

“Sorry? Your hands haven’t wavered, you’re okay. What’s going on?”

“Really bad stabbing ache. I’ve had them before but this was bad… shit… please don’t-”

“I won’t tell anyone.” He assures you quietly, and your eyes flutter shut for just a moment now that he’s taken over, arms wrapped around and working over you, for a moment you lean back against his chest, before panicking. “It’s fine, no one’s watching anymore, take a moment.”

“It’s not professional-”

“You did great. Why don’t we… talk about that headache later?” You sigh, leaning against him for just a moment, feeling his heart pounding against your back steadily, slowly, it feels far too good, to shut your tired eyes and breathe.

“You don’t have to worry about it. You have enough to do.” You say softly, straightening up now and starting to apply the antiseptic carefully. Satoru stands next to you again, and you already miss him behind you, complete insanity surely.

“Just come to my office after you clean up. Yeah?” He says, the nurses come in then, and you nod carefully.

“Do you think he’ll play piano again?” You ask, carefully inspecting both of your handiwork now, the fingers sutured beautifully, but still, you know he has quite a recovery ahead. “I found him on Youtube, he’s amazing.”

“You get so mushy and attached.” He teases, you just smile.

“I guess I do. It’s a bad habit.”

“Very bad. But… I do think he’ll play again, it may take some practice and time, but we did very well.” You exhale in relief, finishing up as Dr. Gojo walks out, the pain in your head starting to come back once more.

“Shit…” You whisper under your breath, anxiety making your heart race now, but you shove it down, focusing.

Later after cleaning up and heading to Satoru’s office, it’s cracked open and you peek in, earning his laugh when he sees you. “Hey it’s not a Scooby mystery, Daphne. Well… maybe Velma, you’re so nerdy.”

You glare now, making him grin with those glinting white teeth. “You’re a regular Scooby Doo, but for sweets and BJs.” You shut the door behind you, he holds a hand to his chest.

“Ouch! That one hurts, you’re saying blow jobs are my Scooby Snacks!?” You roll your eyes.

“I’m just making sure I’m not stepping in on a… Hojo moment.”

Satoru’s lips curl up on one side, hands in the pockets of his slacks, lab coat behind his hips then, revealing his long, lithe legs. He is tilting his head, white hair falling just so. “A Hojo moment hmm? Like me and you at that party?”

“Shh!” You’re leaned up, hand on his mouth, as he laughs against your palm, heating it up. “We did nothing.”

“You know orgasms help headaches? Scientifically- don’t go!”

“You’re an ass.” You’re snatched up by him then, big hands on your narrow shoulders, frozen in place with him behind you.

“Sorry, sorry. Can’t blame me for teasing you, Miss cancels our date.”

“I really did get crazy busy, family shit. I’m sorry.” You turn back to him, feeling his fingertips brush your bare skin as they slip down your arms, and see he is pouting, you giggle then.

“You laugh at my pain, brat?”

“Brat! You’re a brat. No, your pout is why I giggled, it’s cute.” You tap his lips now, remembering the feel of them on yours, fuck it had been a long week since you two had shared that moment in your room, you may or may not have played with yourself to the memory… maybe or maybe not several times this week.

Not that you’d tell him though. Just stress relief!

Yeah?

Yeah…

“I promise I’ll make it up. I felt bad… it was actually my cousin. She had a baby recently and came down with something.”

“So you spent your only day off doctoring?”

You sigh. “Yep.”

“Nerd.”

“Hey!” He’s laughing again.

“Fine, what about a drink at the bar across the street after work then? Something easier?”

Drinks with Gojo. Dr. Hojo.

Bad idea.

“Sure.”

Fuck. Maybe you can keep your pants on this time…

“Better not stand me up, missy.” He taps your forehead now. “I want to do a CT scan first, MRI if I see anything too crazy. That okay with you?”

“But I have work, Dr. Gojo… rounds…”

“Have your friends cover for just like thirty minutes, okay? Do they know you have headaches?” He asks, eyeing you as if you’re a case now. You know that look, you see it on him constantly as he assesses his patients.

“How do you know I get them alot?”

“You rub your temples all the time, and your neck. But I figured stress and exhaustion. It could just be that. But…” He trails off, brushing back a lock of your hair now, making your body light up with the gentlest brush. “Humor me and let me see inside your head.”

“You wanna be inside me so bad.” His eyes get lidded at your joke, and your breath catches at the look on his pretty face. “Fuck, bad joke.”

“Hmm, no… it’s true.” He tilts your chin up, your breaths mingling now, as the door knocks, and you step away quickly, only to earn his lazy gaze. “Those scrubs hide such a nice little body.”

“Shush Hojo.” You smack at him now, and he opens the door, you notice it’s Miwa, he lets her in and you tense up, ready to leave, what is their deal? And why do you care!? It’s not like you all have done anything but make out and…

And…

Fuck you can’t get his demon doctor fingering skills out of your damn head, it’s like he’s implanted there, whispering your anatomy just to fuck with you. You shake yourself out of it as Satoru talks to Miwa now.

“Could you prep a CT for me please, Miwa?”

“Of course I can. Hello Doctor!” She says brightly to you, you both had been much better this week after the intense situation where she’d questioned you, now she seems to truly respect you more. Though you wish it wasn’t just Gojo’s words.

“Hello Miwa. How are you handling today? It’s been crazy.”

“I know, ugh. I’m good, I’m about to leave for the day, I’ll prep it for you, Dr. Gojo, here’s the notes for the recovery of that patient you all just worked on too.” He takes them and smiles.

“Thanks Miwa. Have a good night.” She bounces off, and he smirks down at you, snowy lashes lowering. “You’re jealous.”

“What!? No! Of what, sucking Dr. Hojo’s dick?” You cross your arms, scowling up at his snarky expression.

“It was once. I don’t tend to go on dates or carry on, you know.”

“So why ask me?”

“Maybe you’re… different.” You pause at that, blinking a bit when he steps close once more. “Maybe I really can’t get your anatomy out of my mind.”

“Shush. CT scan.” You whisper, he’s too goddamn close, leaning low over you, so close you’re studying his perfect skin and his high cheekbones, fuck he’s even prettier up close. It’s really annoying.

Those blue eyes are absolutely stunning, of course they are, but it’s not just the color, it’s all of the things emoted in his eyes, the intensity of them. Your eyes keep darting to his lips, even when the throbbing in your head comes back, you gently rub your temple as you keep flickering your gaze back to his eyes, soon his cool fingers replace your own, rubbing gently.

“You don’t want to admit you liked it.” Satoru says softly, his breath tickling you as he presses in, your eyes close at how good it feels, sighing.

“I want to be taken seriously, Satoru. Not to be the intern that gets favored because she fucks her boss.”

“You stress too much. Maybe that’s the cause of the headaches.”

“Hmm… maybe.” You lean closer now, continuing to let him rub your temples further. “You assume I wanna fuck you, Dr. Hojo.”

“Oh, it’s an educated guess. By all your body language.”

“Shush, keep rubbing.” His chest shakes against your hands with laughter as he gently cradles your face in his hands now, pressing his lips to your temple. “That feels too good, better stop.”

“You’re really annoying, intern. Mmmkay go get yourself covered so we can get it done yeah?”

“Meet you there.”

*****

“I hate this shit, I feel like I gotta pee.” You grumble now, as Satoru is injecting the contrast dye into your arm, making you feel like you’re hot everywhere as you lay on your back right outside of the machine. Satoru’s lips quirk up, you try to ignore how good the man looks as your doctor for just a moment.

Impossible.

“I know, it’s the worst, but just for a few. I’ll be right over there, looking all inside you.”

“Fuck off.” You stick your tongue out and he wiggles his brows, stepping out of the room, you get tense, feeling yourself breathing a little too fast as he now speaks through the microphone.

“Alright, pretty patient.”

“You’re flirting with your patient during a CT scan?” His teasing eases your nerves, though you don’t admit it outright, a little smile plays on your lips.

“Only patients this pretty.” He murmurs, and you ignore the blush on your cheeks, must be the contrast dye overheating you. “I’m easing you in, yeah? Just stay as still as you can and breathe.”

“Yes, Sir.” He hums then a bit, and you’re sliding into the donut shaped scanner, you always hate these things. As it starts swirling around your head in circles, you try to ignore the whirring sound, the overwhelming fear, what could be wrong, what could it mean-

“Don’t panic, it’s fine. Just checking okay?” Satoru’s voice interrupts your thoughts over the speaker now. Your nails are digging into your palm, a little sheen of moisture on your eyes that you suck up.

“Yeah.” Is all you manage, then it’s quiet as Satoru finishes the scan, as you’re eased out, he’s right there, unhooking you from the IV carefully, holding your arm and pressing a white square cotton to where he’d poked.

“You bleed a lot. Anemic?” He asks, and you should be surprised he knows, but he knows everything it seems.

“Just a bit, yes. I know, I should take my iron.”

“Mmm, anemia is pretty common in women, especially since I think all I see you eat is coffee. Maybe eat more? And add some protein?” He teases.

“I eat! But I’ll add some. Thank you, Dr. Gojo.” You take his hand to help you out of the little bed then, ignoring as much as you can how good his hands feel when he steadies you by your waist, warm and pressing against your skin. Your heart races as you look up at him. “Did you see anything interesting?”

His lips tense a bit, more serious now. “I saw a little interesting spot right there, but I wanna look at it more. I’ll call you to go over it in a few?”

“Sounds good, thank you.” You manage, you don’t know how much he’s hiding or what he’s found.

“Don’t stress, intern, I will tell you if it is, yeah?” You exhale, nodding, leaning up a bit, lashes lowered as you take in those perfect lips.

“If I’m gonna die-”

“Shut it. Now get to those rounds.” He whispers, breath so close you can taste it, minty always with the mints and gum he constantly chews.

“Got it Doc.” He snorts at you, fingers brushing your jaw line, as you contemplate his jaw line, so much more defined, his face is so chiseled… his body…

Fuck.

You clear your throat, smiling. “That’s much better. I’ll talk to you soon, don’t stress about it okay?”

Sure you won’t.

*****

“Maki, what if I die before interning is over?” You grumble next to your best friend as you all make the rounds, Maki snorts now.

“Gonna die of no Dr. Gojo dick?”

“Bitch shush!” She snorts as you look around wildly.

“No bitch, you shush. Why do you think you’re dying? I mean… we all are, but why so soon? You can’t die, I need to live with you.”

“You can have the house.”

“I still want you around!” You both pause in front of the patient’s door now, sighing and looking at each other. “Is something actually wrong?”

“I’m just panicking. I have some bad headaches… and did a CT.” You murmur, she frowns then, emerald eyes studying you seriously behind her black frames.

“Everything okay?” She asks, a little softer.

“I’m sure it is, I just panic when I don’t know the answers to things. Fuck… I could use some lorazepam in the arm.” You joke, she giggles with you.

“We all could, that’s for sure. Oh fuck… look.”

You take the chart from Maki then, raising your brows as you look at the patient’s records. “They’re blue?”

You both look at each other then eagerly pace to the room, where indeed there’s a young man, and he is in fact blue. He smiles a bit at you both, waving his silvery blue tinted fingers. “Hello ladies.”

“Hello.” You both say, looking at each other, then back at him. He laughs now, sighing.

“I know, I look like Papa Smurf.”

“No!” You say.

“Yes!” Maki says, and then the three of you burst out in laughter.

“At least you’re honest.” He muses, and the both of you approach him now, you take his hand and turn it over, seeing the palms were more of a typical color.

“When did this start happening?” You ask softly, Maki is checking his vitals, not hiding her curiosity.

“I’ve been blue for… probably a month. I’ve just hidden in my house.” You put aside the medical curiosity then, you feel the pain hidden in his voice. “Didn’t wanna scare the masses.”

“Anything in particular you consume? Colloidal Silver can cause this.” You say softly, he shakes his head then.

“I don’t think so? I’d know if I took silver, right?”

“Yes, it’s a supplement. Hmm… and anyone else in the family ever…”

“Turn blue?” He finishes. You nod. “No. Not that I know of?”

Maki and you look at each other, and you can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. You’re thinking it too, but it’s so rare and so weird.

“Methemoglobinemia?” She murmurs, and you tilt your head, sighing.

“I mean it’s possible, but that’s genetic, he’d have been blue. But let’s check for that and any potential exposures to chemicals that could cause this. It’s definitely not a typical case of methemoglobinemia, but we have to rule it out. Don’t worry, we’ll get you all figured out…” You check his name. “Muta, yeah?”

“Yeah. You mean I may not be blue anymore?”

“We’ll figure out what’s going on, I promise.” The door opens then, and Miwa comes in, gasping a bit, before smiling. Muta lights up when he sees her, his eyes glinting, you see it then, he has a crush.

“Your hair is the color of my skin, we’re meant to be.” Muta teases, Miwa laughs softly, coming in then as you two fill her in.

“Got it ladies, I’ll get these labs going.”

“Thanks Miwa.” You say, patting Muta’s shoulder. “We’ll get you back to normal, I promise.”

“Thank you, Doctor. And Doctor Maki.” She gives him a thumbs up, and you both walk out now, as the fluorescent lights make your headache worse. You wince now, rubbing your head again.

“Take a break babe, it’s okay. He’s not dying, he's just blue.” She says, as you are shaking your sore head now. Your phone goes off and you see it’s a text from your ex, you roll your eyes. “The ex?”

“Of course it is. Begging to see me over and over. I’m dreading the moment he comes to the house.”

“Shit, he’s really missing that coochie-”

“Maki!”

“It has cobwebs now.”

“You bitch!” You shove at her now, as Yuta and Toge walk up, both laughing at the two of you. Toge tilts his head when you rub your temples again.

“Hurt?” He asks quietly, you nod, sighing when his hand is on your forehead, you moan just slightly at how cool it feels.

“Feels so good.” You take his hand, pressing more, then feel him tense. You look up to see he’s bright red, and then he runs away. Your brows go together, as you blink in confusion, and Yuta covers his face, shaking his head.

“And you tease him! To torture him!” Yuta says, you glare then.

“What now!? His hand felt cool.” You grimace, leaning against the gray counter of the reception, as everyone flits back and forth by you.

“Hey you alright?” Yuta asks softer now, brushing back your hair.

“She’s got a nasty migraine again.” Maki murmurs, then comes with a little paper cup of water. “Drink babe.”

“Thank you.” You sip the cold water now, feeling it chill your lips and teeth. “Did I really upset Toge again?”

“He’s just in love with you, now you touched him. He’s going to be infatuated for days. I’ll have to hear.” Yuta winces now, you laugh, sucking in a breath as it starts to ache worse.

“He barely talks, how do you know?”

“It’s obvious. But you’re too into white haired doctors.” Maki whispers, earning a smack on her hand when she touches your forehead. “Hmm, no fever.”

Your phone goes off again, and thankfully it’s Gojo and not your annoying ass ex, you don’t need more of a headache. “Oh, he has results. I should go… can you-”

“We’ve got it, go.” Maki murmurs. You smile thankfully, heading towards Satoru’s office now. You knock carefully.

“Come on in.” You shut the door behind you, and Satoru smiles easily, calming your nerves somewhat.

“Come check out your brain, it’s pretty cool.” You laugh softly, and come to where he’s sitting, leaning over to peer at your brain on his laptop now. “So this… is what I think is causing your headaches.”

You look then to a little mass, panicking, damn near falling back, so much he has to catch you with his big hands. “A tumor!?”

“Calm down, no. Shh.” Satoru sits you right on his thigh then, brushing a hand down your back, tilting your chin to look at him. “I wouldn’t casually say ‘you have a tumor’ like that. Breathe.”

“Shit.” You take several breaths, leaning your head back, trying to compose yourself. “So what is that then?”

“Kind of a tumor?”

“Dr. Gojo!”

“I’ll explain if you calm down.” He presses his hands on your waist gently, pointing back to the screen. “So it’s something called a false tumor, it’s typically from head contusions. Bash your head on anything a couple years back?”

You steady your breathing now, trying to focus. “Shit, yeah I did. I was getting some things from the attic and had a whole bunch of old dvd players whack me in the head.”

“Ancient ass.” He teases.

“Hey I have VCRs up there too!”

“Fuck you’re old.”

“You’re old!” He’s chuckling now, and you can’t help but laugh softly. “You’re doing it again, cheering me up.”

“Yeah, and it worked.” He taps your nose, watching it scrunch, little crinkles on the sides of his own brilliant blue eyes as he smiles. You realize then, you don’t want to get off his lap, fuck you wanna stay here. You feel good here. His arm casually wrapped around you, and suddenly you realize your warmth on his thigh, gulping now. Did he notice!?

He notices everything.

“I should…” You go to stand, and he presses you back down, firm thigh between your thighs, pressing up where it shouldn’t through the thin fabric of your scrubs.

“You should stay, let me explain what it is. Yeah?” You nod a bit, realizing that for just a bit you couldn’t think about your head hurting, even as you all are staring right at a scan of your brain. Satoru uses one of his long fingers to point at the spot, where you see it raised up. “A false tumor.”

“False tumors, I haven’t heard much about them.”

“It’s essentially intercranial hypertension, which translates to your brain is stressy-stressy.” You snort in laughter then, and his hand far too casually brushes down the outside of your thigh as he leans forward, pressed so close against you.

“My brain is in fact stressy.”

“See! I’m so smart, admit it.” He grins deviously, you snort in laughter at him, shaking your head.

“A little bit.” You gesture, squishing just a bit of space between your finger and your thumb now.

“I’ll take it. So there’s no sense removing it, seeing as that’s just opening a can of worms. A spinal tap would help relieve the pressure.”

“Spinal tap, yuck.” He rolls his eyes.

“You’re a big baby.”

“Am not. But yuck. Anything else? Lots of tylenol?” You find yourself turning now, he’s pulled you further on his lap, it shouldn’t feel this easy, this normal. Why does your head hurting not even matter now that you’re so close to him, now that you inhale his cologne, feel his touch.

“That sounds like liver problems waiting.”

“Well my wine at night does that.” You say with a smile.

“A little wine is good for you. Blood flow.” Satoru murmurs, gently running his fingertips up and down your arms now, you tremble just a bit at it, at how good it feels, a network of goosebumps left in his wake. His blue eyes darken just a bit as he watches them form, and suddenly it’s very quiet.

“Blood flow is good.” You say softly, to fill the silence, where all you hear is the pounding in your ears. “So any option three?”

“I can inject you with something to help the pain, but you really can’t put off the tap too long. When do you actually get a break?”

“Um…” You try to focus. “I get Thanksgiving weekend off?”

“Okay we’ll do it around then.”

“You can’t just come do a tap on a holiday!”

“Sure I can, I’ll be here a couple hours anyway. But you’ll have to lie still for some time, so I just wanna make sure you have a day off.”

“Alright, the injections till then?”

“Mmhmm.” He’s closing the laptop now, and you hear your heartbeat just racing, blood pumping in your ears, Satoru raises a thin white brow. “Are you alright?”

“It’s odd, the headache is gone when you… touch me. That sounds stupid, ugh.” You stand now, covering your face with a sigh. Satoru turns you so you’re right between his long legs now, hands firm on the curve of your hips.

“It doesn’t sound stupid. You’re getting endorphins from this.” He whispers now, so pretty this close he makes you ache, Maki is right maybe you do have cobwebs there, and his touch ignites your body. Like you’re on fire, especially when he cups your face.

“Satoru, what are we doing?” You whisper, he sighs, thumb brushing across your lower lip.

“Feeling things. You think too much. So dramatic, a fake tumor and alll.”

“Jerk!” You shove at him, unable to stop the grin from forming, craving his touch, more and more, when he pulls you flush against him you melt, hands bracing on his chest now, feeling the strong muscles flex under your touch.

“We should touch more if it helps your head.” His lips are right there, your noses touching as you hover, his snowy lashes lowering over dilated eyes, hands slipping up your back, one big one splaying the expanse of it. You press even closer, feeling the heat in your tummy building. Fuck would it hurt to just-

Suddenly both of your pagers go off. “Shit, code blue.”

“Shit.” Satoru and you both jump up now, rushing out into the busy hallway, you both round the corner, the chaos of the ER coming into view. Nurses and doctors moved with a choreographed precision, each step calculated and deliberate, as one of your patients from this week is in cardiac arrest.

“Shit shit shit.” You mutter under your breath, you rush in to see one of your elderly patients this morning now flat lining. You quickly begin compressions, pressing over and over as Satoru runs in, looking at the clipboard, studying you. “We need epi!” You say to the nurse, and Satoru stops her. “Satoru!”

“DNR, intern.” He turns the paper and shows you, the giant three letters, you gasp then, looking down at the lady you are working on.

“She has kids, she has-”

“She has a choice. Off now.”

You release her now, feeling tears flow as you watch the monitor completely flatline now, you remember her kids were literally just here, with her grandkids. She was laughing, smiling. You almost thought she was doing better…

“Intern, call time of death.” Satoru says.

You scowl at him through your tears, even if you know he’s right, and he sets his lips in a firm line. You see Maki, Yuta and Toge right outside the room, their eyes looking at you with concern, with worry. “Time of death is five- fifty- one PM.”

The nurse nods and writes it down, and you carefully cover the patient with one of the thin hospital sheets. “You can’t save everyone, you know.”

“I know, I know.” You choke up then, that headache right back, making you feel sick. “But to not save someone I could?”

“Her choice was to go. She’s been in pain a long time.” Satoru says, coming to stand next to you now, you feel bile rise in your throat.

“She seemed so happy today, so energetic even!?”

“Sometimes you get that burst of energy at the end. Maybe it’s… a bigger plan out there, to give your family something of what you used to be at the end.” You look at him through watery eyes, just exhausted.

Finger surgery.

A blue man.

Your own CT scan.

Some false tumor?

Now a death.

You want to go home. You want to lay in bed, curled in a ball in the dark, where maybe your head won’t pound. You want to throw up. You want to sleep for fucking days, trying to just not think. You want to just…

“Martha, her name was Martha.” You say now, and Satoru nods, a hand on your shoulder.

“Her name was Martha. Do you want me to tell the family?”

“No, she’s my patient. I will.” He nods then, eyes following you as you stiffly walk out, Maki, Yuta and Toge all come to you, but you hold a hand up. You’re barely keeping it together as it is, if one of them hugs you, you know you’ll fall apart. “I’m fine you all, promise.”

As you tell the family she passed, instead of the typical extreme upset, they almost seem a bit relieved, upset but relieved. “She was in so much pain, I think now… she’s free of it. Do you?” Martha’s son asks, and you struggle to hold you composure, feeling your stomach want to retch it’s contents, which were literally just coffee and a fucking croissant from this morning.

“She’s not in pain anymore.” You agree softly, and Martha’s granddaughter, about your age comes next to her dad now, looking at him, then you.

“Did she seem peaceful?” She asks softly, you nod then, giving a touch of comfort to her shoulder.

“She did, she seemed so happy to have been with you all I think. You may see her if you wish to.”

“We would like that. Thank you.” After they walk out you watch them pass by Satoru, who has his eyes on you.

You can’t let him see you so weak! You shouldn’t be so weak, you’re a doctor, you see death every single day. You rush into the locker room, thankfully finding it empty, before heading to the bathroom, leaning in and emptying the contents of your stomach, retching everything out. You get so weak as you do, dry heaving then as you feel yourself falling apart.

You’re sobbing over the toilet, flushing it, when you hear the door open and close, and suddenly you feel hands on your back. You shake your head, taking several breaths. “Go away, it’s gross.”

“You just cleaned out fingers that were cut off.” Satoru says softly, you laugh then, in between tears, as he holds your hair back for you. “Aw it’s like we’re besties, just having drinks you know.”

“Oh stop it. I’d kiss you if I didn’t just puke.”

“Please don’t, I don’t like you that much.” You laugh once more, before bursting into tears, and Satoru holds you, brushing your hair gently as you cling to him. “It’s normal to break down, surprised it took you so long. Been months.”

“I want to keep it together. I want to so badly.” You’re soaking his light purple scrub top, you see the blotches of tears forming as you cry more, letting him hold you. “Why are you so…”

“So handsome? So smart?”

“So comfy.”

“Huh, didn’t expect that one. Calling me fat, brat?” You giggle again, looking up at him now, his pretty face swims with how many tears you have.

“Not at all, no body fat on you. Just… comfortable I guess.” Your hand rests right over his heart, feeling it steady under you, trying to make your heart match, to slow your breathing down. Maki walks in then, kneeling quickly, brushing your hair back.

“Baby, you okay?” She asks softly, and you manage a weak little nod, as she kisses your head. “You’ve had a long day.”

“We all do, I shouldn’t act like this.”

“Babe we all puked at some point. Yuta was the first day.”

“He’s got a weak stomach, that one.” Satoru says, then looks at you and Maki with a little smile. “Maki, stay with her for a bit, I’ll get her some zofran, and I’ll get you something for the headache, yeah?”

You nod weakly, holding his hand then. “Thank you.” You say, he runs a thumb over your knuckles and just stands then, heading out. Maki cups your face carefully, studying you.

“You okay? Seriously.”

“I have some… fake tumor thing.” She gasps. “No, no, it’s fake. I don’t know… Satoru said maybe a spinal tap?”

���Satoru huh. Chummy.” You roll your eyes, sniffling as she helps you up. “Let’s brush your teeth, you don’t wanna kiss your doctor like this.”

“Maki, I can't kiss him. I can’t be with him.” You choke up once more.

“Just stay careful and sure you can. Do you think he’s serious though, or is it one of his… what do you call them?”

“Hojo moments.” You brush your teeth in the sink, grimacing at your appearance, you have mascara streaked under the dark circles of your eyes.

“Hojo moments… well about Miwa, seems like her and Papa Smurf are actually hitting it off. He’s hot now that his blue is fading.”

You perk up now, brows raising. “The blue is fading!?”

“Mmhmm, your first guess of methemoglobinemia was correct. Does that make you feel better maybe?” Maki’s eyes are concerned, you nod then, making her smile return just a bit. “Knew it, Miss know it all.”

“That’s you!” You spit out toothpaste, rinsing your mouth out now, as both of you laugh. The alarm goes off, your shift is done. “How’d it not present itself for so long I wonder?”

“I’m wondering the same thing. Already started the Methylene blue and Insane doses of Vitamin C. It’ll take a bit but he’ll be normal soon.” You wash up your face now, dabbing the bits of mascara off.

“One good thing today.”

“Two good things.” Satoru says, as you and Maki head to the locker room. “The finger surgery seems successful so far, we’ll keep him and monitor, but he could feel them.” You grin at that, at least something was going good today, aside from the ever more comfortable presence of Doctor Gojo.

“That is good news!”

“Now have a seat, let me make you feel good.” He teases with a grin, Maki snorts then, heading to her locker.

“Let me get out of here first, god.” You stick your tongue out, as Maki is sliding off her scrub top.

“I should get out of these real quick too if that’s okay? Before you poke me.” You say, he nods then, setting down the two vials.

“Let’s all get naked then, ladies.”

“Oh jesus.” Maki is dressed quickly, sliding her jacket on while Satoru is undressing, she sees him shirtless then and gives you an audacious wink, earning another eye roll from you. “Is she good to drive Dr. Hunk?”

“She’ll be fine from it, don’t worry. If not, I'll take her home. Having a drink after work anyway.” Maki pats your head once more, kissing your forehead then.

“See you home then. Night Dr. Hunk.” Satoru is giving some smoldering look that makes you and Maki both almost pee your pants, as she leaves you both alone now. Satoru has slid into a soft long sleeve black shirt and dark jeans, as you’ve gotten into your own clothes, you keep your jacket off, sitting on the bench and holding your arm out now.

“It needs to get injected in your ass.” He says then, and you gasp, making him grin wide.

“No way!”

“Yes way. Not the zofran, that’s just a little pill. Open up, pretty.” You open your mouth now, and he places the little pill under your tongue, gently closing your mouth with his fingers pressing your chin up.

“Fuck I hope it works quick.” You sigh as it dissolves, Satoru nods and tears open the package now, grinning like a devious ass devil. “You really gotta do this in my ass cheek!?”

“I really do. I’ll be completely professional, no worries.”

“Uh-huh sure. Well… alright then.” You turn now, unzipping your jeans and pulling them down, revealing your ass cheeks and your panties. He whistles, a hand coming to trace the bottom of them now, making your tummy clench with desire from just that. “So professional.”

“I need the panties off.”

“You do not. Dr. Pervert.”

“I’m Dr. Hojo and Dr. Pervert now?”

“Mmhmm. Fine, you little shit.” You slide down your panties completely, and his breath catches as he sees you, suddenly he’s quiet, then he’s bending down to sit on the bench, turning your now bare ass to him.

“You hiding that ass in your scrubs is such a crime.” You shake your head, ignoring how good his touch feels, even as he’s dabbing an alcohol pad on it, his breath against your skin does insane things, you have trouble forming a word.

“Your flattery works on those girls because you’re hot, not because you have any rizz, you’re so rizzless.”

“Rizzless my ass.”

“Ow!” Satoru has jabbed the shot in your ass cheek then, it stings and burns, you cry out, nearly jerking, so he holds you still with a hand on your hip. “You jabbed it hard on purpose!”

“Aw, need me to take it easy when I stick it in, baby?”

“Oh fuck off! Oh… I… mmm…” Suddenly the headache you’ve had all damn day is easing, you sigh now, feeling so blissful you can ignore the fact that your ass stings. You ease your panties up now, then your jeans, sighing as you turn to him, they’re still unbuttoned and unzipped, his eyes are locked right on you. “That felt so good, thank you Satoru.”

“You’re welcome, intern.” He murmurs, softly, watching you zip up your jeans and button them. “You’ll still need the tap, it’ll help for months.”

“I will. Thank you for everything today, really.” You cup his face now, before thinking better of it, pressing your lips against his softly. “A thank you kiss.”

“Can I get a thank you hand job? I’m having an issue.” You shake your head with a laugh, running your fingers through his soft hair.

“Absolutely not. But you can buy me a drink.” You grab your jacket and slide it on, and he eagerly hops up.

“Yeah?” His blue eyes light up, melting you further.

“Yeah. I’ll meet you there, Dr. Pervert.” You grab your keys, but Gojo passes you quickly as you all walk out, opening your door before he runs off to the car, making you giddier than you’d admit.

*****

“You’re drinking the fruitiest drink they make.” You say later on, as you both are sitting at the bar, and the bartender hands you a cosmopolitan cocktail, and hands Satoru a Sex on the Beach.

“Lemme enjoy my sex mmkay?” You go to pay and he stops you. “Put it on my tab please, and a tip for now.” Satoru hands the bartender cash, he smiles at the two of you.

“Anything you all want, fruitier even.” You both laugh now, and Satoru and you go find a little table on the side of the bar towards the window, you sit and sip on your drink as your phone buzzes away. You swipe it off.

“Annoying ex?” Satoru asks, leaning back as he looks at you.

“He’s so annoying. It’s been months of me ignoring him, you would think he’d get the hint.”

“And you don’t date now?”

“Um… it’s hard to think about dating with our hours, you know?” He nods then, pouty lips encircling a straw as he sucks up more of his drink, and you wonder at how Satoru makes everything look sexy. “Do you date?”

He flicks his gaze up and down your body slowly, leisurely, as if he’s caressing you with his look. “Are you asking me out, intern?”

“Oh whatever, you asked me!”

“I don’t date right now, no, but I guess I have different reasons.” He murmurs, looking off to the window for a moment.

“Would you date? No, I'm not asking you out.” You say, studying him as he licks his lower lip, drawing your attention further to things you shouldn’t.

“I would, I’m not against it, I guess no one has sparked my interest enough. I mean aside from physically.”

“Any crazy exes?”

“I have an evil ex, actually. She’s scary.” He shivers now, you tilt your head curiously, sipping your own drink, feeling the warmth flow through you.

“Is she now? Like mean?”

“She’s mean alright. We just didn’t work out, our parents pushed us to get married too young, prominent families this and that. But we never even liked each other, she was pretty happy to divorce me. And I was too.” You digest the information slowly, mouth opening just slightly. “Yeah, I was married.”

“I didn’t expect that. You seemed like a bachelor, I guess.”

“I am about to be thirty four, you think I was single this long? Nah, I’m too handsome, baby.”

“Not your baby.” You kick at his feet, but he just grips your thigh now, burning over the layer of denim, and you wish it were on your skin instead.

“Not yet. You’re in love with me already, you just don’t know.”

“Oh am I?” He’s leaning closer across from you, blue eyes glittering in the dim lights of the busy bar.

“Mhm, you are. It’s okay, everyone falls in love with me.”

“You’re so loveable, so humble.”

“I know I am… hey.” You giggle now, smacking his hand off, finishing your little martini off and exhaling.

“I needed this, ugh… thank you Satoru.” He smiles a bit, finishing his as well now. “Your wife was… well, you’re not a guy you leave.”

Shit, you said that.

You cover your face then at his look of surprise. “I’m sorry-”

“Why apologize for that? Sounded like a compliment. But she left for good reasons, we hated each other and were miserable. She still hates me still, but we’re more friendly now. Your boyfriend, did he leave you?”

“No, I left him. He was too controlling and I just… wasn’t feeling it. It sounds so silly compared to an entire marriage.”

“Nah, not at all.”

“I also just put med school first, I really did. I don’t think I gave him the attention he needed. So it’s on me a bit.”

“That’s mature as fuck.” You shrug a bit.

“Well, we had a drink, hmm?”

“Let’s have two?” You sigh, leaning forward on the table, elbow propped up, chin in your hand as you study the handsome man across from you.

“Two sounds like my resolve slips.” You say softly, Satoru leans forward as well, brushing your hair behind your ear, every touch and look making you weaker and weaker for him.

“Would that be so bad, intern? To let go.” You exhale now, leaning into the caress, lashes fluttering shut and casting shadows on your cheeks as he studies you for a moment.

“I have a feeling it would be hard to let you go.”

“Yeah, what if I bust quick? Have a small dick?” You burst into laughter now, and he pouts. “Maybe it is small, meanie.”

“That’s the other rumor, Gojo, that your dick is huge.” He blushes a bit, surprising you. “Oh you didn’t know that one! Shit.”

“I mean I’m not complaining but god, girls are gossipy.”

“Like you’re not!”

“Another drink?” He asks, standing up then, your gaze trails up his lithe, long body, as you feel the warmth spread through you.

“One more.” You agree, and he holds out his hand for you to stand, bringing you almost against him, knowing you’re teetering on the edge of a dangerous game, and when you both grab your next drink, Miwa walks in now, she pauses for a moment, before waving at the two of you and coming over.

“Dr. Gojo, I never see you at the spot.” She says, and for some reason you get nervous, looking down a bit.

“Yeah I decided she wouldn’t meet me for a date so I’d connive her into meeting me here at least.” He ruffles your hair and you huff, fixing it, ignoring the pounding in your heart at how good it felt to hear.

“A date?”

“Well, a pre date. Just a drink but she blew me off.”

“I really didn’t mean to. Um… is this weird or anything Miwa?” You ask nervously, she shakes her head with a little smile.

“Oh no, you’re fine. What you saw um… let’s just say I was having a bad day is all. We’re not together.”

“Heard you like Papa Smurf?” Gojo teases, she smacks at him then.

“He’s sweet. And less blue. Oh, my friends are here! See you two later.” She says, you watch her curiously, and Satoru is smirking down at you.

“Not everyone has to be dating or have feelings. You’re like some eighteen-hundreds Victorian lady.”

“Am not!” You’re laughing again as you all sip another drink, sitting side by side now, your phone goes off again now and you roll your eyes.

“Send him a pic of us together.”

“Shit that’s mean.”

“He’s a dick though? Yeah?”

“You tell me.” You lean close now, showing him the endless texts. Satoru whistles as he reads them, scrolling up. 

“Shit, gaslight much?”

“The king. Fuck you smell good.” Your alcohol is clearly hitting, Satoru chuckles once more, hand stroking up and down your spine carefully.

“You smell good, sweet like lavender.” He speaks right against your ear, tickling it as he inhales now, sighing. “I noticed you switched shampoo back.”

“Hush, it wasn't because of you.”

“Of course not.”

You have the most fun you can remember, fuck when don’t you enjoy Satoru Gojo? When he’s walking you over to your truck, and the music is just a low hum now, though you feel it pulsing through your body, Satoru’s pressing your back against the car door, hands on either side of the top of your car, hard body so good against you. You bite your lower lip, hands sliding down his jacket.

“You want me so bad, you love to fight it. Why?” Satoru says softly, cupping your face with one hand now, leaning low.

“I don’t wanna be a notch in Dr. Hojo’s bed post.” You say softly. “I’m not judging, but I don’t wanna be just that to someone. I totally was going to at the party, ugh, but it’s not me. So, I fight it.”

“I have a feeling if I got you, I wouldn’t want more notches.” His thumb strokes your lip side to side, eliciting a little cry from the back of your throat that you can’t quite stop before it comes out.

“You think so, hmm?”

“Judging by your hot, sweet little pussy, yes.” Your cunt throbs around goddamn nothing, reacting to his words, to him pressing you further against your big old SUV, the cool metal against your back. “Those sounds you make…”

“Fuck… kiss me.”

“You’re demanding. And confusing, you know that?” His soft words are right against your lips, you cry out then, pulling him down as you tiptoe, kissing him over and over, mouth moving over his, his tongue slipped in between your lips. Your tongue slips around his, dancing then, as his big hands grip your waist.

Your hands slide up his chest, entwining around his neck, breasts pressing against his hard abdomen, nipples growing tight as desire fills you more and more. He grabs one of them now, thumb brushing over a peak, eliciting a whimper, your head falling back now, neck begging for his kisses. Satoru’s kissing your neck and grabbing your breast right in front of a damn bar.

It’s insane.

It’s stupid.

Right?

“Fuck I want to feel you again.” His husky voice melts you now, you’re now whining for more and more, pathetic for him, were you worried too much, could you just do this, just have sex? Did there have to be such complicated shit you always put on yourself? “You’re thinking too much.”

“How do you know?” Your words are against his ear now, as you flick your tongue on the earlobe, nipping just a bit.

“I just know, and you need to just feel.” He’s sliding his hand under your shirt, across your tummy, making it tremble under his touch, goosebumps rising. “How’s it feeling, pretty?”

“Feels… fucking good.” He chuckles deeply, as you breathlessly laugh, kissing him over and over. “But I usually need things to mean something. I know I’m lame.”

“That’s not lame.” He cups your face with both hands now, blue eyes boring into yours, the soft glow of the street lights ensconcing him, making him look even more handsome somehow. Even prettier. “It means something when I’m kissing you.”

You feel everything react to him, to his words. “It does?” He nods then, nuzzling your noses together, and his phone goes off, he sighs, scowling at it now.

“The ex?”

“Nah, parents. Worse. Say… you wanna pretend we date so I can bring a girl home for Thanksgiving?”

“What now?” You blink up at him.

“Yeah… they really want me to bring a girl home. You’re perfect too, they’d fucking love if I brought a top notch Kyoto Med school grad?”

“Oh gosh… I mean, I have no plans?”

“Perfect. It will make my mom so damn happy, she’ll love you. Aw we’re moving so fast you know.” He’s grinning wolfishly, eyes glinting down at you.

You love the idea far, far too much. “Alright, a good spinal tap and then I’m a whole Thanksgiving date.”

“Works perfectly for me. Good night, intern.” Satoru kisses you one more time, leaving you breathless.

“Good night, Dr. Gojo.” You slide into your car, covering your face and squealing then, yes you’re squealing like you’re fifteen again, not a twenty six year old doctor. “His kisses…” You squeal again, overheated as you go to start your car with a roar then, hating that you’re like some lovesick teenager.

Then you see him.

Satoru Gojo grinning as he watches you through your window. You gasp, sputtering, limbs flailing as you scream out, rolling down the window then, glaring right at him. “What the fuck!”

“Aw, you do love me. Already. So easy, intern.” Satoru teases, leaning in then, far too close.

“Whatever! Good night Dr. Gojo.”

“You-”

“Bye!” You leave then, catching his reflection in your rearview, stupid giddy grin on your damn face.

Shit this is gonna be messy.

So a LOT in this, I really want to explain how it would be to have SO much going on during a typical day, I hope it doesn't overwhelm her and Dr. Hojo's connection. We will be learning a lot more about Reader's ex and Satoru's ex soon <3

A/N: Totally added my own prob as a medical thing lol ( false brain tumor) they're rare and interesting. I love you all and can't wait to hear your thoughts!!!

Taglist: @lostfracturess @unfortunately-tia @allofffmypeaches @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine @antisocialinlw @meg3mis @miizuzu @nanasukii28 @zoeyflower @wstaley2 @bunheadusa @blue-musingss @ameliariddle @moncher-ire @jkslaugh97 @aldebrana @shadeowz @gojo1228 @victoriaaaa00 @jaeminaur @seeing-stars-alt @bol0-de-morang0 @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @trishiepo0 @inthedarkshadows000 @gina239 @jjknanamin

[lecl3rcw]

Keeping Up With The Leclercs |

a/n: this is the more detailed version of the chapters!! y/n has no face claim, the pictures I use are just for reference.

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It was an unusually rainy day in Monte Carlo as the Leclerc twins sat at their mother’s house. y/n was on live with her fans building a lego set while arthur was playing the piano in the back.

“y/n what’s the lip oil you use, it’s so pretty, aw thankyou! I use the Dior lip oil in the shade poppy coral!” She smiles showcasing the product before putting it away.

“oh by the way, I’m back home in Monaco for a bit so that’s my brother playing the piano, he’s very good at it” she says as she continues to build a Lego sit, well atleast until her brother arthur comes into the screen.

“c'est tellement moche” that’s so ugly he says chuckling as her jaw drops. “tu es du genre à parler” you’re one to talk

Soon, Arthur had started helping her as the soft rain pattered against the window of their maman’s cozy house. “y/n who’s your favorite sibling, hmm…” she goes into deep thinking as arthur looks at her expectantly, “Lorenzo” she simply says as arthur scoffs “Not your twin brother?” “…definitely not” she chuckles as they engage in their usual sibling banter.

“I guess someone’s upset a certain someone is out of their league” Arthur nudges her, she gave him a warning look, “aw what’s the matter? You upset that Jo-” before he could finish she puts a hand on his mouth “fermez-la!” Shut up!

arthur chuckles as he nodded “bien sûr chéri” sure cheri he says as they continue building it. It was a studio ghibli's "howls moving castle" and it was so cute. Once they were finished they showed it to the people watching the live, “it’s so cute!” She says admiring their work. It was late so they decided to end the live saying goodbyes to everyone who watched.

y/n.leclcerc posted a story

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charlesleclerc, charlottedipietro and 67,000 more…

Now, she was in the middle of packing up her suitcase as Arthur scrolled through his phone laying down on her bed. "So how long are you going to be in the US for?" Arthur casually asks, "hmm about a month, and then ill meet up with Charles and Alexandra in Venice for a bit" she says as she packed everything.

"Damn, booked a lot of jobs for once? I'm surprised anyone would cast your ugly face" he chuckles making her roll her eyes, "don't you have some relationship problems to worry about" she fires back making his face drop. "Thats not fair! you know Carla-" before he finishes, their mother Pascale comes in as well.

"Salut Maman" hello mama they say unanimously, as she smiled at them. "Tu pars déjà ?" you're leaving already? she asks y/n as she sighs, "oui mama" yes mama she says hugging her mom. Pascale wraps her arms around the girl tightly, "ton voyage a paru si court, reviens plus souvent à Monaco ma petite fille" your trip felt so short, come back to Monaco more often my little girl. y/n smiles, "I promise I will maman" she says as she packs the last of her things.

Pascale takes a seat next to Arthur on y/n's bad, "so what all do you have planned for the month?" Arthur asks. y/n sits down, "I'm actually not sure, Lucille sent me an entire list of my schedule, I'm actually so grateful for my manager" she chuckles as she pulls up her schedule on the phone. "How is Lucille by the way?" Arthur says his cheeks a bit red, she glares at him "You stay away from Lucille" she says as his face drops "What! why!" he says as Pascale looks at them in confusion, "why cherie?" she asks confused as well.

"A. you're a terrible boyfriend, B. you have to sort things out with Carla because I love her, and C. I'm not going to let you mess up a good thing going on for me" she says crossing her arms, Arthur groans "I am not!" he says to his twin who scoffs "Do you know the amount of friendships I have lost because of you and Charles?" she says. "Fine fine ill stay away from Lucille quelle galère" what a drag he says rolling his eyes. "Maman tell him to stay away from Lucille" she says, "ok ok je pense qu'il comprend" ok ok i think he gets it she says in her usual soft voice. Once things settle down, Arthur and Pascale exit the room so that she could get some rest before her very long and tiring flight.

The next morning as she's brushing her teeth she gets a call from Lucille, "Goodmorning y/n! I just sent you a screenshot of the boarding pass!" Lucille chirps, "Thankyou so much Lucille, ill see you when I land" she says as she hangs up. She quickly gets her hand bag ready making sure she has her essential such as her passport, and some self care products.

Arthur and Pascale drive her to the airport, she hugs both of them tightly, "I'll miss you guys" she says pulling away, "yeah yeah I guess I will too" Arthur says playfully rolling his eyes to which she punches his shoulder. "oh ma petite fille, envoie-moi un message quand tu atterris" oh my little girl, text me when you land as she pulls y/n into another tight hug to which she reciprocates. "oui maman" yes mama she says before finally going into the line. "she waves to them with a quick I love you and before she knows it, she's on the plane.

y/n.leclerc's story

charlesleclerc replied > safe travels cherie!

alexandrasaintmelux replied > see you soon ange!

she smiles as she responds to their messages, she shuts her phone off after a while. Her head resting on the airplane window as she extends her legs since she was in first class. her work in the US hadn't even started yet and she was already feeling so stressed. she had 38 modeling shoots, two runways, and about 7 public events, one of them including seeing one of her biggest crushes in just a month. she decides to just shut her eyes and let it go to the back of her head.

y/n.leclerc

monaco 24' you will be missed <3 @ alexandrasaintmleux, @ arthurleclerc, @ chanel

liked by lorenzotl, charlesleclerc, and 1,200,0000 others.....

alexandrasaintmleux mon petit amour💌 my little love

^ y/n.leclerc mon ange 💞 my angel

lorenzotl vous me manquez les gars ☹️ miss you guys

^ y/n.leclerc tu me manques davantage😔💞 miss you more

chanel that's our ambassador!🫡

^ y/n.leclerc my fav brand💌

lec1ercs sososo pretty

lilymean1 your white dress is so pretty! where's it from!

^ y/n.leclerc Chanel! the 2023 summer drop :)

asmcloset I love her friendship with Alex

[starlightoru-gojo]

You already accepted the moment you said ‘yes’ to be in a relationship with Satoru Gojo that you won’t be always the priority. He is a busy man, he has a lot of priorities on his shoulders, you know how heavy the responsibilities were given to him unapologetically because he was named as the strongest. He’s just also a victim a the circumstances. During your relationship, Satoru missed a lot of important dates be it anniversaries, your birthday or even his yet you just always shrugged it off and tell him “It’s okay, Satoru. I understand.” Despite that, you choose to marry him because you love the man so much. You already know what you applied for, really. But, maybe, years of your patience snapped. You can’t just forgive him this time, now when it’s your son’s birthday and he’s not there.

The party’s over and no papa showed up. You organized everything with him yet he’s out of sight.

You looked at the remnants of the party, balloons everywhere, stickers and toys that are on the floor. It’s pretty messy. You started cleaning after all you can’t be tired not when your 2 year old son is helping you clean. You start by pulling out the ceiling decorations and then the walls. Your son is picking up toys and putting it in a box. You already talked him out to just let you do the work but is stubborn just like that. “Babe, let mama clean, okay?” You said grabbing the designs off the wall, you baby just looked up and smile at you then to the front door “Papa home?” Your eyes wide in shock while he looked at you with hopeful eyes. You climbed down the ladder you’ve been using to picked up your son. He yawned when you kneeled in-front of him. “You’re waiting for Papa?” He just nod and rub his watery eyes from lack of sleep. Your heart aches so you just hugged him just to give him comfort or just maybe for you too. You can’t really forgive Satoru this time. “Uhm maybe tomorrow? Go to sleep, I’ll wake you up when Papa’s here.”

Your son choose to sleep on the couch because you are washing the dishes and wants to looked at you or more like guard you. He is very protective of you, just like his father. But seeing his small figure curled in the sofa makes you melt and soft.

“Acting like a man, are you?” You pinch his chubby cheek, staring at your handsome son. You sat on the floor mat, watching your precious meat bun. His cheeks looked like xiaolongbao. Lifting him carefully, you carry your son who adjusted himself on you hugging your neck. You cooed, you’re about to walk upstairs when your front door opened. You stared at Satoru who just walked in with tons of gift in his hands. He looked at you apologetically and you just leave him there.

“Hey… babe-“ he grab your waist before you can even walk further.

“Not right now. Don’t even start, Satoru.” You calmly said but with full of conviction. Satoru looked at you with his pleading eyes.

“Okay. Just let me carry my son, please.” Your heart ache, clenching your jaw. You don’t know, but you just suddenly became very protective of your son that you just walk out in front of his father.

“Babe, please…” Satoru followed you upstairs pleading but you’re just furious just by looking at him. You can’t just forgive him just because you let him every time. Tucking your son on his bed and kissed his forehead and whispered a sweet good night. Satoru watched you did all of it. He knew he messed up and you’re easy when it comes to your son. You both quietly move out the room but Satoru immediately talk.

“Y/n.” grabbing your hand to stop you from walking away. Your home was lightly illuminated, serene and quiet, it was over all peaceful but your heart isn’t. You just looked at him with indifference that made Satoru flinch.

“You promised, Satoru.” You coldly said.

“I know. And I’m sorry,” He said with pain in his chest. It wasn’t his intention, he was about to go home when things just haywire, he could have just leave the mission but the higher ups will just not let it that way. “It’s wasn’t my intention. Babe, you know I would never do that to my son—“

“But, you did. I let you off every time, accepted your apologies, you could even leave us a message that you trapped in some far away land! You know what, just be clear with us! I openly accepted that I am not the priority but not with my son, Satoru. This was not the first time you let him hanging—“ your tears fell remembering how your son would wait in your front door because his father promised he would bring him sweets and was meet with nothing. “Just… don’t make promises you won’t fulfill, Satoru. Don’t hurt him anymore.”

You saw how Satoru opened his mouth to say something but closed it. You let go of his hand, walking towards the living room where you left the cleaning to attend to your son first. Wiping your tears and just focused on the chores.

Satoru followed after picking up the party poppers and carrying the chairs. You’re both silent, minding each other’s business. You can feel Satoru’s gaze and you can’t help but ache you don’t want this but you’re just angry right bow. Satoru’s the one who finished grabbing the designs on the ceiling, you watched him, shoulders slouch and tired eyes. But you shrugged it off, he should know that he just hit your limit. His carrying boxes while your just wiping some stains on the floor when you heard small steps scurrying.

“Papa!” You and Satoru immediately looked at the little one slowly going down stairs. Satoru who is about to carry a big box stopped and looked at you. You watch him but teared off your eyes when you saw how your son excitedly run towards his father. You watched how Satoru deal with his son.

Kneeling in front of your son, Satoru, watched him closely, apologizing or whatever you can see in his eyes yet his son was looking at him with glimmer in his eyes. Satoru gulped trying so hard to stop his tears.

“Happy birthday, big boy.” You can hear Satoru’s strained voice, his eyes water and you looked away. “I’m sorry if Papa was not here, earlier.” Satoru hugged his son, apologizing. Your son just hugged his father back with a confused look on his face.

“Papa gift?”

You scoffed. Both Satoru and your son looked at you. Two pairs of beautiful blue eyes are watching you closely. You chuckle while wiping your tears walking towards your boys. For all the things that happened the only thing that matters is his gift.

You snatched your son away and jokingly squinting at Satoru on the ground. “Where’s your son’s gift?”

[sweetpupii]

a heavy, exhausted sigh could be heard from the front door as it closed and something loudly—a backpack perhaps—dropped to the ground. ( hopefully nothing broke. )

the shuffling footsteps going from the living room to your room a clear indicator that it was just jayce and not a very loud burglar breaking into your apartment.

“hi, how was—oh?” your smile quickly turned into a surprised look as he interrupted your greeting by taking your phone out of your hands, spreading your legs to lay his full body weight on top of you, letting out another deep exhale from his chapped lips. don't even waste your time trying to convince him to take a lip balm to leave the house; he always forgets.

“I'm so tired…” he mumbled against the fabric of your top, instinctively snuggling into your abdomen while seeking warmth and contact. eyes growing even heavier than before. “I missed you.”

a soft smile finding its way to your lips once more at the quiet confession, gently tracing his tense shoulders with an index finger. “missed you too; you got home pretty late.”

he lazily nodded with a hum, hands slowly sliding up and down at your sides to distract himself from the stress. today has been absolutely awful. he just wanted to come home and cuddle while you talk about whatever.

a break.

“I still haven't found a material that does the same thing as cobalt for my project and is also cheap; nickel overheats, silicon expands, and I can't even afford graphene… it's driving me crazy.” a slight groan can be heard in his voice, clearly exhausted from trying and failing multiple times. 

“you won't be able to think about other solutions if you're working your ass off.”

“...yeah, I know that already, but I just—everyone’s already done with their own projects or already knows how to do it, but I'm still trying to figure it out.” jayce’s lips twitch into a frown, squeezing his eyes shut before burying his face on your chest. the gentle beat of your heart soothing his overwhelmed brain.

“from now on, no talking about work here unless it's really necessary. can't have you getting gray hairs in your early thirties.” he could only scoff at that comment.

“it's not like it would look bad…right?”

“nope but still, I would prefer seeing those because of the time that passes and not from stress.” the gentle kiss on his forehead automatically makes him lean forward into you, silently asking for more.

it felt good to think about being with you long enough you start seeing his gray hair appear.

“thanks…” jayce whispered while moving his head to also be able to return the affection with tiny kisses, his stubble lightly scratching your skin, gently trailing up your lips with a steady and soft kiss that pulled you closer and easily melted away any lingering frustration in his body.

god, it felt good to be home.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Can you do a smut with a hand kink.. please. I'd die.

Handle with care

A/N: In which Little Mouse discovers she has a thing for Elvis' hands...

Pairing: little mouse x Elvis

Word count: 1.9K

TWs: Fingering, borderline fisting (not quite), lots of fingers in mouth/sucking/licking, a tiny bit of struggling to breathe, blow job, bit of voyeurism, watching a dirty movie.

You and Elvis are fooling around in the TV room, kissing and cuddling, when he remembers the film he’d made of the two of you and that pretty little thing Jerry had found for you to play with. It was a little while ago now that he’d watched you and her kiss and undress one another, and taught you how to please a woman just like he taught you how to please him, and it seems like just the time to refresh his memory. And yours. 

“Baby,” he coos, pulling away from the passionate kiss he’d been right in the middle of. 

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Ya wanna watch that movie we made? With Jessica?”

Your eyes grow wide. You hadn’t forgotten about it, exactly, but you had sort of pushed it out of your mind. You’d really enjoyed Jessica, but you’re not sure if you want to watch yourself enjoying her. 

“Mmmm,” you squeak, uncomfortably. 

He frowns. “What’s that lil squeak for, Mouse?”

You bite your lip. You know this is his fantasy, and you don’t want to spoil it. But still. 

“I jus’... hmmm. I have to watch myself?”

“Ya look gorgeous, baby. In that pink nightie I got ya. C’mon. Daddy wants to watch ya eat that pretty little girl again.”

You sigh softly. You don't want to look at your own face on a big screen, no matter how dolled up it might be, but you’re not sure this is an argument you’re going to win. There aren’t many arguments with Elvis that you have even a chance of winning, so you’ve learnt when to concede. It’s easier this way. 

“Okay.”

He kisses you on the forehead. “That’s my good girl. I’ll get it set up.”

Of course he doesn’t actually get it set up. It involves fiddling with a projector and a film, so he ends up getting Jerry in to sort it out, resulting in a lot of blushing for both you and Jerry, but somehow none for Elvis. Eventually it’s all sorted and Jerry bows out of the room as gracefully as he possibly can, closing the door behind him and heading to the other end of the house. Best to try and avoid hearing the noises he knows are coming. He thinks you’re very sweet and part of him doesn’t like to think of you like this. Another part of him likes it a lot, and that might be an even worse problem. 

The film starts, and you see yourself in the pink nightie with your hair all curled and your make-up done in that over the top way Elvis likes, and you cringe. This is even worse than you anticipated. You don’t mind watching yourself kiss Jessica when she’s taking up most of the frame, but right now you seem to be centre-stage. Then you see Elvis’ hand, taking yours and moving it onto Jessica’s breast. You remember how his hand felt, firm but gentle, guiding you where he wanted you. You can hear his soft low voice purring instructions into your ear “that’s it baby, jus’ give it a little squeeze. Good girl.” and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. But the more you watch the film, the more you’re drawn to his hands. To begin with, you just look at them to avoid looking at yourself so much. But then you find yourself really studying them, how long and slender his fingers are, how dexterously they move, how his rings glitter. And then you start to think about them touching you, just as his arm wraps around your shoulders and a hand squeezes your upper arm. There’s a tingling between your legs that intensifies as his other hand starts to make its way up your thigh, under your skirt. You hear your breathing get heavier, you’re almost panting with anticipation, thinking of those long fingers touching you, sliding inside you, curling and hitting that spot. 

He watches the movie with half an eye on your reaction to it. You didn’t seem like you were enjoying it too much to begin with, but now as his fingers reach your panties and press against them he realises you’re as turned on as he is. He loves watching you with another girl, seeing you unsure and then gaining your confidence, watching the pleasure on your face as she licks between your legs and the pleasure on hers as you eat her like pussy is going out of fashion. He hooks your panties to one side and rubs a finger against you. 

“Mmmm. Daddy.” It comes out almost against your will, and you give him a sidelong glance. 

He bites his lip. “Enjoyin’ yourself, little mouse?”

You nod quickly, spreading your legs wide for him. He slides a finger inside you and is surprised by your reaction. Head thrown back, hips bucking, whimpers falling from your lips. You don’t usually react this much to just a finger. He looks up to the screen and sees Jessica’s face, flushed with arousal, taking up most of the screen. It must be her. He feels a twinge of jealousy and tries to push it down. He wanted to watch this, and he’s enjoying it. It’s fine that you’re enjoying it too. It’s more than fine. It’s great. He slides another finger in after the first and you moan, your eyes fixed on the screen. He tears his gaze away from your face to look at the screen too, seeing your head between the other girl’s legs as she moans and writhes. He pumps his fingers in and out of you a few more times, but his dick is getting uncomfortably hard and he wants to fuck you now. Make you forget the girl on the screen and just think about him. 

You’re staring at the way his hands are gripping Jessica’s legs, pulling them apart for you, when you feel him start to slide his fingers out. You instinctively grab his forearm to stop him and he looks at you inquisitively. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, fingers wrapping tightly around his arm now.

“Whaddya want, Mouse?” He asks, still uncomprehending. 

“Your fingers, Daddy,” you moan. 

He’s a little taken aback by your admission, but if that’s what you want that’s what he’ll give you. He helps you rearrange yourself on the sofa so you’re lying down properly, and pulls your panties off too. 

“How many fingers, Mouse?” He asks, his breath hot on your ear as he leans over you, two long digits sliding back inside. 

You squeak, momentarily struck dumb by the question, caught in the intensity of his gaze. “However many fit, Daddy,” you finally manage to whisper. 

Elvis’ dick presses even more determinedly against the fabric of his pants. He’s never heard you be this damn dirty before, and it’s really really turning him on. 

“Let’s see, shall we?” 

He pushes in a third finger to join the first two, slowly pumping them together until he feels you start to relax. Watching the look on your face, the way you flush with pleasure, the gentle undulation of your body as you react to his fingers rubbing inside you, he has an idea. He has two hands and you have a very obliging mouth. Leaning a little so his weight is more on his knees, he pushes the index finger of his other hand past your unresisting lips. Watching as your eyes grow wide, he feels your tongue swirl around it. Increasing the pace with his other hand, he slides another two fingers into your mouth. Your pussy is nice and wet and relaxed now, and he can feel it pulling his fingers further inside. 

“One more finger, little one?”

You nod quickly and he adds a finger to your pussy and your mouth. Spit runs down your chin as you moan and struggle slightly to breathe through your nose.  

Elvis is starting to think he might cum just from watching this, seeing you so wanton and dirty. It’s a struggle to get the fourth finger in to begin with, but he’s patient and he keeps gently thrusting those four fingers in and out of your pussy and gradually they go in further and further until he’s in up to his knuckles, only his thumb on the outside now. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and shuffles up on the sofa so he’s kneeling next to your head. He can’t just watch you like this and not have you touch him. 

“Open up, baby.”

You open your mouth obediently and his dick slides in where his fingers had been. He groans, trying hard to continue to concentrate on fingering you now your mouth is all around him. Sitting up so you can stroke him into your mouth, the change in position means he’s suddenly hitting exactly where you want him to as he shoves his hand inside you over and over again. You know you're going to cum, and seconds later you’ve let go of his dick and fallen back onto the sofa, pleasure rushing through your body as a powerful orgasm hits you. 

“Ohhhh fuck.”

He loves watching you cum, and this is no exception. He rubs his fingers against your walls a few more times, coaxing you through your high, and then when he’s sure you’re done he removes his hand, briefly looking at the way it's covered in your juices before returning to his own pleasure. Your eyes are closed in bliss, but he pushes his dick back into your mouth anyway, one hand underneath your head to help you as he starts to pump himself with the other. Groaning, he feels his release heavy in his balls.

“Ready for me, baby?” He growls. 

You squeak and nod your head as best you can, your eyes open again now as you try to take a little more of him. He pumps his hand faster and faster until he’s moaning and cumming down your throat, making your eyes water as he thrusts a little too enthusiastically. You swirl your tongue around him until he pulls out and falls down next to you, holding out his other hand to your lips. 

“Here. Lick ‘em clean for me honey, since you like ‘em so much.”

You take his hand in both of yours and gently slip one finger into your mouth at a time, licking them clean slowly and carefully, your big eyes looking over at him as you do it. God, you really do love everything about his hands right now. 

“Good girl,” he hums. 

You let the final finger out of your mouth with a pop and then smile at him. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He strokes your cheek. “Thank you, little mouse.” He settles down next to you, the movie still playing in the background. You’re both quiet for a while, enjoying the warm fuzzy feeling after your orgasms. Then he wonders something. 

“Hey, what made ya suddenly like my hands so much?”

You giggle shyly. “They were the only things I liked looking at in the movie,” you tell him, taking a hand in both of yours again and stroking the back of it.

“Is that so?” 

“Mmm. Just wanted to look at you.” You look over at him through your lashes, still stroking his hand. 

He smiles and kisses you gently. “I only wanna look at you too, you pretty little thing.”

***

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