#it's a mess out here in my playlists
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feenixmork · 2 years ago
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No idea where all the people who follow this playlist came from, but y'know if that many people like it then might as well put it here
Plus the art I made for it
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lonaami · 2 years ago
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for your sake all my heart is bruised: a trigun stampede fanmix for a love which never ceases and an unending crusade to save one who is lost
longing - matteo myderwyk // speak to me - amy lee // geyser - mitski // la parfum de fleurs - ensemble FOVE & taku matsushiba // beautiful undone - laura doggett // love comes home - les friction // i love you - riopy // your world will fail - les friction // un amour impossible - joshua kyan aalampour // restraint - florence + the machine // big god - florence + the machine // stalker - iamx, kat von d // morceaux de fantaisie, op. 3:1. elegie - sergei rachmaninoff, sheku kanneh-mason, isata kanneh-mason // i come with knives - iamx // indoctrination - alter bridge // screaming silence - luca d'alberto
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whimsicalcotton · 3 months ago
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@nylevea shdfsjkh okay here u go
very shyly sharing,, fair warning it's a bit messy and not ordered or anything (i made a Slightly cleaned up version to post but it's still 2 1/2 hrs lol)
also there are two songs missing, one being All The Places by Made In Heights and the other being this mashup of Lies/Electra Heart/Off To The Races (for The Vibes, y'know?)
and a CW for running themes of addiction & eating disorders, and some mentions of self-harm/suicide
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gouinisme · 2 years ago
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♫!!
thx for the ask!!
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lanteanserver · 2 months ago
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I think technically speaking, I'm not an Irish Catholic or an English Catholic, but I'm a Ro[a]m[i/a]n{g} Cat{-}holic until and unless they excom{m/eow}nicate me, and really, if they're going to do that,
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#cat-holic Catholic#toxoplasmosis probably needs to be a part of this whole mess too i guess#just think of me as a very efficient antibiotic that's trying to support humanity's immune system#i'm not nice but i try to always be kind#i'm not God but i'm an Echo of something#maybe just an Echo of my own scream into the void but i'm the only me I've got#or maybe we're the only us we've got but all the reassurance i have left is haptic feedback when i feel sick for no reason#i'm not alone but i am a stranger in a strange land#i have no home but i'm not unhoused#they tell me my husband is my home but Warsan Shire was right:#you can't build homes out of human beings#someone should have told me that long ago#oh well okay#never gonna know you now but i'm gonna love you anyhow#can't tell what's real but willing to take other people's opinions on board#oracle is probably easier than prophet and i definitely have the message to the relevant parties#now it's up to them#for the record the message was “change or die” to the institution of the Roman Catholic Church#and the good news is they're already trying to change but the better news is that they're failing better#the best news is that i think i made it through the loop and out the other side#too sweet by hozier is playing on the radio and that's the first song on my husband's playlist#speculative fact or quantum religion or syncretism or whatever#a bucket of acceleration told me (the all-knowing bucket) that i would either be a heretic or a saint#i genuinely don't know or care because i have no fear for my soul#i got purgatory out of the way in advance this lifetime#i don't want to rule in heaven but i'm sick to death of serving in Hell and being told i deserve it#so here i am#i am what i am#i am what you made me#i'm the canon reader not the cannon ball
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omgeto · 1 year ago
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☆ COVER UP — tattoo artist!GETO SUGURU
summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.
wc: 3k
cw: afab!reader, geto gives you backshots, he's kinda obsessed w/ your ass here, unprotected sex (since I forget condoms) BUT he's a gentleman pulls out </3 your kinda a meanie. he's kinda a meanie so light angst (?) but barely. MDNI
an: haven't posted a longer work in a hot minute, but here is how you meet tattoo artist boyfriend!geto soooo give this one a chance big fanks to my lil twat @kazushawty for helping me out and reading bits of it.
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as you push open the heavy glass door of ‘cursed ink studios,’ a subtle bell chimes softly, announcing your presence. instantly, the atmosphere inside crackles with an electric charge. the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of ink, mingling with the sterile bite of antiseptic. the walls are adorned with vivid flash art form a chaotic tapestry, while the rhythmic hum of a tattoo gun echoes through the room.
and there he is, geto suguru – a tall, enigmatic figure with jet-black hair and sleeves of mesmerising tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. he sits at his workbench, surrounded by an array of ink bottles and tattoo machines, his piercing eyes never leaving the art he's creating. a carefully curated playlist of music plays softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional buzzing of the tattoo gun.
he glances up from his intricate work as you enter, his gaze slowly travelling up and down your form. there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he's wondering why you, of all people, have ventured into his sacred space. his expression, however, suggests that he's far from thrilled about the interruption.
"need something?" he asks, his irritation evident.
"i need a cover-up” you swallow your nerves, holding your head high, your voice steady, ”my ex's name."
geto raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your request. "ex's name, huh? you people never learn."
your jaw clenches at his condescending tone. "well, i'm here now, so can you do it or not?"
he continues to scrutinise you, his gaze feeling like a judgmental weight. finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. "fine, show me."
with a sigh of resignation, you turn around, your heart pounding as you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to reveal the offending name covering your left ass cheek. it's a constant reminder of a relationship gone wrong, and you're more than ready to be rid of it.
"this won't be easy," he mutters, his fingers cool against your skin as he traces the outline of the name. his touch lingers, just a little too long, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. his fingers, skilled and confident, continued to trace the inked letters of your ex's name on your skin — almost toyingly. and you could feel the chill of the tattoo parlour's air-conditioning contrasted by the warmth of his touch.
his voice, though still gruff, held a trace of disgust "who did this?" he asks, not looking up from the tattoo.
you hesitate, your memories of that past relationship flooding back. "my ex-boyfriend," you reply tersely.
geto's fingers stop their tracing, and he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "you let your boyfriend do a shitty tattoo on you, and you let him make it his name," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you practically let him brand you."
“is it your job to be such a bitchy artist?” you snap, already fed up by his comments. you’ve heard it from your parents, your friends, ever since you got that trashy tattoo. but couldn't disagree with that sentiment — you knew it was a shit tattoo. “i thought i was paying you for your artistry, not your smart mouth.”
"listen," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "you walk in here with that god awful mess on your skin, and you've got the nerve to criticise my attitude? if you want to be rid of it, you'll do well to keep that attitude in check, sweetheart."
you bite back a retort, realising that you've indeed crossed a line with your comment. there's a palpable tension in the air now, a simmering anger beneath the surface, and it seems that geto has no intention of backing down.
with a deep breath, you swallow your pride and offer a reluctant apology. "i'm sorry," you mutter, a touch of remorse in your voice. "i shouldn't have snapped at you."
he continues to hold your gaze for a moment, his expression still stern, before finally nodding. "apology accepted."
you didn’t actually have an idea of what you wanted for the cover up, you just knew you needed it gone. geto was a highly sought out cover artist so you had no doubt that he’d be able to do you good. with your initial meeting being heated, you thought it was best to leave him to do his thing.
with a sense of relief that the confrontation has subsided, you decide to give geto some space to work his magic. "i'll leave you to it," you say, your voice quieter now, and you turn away from him.
"good," he mutters, his focus fully on his ipad as he starts to sketch, not even looking as you leave the shop. 
geto usually was quick to draw up tattoo sketches for clients, but when it came to you he was stunned — too busy thinking about how your ass looked rather than what he was meant to tattoo on it. from the moment you stepped in his shop, he was intrigued, you didn’t see the type to get work done by him and the marking stretched on your ass didn’t seem like it would belong to someone with an attitude like yours. 
his mind was anything but focused on the design. he couldn't help but replay the encounter with you in his thoughts, your brashness and the way you'd stood your ground, even under his scrutiny.
"why the hell did she get that shitty tattoo?" he mutters to himself, his fingers deftly working his pen. the sketch was beginning to take shape, but his mind kept drifting back to the curve of your ass. he couldn't deny the attraction he felt, and it frustrated him. he was supposed to be a professional, detached from his clients beyond the art he created on their skin. but something about you had thrown him off balance.
“so you ready to get this tatted on you?” is the first thing he asks when you return the following day. you inspect his sketches in awe, of course you never doubted his talent but you didn’t think he’d be able to draw something you wanted without you even having to say.
“well it seems you do live up to your reputation,” you comment with a neutral facade, but you both know that you were downplaying your excitement — you were pleased. and like with any client, that made geto satisfied that he was doing his job correctly. but when he saw the way your eyes lit up when he initially showed you the sketches, it was a sight he wanted to see again. “i guess we can start the tattoo.”
“okay i’ll get my stuff set up, get rid of those,” he says nodding towards your jeans, “and lay down when you’re ready.” you slip yourself out of your bottoms, leaving the itty bitty thong that you knew you’d need for the appointment and that a small part of you hoped he liked.
he pauses when he sees you laying down on the seat in his station, your head resting in your arms, your ass slightly raised.  ‘this is gonna be a long session,’ he thinks to himself as he smirks, shaking his head as he works his way to his seat.
as he sits down, he places the stencil over your ass, and you berate yourself for getting giddy at the feeling of him rubbing over the design to make sure it was in place — wishing that his hand stayed for longer. 
“how are you with pain?” he asks, and from the way you were laying you weren’t able to see the way he was gawping at your ass.
“what type of pain?” you retort.
“y’know the type of pain where someones drilling into your ass for hours,” he comments as if it’s obvious but you both knew his words were hinting at more than just the tattoo.
“choice words there,” you muse, “but any type of pain i’m alright with, so give me your best.”
geto's needle hovers just above your skin, poised for action. "you sure about that?" he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive.
a coy smile tugs at your lips as you respond, "I can handle it if you can."
with a deliberate, almost tantalising slowness, he lowers the needle to your skin. the first touch is a sharp, stinging sensation, but you refuse to flinch. you're determined to hold your own, to meet geto's challenge head-on.
he continues to work, the needle dancing across your skin with a practised precision. the room is filled with the rhythmic sound of the tattoo machine, creating a hypnotic backdrop to your growing tension.
as minutes turn into hours, you find yourself lost in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. the pain is undeniable, but there's something oddly exhilarating about it. you steal a glance at geto, his intense focus on his work, and you can't help but wonder if he's enjoying this as much as you are.
"still doing okay?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and something more primal.
you bite your lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. "i told you, i can handle it."
geto smirks, his gaze locked on your ass as he continues to tattoo. "you've got quite the threshold for pain. impressive."
“is it really? i'm sure you’ve worked on a lot of other clients with higher thresholds for pain.”
“but none of them have had an ass like yours though,” he mumbles to himself — but you hear him loud and clear, a grin forming on your face at the confession. “anyways, we’re all done now, go ahead and look in the mirror.”
you stand in the full length mirror, your head slightly turned at an angle as you gawp at your ass. your eyes widen seeing what was once your shitty exes name, now turned into a piece of true art. 
“so what d’you think?” he asks, and you didn’t even notice him coming to stand behind you until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, “this shit is hot right?”
“you can say that again,” you agree, keeping your eyes focused on the tattoo, trying to ignore the quickening of your heart beat at the presence of him, “this is really great though, like i couldn’t imagine my ass could look this good after having that tattooed on on it all his time.”
“well no need to imagine anymore,” geto’s face forms a smiling grin, you can tell he was admiring way more than just his artwork, “you mind if i take a picture… for my instagram?” he says, barely asking as his phone is already out of his pocket and is in his hands, he looks up at you for permission and you give a slight nod before he’s snapping away at your ass.
“are you sure this is for your instagram,” you tease, as he continues to take photos crouched down, as he circles your ass with his phone, “or is this just for your personal wank bank?”
“would you like it to be?” he retorts back swiftly, there wasn’t even any mischief in his eyes as he looks up at you, just pure lust.
“um i–” you stutter, only now feeling exposed — as if he hadn’t been working on your ass already for the past six hours.
“don’t get shy on me now,” he coos, standing up to face you head on, “y’gonna let me finish off making you forget that ex or yours or what?”
“be my guest,” you respond, trying to come across as nonchalant, but the eager look in your eyes gave geto all he needed to know. 
he pushes you softly, as he commands, “hands against the mirror and spread your legs.” and you do just that, as he comes behind you, fitting in between your legs perfectly. his hand forces ur back down, deeping the arch of your spine before both of his hands grab onto your ass.
geto really rubs and digs his thumbs into your cheeks, biting his lip at the sight at the way his fingers mould into your ass. “fuckk man,” he groans out, he’s not even in you yet and he was already obsessed with every inch of you. 
he frees his dick from his pants, and pumps it quickly before sliding it across your already gushing slit. you hiss at the contact, a pleased smile working its way on your face as the tip of his dick edges into you.
“s-shit,” you stammer, as he inches himself into you deeper, “w-what about the rest of the shop?”
“what about them?” he shrugs, “you don’t want them to hear naught you’re being right now? HEY GUYS—”
“oi,” you hiss out, your eyes widening as you turn your head to look directly at him.
“i’m just playing, i’m not ready to share you quite just yet,” he retorts, his dick moving in you at an achingly slow pace, “now, keep your eyes focused on the mirror, and you better not let those hands slip.”
before you can respond, he thrust his hips into you as deep as he could, his dick slamming into you. you moan out at the surprising force, trying your best to keep your palms flat on the surface of the mirror, as you stare straight at him — watching how he works his hands from your ass to your hips so he can drive into you with all of his force. 
“this pussy is s-so fucking good,” he praises, the sloppiness of your cunt making it easy for him to slide his dick in and out of you. “oh and this ass,” he continues giving a hard spank on your ass cheek, to emphasise his point, “c’mon throw your ass back on my dick, i wanna see it bounce.”
you fuck him back, doing exactly as he says, your ass meeting his hips with the same amount of force. his spanks encourage you to be quicker, to give him everything he wants. his repeating, strong strokes, have you feeling weaker, your hands slipping as you try to stay up right, when all you want to do is collapse and cum everywhere. 
“f-fuckk it’s too much,” you whine, as he drills into you.
“nah,” he says, shrugging his head, “it’s not enough,” he lifts up his legs, his digits pressing into your deeper, as he now angles his strokes even further into your pussy, hitting your spot with ease. “give it to me harder, i know you can” he encourages, another two swift spanks landing on your ass.
with his continuous contact of your ass and his hips, and the way his dick pushes into you deeper, you felt like you were splitting in two. but you kept going, thinking back to your earlier conversation, you didn’t want to prove him wrong, you wanted to show him that you can handle it, handle him.
geto was practically beaming, licking his lips feverishly at the sight of your fucked out face through the mirror as he watches himself plough into you, your body rocking forward with every thrust. his eyes concentrate on your ass, as he says, “d’you see how your rocking my work on you now?” and you nod dumbly, too busy trying to reach your climax to string a sentence together, “so fuck that ex of yours and his shitty ass tattooing, from now on you only can me on your body, you got that?” he asks and you nod again, but he shakes his head, his hand moving from your waist to your chin as he grips it making your eyes stay locked on his through the mirror, “i said do you got that?”
“ahhh s-shit yet i do, i do,” you say, mirroring his words, “i will only have you on my body, ‘promise.”
“good girl,” he approves, giving your chin a squeeze before letting go, “now cum.” 
with those simple words, you release all over him, your stance getting weaker, as you shoot out cum all over his dick. he’s quick to pull out of you though, stroking his dick as he sprays his cum all over your ass, with a deep groan.
your hands are still on the wall, as you take deep breaths, trying to recollect yourself. but you turn around swiftly seeing a flash of a camera behind you, and geto is back to crouching down, with his phone out, taking pictures of your cum covered ass.
“you mind if i keep these in my wank bank forreal this time?” he asks, smirking as you nod, “i’ll take some more later, but i got two questions to ask.”
“and those are…” you say, prompting him to continue.
“first, let me take you out after this?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer. after the way he just dicked you down, you’d be a fool not to let him wine and dine you, “second, y’gonna come suffocate my face with that ass of yours or not?” you couldn’t even answer the second question since he’s pulling you down to the floor with him, with a joyous grin on his face.
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AN: IGNORE THE FACT THAT HE CUMS ALL OVER UR FRESH TATTOO. LIKE JUST IGNORE IT. just focus on the fact that you have a lovely ass and geto loves it too. but yes do you want to see more, I HAVE ENOUGH IDEAS TO EVEN MAKE A LIL MASTERLIST FOR IT. I love tattoo artist boyfriend!geto so so much, like when u guys become an established relationship it actually gets so good. BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE THIS ONE, BUT IF U GUYS FW IT I PROMISE ILL ACTUALLY WRITE AND POST THE ONES I LOVE. BUT I FELT LIKE I HAD TO WRITE THIS FIRST SO YOU COULD SEE HOW U AND GETO STARTED. LMK UR THOUGHTS
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k-hotchoisan · 5 months ago
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missing piece
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<seonghwa x fem!Reader>
Building legos is important business and Seonghwa knows that very well when he realises he’s missing a piece.
So who would’ve thought two people attempting to search for one Lego piece would lead to other things?
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genres/warnings: smut, pwp, softdom!seonghwa, missing Lego piece (don’t worry it’ll get found later), dirty talk, it’s legit teeth rotting fluff and smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, established relationship, mild choking, clit stimulation
a/n: another fic exchange with @bro-atz 😎👊🏻 it’s a competition of who can kill each other faster and we both LOSING. love u bro <3 and also finally serving you all the softdom! Seonghwa you all deserve 😛 enjoy my loves 🩷
read bro’s one here 💘
wc: 1.9K
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‘A couple activity idea’—apparently the amount of countless generic couple websites would list this idea. 
Yeah, this would qualify for a couple activity idea casually, not when it seemed like a big business deal when it came to Park Seonghwa. 
Seonghwa had the ambiance set, his station ready—the Animal Crossing Soundtrack Playlist with Rain playing through the speakers, his desk clean and white—only stacked with the Animal Crossing Lego sets prepared to to be unboxed, in his favourite oversized shirt, and not forgetting you, who he dragged into his room to watch him build his little building block empire—comfortably seated across him on his bed. 
You didn’t mind watching your partner build the latest Animal Crossing Lego set he just easily blew a couple of hundred on hours before. You watched his inner child take form when he made you sit down with him to watch him unbox the first set he was gonna build, his eyes large and twinkling, just like his Animal Crossing character in-game.
Seonghwa hums softly, and it’s definitely his favourite soundtrack from the game. From time to time, Seonghwa would make the little critter noises his animal villagers would make while he fixes the animal villagers and you can’t help but giggle whenever he does the impressions. He’s finished a cherry tree, making sure he flailed his wrists to get your attention. Your lips pull to a smile when your eyes land on the pretty cherry tree he built, reflecting his satisfaction with his plump lips too. 
Then he’s back to his workstation, and you’re absorbed back into playing your switch. 
“This set is pretty easy”, you hear him comment. 
“Is it?” You reply, your attention focused on trying to slay the beast. 
“Yeah. I think I could finish this in another half an hour.” He sounds confident. 
“Good luck with that sweetheart”, you respond, your eyes trailing back to your game. 
Then midway through, Seonghwa demands your attention again, and this time you watch the way his eyes light up the whole damn room when he shows you the way the little Lego letter fits into its little Lego mailbox. Not gonna lie, it was a very adorable detail. He yaps about it for a good seven minutes before he sinks back into his building block world. 
“Now here’s the million dollar question—pink or brown for the door?” He asks, loosely fitting both coloured doors after one another 
“Pink, obviously”, you pick. Seonghwa seems satisfied with your answer, and you swear you see the little musical notes float out of him when he fixes the door onto the house. 
A couple more minutes later, you glance over at the messy pieces of Lego strewn all over Seonghwa’s table, below his half-completed Animal Crossing cottage. 
He has his cheeks puffed out, and his eyebrows knitted together while he’s carefully scanning over the table. 
“Are you missing a piece?” You ask, setting your console on the bed. 
“Yeah, I think I am”, Seonghwa mutters, his index finger pointing over each piece on the table, in hopes of finding it. 
You take the instruction booklet from his hands, skimming through the pictures before you settle it down onto the desk, your eyes laser-focused onto the mess too. 
“Do you wanna come over to my side instead? Maybe you can spot it better from this view”, you suggest, which Seonghwa takes, so he shuffles over to the bed, and moves to sit right where you are—and now you’re on his lap, with his chest pressing right against your back as he towers over you, arms hugging you from behind. He continues to search for the missing Lego piece. 
You take part in the search too, the game completely forgotten by then. You realise it’s nice just having Seonghwa sitting close to you like this. Maybe this was what they meant by building Lego as “a couple activity”.
“Did you drop it or something?” You ask, shifting slightly to have a better view of the floor. You hear Seonghwa grunt behind you, but you pay no attention, focusing on finding the piece. 
Seonghwa swears he’s focused on looking for the missing piece too—he really wants to complete the set, but at the same time, he’s watching and feeling you move against him on top of the way he’s able to wrap his arms around you easily, smelling his scent on you—it’s not helping his case. He bites his bottom lip, trying to manage himself. 
Obviously, it does nothing, considering he’s having you in such close proximity, and every movement you’re brushing against him is starting to make him grow sensitive. 
His hand snakes down to your thighs, drawing circles, his other hand sifting through the endless pieces of Lego. 
He forces himself to concentrate, and it works for a split second, that is, until you absentmindedly shift his free arm on under your loose shirt, and he snaps. 
“If this is your way of breaking my concentration, you’re doing a good job”, you hear his deep voice ringing in your ears. He’s letting his hands roam all over your body hidden underneath your shirt, his fingers grazing against your nipples teasingly, and it draws gasps out of you. 
“Focus on finding the block, Park Seonghwa”, you tease, readjusting yourself, making sure you press against his growing erection underneath his loose shorts. 
It’s Seonghwa’s turn to draw a shaky breath every time your clothed ass comes into contact with his erection.
You pretend to ignore him, but you can’t ignore the way he’s massaging your tits, and you find yourself sighing and growing hotter through each passing moment. 
You think he’s finally giving you a break, but you’re proven wrong when his hands are sliding down the waistband of your shorts. 
“You’re not finding the block, Angel”, Seonghwa points out, and you pout at his words. Your hand slips under the large opening of his shorts and fuck—his erection is only growing thicker. 
You hear him groan behind you when you let your hands wander to stroke his cock through his underwear. So he retaliates with his finger sliding past your panties, cursing when he realises your pussy is growing wetter by the second.  
“We’re supposed to be looking for the Lego piece, Hwa”, you mutter, mind growing hazy as his fingers get drenched from your slick, circling your clit gently. 
“Mmhm. We are, baby. You’re just not focusing”, Seonghwa replies, his index and middle finger spreading your folds open letting his index finger find your clit more easily, and it’s driving you fucking crazy. 
Your legs push open automatically, your hands pausing stroking him off, well, not that Seonghwa minded. 
“That feels so good”, you sigh. Seonghwa’s other hand cups your jaw, and you turn to face him, feeling the way his hands slide down your throat while Seonghwa has your lips on his, eating up your whines and moans before letting you catch your breath.
“So fuckin wet for me, Angel. You like it that much?” He teases. 
“Mmhm, your fingers feel so good Hwa”, you nod, your grip around his arm tightening as the pleasure builds in your stomach every time his finger strokes against your clit. At this point, you can’t even pretend.  
His lips are pressed against your ear, his voice deep yet you sense traces of whining in his tone when he says, “Sit on my dick. I need you on my fucking dick now, Angel.” 
Of course, you comply, despite your legs trembling slightly, letting Seonghwa slip out of his bottoms. His arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him, his lips making a whole garden of bites down your neck before he has both his hands lift your hips. 
Seonghwa lines himself against your fluttering cunt and he pushes himself into your pussy hole, his moans of relief sending you into a spiral on top of his cock sinking into you. 
Fuck, he’s filling you up so fucking good. 
“Fuck. That’s it, babe. You’re so fucking good”, he groans when you squeeze against him. 
“Hwa, oh my fucking god, you’re so full in me”, you sob, trying to adjust to his length. 
“Do you think we can find the piece better like this?” He jokes while peppering kisses down your neck to distract himself so he doesn’t fucking just burst in you just yet. 
Even in your pleasured haze, you still manage to laugh while you try to keep your eyes open. 
“I think we can”, you reply with a giggle, before squealing when you feel him twitch in you. You shift forward slightly, feeling his cock shift in you, dragging along your walls, a small whine escaping past your lips. 
With the last of your sanity remaining, you glance over the desk one more time, biting your lip to stay grounded, obviously to no avail, especially not with Seonghwa and his little movement behind you. 
“I really think it’s-fuck-not here”, Seonghwa mutters behind you, forcing himself not to thrust into you, his fingers slithering down to your wet clit once more. 
“I’m pretty sure it d-dropped. We haven’t checked the floor yet-ngh-right?” you manage to ask.
“Mmmm nope”, Seonghwa responds, mesmerised at the way your slick growing thicker on your clit and on his cock as he continues to rub your clit. “I guess we can do that later ‘cause I really need to fuck your pussy right now, Angel.” 
He doesn’t give you much time to answer because you’re a complete goner when Seonghwa is making you bounce off his cock while he gets you off with his fingers. 
You’re trembling from the sheer pleasure, your vision slowly growing hazy, the knot tightening in your abdomen more quickly than you thought. 
“H-Hwa! Gonna cum-Oh fuckkkk”, you draw out, white clouding your vision. Your cunt flutters around his cock, dopamine shooting up your body while you completely let go on his cock as Seonghwa fucks you through your orgasm.
“Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. “That’s it. Be a good girl and cum on my dick like that, Angel”, Seonghwa groans into your ear, his gaze traveling down at the way your thick cream streaks down his cock when he pulls out. He shuts his eyes, sighing into the nape of your neck while he listens to the way your cunt is just so loud and wet for him while he fucks your cream out of you, thrusting his hips upwards. 
“God, your pussy feels so fucking perfect. Fuck. I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so good baby”, he pants before his hips thrust and press against yours, filling you up with his warm and thick cum accompanied by his low groans. 
You feel Seonghwa’s hands run down your body, soothing you after emptying his fucking load into you before he slowly pulls out of your cum-filled pussy. 
“I’ll get you a towel, Angel”, Seonghwa tells you, pressing his lips on your temple before leaving the bed. 
He retrieves a spare towel from the bathroom and cleans you up, before releasing you to wash up in the bathroom. 
When you renter his room, Seonghwa is switching gazes between his half-completed set and the instruction manual. 
He looks up at you with a grin that’s making you feel uneasy. 
“Babe, turns out I wasn’t missing a piece—I already had it in all along!”
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Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify @miss-fallon @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie @woojirang @jjoongstar @yuyusgirl
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winwintea · 16 days ago
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inyun
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PAIRING ↬ next door neighbor!mark lee x fem!reader
TAGS ↬ fluff, romance, slight angst, potential soulmates, past lives au, friends to (?), shared dreams, the idea of inyun/inyeon or “fate”
SUMMARY ↬ when you move into a small apartment complex in seoul, your next-door neighbor, mark lee, seems like nothing more than an ordinary guy. but as the two of you get to know each other more, it suddenly feels like you’ve known him forever. then mark mentions his grandmother's belief in 인연. the idea that every encounter is woven by threads of fate. are these coincidences between you and mark really accidental or is there something deeper going on?
WORD COUNT ↬ 3.7k+
AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ somebody (me) decided to rewatch past lives 🙈 this was supposed to be fluff and a gift for @https-lvesick but finals week started sinking in… thank you to my saviors @viasdreams and @polarisjisung for beta reading, love y'all <33
PLAYLIST ↬ jazz bar - dreamcatcher; mago - gfriend; you - nct dream; dejavu - nu’est w; wham bam shang-a-lang - silver
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THERE IS A WORD IN KOREAN:
"인연"
it means providence or fate. 
but it's specifically about the relationships between people. 
it's an "인연" if two strangers even walk by each other in the street and their clothes accidentally brush. because it means there must have been something between them in their past lives.
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Your apartment door was wide open, boxes half-unpacked and filling the hallway. You’d tried to keep things organized, but between the moving of your furniture and the delivery guy calling for directions, you slowly lost your organization.
You were crouched on the floor, handling a box of kitchenware, when you heard a muffled voice behind you.
“Uh, hi? Excuse me?”
Startled, you turned to see a guy standing at the end of the hallway, a paper bag balanced in one hand and a set of keys dangling from the other. He was dressed in a simple hoodie and sweatpants, glasses fixed upon his face, and his hair slightly tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed.
“Are… are you my new neighbor?” he asked in Korean, motioning toward the boxes that completely blocked his door.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” your voice squeaked as you responded in some broken korean, not mentally prepared to face a neighbor on the first day of moving him. You scrambled to move a tower of books out of his way. “I didn’t realize—let me just—”
“It’s fine, really,” he interrupted in English this time with a small laugh. “I’m Mark, by the way. Do you speak English?”
“Oh!” You paused mid-shove, shocked at his perfect accent. “Yes. Yes I do.” You were suddenly aware of how disheveled you looked. “Y/N,” you replied, brushing stray hair from your face. “Nice to meet you, and again, sorry for the mess. Your English is really good.”
“No worries. Happens to the best of us,” Mark said, crouching to help move the heavier boxes. “I’m from Canada, so English is kind of my thing.”
“Aah. I see.” You nodded, still mortified.
“This is your first day here?”
“Yeah. My friends were supposed to help, but they bailed at the last minute. So here I am, single-handedly creating a big explosive mess.”
Mark chuckled, lifting a box with ease. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty solid job for one person. Though... maybe try not to block your neighbors' doors next time.”
“Noted,” you said with an embarrassed laugh, standing to hold the door open as he slid the box inside.
When the hallway was clear, you expected him to leave, but he stayed, looking at the stacks of boxes still waiting to be unpacked. “Need an extra pair of hands?”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”
“I insist,” Mark said with a grin. “I’m a pro at this. Moved like five times in the last three years.”
Before you could protest further, Mark rolled up his sleeves and got to work. He moved like he really had done this a hundred times, lifting heavy items with ease and made the process less awkward with his small jokes.
“This box says ‘Bathroom,’ but it’s definitely full of shoes,” he teased, pulling out a pair of sneakers.
“Okay, maybe I got a little lazy with the labels,” you admitted.
“Lazy? Nah, this is strategic. Keeps life exciting,” he quipped, tossing the sneakers back in.
You laughed, the tension from earlier fading away. Somehow, he’d turned what felt like a stressful task into something almost fun.
Once the last box was inside, Mark clapped his hands together. “Mission accomplished. And since I’m basically your hero now, I think I’ve earned a reward. Got any snacks?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, I have… instant ramen?”
Mark grinned. “Perfect. My favorite.”
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After settling in for a few days, you don’t encounter Mark again. That is, until a series of random moments start pulling you back into his orbit.  
On one of those nights, just past 9 p.m., the apartment complex suddenly plunges into darkness. The familiar buzz of your refrigerator stops, and the streetlights outside shut off, leaving your apartment only dimly lit from the moon. 
Groaning, you fumble around for your phone, only to realize the battery is at 4%. Great. You grab a flashlight, slowly open your door, and step out into the hallway, hoping to find someone who knows what is going on. 
That’s when you spot him.
Mark is sitting on the floor just outside his door, a small stack of candles beside him.
“Hey,” he greets, a faint smile on his face as he waves a lighter. “Power’s out in the whole block, apparently. Wanna borrow a candle?”
You take in his setup and smirk. He’s surrounded by neatly arranged tea lights and thick pillar candles.“Uh, are you in a cult or something?”
“Eh, my grandma’s kinda superstitious. Always told me to keep candles around the house just in case,” he says, shrugging. “I thought she was overreacting, but turns out she’s kind of a genius.”
You sit down a few feet away, gratefully accepting a candle he lights for you. The flame brightens up the dark hallway, leaving warm shadows on Mark’s face.
“So,” you start, leaning against the wall, “What do you normally do during blackouts? Just... sit around and wait?”
“Basically. Or… get this,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “People actually talk to each other. Crazy, right? You could, I don’t know, tell me something about yourself. Like… how many candles do you keep at home?”
“None,” you admit holding up your flashlight. “This is all I’ve got. I guess I’m doomed in a blackout. Your grandma would be so disappointed in me.”
“She would,” he agrees with a laugh. “But I’ll let it slide. Only because you’re new here.”
The conversation flows easily after that. You both begin trading random facts: Your favorite childhood snacks, his love for playing guitar, the time you accidentally dyed your hair orange trying to bleach it yourself. He counters with a tale of a botched bleach job that left him looking like a walking science experiment for months. 
Minutes turn into an hour, the candles continuing to burn as the two of you share quiet laughter and stories. And for the first time that night, the darkness doesn’t feel so bad.
A few days later, you’re hauling overstuffed grocery bags up the stairs when Mark pokes his head out of his apartment. His hair is tousled, and he’s wearing an oversized hoodie that practically swallows him whole.
“Oh, hey!” he calls, his face lighting up when he spots you. “Need help?”
“I got it, thanks!” you manage to say, despite your arms straining and the bag handles digging into your fingers.  
Before you can argue, Mark is already down the hall, grabbing it from you, and effortlessly carrying it to your door. “Looks like this thing was holding on for dear life,” he teases, hoisting it easily as he follows you to your door.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I was gonna knock on your door anyway,” he interrupts with a grin. “I baked something earlier and thought you might want to try it.”
That makes you pause mid-door unlock. “You bake?”
“Why does everyone react like that?” he says with mock offense. “Yes, I bake. Don’t look so shocked.”
“You don’t look like the baking type. Or cooking.”
“Oh, I can’t cook.” He scowls as if thinking about a bad memory, “But baking is pretty easy. It’s just throwing everything into one bowl, mixing it up, and waiting. Piece of cake. Or, in this case, cookies.”
A few minutes later, you’re both sitting on your tiny kitchen floor, a plate of freshly baked cookies between you. The smell of warm chocolate and butter fills the air.
“These are amazing,” you say after taking a bite, your voice muffled by the cookie in your mouth.
Mark beams, leaning back against the counter. “Not bad, right? I got the recipe off some YouTube channel. Figured I’d test it out before offering it to my friends.”
You squint your eyes, pretending to look offended. “Wait, so I’m just the guinea pig?”
He admits, laughing. “Pretty much. But hey, honest opinion: too sweet? Not sweet enough?”
“Perfect,” you reply, reaching out for another. “But you should’ve added nuts. Makes it more sophisticated. Just make sure you aren’t allergic.”
He gasps, clutching his chest. “Sophisticated? Wow. Didn’t know I was baking for royalty.”
You chuckle, playfully tossing a crumpled napkin at him, and the conversation once again flows effortlessly from there. You laugh over Mark’s failed attempts at “fancy” macarons, and somehow turn into stories about childhood food disasters.
By the time the plate is empty and an hour has vanished. With Mark, even the simplest moments feel like they belong in a movie.
Then it’s yet another lazy Sunday when the doorbell rings. You open the door to find Mark holding a massive box labeled 50-pack instant ramen.
“I think this is yours,” he says, biting back a laugh.
You glance at the label and groan. “Oh my God. I ordered five. Five!”
“Well, congrats,” he says, handing you the box. “Looks like you’re set for the next year.”
You sigh, dragging the box inside. A few minutes later, there’s another knock. Mark’s returned to your door, grinning this time.
“You know,” he starts, leaning against the doorframe, “if you need help finishing all that ramen, I’m just next door. We could, like, host a ‘ramen buffet.’ Charge admission or something.”
You snort. “Sure. I’ll make you the first VIP guest. Free ramen for life.”
“That’s the best offer I’ve ever gotten,” he says, eyes sparkling. “But seriously, I’ll take a few packs off your hands if it’s too much. My midnight snack stash could use a refill.”
Later, you text him a picture of your pantry. 
YOU: Your VIP pass is ready 
MARK: I’ll bring the chopsticks! 😂
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The first time the dream comes, it’s vivid enough to remember even after you wake up. In the dream you’re walking through a bustling marketplace, the air thick with the scents and noise of those around you. People push past you, but you don’t feel overwhelmed by them. Instead, there’s a strange pull, like a thread tugging at your body. You turn your head and catch a glimpse of someone—a young man with a warm smile, eyes glinting in the sunlight, and a soft laugh that echoes through the din. 
You can’t see his face clearly, but his hand brushes yours as he passes. And in that moment, it leaves a spark. A warmth that feels almost familiar.
When you wake up, the details are already fading, but the feeling of that touch, that spark, seems to linger, and you can’t seem to get it out of your head.
A few days later, you're sitting with Mark in the hallway outside your apartments, the floor scattered with takeout boxes and empty soda cans. The two of you have somehow fallen into the habit of these late-night talks, sharing parts of your day and random thoughts that cross your mind in the moment.
“Have you ever had weird dreams?” you ask, swirling the straw in your drink.
Mark leans back against the wall, his hair slightly messy from running his hand through it too many times. “Weird how?”
“Like…” You pause, trying to find the right words. “Like they’re not just dreams. More like memories. But not yours.”
Mark raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Okay, now you’ve got me curious. Spill.”
You chuckle, feeling a little silly but continuing anyway. “I’ve been dreaming about this place—a market or something. It’s super crowded, and I’m just walking around. But then…” Your voice trails off as the memory becomes clearer in your mind. “There’s this guy. I don’t know him, but when I see him, it’s like I do. And when our hands brush…”
Mark’s expression shifts, his playful smile fading into something more serious. He sits up straighter. “Wait. You said a market?”
“Yeah.”
“And… hands brushing?” he asks, his voice quieter now.
Your stomach flips. “Yeah. Why?”
He hesitates, running a hand through his hair again. “Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but… I’ve had the exact same dream.”
For a moment, the world feels like it’s spinning. You blink at him, looking for any hint that he’s maybe joking, but his face is earnest, his brows furrowed like he’s trying to solve a mystery.
“No way,” you say, laughing nervously. “You’re messing with me.”
“I’m not!” Mark protests, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I swear. There’s a market, right? And I’m just walking, but then I see someone—you, I guess? And when our hands touch, it’s like—”
“—like a spark,” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper.
Mark stares at you, his eyes wide. “Exactly.”
The air between you grows silent, the laughter and casual banter from earlier replaced by something more ominous.
“Do you think it means something?” you ask after a long pause, your voice trying to stabilize itself.
Mark lets out a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “My grandma used to say that some people are connected through 인연—fate, you know? Like… maybe we knew each other before. In another life.”
You study his face, the soft curve of his jaw and the way his lips press together like he’s holding back more than he’s saying out loud. “Do you believe that?”
He turns to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know. But if it’s true…” He pauses, his gaze dropping to his hands, which rest in his lap. “Maybe it’s why I feel like I’ve known you forever, even though we just met.”
Your breath catches, his words affecting something deep inside you. The dreams, the strange familiarity, the unexplainable pull towards him, the way you could spend hours with each other, you’ve felt since the day you moved in. It’s all beginning to make a strange kind of sense. 
You don’t say anything, but your hand brushes his as you reach for your drink, and in that moment, the spark from your dream seems to jolt back to life.
Mark glances down, his fingers twitching as if he’s tempted to close the gap. Instead, he looks at you.“Maybe we’re just imagining things,” he says softly, but the hope in his voice betrays his words.
“Maybe,” you reply, though you’re not sure you believe it either.
For the rest of the night, neither of you mention the dreams again. But when you go to bed, the image of two hands brushing in a crowded marketplace still lingers in your mind, clearer than ever.
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It’s a Friday evening, and you’re sitting on Mark’s couch, a blanket thrown over both of your laps. The faint smell of popcorn fills the air as a half-watched movie plays on the screen. Mark’s head is tilted back, his eyes weary from the long day, his fingers idly drumming to a beat on the couch cushion between you.
You glance at him, noting how cozy it seems here. It’s moments like these that feel strange… and effortless. Like you’ve done this a thousand times before.
“Hey,” you say, nudging his arm lightly. “You’re zoning out. The movie isn't that bad.”
Mark snorts, turning his head toward you. “Oh, yeah? Name one character besides the main guy.”
“Uh... The dog?”
“Exactly.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling in that way that makes your stomach flip.
But before you can laugh along, his phone buzzes on the coffee table, breaking the moment. Mark’s smile fades as he leans forward to grab it. You watch his face shift—something serious.
“Who is it?” you ask, your voice careful.
“It’s... uh, an email. From SM,” he says, mentioning the entertainment company where he’s been interning. He hesitates, scrolling through the message. “They want me to come in for a meeting. Apparently, there’s a potential opening on one of their teams in Vancouver.”
You sit up straighter. “Vancouver? Like... Canada?”
He nods, his thumb still hovering over his phone screen. “Yeah. They’ve got this big international project coming up, and I guess they think I’d be a good fit.”
You’re silent for a moment, the weight of his words setting in. “That’s... amazing, Mark. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” His tone is quiet, almost hesitant, and it doesn’t match the words. He sets his phone back down and leans back again, trying to avoid your gaze.
“So,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant even as your chest tightens, “you’re thinking of going?”
Mark runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you’ve noticed over the months. “I don’t know yet. It’s a huge opportunity, but... I’d have to leave. Like, soon.”
“Right,” you say, your voice a little too steady. “It makes sense. You’ve been working toward something like this for a long time.”
He finally looks at you, his dark eyes searching. “Yeah, but... leaving means leaving everything. Everyone.”
You know what he’s implying, but neither of you says it out loud.
It’s the day of Mark’s big decision. Whether to take the overseas job offer or stay in Seoul. You’ve been avoiding the topic, scared of what it might mean for you. But tonight, the two of you find yourselves on the rooftop of your apartment building. The breeze carries the faint scent of flowers that Mark planted the other day in the community garden.
You sit side by side on the edge, legs dangling over the low wall. Although dangerous, Mark always promised that he’d catch you if you fell. He also wrapped a blanket around your shoulders. He’s always thoughtful like that.
For a while, neither of you says anything, just watching the sun slowly start to descend down the bustling city. 
Finally, Mark breaks the silence. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about 인연.”
You turn to look at him. His face is painted in soft, golden light. “Yeah? What about it?”
He chuckles softly, almost nervously, running a hand through his hair. “At first, I thought it was just a cool idea. Like, ‘Oh, that’s neat. Fate and past lives and stuff.’ But… I don’t know. Every time I’m with you, it feels like there’s something bigger happening. Like I’ve known you forever, and I don’t even know why.”
Your breath catches. Hearing him say it out loud makes it feel so much more real than you imagined in your head. “I feel it too. Like… we’ve been here before. Not just on this rooftop, but in some other life, in some other time.”
Mark finally turns to you, his eyes searching yours. “But what if we’re just making this up? What if we’re using fate as an excuse to… I don’t know, hold onto something that isn’t real?”
The vulnerability in his voice shakes you. He’s scared, just like you are. Scared of the intensity of it all, scared of what it means to let go. Or to keep holding on.
You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words.
“I don’t know if this is fate, Mark. I don’t know if some invisible thread tied us together, or if we’re just two people who got lucky enough to meet. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s not about why we found each other, but what we do with it now.”
Mark looks at you, his lips parting as if to speak, but he hesitates. You can tell he’s turning your words over in his mind, weighing them. “So… what do we do with it? What if I take the job? What if I leave? Does that mean we weren’t meant to be?”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” You reach for his hand, your fingers brushing before he laces them with yours. “You taking the job or staying doesn’t erase what we’ve shared. If this is fate, Mark, it’ll find a way to bring us back together. And if it’s not… then I’ll still be grateful for every moment we’ve had.”
“You make it sound so easy. Like letting go wouldn’t completely wreck me.” His grip tightens, and you see his throat bob as he swallows hard. 
You smile, but there’s a little sadness to your voice. “Who says letting go has to mean goodbye? Maybe it just means letting the story unfold the way it’s meant to.”
The silence that follows feels heavy but not uncomfortable. You can see the wheels turning in Mark’s mind. He’s thinking, unsure of what to say. 
Finally, he exhales a long, shaky breath. “I don’t know if I believe in fate, either. But I believe in you. And I believe in us.”
Your heart skips a beat, but he’s not done yet.
“So… if I stay, it won’t be because I’m afraid of losing whatever this is. It’ll be because I want to keep building it with you. And if I go… it’ll be because I know we’re strong enough to handle the distance.”
Tears prick at your eyes, and you laugh softly, shaking your head. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”
He grins, that familiar smile that’s become so dear to you.
“Not really. I’m just winging it.”
You both laugh, the warmth from your voices cutting through the bittersweetness of the moment. The future feels uncertain, but for the first time, that uncertainty doesn’t feel so scary.
As the last rays of sunlight fade, you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Whether it’s fate, luck, or sheer coincidence, you’re here now. And for now, that’s enough.
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TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania
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deesseshesca · 30 days ago
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PAC: What does my life look like once I hit my full potential?
Hope I make it out of here.
ALL READING ON SALE (70% OFF) (BLACK FRIDAY OFFER)
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PILE 1
Oh, bestie, I feel you on this. Balancing hustle and chill vibes is so important when you’re in that “level-up” era, especially with the Lovers card as your overall energy—it’s giving alignment and divine choices. Here’s the tea:
First, trust that this new career opportunity isn’t just a job; it’s a gateway to something magical. Your next lover is literally waiting for you on the other side of this. Like, how iconic is that? The universe is basically screaming, “This is part of your glow-up!”
But let’s keep it real: grinding too hard can mess with your flow. So, schedule your downtime like it’s a business meeting—whether that’s journaling, bingeing your fave show, or vibing out with a playlist that makes you feel main character energy. Chill time isn’t lazy; it’s necessary. You can’t pour from an empty cup.
When it comes to hustle, think of it like this: show up and give your best, but don’t overthink it. Be intentional, not overwhelmed. Remember, the Lovers card is also about harmony—so treat your hustle like a love story. Be passionate, but know when to step back and breathe.
And here’s the real plot twist: this opportunity isn’t just about meeting them. It’s about meeting the next, more evolved version of you. They’ll love that version of you, and so will you. So take the leap, but keep your soul soft. You’ve got this. ❤️
PREVIOUS READING
2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)
3) ALL READING ON SALE (70% OFF) (Recent review 🎀)
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PILE 2
Okay, imagine this: when you hit your full potential, your life looks like the perfect balance of confidence and rest. You’ve worked hard to know your worth and never settle, and now you’re living in a way that matches that energy. Think quiet mornings in a space that feels so you, reflecting on your growth while sipping your favorite coffee—unbothered and untouchable.
But here’s the thing: getting there doesn’t mean you’re grinding 24/7. You’ll learn that slowing down is the power move. For example, instead of saying yes to everything, you’ll get super intentional about what aligns with your long-term goals. If an opportunity feels off or doesn’t match your vision, you’ll confidently pass, knowing that better things are waiting.
That self-love you’ve mastered? It’ll make you a magnet for respect. People will see how deeply you value yourself and will match that energy—or they’ll fall off, and honestly, you won’t care. It’s like you’ll finally be surrounded by relationships, jobs, and opportunities that deserve you because you’ve set the bar so high.
Here’s the practical advice: stay open to adjusting your plans, even when it’s uncomfortable. Sometimes, what looks like a setback is actually setting you up for something bigger. For example, if one path feels blocked, don’t fight it—pivot. Trust that your ability to choose yourself will always lead you to the right place.
And don’t forget to rest without guilt. It’s okay to take breaks to recharge because that’s when your best ideas will come to you. Picture yourself booking a solo trip, splurging on the nicest accommodations, and using that time to dream even bigger while staying grounded in gratitude. You’re leveling up and protecting your peace, and that’s the ultimate glow-up. 🌱✨
PREVIOUS READING
2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)
3) ALL READING ON SALE (70% OFF) (Recent review 🎀)
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PILE 3
Alright, picture this: once you hit your full potential, your life is like a perfectly designed blueprint, executed flawlessly. You’re running the show—waking up early, knocking out your goals, and moving through life like you own it. Your schedule is tight but purposeful, and everything you do feels like a step toward something even bigger.
You’ll probably have this fire inside you to keep starting new projects—like launching that dream business or taking on leadership roles that actually challenge you. People will look at you and think, Wow, they’ve really got it together. But behind the scenes, you’ll know it’s because you’ve built systems for yourself that work. For example, you might have a weekly ritual where you plan every detail, from career moves to self-care, so nothing feels chaotic.
That being said, you’ll need to make space for the unknown too. Life won’t always go exactly as planned, and that’s okay. Think of it like this: when things feel uncertain, don’t freeze up. Instead, take a moment, check in with yourself, and adjust. For example, if a big opportunity comes up and doesn’t look like what you expected, lean into it—it might just be the thing that pushes you further than you imagined.
And here’s a practical tip: track your progress. Maybe it’s a journal where you write down your wins every day, no matter how small, or a calendar where you block out “me time” just as seriously as work tasks. The key is staying grounded while keeping your eyes on the horizon.
Your focus on success will still fuel you, but it’ll feel balanced. Imagine being so confident in what you’ve built that you can finally relax a little, knowing that your foundation is unshakable. You’re not just surviving anymore; you’re thriving. And it’s all because you created the structure to let your ambition flow without burning out. 💡
PREVIOUS READING
2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)
3) ALL READING ON SALE (70% OFF) (Recent review 🎀)
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PILE 4
Okay, so here’s the vibe: when you hit your full potential, your life is gonna feel like this beautiful balance of self-love and success. But here’s the thing—you’ve been carrying a lot, especially with your sibling’s struggles. It’s tough because you want to help, but you have to realize that in order to become the best version of yourself, you have to put yourself first. And I know that’s easier said than done, especially when you love someone so much and want to see them thrive.
You’ve been trying to fix things, trying to heal others, but you can’t keep pouring from an empty cup. You’ve been holding onto a lot of emotional weight, and that’s been draining you. It’s okay to step back and focus on your own growth. I promise, you’re not abandoning anyone by taking care of yourself. In fact, the more you work on you, the more you’ll be able to help them from a place of peace.
But it’s gonna hurt a bit—letting go of that guilt is a process. You’ll have moments where you feel torn, but trust me, your potential and your future are calling you to take care of you. Your dreams, your goals—they matter, and they deserve your attention. It’s about putting boundaries in place, even if it feels hard at first.
You might not have all the answers right now, and that’s fine. You don’t have to have it all figured out, but you’ll get there. Things will come into focus when you start giving yourself permission to live your life without guilt. It’s gonna feel so freeing once you realize that your own peace and happiness are the foundation for everything else to fall into place.
So take it slow. Focus on your journey, even if it means you need to step away from the chaos a little. You deserve to put yourself first, because the version of you that is fully healed, confident, and at peace is going to be the one that thrives and makes all those big dreams come true. Your success starts with you, and you’re worthy of every bit of it. ❤️
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vanteguccir · 1 month ago
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── ୨୧ ! SAILOR SONG
matt sturniolo x reader
SUMMARY: Where Y/N and Matt have a comfy indoor date; baking together.
WARNING: Making out.
REQUESTED?: Yes, by an anon.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
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'I saw her in the rightest way'
The kitchen was an absolute mess, a delightful, chaotic swirl of ingredients strewn across the counters, flour dusting the air, and the aroma of vanilla mixing with the sound of their favorite playlist softly drifting in from the living room. The afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the scene as Y/N stood at the counter, carefully measuring flour into a white-ish ceramic bowl. Beside her, Matt was leaning against the counter, his eyes fixed solely on her, watching her with an intensity that could have melted chocolate.
"Okay, so you just, like, throw the flour in, right?" Matt asked, breaking the comfortable silence, reaching for the open bag with the kind of reckless enthusiasm that spelled disaster.
Y/N’s eyes widened, her hands instinctively darting forward to stop him.
"Wait, wait- Matt, no!" But it was too late. A poof of flour erupted like a mini explosion, covering both of them in a soft, powdery cloud.
Matt froze, blinking through the haze, and then burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking.
"Oops." He said with that boyish grin of his, the one that made Y/N’s heart do a little flip every time.
She tried to glare at him but failed miserably, laughter bubbling up as she brushed flour off her cheek.
"You’re such a mess." She teased, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling.
"And yet, here you are teaching me." He shot back, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Guess that says something about you, huh?"
"Yeah." She said with a mock exasperated sigh. "That I’m a hopeless romantic who thinks you can actually learn how to bake."
Matt just grinned, leaning in to steal a quick kiss on her flour-dusted nose, making her scrunch it up adorably in response.
"Alright, lover boy." Y/N said, shaking her head with a smile. "Let’s try not to blow up the kitchen, okay? I need you to grab the sugar next."
"Yes, ma’am." Matt replied, snapping a playful salute before turning to rummage through the cupboard. He managed to grab the sugar jar without spilling anything this time - progress, she thought with a fond smile.
They continued to work side by side, the kitchen filled with the sweet scent of vanilla and sugar. Y/N would occasionally reach out to correct Matt’s technique, her touch light but effective. Every time their hands brushed, Matt would flash her that lopsided grin that always made her cheeks warm. She tried to stay focused, but with him being so close, so effortlessly charming, it was a losing battle.
At some point, they both reached for the vanilla extract at the same time. Their fingers tangled, and Matt shot her a playful look.
"Hey, who’s the baker here?" Y/N teased, nudging him aside with her hip, her laughter light and teasing.
"I don’t know, I don't see them anywhere." He joked, pretending to search around the room, making her roll her eyes though the grin on her lips was impossible to hide.
They kept mixing and measuring, Matt’s enthusiasm both endearing and chaotic. Just when everything seemed to be going smoothly, he made his biggest blunder yet. He grabbed the baking soda and dumped a generous amount into the bowl, not bothering with a measuring spoon.
"Matt, no!" Y/N gasped, her eyes wide with horror. "That’s way too much! You’re going to ruin the batter!"
Matt looked from the bowl to her, then back at the bowl, his eyes comically wide. But instead of panicking, he simply shrugged and started laughing, his laughter so infectious that Y/N’s frustration began to dissolve.
"Matt, I’m serious." She groaned, burying her face in her hands. "This was supposed to be perfect, and now they’re going to taste like-"
"Hey, hey." Matt said softly, reaching out to gently pull her hands away from her face. "Come here, sweetheart. I'm sorry, yeah?"
Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his warm embrace. Y/N sighed, trying to hold onto her annoyance, but the way he was looking at her - with that soft, adoring gaze - made it nearly impossible.
As if the universe was observing them closely, te next song on the queue started playing, and when Matt realized that it was one of their favorite - Sailor Song by Gigi Perez, obviously - his body started swaying gently, bringing her with him.
"What are you doing?" She asked, trying not to smile, her voice softening as her hands found home against his biceps.
"Distracting you." He said, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Is it working?"
Y/N tried to stay annoyed, but the tenderness in his eyes melted her defenses.
"You are so ridiculous." She said, but her words were softened by the smile that tugged at her lips.
"Ridiculously in love with you." He murmured, resting his forehead against hers. "Can you forgive me?"
Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she let out a soft, defeated sigh, leaning into him fully.
"Fine." She whispered, her voice barely audible over the music. "But you’re still fixing the batter."
"Deal." He said with a grin. And before she could pull away, he spun her around in a quick twirl, eliciting a surprised, joyful laugh from her, her apron flowing around her body.
As she came back into his arms, breathless and giddy, her eyes met blue soft ones, shaking her head.
"You really are something else, Mr. Sturniolo."
"And you love me for it." He replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. He lingered there, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, the warmth of her against him.
"Yeah." She said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I really do."
With the playful moment fading into a comfortable silence, they returned to the counter, side by side once more. Y/N sighed dramatically, surveying the batter that was now slightly too foamy from Matt’s over-enthusiastic addition of baking soda.
"Okay, let’s see if we can salvage this." She said, her voice taking on that determined tone Matt found so adorable.
"How bad did I mess it up?" He asked, a wince escaping his lips.
"Not too bad." Y/N admitted with a small, fond smile. "We can balance it out with a little extra flour and sugar."
"Got it." Matt said, nodding eagerly as he grabbed the bag of flour, waiting for her instructions.
They worked together to fix the batter, Matt actually listening this time, his focus unwavering as Y/N explained what to do. After a few minutes of adjustments, Y/N dipped her finger into the batter for a taste test. Her eyes lit up in pleasant surprise.
"Hey, it’s actually good!" She exclaimed.
Matt’s face broke into a proud grin.
"See? I knew I could fix it." He said smugly.
"Mm-hmm." Y/N hummed, rolling her eyes playfully. "Pretty sure I did most of the fixing."
"But it was my idea to fix it." He countered, leaning in to press his lips against her warm cheek.
"Alright, let’s get these in the oven before you mess up anything else." Y/N said, lifting the tray carefully.
Her fingers were nimble as she adjusted the rack, carefully placing the cupcake tray into the preheated oven.
Matt couldn’t help but stop for a bit and just stare, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving her. There was something about watching her work, so effortlessly absorbed in what she loved, that made him feel as though the entire world had slowed to a gentle stop just for them.
It wasn't his fault. He reasoned to himself. It wasn't his fault he found everything she did so endlessly endearing, so worth watching with that starstruck gaze that his brothers teased him about. The way her brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers dusted with flour, her lips pursed slightly as she adjusted the oven dial; it all made his heart swell.
Y/N stood up, wiping her hands on her yellow apron and closing the oven door with a soft clink. She turned to grab the timer, only to notice the way Matt was staring at her, eyes sparkling with that familiar, dazed expression. He looked as if he were lost in a dream, his gaze so soft it made her heart skip a beat.
Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, she tilted her head slightly and smiled shyly.
"What?" She asked with a soft laugh, setting the timer up. "Do I still have flour on my face?"
Matt didn’t answer right away, his eyes never wavering from hers. It was like he was in some kind of trance, completely mesmerized. After a few seconds, he finally blinked, his lips curling into a soft smile.
"Yeah." He said simply, his voice so low and gentle it made her stomach flip.
Before she could ask where, Matt stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a few strides. His hands found her waist, pulling her close. Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly as he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin.
"Right here." He dipped his head and began to trail soft, lingering kisses along her jaw. His lips brushed tenderly against her skin, and with each kiss, he pulled a soft, breathless giggle from her lips. The sweet sound made him smile against her cheek, his eyes closing as he continued his path to her chin, and then to her cheeks, where he left playful kisses that were so light, they were almost ticklish.
"Matt." She breathed out, half-laughing, half-sighing, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. Her fingers traced slow circles over his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric.
He paused, hovering just above her lips, so close that she could feel the ghost of his breath on her mouth but not quite touching her. His eyes were locked on hers, and there was a playfulness mixed with adoration in them that made her knees feel weak. He knew exactly what he was doing, teasing her like this.
"Matt." She repeated, her voice a whisper now, filled with a hint of impatience.
"Yeah?" He murmured back, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.
Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, her lips twitching as she tried to suppress a smile.
"Kiss me properly." She demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.
'Oh, won't you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?'
He chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned in just a fraction more, brushing his lips against hers, still not quite giving in. But Y/N, never one to be outdone, closed the remaining distance, pressing her lips to his in a soft, sweet kiss that sent warmth blooming through her chest.
Matt’s arms tightened around her waist, pulling her even closer as their kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. Y/N’s hands wandered from his chest to his biceps, squeezing slightly at the firmness there, before sliding up to his shoulders and finally into his hair. She tugged gently, earning a soft sigh from him that she could feel warming up her face.
Their lips curved into smiles as they kissed, each touch and movement so full of affection it made Y/N’s heart feel light. Matt blindly started to sway their bodies again, following the slow rhythm of the indie song, his hands exploring the small of her back, fingers spreading wide as if he wanted to memorize every curve.
Y/N sighed into his mouth, her fingers threading through his hair, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, no kitchen, no baking, just the soft, sweet connection between their lips and the feel of each other’s warmth.
But the intimate moment was abruptly interrupted by a sudden, loud DING! from the oven.
The sound made Y/N jump slightly, pulling away from Matt with a startled gasp. Matt couldn’t help but laugh, the joyous sound filling the kitchen as he pressed one last, playful kiss to the tip of her nose.
"Guess that’s our cue." He said, still chuckling as he gave her a quick eskimo kiss, their noses brushing together.
Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she gently pushed him away.
"Goofball." She muttered affectionately, her cheeks still flushed.
Reluctantly pulling away, Matt released her from his embrace, giving her one last, lingering look before letting her turn her attention back to the oven. Y/N leaned down to peer through the glass, her hands resting on her knees as she checked the cupcakes.
Matt watched her from behind, unable to resist the fond smile that tugged at his lips. The sight of her brows knitting together as she inspected their work made his heart swell.
"They look perfect." Y/N announced, turning back to him with a triumphant smile.
"All thanks to you." Matt came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "I love baking with you." He whispered, his voice soft and sincere.
"Even if you’re terrible at it?" She teased.
"Especially because I’m terrible at it." He replied, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Gives you more reasons to stick around."
'And we can run away to the walls inside your house'
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brunchable · 19 days ago
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Meet Me On a Midsummer's Night.
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Pairings: beefy!Bucky x F!Reader [ pre-established rs ] Warning: MUTUAL PINING. FLUFF. BUCKY SMUG AND A TEASING MF. PDA. Summary: On a hot night, you can’t fall asleep thinking about this and that— you finally call Bucky. You didn’t know he'd come out to meet you but he did. A/N: I've been digging my playlist and I stumbled upon my old korean hip-hop playlist. It's summer here in Aus and the song is about meeting someone they like in the middle of the night and this is the product. I'll leave the song here, and if you know this song, you're awesome.
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The ceiling fan creaked overhead, pushing the thick, summer air around your room without mercy. You kicked off your sheet for what felt like the hundredth time, staring at the faint glow of your phone on the nightstand. Midnight, it whispered, daring you to do something impulsive.
Your thumb hovered over Bucky’s name in your contacts, nerves coiling in your stomach. The sensible part of you begged you to stop. But the other part—the part that lingered on his laugh too long, memorized the exact shade of his smile—urged you forward.
Your thumb hovered over his name in your contacts for an embarrassing amount of time. You bit your lip, debating, until finally—finally—you pressed Call before you could change your mind.
It only rang once before his voice poured through the speaker, low and warm like honey.
“Hey.”
His voice was warm and a little raspy, like he hadn’t quite shaken off sleep. The sound wrapped around you, and your lips curled into a smile you were too glad he couldn’t see.
“Hey,” you whispered back, trying not to sound too breathless. “What’re you doing?”
“Not much. Just… chilling.” A faint rustle came through the line, like he’d sat up. “You?”
You pressed your palm to your forehead, silently berating yourself. What were you doing? What was this? And why did your heart feel like it was trying to climb out of your chest?
“I, um—can’t sleep,” you blurted before logic could catch up to your words. “It’s the heat. Thought maybe… you’d want to meet up?”
There was a pause on the other end, long enough that you bit your lip and cursed yourself for saying something so ridiculous. Then Bucky chuckled, low and warm, like he couldn’t quite believe you.
“It’s midnight,” he said, his tone teasing. But then, softer: “Sure.”
You blinked, your stomach flipping in a way that felt entirely too much for someone agreeing to meet you. 
“Cool,” you said, trying for nonchalant.
“Cool,” he echoed. There was a pause, and you could almost picture the amused quirk of his lips. “Uh… so… we actually need a meeting place, if we’re doing this.”
“Oh, gosh, yeah,” you stammered, flustered. Your fingers curled into the sheets as you scrambled for an idea. “Um… your favorite bar? Death and Taxes? That’s still your favorite, right?”
He laughed, soft and deep, like he couldn’t help himself. “Still my favorite. Death and Taxes it is.”
You could almost picture him leaning back against the headboard, his lips quirking up at the corners.
“Okay. See you in a bit.”
“Yeah… see you.”
The call ended, and you pressed your phone against your chest like it could stop your heart from breaking free of your ribcage. For a moment, you just sat there, letting the giddy, reckless feeling take over. You stared at the ceiling, cheeks warm, a wild smile tugging at your lips.
Then you bolted out of bed.
Your closet door creaked open as you rifled through it, tossing rejected options onto the floor. Something light, something comfortable—it wasn’t like this was a date. But still, you didn’t want to look like you’d just rolled out of bed, even though you absolutely had. You finally settled on a loose, flowy top and shorts, tying your hair back with a lazy knot and slipping on your sandals.
The walk to the bar felt longer than it should have, every step only adding to the fluttery mess in your stomach. It wasn’t nerves, exactly—okay, maybe it was nerves. It had been so long since you’d seen him. Long enough that you weren’t entirely sure if you’d even recognize him.
He wasn’t big on social media, wasn’t one for selfies or tagged pictures. Sure, you had the version of him burned into your memory—the sharp jawline, piercing eyes, the way he always looked like he belonged in a leather jacket, even if he wasn’t wearing one. But people changed. What if he’d changed? What if he walked up, and you had to pretend to place him? The thought made your cheeks flush with secondhand embarrassment.
You arrived first, of course. The bar was quiet at this hour, the neon sign glowing faintly against the brick wall, casting soft red and blue hues onto the sidewalk. You stood just outside, rocking slightly on your heels, the night’s heat sticking to your skin. The air buzzed with crickets and the faint hum of cars in the distance, but all you could focus on was the wild beat of your heart.
Would he even look the same? Would it be weird? Would he—
“Y/N.”
The sound of your name cut through your thoughts, and you turned on instinct.
The world slowed.
It wasn’t just a turn. It was a pivot, a gasp caught in your throat as your eyes found him. And oh. Oh, Bucky.
He stood a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of dark jeans that fit him almost criminally well. The kind of fit that made your brain short-circuit. His shirt was simple, black, stretched over broad shoulders that practically dared you to look away. His long hair, slightly tousled, caught the faint glow of the neon light, framing his face like he’d just stepped out of a movie poster. And that face. God, that face. The sharp lines of his jaw softened only by the faint stubble that made him look rugged in the most devastating way.
Tall, solid, impossibly handsome—this wasn’t the boy you’d known. This was… something else entirely.
“Hey,” he said, his voice lower, richer than you remembered, like he’d spent the years perfecting it. His lips curled into a small, almost shy smile, but his eyes—blue and bright—were locked on you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.
You stood frozen, blinking up at him, every coherent thought scattering like confetti. It felt like the kind of moment people wrote songs about, the kind where the summer air turned into something magical just because he was in it.
“Bucky,” you managed, your voice embarrassingly breathy. “You… you’re here.”
“I am,” he said, his smile widening slightly. He stepped closer, and you swore you could feel the heat radiating off him even from a foot away. “You… okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Sorry,” you blurted, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “It’s just… it’s been a while. And you—” You gestured vaguely at him, your face hot. “You’re… you look…”
His brows lifted, his grin turning into something teasing. “I look…?”
Like a Greek god. Like a walking, talking fever dream. Like you’ve ruined every other man for me.
“Good,” you finished lamely, your voice pitching up slightly at the end. “You look good.”
His chuckle was soft, but it wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and you caught the way his gaze swept over you. Not hurried, not lazy—just deliberate enough to make your skin tingle.
“So do you,” he said, his tone casual, but the way he said it—low, like it was just for you—sent your heart tumbling into your stomach. “Better than good, actually.”
Your laugh came out nervous and breathy as you tried to deflect. “What, like you expected me to show up in pajamas?”
He shrugged, that teasing smile still playing on his lips. “Wouldn’t have minded. You could probably pull them off.”
It was impossible to tell if he was joking. It was even more impossible to figure out why your brain was suddenly turning into melted butter.
“Anyway,” he said, glancing toward the bar before looking back at you. “Shall we?”
“Y-Yes, let’s go.” you replied, your voice steadier now, though your pulse was still racing.
He smiled again, the kind of smile that felt like a secret, like you were the only one who got to see it. Then he stepped aside, motioning toward the door. 
“After you.”
You hesitated, glancing at him, then the bar. The thought hit you suddenly, startling and unshakable.
You hadn’t seen him in years, but in this moment—on this hot summer night—it felt like no time had passed at all.
× × × × 
The corner booth of Death and Taxes was quieter, tucked away from the hum of late-night laughter and clinking glasses. It wasn’t completely silent—the bar was alive in that effortless, summery way, the air buzzing with heat and conversation—but it was as close as you’d get. You slid into the seat first, leaving him no choice but to take the one directly across from you, where the glow of the dim light caught your face just right.
Not that he was looking too hard or anything.
Except he absolutely was.
“Two cold ones,” you told the waitress, already glancing at him for confirmation. Bucky raised a brow, smirking. “You remembered.”
“Of course,” you said simply, shrugging like it was nothing.
It wasn’t nothing. It was a beer at midnight in a corner booth with you. And he was about two seconds away from grinning like an idiot over it.
When the beers came, you both dove into the fries first—crispy, golden, hot—and he realized he’d missed this. You weren’t in a rush, just talking, the way you always had. The kind of easy, back-and-forth rhythm that made him feel like no time had passed.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, taking a sip of his drink before leaning back in his seat. “How’ve you been?”
You tilted your head thoughtfully, your lips curving into a small smile. “Oh, you know. I haven’t really changed much. Still working hard.”
Your voice was light, but it made his chest ache anyway. He knew that look, the way you brushed off the weight of your own life like it wasn’t worth mentioning.
“I’m the same. Still working hard,” he replied. His eyes lingered on you for a beat too long before he asked, “You still dating that same guy?”
He shouldn’t have asked. He knew it the second the words left his mouth. But curiosity—or something else entirely—had gotten the better of him.
“Oh. Um, no.” You busied yourself with your beer, the glass cool against your hand. “We broke up.”
His heart gave a little kick, though he tried not to show it. “You guys broke up? Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He reached for a fry, half-smiling. “It’s good to see you anyway.”
“It’s okay,” you said softly, looking up at him again. There was something unreadable in your gaze, something he wanted to spend the rest of the night deciphering. “It was a while back. But it’s good to see you too.”
God, stop looking at me like that.
He leaned forward, his elbow on the table, watching the way your fingers idly traced the condensation on your glass. “Time goes by so fast, huh?” he mused. “We’ve already come all this way, but how come you haven’t changed at all?”
You raised a brow at him, playful but curious.
You tilted your head at him, your brow arching slightly, the corners of your mouth quirking.
“You’re still pretty,” he added, and though he chuckled, his words landed softer than he expected. Half-joking, yeah, but the truth was so clear it hurt.
Your reaction wasn’t what he expected. You looked down, your fingers brushing the rim of your glass as a quiet laugh escaped you. 
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said lightly, waving him off before quickly changing the subject. “So, what about you? Been up to anything exciting?”
Why are you changing the subject? The thought rolled through his mind, unbidden but persistent. His eyes lingered on your face, the way you avoided his gaze with that bashful smile. Is it because of the alcohol or because you’re shy?
He shifted in his seat, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned forward. “What, you don’t want me getting sentimental on you?”
Your laugh bubbled up again, the sound warm and easy, but you didn’t answer.
Yeah, he thought, watching the way you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, your cheeks just a shade warmer than before. It’s because you’re shy.
And god help him, it only made him want to say more.
Bucky took another long sip of his beer, the cool bitterness doing little to distract him from the way your smile lingered in his mind, soft and teasing. The overhead lights cast a warm glow on your skin, and he could see the faint sheen of summer heat clinging to your collarbones. You were leaning forward slightly, your chin propped on your hand, completely at ease—or so it seemed.
His thumb traced the rim of his glass absently, the thought bubbling up in his chest before he could push it down.
“I want to tell you something,” he said, his voice low but steady.
You tilted your head slightly, the curious quirk of your brow pulling his attention to the way your lips curved.
“Hm? And what’s that?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. He swirled the beer in his glass once, then set it down deliberately, as if that might make this easier. 
“I used to like you before.”
For a moment, he thought he’d miscalculated. That he’d said too much too soon. But then your reaction broke through his nerves like sunlight on water—a faint laugh, soft and disarming.
“I know,” you said, your tone light, but your gaze flicked to your drink, your fingers tracing the condensation on the glass like it might give you something to hold onto.
The simple words knocked the air clean out of his lungs.
You know? His mind stumbled over the implications. Had he been that obvious? Had you noticed the way he looked at you back then, the way he’d hovered just a little too long when you stood close, his fingers itching to brush yours?
He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. 
“Guess I’m a little drunk. Don’t mind my ramblings,” he muttered, leaning back like that would somehow lessen the weight of what he’d just said.
You gave him a look, one brow arched, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You don’t get drunk.”
Shit.
“I—uh—” His hand rubbed at the back of his neck, heat creeping up to his ears as he tried for a laugh. “Right. Forgot who I was talking to.”
Your smirk grew, but you didn’t press him further. Instead, you took another fry, dipping it in the ketchup and nibbling on the end. His gaze followed the movement like he had no choice in the matter, his thoughts spinning helplessly.
You knew? He wanted to ask, wanted to make you spell it out, wanted to hear it in your voice. Did you really know? Or was this some casual observation, something you didn’t think twice about while it had consumed him for years?
But then you glanced up, your eyes meeting his, and the warmth there—gentle, a little shy—unraveled something in him.
He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the table, his beer forgotten. “If you knew,” he said, his voice quiet now, almost teasing, “why didn’t you say anything?”
You blinked, caught off guard, but the smile that followed was soft. “Why didn’t you?”
His laugh was quiet, rueful. “Touché.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the bar faded into the background, the space between you charged with something unspoken, something almost tangible. Bucky watched as you took another sip of your drink, your lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, your lips brushing the edge of the glass.
“Do you still?” you asked suddenly, your voice tentative, like the words had escaped without permission.
His heart stuttered, the question catching him off guard. He could lie, brush it off like he had before, but the thought of hiding how he felt—after all this time, after you—felt impossible.
Instead, he leaned forward, close enough that he could see the way your breath caught. 
“What do you think?” he murmured, his voice low, his gaze fixed on yours.
And the way your cheeks flushed, the way your lips parted ever so slightly, was enough to make him think that maybe, just maybe, you already knew the answer.
You let out a nervous huff, the sound breaking through the air between you, as fragile as it was charged. His words hung there, lingering like they had weight, like they could change everything if you gave them room. But you didn’t trust yourself to stay in that moment—not when his gaze was locked on yours like that, steady and warm and impossibly deep.
“It’s getting hot in here,” you said quickly, your voice pitched higher than usual as you slid out of the booth. “We should, um… we should take a walk. Go someplace else.”
For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you dared a glance at him. He was leaning back in his chair now, his head tilted slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. But then he nodded, standing with that same effortless grace that had always made him seem larger than life.
“Sure,” he said simply, his voice easy, as if he hadn’t just made your heart feel like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest. He nodded, standing with that quiet ease of his, reaching for his wallet before you could protest.
You jumped up quickly, your excitement spilling over as you moved toward the door without waiting for him. The cool night air hit your skin as soon as you stepped outside, a welcome relief from the stuffy warmth of the bar. You breathed it in deeply, the summer heat still clinging to the pavement, but at least the air felt freer out here.
“We’re walking, huh?” Bucky said from behind you, his voice teasing but warm. “Got a specific destination in mind, or are we just wandering?”
“Wandering,” you said brightly, not slowing your pace. “Who needs a plan, anyway?”
You felt light, like your feet barely touched the ground as you walked ahead of him, your sandals clicking softly against the pavement. The streetlights cast golden pools along the sidewalk, your shadow dancing playfully as you moved. You threw a glance over your shoulder to see if he was keeping up, and the way he was watching you—his hands stuffed in his pockets, his lips curved into a soft, crooked smile—made something inside you flutter wildly.
“You’re gonna leave me behind,” he called, his tone mock-scolding.
“Then hurry up!” you called back, laughing as you skipped a few steps ahead, your movements careless and free.
For a moment, it felt perfect. Like something out of a summer dream, the hum of crickets filling the quiet spaces between your laughter and his easy steps.
And then—oh god.
A shadow darted near your face, too fast and too sudden, and you froze in the middle of the sidewalk. It took you half a second to process it—a beetle, its shiny wings catching the light as it buzzed straight toward you.
“AH! GO AWAY.” The words tumbled out as you flailed, stumbling backward and nearly losing a shoe in the process.
Bucky stopped in his tracks, his brows shooting up. “What the—?”
“BUG!” you yelped, pointing wildly at the air around you. “It’s flying! Do something!”
The beetle buzzed again, its wings making a high-pitched hum as it veered closer. You squeaked, ducking dramatically and running behind Bucky like he was a human shield.
He turned, his expression somewhere between concern and disbelief. “Are you serious right now? It’s just a beetle.”
“It’s not just a beetle!” you hissed, gripping his arm like your life depended on it. “It’s a flying. Look at it!”
He glanced at the beetle, then back at you, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You’re freaking out over that? It’s like… half an inch.”
“It’s not the size that matters!” you shot back, still cowering behind him. “It’s the intent! Look at it—it’s coming for me!”
That did it. He broke, his laughter spilling out in soft, rich waves that vibrated through his chest. 
“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, but he stepped forward anyway, waving a hand to shoo the beetle away.
When it finally buzzed off into the night, you peeked over his shoulder cautiously, still clutching his arm. 
“Is it gone?”
“Yes, it’s gone,” he said, still chuckling. “You can come out of hiding now.”
You straightened, brushing imaginary dirt off your top as if that might restore some of your dignity. 
“Thanks,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Don’t mention it, bug magnet.” His voice was full of barely concealed laughter, and you turned to glare at him, but he only grinned wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Not funny,” you muttered, though you couldn’t quite keep the smile from tugging at your lips.
“Oh, it’s very funny,” he countered, and the warmth in his gaze made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the beetle.
And when his hand brushed against yours as you both started walking again, your heart skipped so hard you thought it might give out entirely.
× × × ×
The hill wasn’t far—just a short walk past quiet streets and through a small park. The city stretched out below like a sea of twinkling lights, the soft hum of distant traffic blending with the chirping of crickets. The air was still warm, but up here, a slight breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of grass and something faintly sweet.
You spotted the bench first, nestled beneath a tall tree, its silhouette just visible against the glow of the city below. Without waiting for him, you made your way over, plopping down with a contented sigh and stretching your legs out in front of you. The wood was cool against your skin, grounding you after the walk.
Bucky followed, his steps slower, more deliberate. When he reached the bench, he hesitated for a moment before sitting beside you, close enough that your knees almost touched. Almost.
“Nice spot,” he said, leaning back and resting an arm along the back of the bench, his fingers just brushing your shoulder. His voice was low, casual, but there was a softness to it, like he wasn’t just talking about the view.
“Yeah,” you murmured, your gaze fixed on the skyline. The city lights flickered like a million little stars, stretching endlessly, but you couldn’t help feeling like the real magic was sitting next to you. “I used to come up here a lot.”
“Alone?” His voice tilted just enough to make the word feel heavier than it should.
“Sometimes,” you said, glancing at him. His profile was sharp against the faint glow of the streetlights, his hair falling in soft waves that caught the breeze. You looked back at the city quickly, your heart tripping over itself. “It’s peaceful. Helps me think.”
“Think about what?” His voice was closer now, like he’d leaned in just a little. You felt the weight of his gaze on you, like he could see through every answer you wanted to give and straight to the truth.
“Stuff,” you said vaguely, feeling the heat crawl up your neck. “Life. Work.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said, and when you glanced at him, his lips were curved into that crooked, teasing smile that made your chest ache.
“I’m not lying!” you protested, though your voice betrayed you, the words coming out more flustered than you intended.
“You’re thinking about me,” he said, so casually it took you a second to realize what he’d said.
Your head snapped toward him, your mouth falling open in protest, but the look on his face stopped you cold. His smile was soft now, his blue eyes steady and full of something you couldn’t quite name.
“Admit it,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. “I take up way too much space in that head of yours.”
You scoffed, trying to sound indignant, but the laugh that followed betrayed you. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m right,” he countered, leaning just a little closer, his arm still stretched along the back of the bench. His fingers brushed your shoulder again, light and deliberate, like a dare. “And you know it.”
You rolled your eyes, looking away, but your lips twitched into a smile. “You’ve got a big ego, you know that?”
“Maybe,” he said, and when you glanced back, the grin he gave you was pure trouble. “But I’m not wrong.”
The moment stretched, the silence between you filled only by the faint breeze and the hum of the city below. His gaze never wavered, steady and unrelenting, and you felt yourself drawn in despite every effort to look away.
“You still haven’t denied it,” he pointed out, his voice quieter now, softer. 
Your heart pounded, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “What’s the point? You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
He laughed softly, the sound rich and warm. 
“You’re right,” he admitted, his smile tilting into something almost sheepish. “I wouldn’t.”
You bit your lip, trying to hold back your own laugh, but it slipped out anyway, light and breathless. 
“Ugh.”
“I mean who did you call to meet you out here? At midnight?” he shot back, his tone lighter now, teasing but full of warmth.
You looked at him then, really looked at him, the way the light caught in his eyes, the faint crinkle at the corners of his smile. 
“Maybe I should’ve called someone else.”
Bucky’s eyebrows shot up, his lips twitching into an incredulous grin. “Someone else?” he repeated, leaning in slightly, the faintest spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You wound me, doll.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I’m serious. Maybe Sam—”
“Sam?” he cut in, a laugh slipping out before he could stop it. He leaned back, spreading his arms along the bench like he was getting comfortable for the show. “You think Sam would leave his comfy bed and perfectly air-conditioned apartment to meet you at midnight? Please.”
“Well—”
“And don’t even say Steve,” he continued, cutting off whatever rebuttal you had. “You know he’s asleep by nine. The man’s practically a grandpa.”
You laughed, unable to help yourself, and the sound only seemed to spur him on.
“Face it,” he said, leaning forward now, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch. “I’m the only one you could call. You wanted me here.”
Your mouth opened, a half-formed protest on the tip of your tongue, but his expression stopped you cold. The teasing curve of his lips was still there, but his eyes—they were steady, intent, like he was daring you to deny it.
“I…” you started, faltering when you realized he wasn’t going to look away.
“Go on,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of challenge. “Say it.”
“Say what?” you managed, your fingers twisting in your lap.
“That you wanted me here.” His smile turned into something softer, warmer, but no less devastating. “That when you couldn’t sleep, I was the first person you thought of.”
Your breath hitched, and you could feel your face heating under his gaze. You tried to look away, to laugh it off, but he leaned in closer, his elbow resting on his knee, his face just inches from yours.
“C’mon,” he coaxed, his voice dropping even lower. “Admit it. It’s only fair.”
“Fair?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.
He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Yeah. I already told you I used to like you.” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest second before finding your eyes again. “Your turn.”
Your heart pounded, your hands freezing in your lap, and you swore the city had gone completely silent around you. His eyes searched yours, his expression soft but unyielding, like he was ready to wait forever if he had to.
And god help you, you couldn’t decide if you wanted to run—or pull him closer.
“Pft—it’s not like it’s going to change anything,” you reasoned, though your voice betrayed you, soft and unsteady. You looked away, focusing on the skyline instead of the man sitting far too close, his presence making it impossible to think straight.
Bucky didn’t move for a moment, letting your words hang in the air between you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, quiet—dangerously deliberate. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
Your breath caught, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at him. He was leaning forward now, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely together. But his eyes—they were locked on you, piercing, like they were unraveling every carefully constructed excuse you’d ever made.
“How is that wrong?” you challenged, though your voice wavered, giving you away.
He let out a soft laugh, the kind that felt like it had been pulled from deep in his chest. “Because,” he said, leaning back again, his arm stretching across the bench behind you, his fingers just brushing your shoulder. “It changes everything.”
Your stomach flipped, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” he shot back, and there was that teasing edge again, soft and warm but dangerous because it was him. “Tell me, doll, what happens if I kiss you right now?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs, and you froze, your hands gripping the edge of the bench like it might keep you grounded. 
“You wouldn’t.”
Bucky tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—didn’t waver. He was studying you like you were some sort of puzzle, his gaze tracing every line of your face, every small movement you made.
“Wouldn’t I?” His voice was low, rough, like gravel smoothed over by honey. And god, it wasn’t fair, the way it made your skin prickle, the way it sent your heart into a dizzying spiral.
You turned your head sharply, staring out at the city like it might save you from whatever this was. But it wasn’t saving you. Not with the way he leaned just a little closer, his arm still draped casually over the back of the bench, his fingers now brushing against your shoulder. The heat of him was impossible to ignore.
“No,” you said, your voice firmer this time, but it still wavered at the end. “You wouldn’t.”
He let out a soft laugh, the sound so low and intimate it curled around you like smoke. “Why’s that?”
“Because—” You faltered, your brain scrambling for a reason, for any reason. “Because you’re all talk.”
Bucky’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, his lips curving in that maddening way that made your stomach twist and your chest tighten. 
“All talk?” he repeated, his voice a low murmur that slipped over your skin like silk. “That’s what you think of me?”
You swallowed hard, refusing to look at him, even though you could feel his gaze on you—hot, heavy, and completely unrelenting. Your pulse thundered in your ears, a wild, uneven rhythm that made it impossible to think.
“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat because suddenly, he moved.
He shifted closer, the bench creaking softly under his weight. His arm stretched further along the backrest, and when you finally glanced at him, he was right there. His face hovered just inches from yours, his blue eyes impossibly intense, locked onto yours like he was daring you to look away.
“How about,” he whispered, his voice low and rough enough to send a shiver racing down your spine, “you kiss me, and I’ll show you.”
You inhaled sharply, awareness flaring through every nerve in your body. Kiss him? God, he wanted you to kiss him? He was so close, his lips so close to yours, his warm breath whispering across your mouth. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, and the faint scent of beer and something unmistakably him made your head spin.
“Kiss me,” he said again, his voice low and almost hoarse. He was hovering near you, so tantalizingly close, but decidedly not kissing you. He was waiting for you to press your lips to his, but coming as close to you as he could. Tempting you, encouraging you, pulling you in.
Do it. The thought whispered through your mind, reckless and insistent. He was so close. So impossibly close. One small shift forward, and—
Instead, you faltered, glancing down at his lips. “You’re bluffing.”
His lips twitched into a small, infuriating smirk. “Try me.”
You felt drawn forward as if by a magnet. Lightly, delicately, you pressed your lips to his, feeling how much you trembled, how insubstantial and frail your kiss felt but unable to do anything more. You lingered for just a moment, and then pulled back, uncertainly.
Bucky remained still, not moving, so close, his chest now against yours. He didn't kiss you, he didn't smile, or say anything, and you felt an unfamiliar tremor of panic rise in you.
“I thought you said you'd show me,” you said ruefully, your cheeks beginning to burn. Had you done it wrong? Could a kiss be wrong? You could barely remember your name right now, let alone how to kiss someone. 
Especially this someone.
“Oh I will,” Bucky whispered. “I'm just waiting for you to really kiss me.”
Something in the timbre of his voice, something in the drowsy desire of his words emboldened you. You leaned forward and kissed him more sensuously, taking his lips with yours, opening your mouth and savouring the fullness of his. And with only the slightest of pauses, Bucky took over.
He leaned against your heavily, almost surging into you, his mouth roaming over yours with a heady, sensual slowness that ignited you. His lips moved over yours possessively, with a slow, languid rhythm as his tongue dipped into your mouth to taste you. When his tongue met yours, you let out a little cry of pleasure, feeling an arrow of desire shoot right down to your core.
He groaned at the sound and dipped his tongue into your mouth and out again rhythmically, as if making love to you. One hand slipped around your back and held you while the other slid up to your breast and felt you, owned you, roamed over you like you were a longed-for prize. He groaned against you, and his kiss deepened into a hot, sensual exploration.
You felt weightless, boneless, all but liquefied by the heat of his mouth on yours and the strength of his hands caressing every part of you. His sounds of pleasure, his soft groans and heavy breathing, every male expression of pleasure made you even more desperate for him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down into you, kissing him with abandon.
There was no time for words, no breath to be stolen for the little flirtations of new lovers, there was simply this kiss. You fell into each other, seeking, needing, as if making up for all the years you had denied yourselves this pleasure. It was never enough, there was never a moment when it seemed right to part, never the need to break and bring lips to skin, or to fumble with clothing. It was all consuming, and erotic enough, this deep, soulful kiss, this meeting of mouths and breath and sounds.
You weren't friends...not now, and not ever, you suddenly knew. You had always been this to each other, always one breath away from this, always one kiss away. .  one breathless, soulful, beautiful kiss.
Finally—finally—when the need for air had peaked, when the thundering of your hearts needed calming, he reluctantly pulled away, his chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. He smiled at you, a soft laugh escaping through his breathing.
“Now that,” he said, bumping his nose against you as his breath finally began to slow. “Is kissing back.”
Your fingers brushing against your own lips as if to confirm what just happened. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks, and you suddenly couldn’t quite meet his gaze.
“I—I should probably get home,” you stammered, your voice higher than you intended. “It’s late.”
Bucky’s brow lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he straightened slightly, his hand lingering at your elbow for just a moment before dropping away. “Alright,” he said softly, his voice warm and steady. “I’ll walk you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“You think I’d let you walk home alone?” His eyes narrowed slightly, his tone shifting to something more serious, though the teasing lilt never fully disappeared. “Not a chance, doll.”
Before you could protest again, he was already on his feet, reaching out a hand to help you up. His grip was firm but gentle, his fingers warm around yours, and when you stood, the faintest squeeze sent another ripple of heat through you.
The walk started quietly. The soft noise of crickets filled the summer night, the distant glow of the city lights casting a faint halo on the horizon. The air was thick with unspoken words, every glance and sidelong look charged with the memory of the kiss you’d just shared.
Bucky fell into step beside you, his pace unhurried but purposeful. You noticed it immediately—how he positioned himself closer to the road, his body a silent barrier between you and the passing cars. It was such a small thing, something most people might not even notice, but it made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the lingering taste of his kiss.
The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy, the kind that made you acutely aware of everything—of the way his shoulder brushed yours every now and then, of the soft scuff of his boots against the pavement, of the way your heart hadn’t quite settled back into its normal rhythm.
And then, without warning, his hand brushed against yours. It was fleeting, accidental, but the spark it sent through you was impossible to ignore. You glanced up at him, your pulse quickening as you caught the way his lips quirked into the faintest smile.
He didn’t say anything—just slipped his fingers through yours, his grip warm and steady, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles. The gesture was so simple, so natural, but it felt monumental, like crossing some invisible line you could never return from.
You couldn’t help but glance at him again, your lips parting to say something—anything—but the words died on your tongue when you saw the way he was looking at you. His expression was soft, almost shy.
He didn’t look away, and neither did you. The streetlights flickered as you walked beneath them, their glow casting golden pools on the sidewalk, but all you could see was him.
“Are you always this quiet after a kiss?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and teasing, though there was a softness to it that made your heart flutter.
Your face heated, and you looked down at your joined hands, your laugh shaky. “Are you always this smug after one?”
He laughs.
“Depends,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again,“Was it good enough to be smug about?”
You shot him a look, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Wow, you’re already smug anyway. . .”
“And yet,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch, “you’re still holding my hand.”
You didn’t have an answer for that. Or maybe you did, but it was lost somewhere between the heat of his gaze and the warmth of his palm against yours. And somehow, you didn’t mind one bit.
The walk to your door felt like it ended too soon. One moment, the quiet streets were stretching ahead of you, your hand warm in his, and now, here you were—standing on your front step with no excuse to linger.
Your fingers twitched reluctantly as you let go of his hand, the cool night air rushing in where his warmth had been. You caught the faintest flicker of something on his face—hesitation, maybe?—but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a soft, crooked smile.
The faint glow of your porch light cast soft shadows across his face, making the lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips seem even sharper, even softer all at once.
“I had so much fun today,” Bucky said, his voice quiet but steady, the kind of low timbre that seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “It was so good seeing you.”
“Yeah,” you said softly, your lips curving into a smile even as your heart ached. “Me too.”
He shifted slightly, the smallest movement that still felt impossibly significant. “Good night,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, almost hesitant.
You nodded, your own voice barely above a whisper. “Good night.”
But he didn’t turn to leave. Instead, he lingered, his gaze holding yours like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
“You have a sweet dream,” he added, his words softer now, gentler, and they hit you like a warm breeze. His lips tilted into a small, almost bashful smile, and the tenderness in his expression stole whatever breath you had left.
You barely managed to nod, your throat too tight to speak. But before you could even think about what to say, he stepped forward, closing the space between you in one unhurried movement.
His arms wrapped around you, solid and warm, pulling you into him without hesitation. It wasn’t hurried or awkward—it was grounding, steadying, like he’d been waiting all night for this. The scent of him—faintly woodsy, clean, and musky—washed over you as his hands settled lightly on your back, and your face pressed against his chest. You could feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing, the strength in the way he held you as though he didn’t want the moment to slip away.
“Good night,” he murmured again, his voice rumbling softly against your hair. His arms tightened slightly before he finally, finally let you go, his hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary before dropping to his sides.
You stepped back, your heart thundering as you looked up at him. 
You swallowed hard, your lips curving into a smile as you opened your door. “Good night, Bucky.”
As the door clicked shut behind you, you leaned against it, your chest rising and falling as you tried to calm your racing heart. On the other side, you imagined him standing there for just a moment longer, smiling to himself the way he always did when he thought no one was looking.
And somehow, that made everything feel perfect.
tags: @lomlbuckybarnes @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mostlymarvelgirl
@missvelvetsstuff @unaxv @carnal-vogue @bmyva1entine @wheredidiputmyfish
@thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @wanda-widow @filmologetica @awaywithtime @Thealyrs
@greatenthusiasttidalwave @winchestert101 @strawberrybisou @unaxv @asgards-princess-of-mischief
@fynnwolff @veronicapaula
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roosterforme · 1 year ago
Text
Do You Wanna Touch Me? | Rooster x Reader
Summary: You had been working at the bar for six months. And you'd been crushing on Rooster since the first night he handed you his credit card, called you Babydoll, and asked you to start a tab for him. And it only got worse from there, until one night you asked him about more than just his drink order.
Warnings: Fluff, swearing, age gap, and smut
Length: 5800 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
This was written for my Top Gun Rocktober playlist! Check out my masterlist for more!
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"Oh, my god," you whined softly, drying and polishing the rack of pint glasses in front of you as Rooster Bradshaw came strolling into the bar. "Fuck me," you sighed, barely able to keep your eyes off him as you fumbled one of the glasses.
"Yeah, you'd like that," Lizzy said with a laugh as she cut up some lemons before the Friday evening rush.
You didn't even know you spoke out loud. That's how much of a ridiculous crush you had on that big, sexy man. But he strolled right past you on his way to the pool table, barely even sparing a smile in your direction. 
"I really would," you told her, watching the flex of his bicep as he high fived Hangman. It wasn't like your coworkers didn't know you had a thing for Rooster. You'd been working here for six months, and you'd been crushing on him since the first night he handed you his credit card, called you Babydoll, and asked you to start a tab for him. And it only got worse from there.
He still occasionally called you Babydoll. He never called Lizzy or Jasmine by a pet name. Just you. And you held onto that little glimmer of hope that it meant something. That maybe one day, he'd look at you as more than just one of the bartenders.
"What's wrong with you?" Jas asked, waving a hand in front of your face. But then she looked where you were staring, and she asked no further questions. "Oh. Rooster's here."
"He sure is," you added, forcing yourself to focus on the customer in front of you who looked impatient for a drink. As you finished pouring him some tequila shots, you looked up eagerly, and Rooster met your eyes. It had been a solid week since you'd seen him, and he just always looked so good.
You pushed the shot glasses across the bar and collected payment, trying to stay as cool as you could. Because Rooster was heading your way now in his snug vintage wash jeans and bright tropical shirt. 
"Hey, Babydoll," he rasped, and your whole body clenched with need as your eyes fluttered closed. When you met his gaze again, he was leaning on the bar, closing in on your personal space. 
"Hey, Rooster," you replied, sounding a lot calmer than you felt. When he smirked and looked down at your shirt, your heart pounded even harder. Your name was embroidered on your Hard Deck top, just above your breast. He knew your name, but he always called you Babydoll anyway. So was he just simply staring at your tits?
He cleared his throat and asked, "Get me a beer? Please?" 
"Am I starting a tab?" you asked, reaching for one of the pint glasses you'd just finished cleaning. He responded by humming and sliding his credit card across the bar. He held eye contact with you while you expertly pulled the perfect pint of his preferred beer. The way his lips parted in a soft smile that matched yours, the twitch of his mustache...it all felt like foreplay that had been going on for months.
"Thanks," he muttered when your fingers brushed against his. He winked at you before turning back to the pool table, leaving you with his credit card and a desperate need inside of you.
As you set up his tab, Jasmine ran her hand along your lower back so you wouldn't bump her as she walked behind you. "Why don't you just invite him to join you in the bathroom and fuck him out of your system?" she joked. 
"Because," you sighed, "that would only make me pine harder. Getting a small taste of him would be worse than nothing at all."
"Oof," Lizzy replied. "You're a mess over Bradshaw."
"I wonder how old he is?" Jas asked.
You hummed and shrugged, watching him drink his beer across the room while you shook a vodka martini. "Gotta be at least thirty five."
"Ask him," Lizzy said. "Next time he comes over, ask him how old he is."
Your cheeks were warming up. He was bending at the waist, playing pool, and you were taking way too long to serve this martini. "No. What if he thinks I'm being rude? Or worse...what if he catches on that I like him, and he shuts it all down."
"Fine," Jas said, uncapping some ciders. "Next time Rooster comes up, I'll wait on him."
But that really didn't sit well with you. Rooster always came to you for his drinks, anytime he could. You liked that about him. You liked his attention. Jas wouldn't pour his pints quite as well as you could. You knew so well how much foam to let spill and how close to the top of the glass you could get. You loved pulling those pints of lager for him. And you loved pouring him bourbon when he asked for that instead. You knew which brand and that he liked it neat. You didn't have to ask. He didn't have to tell you.
No, you should always be the one to wait on him. And when he finished his pint and strolled back up to the bar after Phoenix beat him at pool, you stepped in front of Jasmine. "I got it," you said confidently, and Jas walked away chuckling. This time Rooster eased himself down onto an empty stool between two women who looked at him like they'd just won the lottery. But his eyes were on you. 
"Lager or bourbon?" you asked, and you were rewarded with those perfect, white teeth and his deep laughter. 
"You got everyone's regular drinks memorized?" he asked as you reached for his empty glass. But he didn't let you take it. He kept one hand on the glass for a few beats while your fingers met his. 
He was making you feel bold tonight. He was even more gorgeous up close like this, with a few gray hairs at his temples and some laugh lines around his eyes. His eyebrows shot up, and his smile faltered when you said, "No, Rooster. Not everybody's regular drinks. Only the hottest guys. Lager or bourbon?"
He grunted and swallowed hard. "Dealer's choice." Then he finally let you take the empty glass, and it was a good thing, too, because you needed to turn away from him. You took a few extra seconds to reach for the bottle of Wild Turkey. Your nipples were hard, your skin felt like it was on fire, and you were turned on just talking to him.
When you turned back to face him, his gaze was neutral again. You uncapped the bourbon and poured it for him, neat. 
"Thanks," he murmured, moving like he was standing to leave. 
And then your mouth worked before your brain, and you said, "Anytime, Sexy."
You watched him pause halfway out of his seat, his eyes dipping down to watch you nervously lick your lips. If he left for the pool table, you really were going to have to let Jasmine wait on him next time. Embarrassment flooded your veins, leaving you uncomfortable with a sheen of cold sweat on your neck. But he eased himself back down onto the stool and kept his eyes on you. "Alright. Babydoll."
You laughed softly, pulling out some glasses for the woman who wanted two cosmos. Rooster sipped his bourbon and kept his focus on your face and your body. He grunted as you took a shaker in each hand, and as you poured them out at the same time, he asked, "What's your favorite drink?"
He was hyper focused on you now, leaning in just the slightest bit further as you served both pink drinks. "To have or to make?" you asked, taking more orders.
"Both. I want you to tell me both."
You smiled at him, and he matched it right away. "Nothing is more fun to make than an expertly crafted Bloody Mary, but those are best as breakfast cocktails."
He nodded, accepting your answer, and then he asked, "And what do you order when you go out?"
You shrugged. "I don't often get to have someone make my drinks for me, but when I do, I usually order a Manhattan."
"A Manhattan?" he asked, balking at your answer. "How fuckin' old are you, Babydoll? People in their seventies drink those things!"
"I'm twenty three," you told him, laughing so hard you were doubled over. He looked delighted when you were finally able to stand up straight again. Your smile was still bright as you leaned on the bar until you were only two feet from his face and softly asked, "How old are you?"
The song on the jukebox changed as Rooster rubbed his mustache and said, "I'm a lot older than you are." His little self deprecating laugh just made you want to get closer to him. He looked amused by you and also resigned to the fact that he thought his age was something you wouldn't like about him.
"How old?" you asked again, biting your lip. 
His brown eyes found your mouth, and you thought for a moment that he was going to kiss you. Oh god, you wanted him to, so badly. "I'm thirty eight."
You hummed softly as Phoenix came to stand next to him, and you started to get her favorite kind of beer ready. 
"You coming back to the pool table?" she asked Rooster, but he just grunted something about needing to finish his bourbon first. When you handed Phoenix her drink, Rooster told you to put it on his tab, and he looked relieved when she walked away.
"Thirty eight," you said, watching him down the remainder of the drink in his glass. "That's why you're so good at flirting? You've had time to practice?"
He coughed a little bit as he set his empty glass down on the bar top. "Babydoll, I'm fifteen years older than you."
"So?" you asked, pulling another perfect pint for him. "You don't want to flirt with me?"
"Now wait, that's not what I'm saying at all. Just surprised you don't want to flirt with someone your own age."
"I don't like boys my age," you told him fearlessly. "I like men."
"Oh, hell," he groaned, taking a long sip of his fresh beer. "Just look at you. You're gonna get yourself in trouble if you don't find a nice guy."
He looked flustered now. You were making Lieutenant Bradshaw flustered. His cheeks were pink, and he kept sipping his beer, avoiding your gaze. He looked adorable and boyish, and you didn't know quite what to do about this. Or about the fact that talking to him was making you wet. 
"Hmmm," you hummed, and his eyes met yours immediately. "Are you a nice guy?"
"Fuck," he groaned, adjusting himself in his seat. "Sometimes."
"You're always pretty sweet to me," you whispered. "What's it like when you're not a nice guy, Rooster?"
You wanted to touch him for more than a few fleeting seconds. After six months, you thought you were going to. His long, thick fingers were just resting there in front of you. But then Fanboy came to the bar and asked you to close out his tab. And then you had to help Lizzy pour a massive round of shots. And then when Rooster asked you to close out his tab as well, you did it with a pout on your lips. 
As you slid his credit card, the slip he needed to sign, and a pen across the bar, he smiled at you. "Aww, come on. Don't give me that look. You know how it is."
"I don't, actually," you replied, watching him sign the credit card receipt for you. "How is it?"
He looked up and studied your face. "You're too perfect to mess with, Babydoll. Too young. Too pretty to touch."
You chewed on your lip and squeezed your thighs together. You had to know. Your voice was soft and unsure as you asked him, "Do you wanna touch me?"
He didn't meet your eyes again as he scribbled on the receipt and then left it and the pen for you to collect. He stood up from his stool, gave a quick salute to his friends and then headed for the door. 
You moaned helplessly. You blew it. He thought you were just a kid, and you never stood a chance. And now he'd probably never even look at you again. 
But when you picked up the receipt, you read one word written there under his name. YES.
-----------------------------
When you strolled into the bar the next evening, you got right to work. You had no idea if Rooster would show up, and you weren't sure if you even wanted to see him or not. You'd torn off the bottom of his credit card slip and taken it home with you. That little scrap of paper on which he'd admitted he wanted to touch you was hanging on your bedroom mirror. But it was the fact that he was probably never going to touch you, even though he was more than welcome to, that was making you frustrated. 
"What's wrong with you?" Lizzy asked as she arrived a minute later. "You look hot."
You glanced down at your Hard Deck top, denim skirt and beat up sneakers. "I look the same as I always do," you told her, continuing to dump buckets of ice into the cooler behind the bar. 
"Maybe it's your makeup," she replied. "I think you're hoping Rooster comes in tonight."
You rolled your eyes. "I always hope he's going to be here. He's pretty. I like looking at him."
"I'm not going to dispute that," Lizzy said as she cut up the lemons again tonight. "But I think you actually like him. Not just the way he looks."
You didn't respond, because it didn't matter. You'd keep the flirtation to a minimum the next time you saw him. The last thing you wanted to do was make him think you were desperate. He wanted to touch you? He could go right ahead. But you weren't about to beg him to.
As the bar got crowded, Jasmine showed up as well. The three of you got into a nice rhythm. A lot of the aviators were back again tonight, and you were serving them drink after drink. And then it was like you knew he was there before you saw him. After you handed a couple their drinks, your eyes automatically shifted toward the doorway, finding it filled with Rooster's big body. And he was already looking at you. 
"You want me to wait on him?" Lizzy asked you softly as Rooster approached the bar. 
But you just shook your head and reached for two different glasses, holding them up as he took a seat in front of you. When he pointed to the pint glass, he said, "Lager. Please."
"Sure," you replied, setting the smaller glass aside and pulling a perfect pint of beer for him. "Start a tab?"
"Nah, I'm not staying long tonight," he told you as you placed the beer in front of him without meeting his gaze. "Just wanted to see you and get one drink."
"Mmkay," you said. But when you pulled your hand away, he reached for it. 
Stunned, you let him take your hand in his large one, and then he asked, "Does this mean you're done flirting with the old man now? You got it all out of your system yesterday?" His eyes were guarded, cautious, and he held onto your hand, expecting an answer. 
You shook your head slowly, running your fingertips along his rough calluses. "I was just getting started."
A crooked little smile danced across his lips. "I am too old for you, Babydoll. And it's a shame."
Your heart jumped in your chest, hand still tangled up with his on the bar top. You could hear Lizzy and Jasmine working extra hard to take all the orders, trying to give you a moment here. So you smiled back. "You think you're old. So what? You expect me to call you Daddy?"
"Shit," he grunted, squirming a bit in his seat but keeping your hand in his.
When he didn't respond right away, you leaned a little closer, one eyebrow raised. "I asked you a question."
His eyes were wide, and that little grin was back. "I could be a... Daddy. Maybe for the right girl."
You pulled your hand free of his and planted both palms on the bar top and leaned closer to him. "And just how is a girl supposed to know if she's the right one?"
But his cheeks were tinged with pink once again, and he looked flustered. It was flattering, such an ego boost. You were the one who made him like this. But he wasn't responding now, and you needed to help Jas pour some chardonnay for the impatient ladies at the end of the bar. You sighed and said, "Well, I work until eleven. So just think on it."
But he wouldn't let you leave. Rooster reached for your hand again, but this time he was the one leaning closer. "The right girl would be one that I can't seem to stay away from. You said you work until eleven?"
"Yes," you replied softly, his large hand completely covering yours on the bar top.
"Right. Then ask me again if I want to start a tab."
You pressed your lips together, trying not to giggle. "Would you like to start a tab, Rooster?"
"You're damn right I would, Babydoll. I can't get enough of you. Think I'll just hang here until eleven. If that's okay with you."
This time you did giggle. "Yeah. That's okay with me." As he pulled his wallet out and handed you his credit card, you asked, "Bourbon or lager?"
"Make it a Manhattan."
"I've been told these drinks are for people in their seventies," you said with a straight face as you reached for the vermouth, secretly pleased he wanted your favorite. "You're only thirty eight."
"Listen," he said, watching you fix his drink. "You said you don't like boys your own age. And maybe I'm a little older than you, but all the parts are still in working order."
You felt giddy. When you set the glass down in front of him, you couldn't help but ask, "Does that mean you'll let me take you for a test drive?" 
You had to work to keep an innocent expression on your face as Bradley's blush deepened. He took a sip of his Manhattan, licked his lips and said, "I don't do test drives anymore."
"Oh," you said with a little pout. "You don't?"
"No," he replied a bit cautiously, taking another sip of his cocktail. "I'm getting too old for that. I like at least a little bit of commitment from the driver. Don't wanna feel like I'll get dinged up."
You shivered at his words, mesmerized by his voice and his demeanor as he looked down into his glass. Could you do more than a test drive? Of course you'd thought about it. You were crushing so hard, you'd imagined what it would be like if he was your boyfriend. But you'd barely even let yourself hope for a one night stand. Even that much seemed too good to be true.
"Oh," you said again in a softer tone. When he glanced up, his dark eyes were no longer guarded, and he was looking at you warily. Without giving it much thought, you pushed up onto the bar and leaned until he met you halfway in a kiss. It was just the softest brush of your lips against his. But the sound he made and the prickle of his mustache on your skin left you wide eyed and out of breath as you eased yourself back down. "No. You're too handsome to get all dinged up. I'm a great driver."
"Yeah," he said with a little laugh. "I can already tell. And that's what I was afraid of last night. There's just something about you, isn't there?"
"You have a thing for me?" you asked him, gripping the edge of the bar top. "Because I definitely have a thing for you." You had stopped breathing now, and your heart was pounding in your ears. 
With a little grin, he said, "Yeah, I do, Babydoll."
"Well, what are we going to do about it, Daddy?" you asked with another giggle as Jasmine thrust a bottle of prosecco into your hands. 
"We're going to go out my Bronco the minute your shift is over. We'll figure it out there." 
You nearly dropped the bottle when you met his eyes. "A quickie?" you asked softly, but you were sure he heard you.
"No," he groaned, running his big palm along his mouth and shaking his head at you. Then he finished the rest of his Manhattan in one gulp and pushed the glass your way. "Nothing about this is gonna be quick. I'd like to take my time, especially with someone as perfect as you."
You sounded like a feral animal, thighs clenched together and gripping the bottle of prosecco with both hands. 
"Shit," Rooster grunted. "You're making it hard to just sit here, Babydoll."
"Hard?" you asked with a grin. 
"You'll find out."
After another embarrassing noise, you had to excuse yourself to the other end of the bar for a few minutes. Jesus, you needed to keep your job, after all. But his eyes followed you everywhere. Any time you looked his way, he was transfixed on you. When you pulled a pint of lager and set it down for him, he whispered, "Thanks, Babydoll," sending shivers along your skin again. 
"Anything else you want, Rooster?" you asked him sweetly. 
His gaze dipped down to your chest before returning to your face. "Nothing I'm allowed to have inside the bar."
"At least not when we're open to the public, sir," you replied, giving him a little salute that had him reaching for you across the bar. But you managed to skirt away from his grasp with another laugh. 
"You coming back over here?" he asked between sips of his beer. "I didn't get a chance to ask you if you'll make me a Bloody Mary for breakfast tomorrow morning."
"Breakfast?"
"Yeah. Breakfast," he confirmed with a smile. "At my place?"
You pressed your lips together to keep from screaming. "So since this isn't a test drive, what are my options, exactly? Am I looking at a lease? A financing package?"
"I'm sure you'll know what you want to do when the time comes. And I'm going to need you to stop saying package right now."
"Just go," Jasmine told you suddenly. "It's after ten, and you're useless. You and he have had hours of foreplay already. Go."
"Are you sure?" you asked, already reaching for your bag and Rooster's credit card.
"Yes," Lizzy confirmed. Then she looked at Rooster who was already standing up and told him, "Pay your tab next week. And get her out of here."
"My pleasure," he rasped, and you practically ran for the opening in the bar, ducking underneath the counter. And when you stood up again, he was right there. He was so tall and broad, and with a coy smile, you slipped his credit card into the pocket of his jeans. When your fingers trailed closer to his zipper, he grabbed your wrist gently. 
"Just checking for myself to make sure all the parts are working," you mused as he raised your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles gently. In the middle of the crowded bar. Then he wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck, and you pulled him down for a kiss. 
He kept it pretty clean as he promised, "Wait until we get outside."
"Now," you demanded, pulling him along behind you by his shirt collar. As soon as the cool, night air met your hot skin, he had your bare thighs in his hands, and your back was pressed against the side of the building. "Oh my god," you gasped. Your body was pinned between the siding and Rooster, and the rough denim of his jeans was rubbing you deliciously through your underwear. 
"I told you I'm not going to rush," he whispered, pressing into you as you held onto his shoulders. He teased you with that delicious mustache and his lips on your neck before he kissed your ear and said, "Now, I'm gonna need verbal confirmation, Babydoll."
"Yes!" you nearly shouted. "Everything!"
He chuckled next to your ear and asked, "You wanna fuck in my Bronco?"
"Yes," you moaned so loudly, you were sure Jasmine and Lizzy could hear you. 
"I don't have any condoms with me," he said, looking you in the eye. "Do we need them?"
"No, I'm clean, and I take the pill," you said, leaning in to kiss his lips. He tasted you, running the tip of his tongue along yours before pulling his lips away. 
You whined for him, but he was undeterred. "I need you to tell me that you'll come home with me and make me that Bloody Mary in the morning while I make you breakfast."
He already wanted you to sleep over with him. He wanted to make you breakfast. He didn't want to have a one night stand. He was waiting for an answer. "You'll have to let me know if you want it traditional or extra spicy."
"Fuck," he grunted before his lips came crashing against yours. His big hands held your thighs wide as he rolled his hips gently against you. 
"Rooster," you moaned against his lips as he let you gently slide down his body until your feet hit the ground. 
"Please call me Bradley," he whispered as he wrapped his hand around your waist and quickly guided you across the dark parking lot. 
When you saw the Bronco, you ran the last little bit hand in hand. His laughter mixed with yours as he unlocked the door. "Come on, Bradley," you sang, looking up at him over your shoulder before climbing up onto the driver's seat on your hands and knees. "Do you wanna touch me?"
"Babydoll," he moaned, keeping you still as he guided your skirt up over your butt and around your waist. You cried out as he kissed the backs of your thighs. He slipped his fingers inside the thin strips of lace fabric that made up your thong, and you couldn't ever remember being this turned on before. 
"Bradley!" you gasped loudly when his lips and tongue met the globe of your rear end. He slid the lace to one side and kissed your slit from behind until you were panting. You might cum. You might actually have an orgasm on your hands and knees with your ass in his face. Boys your own age couldn't get you like this no matter what they did.
He gently swatted at you before palming your ass and saying, "Get in the backseat."
Oh yes. He was about to show you what else his age and experience had to offer, and you were already shaking with need. "Yes, sir," you whispered, and you heard him mutter a string of obscenities as you scrambled onto the backseat. As he slid the driver's seat forward and climbed in the back, you carefully pulled your underwear down your thighs. He helped you and then pressed the lace to his nose before pulling you onto his lap. 
"I've thought about this so many times when I touched myself," you blurted out as he teased your clit with his thumb. "Bronco sex," you whined, head tipped back, enjoying the perfect pressure he applied to your body. "Bronco sex with Bradley Bradshaw."
"Forgive me, Babydoll," he whispered, voice harsh. "But last night was the first time I jerked off thinking about you. Too afraid to go there before that, thinking there was no way in hell you'd want me."
"I want you," you swore, meeting his eyes in the near darkness. If anyone else was out in the parking lot, you couldn't see them. And you didn't care if they could see you, because he was slipping one thick finger inside you. "Wanted you for so long. Months and months."
"Jesus, you're tight," he groaned, sliding your snug top up to your chest as you rode his hand. "And you skipped a bra tonight like a good girl."
"Bradley," you gasped as he cupped your bare breast in his big hand. He lazily swirled his thumb around your nipple before bending to take you into his mouth. "Oh my god!" 
Your orgasm was already building. You had only been in the backseat with him for a few minutes, and he was still fully clothed. But now you were riding two fingers, and his thumb was delicious against your clit. As he licked and sucked on your breast, you started to clench. 
"Damn," he muttered against your body. "Already?"
You just nodded before guiding his lips up to yours, and you came as you moaned loudly against his mouth. "Bradley." You raked your fingers up into his hair and kissed him. He was hard through his jeans, and when he withdrew his fingers, you felt them trail up your body. 
"You're so pretty," he whispered, pulling your top over your head. "You'll look even better in my bed."
You wanted him to fuck you here first, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't already thought about his place and what he might make you for breakfast. And as you sat straddled his hips in nothing but your skirt up around your waist and your sneakers on your feet, you felt adored by him. He was kissing a trail down between your breasts and rubbing his thumbs along your thighs. 
"Bradley," you whined, rubbing your pussy against his jeans, already feeling a little wrung out. "Please."
The street light at the corner reflected in his eyes, letting you know he was looking at your face as he raised his hips and unzipped his jeans. And a few seconds later, they were down around his knees along with his underwear. Your lips met his as you felt the velvety soft tip of his cock resting against your core. As you kissed him and tugged on his hair, he throbbed for you. And suddenly you weren't in such a hurry either. 
"Let me make you feel good," he whispered, and as you slid down around him, Bradley guided you with his hands on your hips. "You're so wet, my god."
"You always make me wet, even when you just talk to me at the bar," you admitted softly, your voice shaking as he kept pushing deeper inside you. "Oh. You're huge."
"Am I hurting you?" he asked, pausing where he was. But you just shook your head and rolled your hips slowly until he was completely inside you. He kissed you softly as you gasped and got used to him. "I don't wanna hurt this sweet pussy," he whispered next to your ear. "Perfect."
And then he brushed his knuckles along your clit and leaned his head back, watching as you rode him. "Take it off," you gasped, and he let you push his shirt down his arms and pull his tank over his head. You explored his broad chest with your hands and his shoulders with your lips. He was warm and rough and oh so sweet. His chest hairs brushed against your nipples as he guided your hips with his hands.
"Bradley?"
"Hmm?" 
You wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed his lips. "Fuck. So good." He felt delicious, his big hands everywhere, sliding up to span your back and keep you close. He fucked you in long, fluid movements that just got faster and faster. His pubes were coarse against your clit. His little grunts and words of praise kept you going as you started squeezing around his cock.
"Don't stop, Babydoll," he coaxed as you got closer. When his lips met your sweat slick chest again, and he pulled your nipple between his teeth, you came for him.
"Oh!" 
As your legs shook and your fingers went loose in his hair, Bradley fucked up into you until you were screaming his name. 
"Good girl," he grunted, and suddenly you were on your back along the seat with your legs spread wide. He fucked you with long, hard strokes that made your tits bounce and prolonged your orgasm. His lips were everywhere, and you were surrounded by his voice in the dark, holding onto his biceps as he came inside you.
You scrambled to get your mouth on his as you both caught your breath together, and as your heartbeat started to return to normal, you pressed a dozen soft kisses to his lips, one after the next. "Will you take me home?"
His hands stilled on your thigh and your neck. "Yeah," he said with a tone of sadness. "I can drop you off at home."
When he started pulling away without so much as another kiss, you reached for him, keeping him firmly inside you. "No, no. Take me home with you, Bradley."
"My place?" His voice was still soft, but it sounded hopeful now.
"Of course," you reassured him, and his kisses returned. "I'll spend the whole morning tomorrow making you Bloody Marys with little heart shaped garnishes."
He smiled against your lips before he said, "I'd like that, Babydoll."
---------------------------
The Hard Deck was pretty busy the following evening, and you were so physically exhausted from your night with Bradley, you could barely keep up. The Sunday crowd was keeping you on your toes, and Jasmine wouldn't stop asking you how your night ended. 
"Did you go home with him? You did. I can tell," she said as you just shrugged at all of her questions. "Are you going to see him again? Come on! Tell me!"
When you saw movement on the other side of the bar top, Jasmine's eyes went wide. "Hey, babydoll." The deep rumble of his voice was so distinct, you didn't need to look at him to know it was Bradley. He had whispered dirty, sweet things in your ears all night and all morning. You knew the sound of his voice by heart now.
When your eyes met his, you reached for a pint glass and filled it with his favorite beer. "Hey, Bradley. Wanna start a tab?" you asked with a soft smile.
You giggled as he reached for your hand and tugged you closer. Then he leaned across the bar and kissed you as his nose brushed against yours. "For you? Always. And don't close the tab until your shift ends."
---------------------------
No more test drives. I'm sure she's already considering her options to make him hers permanently. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32. Also, the pretty banner was made by Mak!
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hoseoksluna · 10 months ago
Text
SOJU | jjk
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pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. hobi)
genre: heavy angst, heavy smut
word count: 10.4k
summary: jungkook gives you all that he has—his feelings, his dominance and his cum.
playlist: soju / pinterest board: wine
warnings: sex flashbacks, alcohol consumption, jungkook is drunk emotional and a mess, jealousy, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), almost heavy dd/lg themes, plushie used during intercourse, inner child healing, use of a sex toy, oral sex (f. receiving), ass play and nipple play, provocation, dirty talk, hair pulling, dry humping, rough sex, overstimulation, pain felt during intercourse, jungkook instructs reader like the teacher he is, pet names and one particular title used, squirting, praise kink, jungkook is mean and cruel and just so horny
note: i will never forget this fic. never. this is the third part of 'wine' and therefore the very end to this adventitious series. even though, this part has a little bit information and quirks in it from the other two fics, it's fine to read as a standalone, but i do recommend reading all three parts as they interlink and you can beautifully see the process and the change of their relationship. i want to thank the lovely soul who asked me to make this a series because writing this made me incredibly happy—and all the themes i used mean the world to me. i also want to thank all of you for reading and for all the love. i hope you like this as much as i do. please, heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that not everyone can be comfortable with. with that being said, enjoy your reading and let me know what you think, let me know your favorite parts. ᡣ𐭩
side note: drunk 3D jungkook being all mean, dominant and daddy is, quite literally, the epitome of my sexuality.
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Jungkook will always be a man of his word.
It’s the foundation that keeps his back straight as he leads you through the crowd. The core of the whole promise is the very strength of his fingers as they clasp around your much smaller hand because he notices, under the washed out lights of red and violet, that you’re the center of attention.
He feels as though he’s dragging the hand of a child like a protective father. Except, he has the impulsive need to cover you with his body.
It’s a blasting alarm within the ear splitting chaos of his mind. Louder than the modern music he cares little for; louder than the song of the hard, quickening beats of his heart that he’s unable to ignore. He promised he’d make it up to you about the party because he’d made you drunk with lust. Now that he’s taken you here, he’d much rather be back home with you. Wouldn’t even have the need to seduce you—he just doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want you to be the apple of everyone’s eye.
Sweat glistens on the planes of his forehead.
Jungkook returns every inquisitive look of people he doesn’t know with a stern furrow of his brows. Figures he needs a drink; figures he needs his hyung, at least one familiar face among strangers.
A strong one, to calm the storm within, and a big hug from the host himself.
He hates people.
Leading you to the makeshift bar of spirits in the kitchen, he has a protective hand over the small of your back as you climb on the bar stool. Watches as your ass lifts over the leather and almost jumps out of his own skin when the outsole of your high-heeled shoe slips on the footrest and you fall back onto the chair with a thud. A precious set of treble giggles billow out of your mouth, followed by a reassuring flick of your hand that you’re okay, and Jungkook’s own hand trembles when he lifts it off your back. While you open your purse to reapply your lip gloss, he hides behind his tight, feigned smile the need to run and calm his breathing.
His irises wander over the contents of that purse of yours. Finds a long brown pencil there, your phone, a pack of cigarettes with a purple lighter and a ring of keys adorned with the tiniest Hello Kitty he’s ever seen. No wallet, no cash tucked beneath. A smirk tugs the corner of his mouth, hand acting out of its own will—coming over to your long hair, smoothing it down as you focus on lining your lips with another set of glitter and pinkness. Perhaps the gesture is owed to the proudness he feels due to the fact you’re expecting to be provided for throughout the night, wherever it takes you both after this party. Blurred within is the smugness that he’s the reason you’re dolling yourself up again because he couldn’t help but make a mess of your mouth in the car. It makes his cock grow tight in his pants.
He wears the smugness all over his features. From the gleaming cosmos in his eyes, to the smudged kiss stains of all the roses in the world scattering over his nose and cheeks, down to the deepening smirk. He thinks he’d buy you anything your eyes would linger a heartbeat longer on, with snacks included in case you’d get hungry, as he silently praises you for your good behavior, for that smart brain of yours by the brush of his hand down your hair. A sick part of him wants to even get in debt for you for the pure fun of it—the fun being the primal core of your wishes and needs being gratified, for your satisfaction to shine through the veins on your skin like little sun rays, all while having the time of your life on the night out he promised you.
He’s not afraid to admit he’d do anything for you as long as it stays safely stashed within his system. Can’t risk voicing it out. Can’t risk you knowing. Can’t risk shit.
Studying the shape of your lips as you hold up a small heart-shaped mirror, he twirls the ends of your hair as he waits for you to be done to ask you what you want to drink. Is reminded of the way those pillows wrapped around the straw of the banana milk you brought for him the last time he saw you. Of the way they sucked his fingers when he used them for lubrication to rub your clit while he was fully buried inside your tight, dew-sprinkled cunt. He suddenly feels hot under his collar.
He’s a slave to flashbacks. Always has been.
The celestial concoction of your needy moans and his, kept safe within the confines of his car, loop in his brain. The look of agonized lust when he bit your bottom lip in a heated kiss that he soon alleviated with the swipe of his tongue, with the suction of his lips that begged him to take more of you. Jungkook hears it as if there wasn’t any music at all, as if its thrumming wasn’t enveloping the corridors of his panic-stricken heart. He hears your words, embellished by those giggles of yours, in his ears all over again: “Stop, you’re making me horny. We should go inside.” His own, too: “You dance better for me when your panties are wet. I know you do.” Sees again, as if the moment is happening again and you’re standing in front of him, the way you reacted to his hands warming up your sides in the cold after you stumbled out of his car. Sighing softly, glossy eyes whirling upwards to the drowsy sky full of quivering stars, tipsy on the desire he’s obsessed with awakening in you while being tipsy just the same. The smile rising on your lips when he asked: “Show me how you’re gonna dance for me.” The way you moved your hips in such a silly way that squeezed his heart until it was difficult to breathe.
He’s fucked. Knows he is. Has known it for a while now.
You’re the origin of the chaos within his mind. The body of it itself. He has a teeny-tiny version of you in his mind that lives there, and lives there well because he feeds her, brushes her hair and gives her kisses, despite the storm.
He could never tell you—how much he thinks about you daily.
To a certain extent, he almost did the last time you came around, in a frenzy of sensuality and pent-up desire that consumed him. Prayed you didn’t see it for the way it really was.
It’s not just lust, and it’s more than just a friendship.
He figured as much—doesn’t have any fucking idea what to do with it. 
Not a single one. Especially not when you pucker your lips at him and screw the applicator back into the tube. 
He doesn’t want to lose you. Doesn’t ever want to lose the sight of that pucker of yours. And he fears that if he tells you of his weakness for you, he might never see it again.
So, he opts to keep things safe, keep things casual. That is until he eventually bursts.
That’s another promise, too. 
He pulls on one of your strands. Your head knocks back, eyes wide at the audacity of it all. He laughs at your reaction.
“Can you stop?”
Jungkook does it again just to see the shock written over your face, full on belly laughing.
“What the fuck?” You slap his shoulder, the impact so small he barely feels it. “You want me to pull your hair, too?”
He grabs his stomach. “No, what I want to know is what you wanna drink.”
You purse your lips in feigned anger, fingers outstretched by the back of his head to play-pull his hair or perhaps slap him into oblivion. If you could manage it. 
He doesn’t think you could. 
He goes around you to sit beside you on the bar stool, studying the bottles of liquor his hyung bought. Is ignorant to the way you’re studying him, to the way the corners of your mouth lift ever so slightly at the discovery of the current situation in his intimate parts. 
Pulls out one to acknowledge himself with it. Asks you if you wanna drink it. 
You don’t say anything. 
When Jungkook lifts his eyes to scold you for not paying attention, all the words get hitched in his throat. You’re grinning from ear to ear. All those damned words are forgotten immediately. 
“Are you hard?” you whisper, flushed at the face, glossy eyes glimmering, ever so excited about your discovery. 
He feels himself twitch. Hides it by cupping himself discreetly. 
Averts his eyes. “I’m always hard around you,” he mutters, twisting the bottle open. “I’ve gotten used to it.” 
He doesn’t look at you when he pours you a shot, but he focuses on the way your breathing gains speed. Fights the smile threatening his lips caused by how easy it is to provoke you. 
“You wanna get out of here?”
You’re hasty as you ask, looking around you, inspecting which room you could use to drag him into and relieve him of his problem, but he assures you it’s no problem at all with a curt shake of his head. 
Strangely, he found a way to like the tension in his pants. Thinks it digs deep into the depth of the moment—simply makes it more exciting. 
“We just got here,” Jungkook says flatly, screwing the lid back on. “Don’t be rude.” 
He filled your shot to the brim not necessarily with the intention to make you drunk as fast as he can, but to watch your eyes widen the way they do so sweetly. And you don’t disappoint him at all when you do just that, the smile on your lips blossoming still. An aura of shyness envelops you in softness due to his disapproving words and Jungkook realizes he grazed your submission by reprimanding you. While it magnifies his smugness, he feels a little bit bad for you. Knows how much it turns you on when his fatherliness looms out, but blames you for it nonetheless. You rouse it in him.
You may have never told him about your father wounds, but his instincts sensed it in you—sought it out like its own child and cradled it in his arms, promising to never let go.
Promise. There it is again.
He wants to spend the rest of his life promising you things. Doesn’t matter what. He just wants the security, the cord of trust, that you’ll be here; that you’ll be here for a long time. It truly doesn’t matter if he promises you things internally or outwardly.
Jungkook cups your chin. Wants to say something. Wants to reassure you that you can take the shot, encourage you a tiny bit. But what you say to him dries up his throat completely.
“You don’t want a blowie?”
Your words were a mere silky noise, but he heard you. Curled his fingers tight into fists in order not to bend you over the bar stool and take you right then and there in front of everyone.
Decides he will provoke you right back.
“You don’t want a lickie?” he murmurs, drawing close to you so you’re the only one who hears him. “You don’t want Daddy’s tongue on your little clit?”
You gasp and grip his knee, your legs intuitively spreading.
Jungkook skims his surroundings to see if anyone’s watching. When the coast is clear—people mindlessly mingling, having conversations—he hovers his lips against your ear, hand coming in between your legs, not to touch you but to cover you. Whispers, “or you don’t want Daddy’s tongue fucking you fast? Licking over your little ass? Hm, you don’t know how good that feels yet, do you?”
You’re holding in a sob—Jungkook sees it in the way your eyes and lips round, brows furrowing. He made you wet. Serves you right.
He pulls away to pour you a chaser. Asks which one you want.
You take a deep breath, flicking your hair back. “Coca cola,” you chirp, despite the deathly grip you have on his knee, perhaps to hold your sanity together, other fingers wrapping around the shot. Small, so fitting for an equally small glass.
Jungkook laughs. Loves it. Loves…
The realization, of what he almost granted access to within his system, strangles his heart. He hears nothing for a moment, not the music, not the tremor of his weak heart. Nothing.
A can of Coke waits for you behind the bar on the kitchen counter and before any thought flicks through his brain, Jungkook stands to his feet to fetch it for you—to get his blood pumping again so he can gain control of his senses. It scares him, the nothingness. Even his eyes fail to focus as he looks for the metallic red can he swore he saw hardly a minute ago. He feels a slap on his back and a familiar face, at last, comes into view. 
Hobi. 
The first thought that resurfaces is filled with thankfulness enveloping around that name, dispersed with tiny kisses of ‘you saved me, hyung’. Jungkook dives head-first into the offering hug of his savior, his senses returning to him like magnets attaching to metal. He takes in a deep breath as if he was under water and just came up for air. 
“So glad to see you,” Hobi says, rubbing his back. 
Jungkook squeezes his shoulder. Says something that doesn’t reflect what he truly wants to say, keeps up the small talk while burying under layers upon layers of mud the confession that he almost told himself he loved you. 
Which reminds him that he didn’t introduce you.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Jungkook says, grabbing the can of Coke his eyesight is now clear enough to spot and an empty, tall glass for you. Guides his friend to where you’re sitting but what he sees almost makes him jump out of his own skin for the second time in the span of an hour—almost sobs tearfully at the unfortunate discovery. 
A mop of dirty blonde curls shaking at the impact of his laughter as he whispers sweet nothing into the shell of your ear. He towers from behind you, compressing you in the muscly width of his half-barren chest. An electricity of anguish spasms down the course of Jungkook’s body, for in a flash he’s reminded of the way you towered above him just the same the last time. His sweat cools as you listen to him, a pang after pang of jealousy stinging him in his abdomen. He’s frozen on the spot—Hobi says something, but Jungkook can’t hear him—that is until you make a face of discomfort.
Jungkook sees red. 
His heart slams hard against his chest, but he doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t feel its intention to break his ribcage. 
The words unfurl out of his tight mouth before he can think them through. “Can I fucking help you?” he hisses through his teeth, setting the glass and the can down harshly. The noise makes you jump, which instantly drives him to regret his actions—and it puts an end to his rage.
He didn’t mean to scare you. Doesn’t want you to regard him this way. 
The sudden softness welcomes his senses back with a gentle beckoning.
Lifting his eyes, the guy ignores the question. Whispers something again that forces you to pierce your stare into the fire that burns within Jungkook’s irises. Not the fire he let you see throughout the trajectory of your casual relationship, the blue, the dreamily sultry one. 
The one that licks over his eyes is black. Pitch black. No sign of stars, no dots of reflection of light. Pure pitch black.
But you hold his gaze, unafraid of the darkness.
For a reason unknown to him, it ignites you with strength to shove raggedy Barbie Ken away. Your touch lingers on his chest for a mere second and is not as scorching as the bite of your words: “Yes, I’m here with him and I’m not interested in you. Go away.”
Jungkook doesn’t look at the guy. Doesn’t give two shits about the painful twists of his features as he staggers away. Forgets about Hobi; forgets about the questioning looks of strangers digging into his back. All he sees is you. All he hears is the sigh of relief once he’s gone. And Jungkook is hasty as he reaches for you, relieved himself—relieved that he didn’t have to fight the fucker and alter the trust you have in him—needing you close, needing to gain back his control. He’s almost smiling uncomfortably at the ridiculous twist of events, but then the tug of his mouth stills.
You slip out of his grasp and move past him.
There’s silence within Jungkook’s ribcage. Not one beat or flutter, not one kick.
Nothing.
***
Knocking back shots after shots, Jungkook remains silent. Doesn’t answer any of his hyung’s questions. Doesn’t look at any of the girls who sashay to Hobi’s thigh to chitchat. His gaze merely remains fixed on the empty glass of the chaser he never had the chance to pour you. 
Your shot of the dark liquor is also left untouched. 
It’s the twinge of pity he feels that gives the order to his feet to rise. Hobi grabs his arm, long fingers digging into the hard leather of his jacket. Jungkook doesn’t reciprocate his stare, despite its heavy energy. Keeps his head low instead. 
“Give her more time,” Hobi says, lugging him down to a seated position but Jungkook untangles out of his grip. 
Grabs a bottle of soju as he mutters, “half an hour is more than enough.” 
He makes a way through the corridor towards the door you slinked into, the translucent bottle swinging by his jean-clothed thigh. Doesn’t knock on the wood, instead walks straight in as if he owned the place.
You’re sitting by the foot of the bed. The yellowness of the subdued bedside lamp drapes your sagged shoulders in gold, filtering through your hair that obscures your face. You had taken off your shoes and they lie crooked and alone by your stocking-clad feet. Jungkook wonders if that’s how you feel. 
His weakness caused by the unfortunate events and the sadness engulfing you stops him from moving a step closer to you as he beholds your puny form, but Jungkook fights it—fights for you. He needs to be in control. Of his own body and emotions, no matter how strenuous he finds it. He needs to be strong—and he needs to be strong for you to make things right.
He clicks the door shut behind him. As he walks towards you, he opens the bottle of soju with the firmness of his phone and takes a long sip. Settles in between your legs on the ground, crossing his legs at the ankles. Probs you on the calf to make his presence known to you, cooing your name. 
You sniff your nose, gathering your hair to the side, curling the shorter pieces behind your ear. Your face glistens from the rivers of tears he wasn’t there to wipe away, cheeks flushed from all the onrush of emotions that wasn’t of the coy or sensuous kind he likes so much. The hard stone of his heart cracks at your broken countenance and the back and forth swipe of his fingers on the nylon of your stocking grows more tender the more he takes in your sadness. He wishes to inhale it, rid you of it once and for all. Thinks it doesn’t belong to you. Wants to fight the guy, make you laugh—make a fool out of himself—and make love to you. Wants all of those things at the same time, but he realizes he can’t tear himself apart.
He decides being here is enough. He can fix whatever has been broken here in Hobi’s room. 
“This is so fucked up, Jungkook.” 
You’re the first one to break the silence and it takes a slight weight off of his shoulders. Jungkook hums, prompts you to speak further on what hurts your heart. Wraps his entire hand around the muscle of your calf, thumb tracing figures of eight on your skin. 
The warmth helps you look him in the eye, but you don’t say anything else. 
Jungkook figures it’s his turn.
“I wouldn’t let him touch you,” he says softly, hand drifting down to cradle the heel of your lifted foot. You’re mine, he doesn’t add. 
Your mouth rounds once again in a wave of emotion that clutches you. You don’t let the tears fall, looking up to the ceiling so the little pearls don’t trickle out of your tear ducts. Jungkook notices puffy marks of darkness under your bottom lashes, where he swore he saw thin pathways of glitter, small shooting stars traveling around the globe of your eyes. They’re nowhere to be found now, you’ve rubbed them away. 
“I know, it’s not about that.” You sniff, hands hooking under the hem of your skirt just to have something to hold onto, to busy your fingers a little—as if he wasn’t right there. “I think I kinda get you know.” 
Jungkook makes a sound that asks you to enlighten him, taking a swig of the sweet liquor to aid him in forgetting what he didn’t say. But the more he drinks, the more he remembers—the more his feelings splutter to life. It’s like he didn’t drink a drop at all. 
“I never understood why you need to be in control all the time,” you start, fixing your gaze on his. “But I finally did when that guy had his arms around me and wouldn’t let go. I wished I had even a small bit of control in that moment when I was alone. I hated feeling like I had to endure it when all I wanted to do was run away.” You break apart at your last words and Jungkook’s world crumbles in his hands. 
There’s chaos in his mind. A chaos of selfish nature that wants to prove you wrong because no, he doesn’t have any control when it comes to you, when you’re dressed, perfect and broken altogether. He doesn’t have shit—he’s nothing. A complete mess. And perhaps it’s his bruised heart that acts out despite this self-pitying mayhem grappling him, shutting it out into eternal darkness, for Jungkook doesn’t even know how he does it when he pulls you down onto his lap by a careful drag of your legs and encases you within the heated snugness of his arms.
He doesn’t even understand his own words when he says, “You can take all of mine. It’s yours.”
Jungkook doesn’t care about anything at all because when you start to sob into his shoulders, he breaks along with you—bursts at the seams completely. 
“I know you were scared, but that won’t happen again. Not when I give you all of my control.” His words are smooth amidst the stream of his liquid emotions and Jungkook is glad for it—glad to be a pillar you can lean on. He imagines transferring all of his being, not just his control, to you like a blanket draping around your shoulders, so the situation never happens again. 
His tears soak your hair strands and they carry his sorrowful kiss to the crook of your neck. He doesn’t want to utter a sound, wants to remain strong, but his heavy exhales betray him, wafting against you as he tightens his grip around your violently shuddering body in effort to soothe it. Considers this moment to be yours alone, doesn’t want to be selfish. Wants to be there for you.
“You helped me when I saw you,” you say against his skin, the sound muffled but he hears you—tightens his lips in a firm line in order not to wail. “When I saw that you were there, I was strong enough to push him away. You were my backup, Jungkook.” 
He agrees with a soft sound, rocking you back and forth as he cradles you. Leans his head against the side of yours, shielding you from the world and its wickedness. 
Your cries quieten. “But I want to be strong even when you’re not there.” 
Jungkook strokes your hair, understands you even when it pains him—his attachment to you pulled so taut he fears it’ll break. “You’re strong now. I gave you my control, didn’t I?”
To his surprise, you nod. 
After you pull away to breathe and Jungkook sweeps your tears away with his thumb, he’s smothered with the reminder that he made a promise to himself—a promise that is on the brink of being fulfilled. 
The walls close in on him, but he doesn’t care. He promised to keep things casual until he bursts. He refuses to go another day pretending you’re just a friend he feels nothing for. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the heavily charged emotions that make the decision for him, but he simply doesn’t care about the outcome anymore. The truth has to come out into the light. 
Jungkook calls you by your name. Brushes your hair back so he can look properly in the faded lush of your eyes; cradles your face in his hands like that. You call him by his name as well, whispering it into the shadows of the room. Such a soft, silky sound that puts pink plasters over the cracks in his heart. He says your name in the same intonation just to get a taste of liberty. 
“I’m yours,” he confesses, a lump forming in his throat, and he’s too late to blink the tears away. “I’ve been yours since the day I met you; since the moment you laid your hands on me. Yours for the taking. My heart, my control—it’s all yours.”
The bridge constricting his throat collapses when you give him a look of endearment, your features softening, rounding in emotion. Jungkook watches as a tear rolls down your cheek; feels an identical one going down the same path on his own skin, fiery and hot. 
“I’m sorry.” He breaks into sobs—and break, break, break is all he does. “I’m sorry if you wanted to stay casual, but I can’t… and-and I can’t let you go. I can’t let anyone else have you.” 
You bunch the material of his wife-beater in your fists under his jacket, mewling tender weeping sounds. Jungkook bites his lip to prevent himself from spilling in your hands, needing you to say something, anything, so he can straighten his back and call it a night. You bury your head in his chest  and Jungkook lulls you to calmness while needing it himself. He suddenly feels alone. Alone and crooked like your shoes, as if he said the wrong thing, as if he didn’t deserve any reassurement, any love for what he just did—
You mumble something into his skin. 
His heart jumps. 
“I didn’t catch that, baby.” 
You lift your head, clutching the sides of his neck. “I like you, too, Jungkook.” 
Your words tell him a lot of things. 
He didn’t make a mistake tonight. He didn’t do anything bad, didn’t lose you for the rest of his life. He will see that pucker of yours for the months to come, your glitter and all your shooting stars will be there to guide him home. 
And the other thing is—he fell for you first. Because while you like him, he absolutely and irrevocably loves all of who you are. 
He smiles at you, though. The bridge takes the heft on his shoulders along with it and disperses into nothingness. He wants to thank you. He wants to thank you for the kindness you expressed towards him, for your hands that hold him. And he does by kissing you, by inhaling you, taking away all your sadness and the bad events that caused it. 
“You mean a lot to me,” you say against his lips, pretty wet eyelashes fluttering. Jungkook feels their dewiness; wants to feel yours, too. There’s a pout to his mouth as he listens to you. “You changed my life. You make it better.” He nods at your words, senses them opening a window in his heart to let the fresh air in. “I don’t ever wanna lose you, Gguk. You’re too important.” 
He almost says it. Those three words. But he keeps them stored within the now brisk chamber of his heart, full of spring. Flowers grow, in place of the plasters. 
Jungkook caresses your cheek. “I want to make you forget.” 
You beam at him—and there he feels it, the pulse of his heart, its song and its steady, balmy notes. 
“Make me forget about tonight, please.” 
He kisses you, adds in a million tiny pecks in between, sliding his tongue inside your mouth in brief greeting. His fingers blindly find the bottle of Soju and when he withdraws with a pop, he presents it to you. 
“Look at what I got you,” Jungkook says, chuckling. 
You wrap your hand around his on the bottle and he tips it to your mouth, helping you drink it. You widen your eyes at him when he wants you to drink more than you do, and he lowers his hand with a grin. Loves those eyes of yours. Loves your mouth as he wipes it clean with his thumb. 
It’s lighthearted, the state of his emotions. He had tasted liberty by fondly mimicking your intonation, but now it courses through his veins, now it’s his. He feels so very glad to be alive at this moment and he wants to celebrate in the only way he knows he can. 
“I got you another thing as well, but it’s back home,” Jungkook says. “I can’t drive but we can take an Uber.” 
“Let’s go.” 
Jungkook straps your heels, fixes your skirt and swipes his thumbs under your eyes to rid you of black mascara stains. Offering you his hand, you take his pinky and ring finger and he leads you out of the room with you following behind. He skims the living room to find Hobi but, again, he’s nowhere in sight until you tap his shoulder and point to the right side of the corridor. Hobi is rising to his feet from sitting on the stairs. The thought of his hyung staying around for him instead of enjoying the party squeezes his heart in gratitude. He hugs him and when it’s your turn to say your goodbye, Hobi pulls you in for a hug as well, rubbing your back as he asks you if you’re okay. 
The soju remains in your hand. Sitting on the curb outside, both of you finish it while waiting to be picked up with Jungkook’s hand on your thigh and rough kisses shared in between. The wind doesn’t dare to disturb the intimacy, but watches on with a fond care, the stars hanging low, peeking through to witness at least one good thing of the night. 
***
“If this breaks me out, I’m gonna kill you.” 
Jungkook is carefully tender as he drags the makeup wipe along the perimeters of your cheeks, scowling at the sun-filled tint coloring the whiteness of the wet cloth. He had spent half an hour choosing the right brand in the drugstore earlier in the morning because he decided you were going to sleep over without telling you, reading each small letter on the packaging, despite the fact he understood shit. 
You’re still clothed and so is he, resting in the middle of the comfort of his bed as he hovers above you, knees perched at the foot of the bed. The aching ball of your own foot grazes the bulge in his intimate parts and Jungkook himself is at wonder how he’s able to focus when it stimulates all of his senses, adding heat to his body. 
“It’s Korean, it won’t break you out,” he mutters, swiping along the underside of your eye with extra care. 
“I once had a toner that—”
Jungkook covers your mouth with his palm. “It’s Korean,” he whispers, furrowing his brows at you. 
You giggle and he drops his glower, beaming down at you. 
“You know I can do it myself. I’m not that drunk.”
He focuses on your forehead now, cleaning off your foundation and all those sparkles. 
“I know you can, but let me.”
You babble on and Jungkook decides he’s had enough of it. He clicks his tongue. “I’m gonna shut you up.” 
He dumps the makeup wipe on your face and rummages through his bedside drawer. While you use it to cleanse off your neck, Jungkook spoils your surprise and opens your present. Is discreet as he smuggles it between your legs, pressing it against your clothed clit. 
The soft vibrations spread throughout his whole hand. He increases the intensity. 
You freeze, flicking your eyes to his, makeup wipe long forgotten. You roll your hips against the toy. 
“Oh my god.” 
Serves you fucking right. 
“Keep talking,” Jungkook mutters. “Hm, keep fucking talking and dare to come.” 
It’s maniacal, his laugh, but gentle and amorous in nature because he fucking loves you, loves to tease you, loves to make you feel good—show your body new things that it willingly accepts. You wiggle your hips, chasing the pleasure, mouth fallen open, emitting tiny satiny legato whimpers, which cause his cock to twitch in his pants—so much that he begins to move the purple toy all around your femininity while palming himself. He notices your lack of babbling. 
“What’s wrong?” he asks in feigned sympathy. “You suddenly have nothing to say?” 
You smile at him, and it stops everything. The roleplay of his mean dominance, the vibrations buzzing his hand. He turns the toy off and is straightforward as he says, “undress.” 
Does so himself.
He takes off his leather jacket and unbuttons his pants; watches you as you drag the skirt down those hips he wants nothing more than to kiss and hold in his hands. When it pools around your knees, he chucks the material behind him. You hook your thumbs beneath the waistband of your stockings and Jungkook thinks about how he’d like to tear them apart and make you lose your mind through the hole he’d create as he strokes the outer side of your thigh. He wanted to be gentle with you tonight, but he just can’t help it.
You rouse it him and he just listens. 
His hands are quick as they rip a hole above the center of your rosily pink panties. He smirks at your shocked gasp, so short and dry, drawing close to your pussy, kissing her, nuzzling his face in her. The tension in his intimate parts is almost unbearable when you run your hands through his hair and incite him to do more. He licks over the tiny wet spot on the frail material that he’s the artist of, adding to it, and watches the roll of your eyes because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. It’s a dance what your hips do, the most unkind torture and he longs to squeeze them.
He’s a good boy when it comes to listening to his body’s desires. 
Making a way through the beige hole, ripping it further in the process, he grabs the supple skin, thumbs fondling over your hip bones. So small, so delicious. Jungkook licks his lips, pushes your underwear to the side to reveal your dewy little seashell—fixes it so it stays put. Looks up at you. “Top off. I wanna see those pretty tits.” 
You’re a good girl, too, when it comes to obeying his wishes. 
A praiseful coo ripples out of his mouth once you reveal your black padded bra. Jungkook decides he wants it to be in line of his sight, so he lowers the straps down your arms and merely tugs the undergarment below your breasts. The spillage and the ripple of their fullness almost makes him die right then and there. Jungkook bites his bottom lip until he draws blood.
Two hindrances. The silky straps on your arms, the stockings he will soon lower down your thighs. Jungkook curses under his breath; thinks he should’ve gotten the ropes he was eyeing after his drugstore run. Pink and rough, just the kind you would’ve liked. 
Perhaps it isn’t needed for the lovemaking he longs for with you. Playtime and lovemaking are two different things, he concludes. 
He’s so horny he might lose his mind first. And he does—with nose pressed against your sternum, babbling nonsense while he buries his head in your tits. Inhaling your vanilla and tuberose scent, he kisses the valley leading up to the peak of your stiffened nub, trails it with his tongue, goes the extra mile to suck it into his mouth, hearing its call. He’s just listening—listening to your body language that asks for him. His eyes are blurry when he gazes at you. You’ve fled to the pink planet again, but he wants you here with him. While he flicks your nipple with his nimble tongue, he grabs your face and squishes your cheeks. Would die for your adorableness. Would go to war for it, a thousand times over. 
Jungkook sucks the nub to make your travel back to Earth faster and he accomplishes what he wants. With a roll of your body and a moan, you’re back, looking down at him, cradling him, brushing his hair back. He makes sure you see the way he toys with your nipple—keeps his mouth open as he circles it, flicks it before he sucks it back inside. 
“Stay here with me,” Jungkook mumbles, switching to the other nipple. “Please.” 
You nod, grinding your hips against his stomach. Another call. Your hands slide lower to his neck and Jungkook understands you want more. 
“Take control of me, baby,” he says. “Flip me over.” 
Your breath is shaky. A light flickers in your eyes, glints like his saliva adorning your nipple in the yellow dimness of the room. You grab a hold of his neck with your one hand like he does to you every time while the other comes around his shoulder and you push him to his back in one swift motion.
Jungkook feels proud. You learn well from him. So studious, so smart, so cute.
You straddle his hips and Jungkook begins to trace your thighs, fingertips gliding back and forth on the nylon, until he grips your hips—and grips them hard. He forces you down on the bulge of his cock, hissing at the pleasure rising up his abdomen. He feels your dewiness against the material of his boxers soaking it through. He guides your hips in a steady but firm rhythm and once you familiarize yourself with it and hump him on your own, he brushes his fingers across your wet nipples. The sensation sends you toppling back, spine arched as you ride him like you rode his Hello Kitty plushie, but Jungkook keeps his fingers on those two little nubs. Your tits bounce and slap against each other and he just follows their movement, squeezing, grazing, leading you to the burst of your climax. When he lets go, you lower your body enough for him to nuzzle his face in them, moving you to the tip of his cock that peeks out of his boxers. The contact of your little soaked clit with his oozing arousal makes Jungkook moan into your skin, and he feels his balls tighten. 
He lets you know by squeezing your arm, as if his furrowed brows, flushed face and the planes of his forehead shining in a layer of sweat weren’t indicating the matter enough. 
You enjoy every second of the torment you bestow upon him, back upright now, fingertip playing with his navel.
Even more so as you flip around and ride him reverse cowgirl style, the nylon of your stockings stretched taut over your ass. Jungkook feels faint.
You’re wearing a thong that is but a thin fabric and would cover absolutely nothing if it were in its right place. He can see your little puckered hole that he’s very hungry for, starved actually, with each backward movement you make. He yanks his boxers down, granting you access to paint his manhood with the loveliness of your shiny dewiness. Grunts at the sloppiness of your flesh gliding back and forth as you toy with his ballsack. On the top of his cock, your juices mix with his—creating a pretty, pretty palette. 
The way your pussy lips barely wrap around his girth, your little breaths and sobs—Jungkook can’t take it. White flashes in his eyesight, the build up of his orgasm nearing the end.
“You feel so good,” you murmur, flicking your hair behind your shoulders as you arch your back, your hair like a waterfall cascading down your spine. 
Jungkook pulls on it, halting your torture. “You’re gonna make me come,” he purrs. “What a waste that would be—for me to come all over my pants like a teenager when your cunnie is right here.” 
He rips your stocking further to reveal more of your ass. Pushes you towards his face until you’re sitting on it and—
He devours you. 
You cry out. The sound propels him to tighten his grip around the small of your back, to quicken the shakes of his head while his tongue stimulates your engorged clit, occasionally flicking against the muscle to hear more of your little noises. Your palm feels up his wet shaft and Jungkook rewards you for being such a good girl that thinks of her Daddy by taking your bundle between his lips and sucking it. Your body quivers, plays tag with his tongue and Jungkook growls, your taste the sweetest thing he’s had all week and he can’t get enough. Needs more, needs…
“Fuck yourself on my tongue.” 
He guides you. Spanks you when you find him. And the sobs you let out, interlaced with the naughtiest of whimpers, make him ache. Your walls press against him—stars fill his vision—and he can’t breathe. Needs you to come, needs a release himself, needs to taste your tiny hole that has never been touched before. 
His hand extends for the purple toy, keeping it on the low setting. He presses it against your clit and the way you tighten around him lets him know you’re soaring; mere seconds away from ascending fully to the pearly gates. 
Jungkook lets you reach your climax on your own, even though his hands itch to grab you and invigorate your thrusts. He wants you to have full control; wants you to get a heady taste of that liberty. 
Wants you to get used to it. 
You slow down your movement and Jungkook hears your cry first before your body begins to convulse. He holds you through your orgasm whilst he rubs the vibrator all over your clit and is ever so fucking mesmerized when he catches your pussy drooling and clenching. 
He aches—aches badly to be inside of you. 
Ridding you entirely of the mere cobwebs that your stockings have become, Jungkook holds your panties in place. His tongue darts out to swipe at your trickling hole, drags it past your skin across the other hole he’s yearning for. He feels you clench; he hears the litany of your incoherent words as you take in the new pleasure. He doesn’t touch your clit—he knows how sensitive it is after such an intense orgasm, so he just drags his tongue up and down both of your holes, swirling around the tight entrance. 
When he penetrates you there, you scream. 
You scream a bunch of yes’ in a row and Jungkook imagines your eyes are rolling back like they always are—imagines a grin on that fucked-out face of yours, eyelashes fluttering and wet with liquid emotions. It drives him to drill his tongue there in faster staccatos, moaning against you; the entirety of his bloodstream flowing to his intimate parts. He’s so hard he might burst, length heavy and solid against his stomach, but it brings him a great deal of pleasure to have you open like this, to taste you in a place no one has ever touched before, to give you a new experience that you’ll remember for a long time and possibly beg him for again. 
He sighs against you, drinking you to relax his jaw. Is drunk on the moment, probably enjoys it more than you do. 
You begin riding his face and he just offers you his tongue. Lets you do whatever you want. 
“Feels so fucking good, Jungkook, oh my god.”
You’re fast now and Jungkook feels proud of you. You’re taking charge, chasing your pleasure. His heart skips a beat when you want him in your ass again, and he willingly obliges, fucking you there until the tremor of your body signals him of the thunder of your approaching orgasm. 
You come on his tongue violently. Shuddering, screaming, leaving his neck, mouth, chin and cheeks wet. Dewiness for tears—he wouldn’t have it any other way. 
Turning around, you don’t let him breathe before you grab his face and kiss him, licking into his mouth, moaning at the taste of your own rich flavor. Jungkook reciprocates all of your kisses and swipes of your tongue, doesn’t try to dominate you but instead revels in the nasty kiss, bucking his hips against your heat. So slippery, so fleshy. He grunts into your mouth.
When Jungkook sees your blissed-out face, he grins at you. Is blissed-out himself. “How’s that?” he asks. “You have all of my control. All of it.”
Your voice is hoarse when you say, “so fucking amazing, thank you,” and grin down at him just the same. 
Joy beats through his chest, illuminating him from within as if he had his own tapestry of the whole night sky right there above his heart. 
You sink lower down his thighs and pepper kisses along the length of his sticky cock. The gesture moves him and he lets you stay there for a moment while he briefly ponders over how a paralyzing form of pain led him to such a pure, expanding joy that he feels right now. 
Tears well up in his eyes. 
“Come here,” Jungkook pleads and you lift your head like a puppy. 
He decides that he doesn’t want any restrictions on your body anymore. Each move of his hand is calculated as he unclips your bra and tugs your stockings, along with your underwear, down your legs. Even his own clothes come off in a blink of an eye because all he wants is skin to skin contact, to be connected with you on the deepest, most raw level that there is. 
There’s a bit of nervousness coating his voice when he asks you to ride him due to his vulnerability. And when he feels the beginning of you, your heat encompassing him like the warm wind he last had grazing his body in his summer childhood days, the tears that loom in his eyes rush out. 
It feels like he’s back in those days, but only this time all things are made right. But he can’t lie his head down in that tall grass of his childhood and escape—not when you struggle to take him from the angle you’re not used to.
He doesn’t think he ever let you ride him. Not even once. He apprehends you don’t know how to go about it. 
“I know it hurts from this angle, but you can take it,” he says, willing his voice to be smooth as if he wasn’t crying at all—is thankful for the dimness that obscures his vulnerability from you. “You’ve taken me before, you can do it. Relax for me, sweetheart.”
You clench around him, stay frozen on the spot, and Jungkook can’t see. Filmy vision, emotions hurling at him like an incoming surge of waves. But all of that takes a step back when you mewl a pained noise and let yourself fall on his chest, his cock only a quarter of the way in. 
“I’m scared. It’s too sensitive, it hurts.”
You shift your hips so he slips out of you. Jungkook kisses your forehead, wraps an arm around you while the other travels further down, below the roundness of your cheeks. Makes sure you look at him as he says, “don’t be scared, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. There’s no rush. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you.” 
He looks at you for a long while—recognizes only some of your features in the dark—and so do you whilst he lulls you into a state of serenity by humming a song his mother sang to him during those summer days, by petting your head ever so fondly. He never realized how broken his inner child truly was until you kiss his tears away—see them, alas—and the boy inside him leaps into the sun-breathed air of the past. Grows into a young man with a dream in his heart and pensive thoughts beneath the thick set of black hair. Transforms into an adult man with love for a dream instead, for all that has become of his ambitions is the desire to be loved, to be wanted. 
Dream or desire, none of it matters now because all of it, in a strange way that heals him, intermingles with each exhale of your breath against his cheek—and with the inch you think you’re ready to take—all of it is fulfilled. 
A dream come true. A desire gratified. 
You’re his and he is yours. And he tells you. 
You kiss him everywhere. Nose, cheeks, neck. Grab his bunny plushie and tuck him into the crook of his elbow. Jungkook holds onto him as you take another inch, other hand holding his shaft as you sink down little by little, stopping whenever it gets too much. 
“You’ve always taken it so well,” he murmurs onto your pained expression, unable to take his eyes off of you. “I was made for you. It’s yours, baby. It’s yours. You can do whatever you want with it.” 
You clench at his words and the noise that you squeak makes him grunt onto your lips.
“That’s right, baby. I’m so proud of you for trying to take me so well like this when your little pussy is so sensitive from my tongue. You deserve to be rewarded, don’t you?” 
The smile blossoming on your mouth is dangerous with its coyness but confidence at the same time. He falls in love with you all over again, feels the tall grass of his childhood bending over his head, sifting through his hair. 
“I’m doing it for you,” you say. “I want to make you feel good.” 
A hum of appreciation. A kiss full of tongue. “Throw your hips back a little. Just like when we dance.” 
He’s not fully sheathed inside of you, but he feels your gummy walls smothering the half of his length and it’s enough. He doesn’t want to hurt you by filling you to the brim—he’s heedful even as he guides your hips with his hands, rolling them back as if you were grinding against him. Both of you danced like that many times before and because you know the move, you’re comfortable once you latch onto his hands and lift them, intertwining your fingers with his, pinning them down onto the mattress. Your hips gain speed, bouncing on him as your chest lifts a little, hovers above him and the bunny in the middle of his stomach, and Jungkook doesn’t let himself feel pleasure until your eyes lid and turn to the ceiling.
“That’s it, you’re doing so good. You’re a fucking”—Jungkook whines at the impact of a distinct hard slam of your hips down on his—“pro. My little fucking pro. Doing so good for me.”
He’s losing it and it’s so quick. The change of energy in the room, the arousal rising like fine dust in the air. All because his words nourished you with confidence that blazes the atmosphere around the bed. It’s just you, him and bunny in this microcosm and Jungkook longs to hold onto the plushie. Feels so much like you when he’s the one in control; feels as though you’ve become one in this emotionally charged act. He can’t differentiate between himself and you anymore. 
He’s simply become you because he loves you. Or has been you the whole time due to that very fact. Perhaps loving someone truly means becoming them because what you learn from them, what you mimic from them is perpetually yours.
An awareness of how tired you must be drifts across his mind. He knows that with each excellent performance comes the burning of the muscles so without thinking twice, he maneuvers you to his favorite position—remaining on his lap with your back against his chest and bunny stacked on top of you. He takes the lead but lets you decide the pace. You’re the boss. “Fast or slow?” 
“Fast.” 
Jungkook hums, raising a brow. “Fast? Cunnie isn’t sensitive anymore?” 
You shake your head ‘no’, propping an arm behind his neck. “I want it fast.” 
It’s simultaneous—the deed of two hands, yours and his, grabbing a hold of the fluffy belly of the plushie, fingers traveling and interlocking without a thought, without a direction, and yet meeting. Like two shooting stars. Like the ones you wear under your bottom lashes. 
One person. One mind, one heart. 
Jungkook taps your belly button with the tip of his cock. You laugh softly. He remembers how wide your eyes were in fear when you sat upright on his lower stomach and could clearly see how far he reached inside of you. 
“Ready?” he asks. 
“Yes.” 
He sinks his length into your warmth. The grass, the caress of the summer wind. You’re the personification of his childhood and Jungkook kisses you hard, tells you of it by the press of his lips on yours. Is ruthless as he ruts into you. His free hand clutches the vibrator and finds your clit under the small dangling legs of bunny. The low intensity is but a thrum, though by the gasps you emit, by the moans that rise in echoes within the atmosphere, he deduces it’s good. 
Smugness returns, hand in hand with his control. He presses the toy harder against you, rubbing it side to side—and this time he doesn’t stop. 
He doesn’t stop fucking you. 
Vigorous with strength, empowered by the free rein of his emotions that were accepted and loved, he pistons his hard cock into that tightness of yours, regardless whether you can handle it or not. Feels right at home, feels—
“Who’s your Daddy?” he questions without slowing down the rhythm of his brutal pace. “Who’s fucking you this good?” 
You hum, licking your lips, and your confidence fucks with him, strips him bare of any sanity he had left. You give him the eyes, flick your tongue against his lips before you tilt your head to kiss him with a brief passion. “You are.”
Butterflies. 
Jungkook drops the vibrator on the bed. Has to touch you, has to grip you—and he does. His hand finds your throat and he squeezes, kissing you with the same passion, prolonging it because what you did wasn’t fair. He needs the passion; he needs to swallow it down and feel it course down his body. And when you give him just that, along with your luscious moans, he rewards you. 
Gives you all of his cock. 
He rams himself into you, balls deep. Repeats it over and over, each thrust harder than the one before. Watches your irises disappear from your eyes, mouth agape, voice gone. Jungkook senses you’re leaving planet Earth again and he stops you. 
“Is this Daddy of yours your boyfriend now?” 
Like a bell, his heart is clanging and the freedom in that sentence losing its principle of ever being a risk causes his eyes to fill with tears again. He’s a mess. His emotions are a mess. But he’s so happy. 
And the smile you give him due to that question—it charges him with the longing power to own it, own you, so he grabs you everywhere. Your chin, your cheeks, your mouth, and you never stop smiling, not even when you say, “he is my boyfriend now, you got a problem with that?” 
The chuckle that rumbles out of his chest is a surprise to him because dizziness takes a hold of his entire being. He’s gone—he’s about to die. This is it. 
He kisses you and the act of your lips wrapping around his makes this so much more real. He squeezes you and bunny in his arms, hips grinding his circles now. “Does it hurt when I’m this deep?” he murmurs. 
“No, feels good.” 
“Let me know if it starts hurting, alright?” 
You nod, pecking him, gripping his hair. 
Jungkook lets go of your hand and slowly lifts you up and down on the hardness of his cock from behind. You’re so light in his hands, like a little angel assigned to his side, just his to play with. You tip your head back, the smile of yours having bloomed into a full grin. Jungkook watches you in awe. 
“Look at you riding me. You don’t need any help.” 
You giggle. Jungkook feels his cheeks fire up. Thinks the sound is angelic, it must be. Thinks the squelch of your pussy taking him, leaving him dewy, is angelic, too. 
It makes him stop playing with you and fuck you properly instead. 
He sits up. Angles your head so your lips touch his, but he doesn’t kiss you. He wants you there so you swallow all of the words that will come off his tongue, so you remember them even when the delirium wears off. 
He pounds into you. 
You’re no longer smiling. 
Takes the vibrator again. Provokes you, just because he can’t help it, by turning up the intensity and letting it only float above your clit, never letting it touch you. He’s not fast as he fucks you. On the contrary, his thrusts are hard. 
Merciless. 
He feels evil when he removes the toy completely, makes sure you watch, and presses it down into the softness between bunny’s legs. He turns your head back to face him and he mimics your moans, scrunches his features in pleasure, giving life to the plushie—acting for her.
But his meanness makes you come and you fall apart in his hands. He feels bad, terribly bad for you, and the feeling begins to consume his insides—so much that he gives you the pleasure he denied you mid climax. He presses the toy against your clit and—
You’re gone. 
Your stream of pleasure forces him out of you and it makes him moan loudly. It makes him moan when he rubs the vibrator all over your absolutely drenched cunt and you just keep coming. And it makes him moan when you beg him to keep fucking you. 
Who is he to say no to you? 
“You just want it bad, don’t you?” 
You nod against his head. Gone, gone, gone. He follows you into that rabbit hole, pounding you rough and fast this time, keeping you caged against him, fingers back in an intricate interlock. You smother him with your femininity and Jungkook is perpetually at wonder how you manage to do that, how you manage to never have enough. It makes him lose his fucking mind, lose everything—lose his identity. He just blurs into you. The stars in his chest pour like liquid into your ribcage. He feels them quivering when he touches your breasts all over. Wonders if you’ll come again for him. 
“Pussy molded just for me, hm, isn’t it?” he breathes. Hot, sweaty, on the brink of insanity. White flashes. Balls tight. Dizziness stealing his senses. “Good little pussy, always wanting more.” 
The air grows dense. 
“Mine,” he growls, voice strained—so close, so fucking close. “My pussy. Mine to fuck. Mine to eat. Mine to love—”
His gut tenses. Flames burn it hot. Time stops. Knuckles turn ivory in the feverish grip of your fingers upon bunny’s tummy; your walls, too, splattered in magnificent white. Jungkook fucks his cum into you, once, twice, for the last time—pumping you full. Giving you all that he has. 
He falls limp against his pillows. The toy buzzes on upon the comforter, long abandoned. 
His exhaustion doesn’t let him open his eyes. Not when his eyes sting with tears once more, not even when your warmth leaves his manhood. He knows you didn’t come this time around, however he doesn’t have the strength to fix it. His vigor oozed out of him and nestled within you—like his control, like his love, like his cum. 
He will make it up to you tomorrow morning. 
Now he needs sleep. He needs the tears to halt their hurting by leaking out of the inner corners of his eyes. Would prefer if you weren’t the witness to it because with his vigor departing, his vulnerability heightened. He’s ashamed of the sea of his feelings, but there’s nothing he can do to change that. He just loves you. 
He’s so happy that he’s yours and he fucked you so good and—
“You tired, baby?” 
You sound just like him. 
Jungkook suppresses his sob, swallows it right down. 
“I’m spent.” Too emotional. “Too spent to wash up.”
He feels a kiss on his nose, the comforter lifting, small warm hands on his body as he’s being tucked into his bed. Jungkook lies on his side. Feels too lonely. As if you had insight into his soul, you settle into the spaces of his form that you know are there for you to hide in. 
With a barrier in between. 
You push bunny’s back against his chest. Click the lamp off.
In the darkness, Jungkook allows his lungs to expand in their silent weeping. Finds bunny, finds your arm. Moves you closer until the plushie serves like a heart in the middle of your bodies. Fingers petting your hair, he allows another thing—
“I love you.” 
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© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.
BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two
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chrissv4mp · 1 month ago
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𐙚 ᯓ stupid crush — ᡣ𐭩
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she didn't understand why she felt like this, why she felt so... warm. especially when you were around. any time you even came within a 5 feet radius of her, she'd feel like she was going to explode. her cheeks would heat up, and she wouldn't know how to act, what to say—she didn't even know how to breathe when you were around her. which reminded her... you were lying right on her chest, and that only made the struggle to breathe worse. she hopes you didn't notice, but with the way your hand ran across her stomach so often, she was sure you might've caught on earlier than she expected. billie had been the one to invite you over after you got off your shift, and you happily accepted her invitation because she was never really the one to ask.
so, here you were, your bodies laying on her bed as a song from your shared playlist plays at a low volume from the speaker on her nightstand. the rain from outside hit her window, the quiet pitter-patter noises making the whole scene complete. it was something straight out of some classic friends-to-lovers film. her bedside lamp was on, lighting the room up just enough so that you could see her face and she could see yours. she was counting each of the little freckles on your face as you shut your eyes, relaxing into her. she ran a hand through your hair, her fingers scratching your scalp so softly, so carefully as she lulled you even further into a sleepy state of mind. she was praying you didn't hear the fast beating of her heart as she held you, not moving too much because she was scared that she'd do something wrong and you'd leave.
she grabbed her phone from her pocket, careful not to make too much noise as she unlocked her phone and went into her voice notes. she was sure you were asleep by now, your gentle breathing and quiet demeanor, a crystal clear sign. but, as she played the most recent one, titled 'stupid crush,' she regretted not making sure that you were actually asleep. her voice erupted from the speaker on her nightstand, and the first words that were heard were, "this is fucking stupid. i... love y/n. there was that—?" until billie finally came to her senses and paused it, the music resuming almost immediately. if her heart wasn't racing, it sure as hell was now. you stirred in your... sleep?—daze?—she didn't know, but now you were looking directly into her eyes with the... softest expression on your face. your eyes spoke for you, but billie was sure she was misreading the smile that began to creep onto your face. you were going to laugh. make fun of her—
"what's so 'fucking stupid' about that?" you giggle softly, voice slightly raspy and eyes glossed over with multiple emotions. all of which were for billie to decipher because she knew damn well she wasn't gonna get any answers from between your pretty pink lips until she finally admitted her feelings. but she didn't know what to say, and not even the music playing softly in the background calmed her anymore. she shut off her phone, tossing it to the empty side of the bed as she gulped quietly, "tell me, i'm quite interested." you sat up, sitting on her lap as you always did because you could never not be at least somewhat in her personal space. maybe that's part of what helped develop her crush on you. her stupid crush. on you. her best friend, of all people. she cleared her throat of the suffocating feeling as she sat up straighter, body tensing as she hopelessly murmured, "because you're my best friend. we're—y/n, we can't be—"
"who says we can't be together?" you scoff, a half-amused, half-annoyed look on your face. when she blinked, it was like you were a million miles closer to her, your lips inches apart, breath fanning over her face. she gulped again, eyes scurrying over to the empty side of the bed, biting on her lip nervously as she tried to think about what to say. it wasn't like she didn't want you to be her girlfriend, she was just... scared of messing it all up. when you cupped her cheek and turned her head back towards you, her eyes widened, "gimme one reason." you whisper, eyes darting down to her plump lips as you scoot closer to her body, shorts riding up your thighs. she doesn't respond, feeling frozen in the same song that just ended began to play again through the speaker, "billie," you murmur, lips only inches away from hers, almost brushing against each other as your hand travels down and wraps around the back of her neck, pulling her in closer. when your other hand comes up to her shoulder, she only then decides to speak, "because it'll be ten times harder to let you go."
"then you better hold me tight so that won't happen." you whisper before your lips crash softly against hers, pulling her closer by her neck. she doesn't pull away, your words slowly processing in her head as her own hands cautiously grab a hold of your waist, almost pulling you onto her lower abdomen in an attempt to get you closer. she wanted you two to be whole, even after all the doubt she spat out before. your words sunk deep into her heart, and now she didn't have a worry in the world. as long as you were with her, everything would be fine. she'd just have to hold you. close. tight. secure. as long as possible... and maybe even forever. she smirks against your mouth as she feels your tongue run across her lower lip, pulling away only a few inches as she opens her eyes, staring deeply into yours and never looking away, "so... i guess i should rename the voice note 'stupid girlfriend,' now?" she giggles as you roll your eyes, pushing her shoulder softly, "i think you're the stupid one."
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𐙚 amiyaps : guys the landing of my flight scared the absolute SHIT out of me... cus tell me why we were dropping so fast bro 🙁
𐙚 tags : @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livialifesblog @devynscomet @her-favorite @cannibalsclass @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @meliciousmel13 @zayluvss @hrtsdollie
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raytoebiter · 2 months ago
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Tunes of your heartbeat ‧₊˚♪𝄞࿐₊˚⊹
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sypnosis; In which your fate somehow gets entangled into a jumble of mess between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. Or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. The question is; did the curse work?
a scaramouche x f!reader SMAU
• Genre; hate at first sight, slowburn, intense rivalry, also intense rivalry in?? who gets to?? pamper each other more?? yeah, rivals to lovers, scara doesn't know how to love, punk music, yakult and swiss miss, senior highschool love, bonding through music, confessions through music, hanging out in ugly places vibes, senior-high typa thing?, late highschool, about-to-be graduatees, and etcetera:)
• Warnings; mommy issues, a fuck ton of curses (be warned), mentions of alcohol and probably a few panic attacks here and there, sewersidal mentions, kys jokes, vulgar jokes, like very vulgar. 18+ not for wattpad purposes but bc it's too inappropriate and vulgar😭
• Taglist is open! ask to be added or removed!
• Status; ongoing. no update schedule, and irregular hiatuses.
inspiration; from the sidelines bkdk fic ao3, sleeping sirens' songs omg and this one fic that i made over a year ago which is the root of this SMAU
— notes..
- let me know if you want to be added as a twt user in this SMAU too!
- feel free to picture yourself however you want:)
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╰┈➤ playlists; curse these feelings (scara's playlist) || fuck these feelings (name's playlist)
╰┈➤ profiles; the five horsemen of stupidity (name's group) || yacult (scara's group)
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ PLAYING... FIRST BEAT ✰ .ᐟ
Prologue
I. Shut me up (by a punch)
II. Get it up
III. Situations
IV. Don't you dare forget the sun
V. Fake it
VI. I don't care
VII. Knives and Pens
VIII. Pretty Handsome Awkward
tba.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ PLAYING... SECOND BEAT ✰ .ᐟ
tba.
AND... PAUSE!
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authors notes - i've been literally thinking of making this since uhhhhhhh idk last week ago? this fic was actually inspired by a bkdk ao3 fanfic. and what drove me to really do this smau is that—i really like the idea of applying real life things to fiction. like please tell me everytime u see yakult, it reminds u of this fic. or cafés. i want this fic to exude that vibe and by that, ill try my best to do exactly that.
(ask to be added in comments)
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madamechrissy · 25 days ago
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Silent Serenades
♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔
♔ Pairings: Duke Satoru Gojo x Duchess Reader
♔ Content/Warnings: TW: period sex scene, I'll mark if you wanna skip- angsty asf always but more fluff, A LOT OF SMUT THIS CHAP, cunnilingus, fingering, blow jobs, rough sex, dirty talk, name calling, low key breed kink, mentions of past cheating
♔ Word count: this chap: 12.2k
♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you at all, leaving you a crying mess on your wedding night, alone. Now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage that destroys you from within. Royal AU, Cruel Duke Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Gojo is awful in this. You'll hate Satoru, warning you now. HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you
Comments and Reblogs appreciated if you enjoyyy <3
Part Eleven ♔ Masterlist ♔ Playlist
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Part Twelve
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“Please, don’t fight. Especially here.” You say softly, and the two of them look down at you, Satoru’s blue eyes are furious and Nanami’s hazel ones seem devastated, filling you with so much guilt you can’t stand.
“There are many people looking already.” Hiromi says, worried expression on his face.
“Then we’ll go somewhere else.” Satoru says through gritted teeth.
“Absolutely.” Nanami agrees, cracking his knuckles, your stomach feels sick as they start walking out, you follow them, gently pulling on Satoru’s hand, he grips yours in his, eyes now glassy as he scowls at Nanami, jaw clenched so hard you see a blue vein under his pale skin popping up.
“Satoru…” He clutches your hand then, looking at you, and you tense, preparing for a blow. Surely he’ll down you for what you’ve caused, surely he’s furious…
“I’m not mad at you.” He says softly, shocking you then, your jaw is dropped open, he’s letting you go though now that you all are literally in an alleyway, hidden from others. It’s dark and cold as he lets you go, walking up chest to chest with Nanami, leaving Hiromi to look back nervously behind you all.
“Nanami…” He begins again.
“How do you think you have any right to walk up on me and my wife, shouldn’t you be baking fucking cookies?” Satoru shoves him then, and Nanami laughs without humor, rolling up his sleeves to reveal the strong forearms. He’s way bigger than Satoru is, even though Satoru is very muscular, and you instantly fear for him.
“I do a lot more than bake cookies, your Grace.” Nanami says, shoving Satoru back now, but he barely moves, looming taller over him, rolling his own sleeves up now to reveal his veined forearms and clenched fists.
“Like trying to steal wives?”
“Steal, you didn’t even want her!”
You feel tears prick your eyes at the words, at the memories, and Satoru pauses for a moment now, brows together. “I always wanted her.”
“Sure you did, remember I was at that masquerade, and I was right next to your chambers.” His eyes dart to you now. “You had no problem having women scream, how do you have a right to act like some doting husband now? Having her afraid to eat a fucking cookie.”
Satoru pauses again, raking a hand through his hair, your heart is racing as you watch them, unable to speak. “I was terrible, but it gives you no excuse to literally take what’s mine. Do you know I can duel you for what you did to her?”
“It was her choice. She asked me.” Satoru looks at you now, and you want to sink into a fucking hole. “Several times. Over and-”
Satoru punches him then, right in the jaw, Nanami grunts, only to punch Satoru, instantly splitting his lip. Satoru licks the blood, laughing. “And she was an innocent girl, she didn’t even know what it was.”
“She saw you plenty.” Nanami punches again, Satoru ducks, you’re fighting the urge to throw up as Satoru pins him to the wall. “What, now you want her? Because I was going to marry her?”
“You never had a chance, baker boy. She never loved you.”
“And you think she loves you? She’s just young and naive.”
“She’s not naive, she knows what she wants, and it isn’t you. Unh…” Nanami punches Satoru right in the stomach, making him hunch over, only for you to run between them now, holding your arms out, glaring up at Nanami, whose strong chest is huffing up and down.
“Get out of the way, Duchess. I have more to say.” Nanami says, and you shake your head now. “You’ll protect him after what he did? He almost broke you.”
“I know he did, and I know you helped me, and Nanami I thank you for being there, but… I ended things.” You say quietly, he shakes his head, scowling over you, when Satoru’s hands come to your waist possessively, making him furious.
“So what you immediately did what I said you would?” He demands, eyeing you and raising a brow, you tremble now, feeling emotions overwhelm you.
“You don’t get to judge her. Mr. Fucks Married Women.” Satoru has you behind him now, shoving Nanami again.
“You hadn’t even fucked her yet, you mad I was first?”
“Really, stop!” You are pressed aside as Nanami is punched in the stomach by Satoru again, he punches Satoru so hard you hear a sickening crack, panicking. “Will you two-”
“Nanami, you can’t do this.” Hiromi says. “He’s a Duke.”
“And he’s a fucking piece of shit, who slaps women and downs them.” Nanami wipes blood off his lip, and Satoru’s furious, literally shaking.
“Yeah I was a piece of shit, but guess what, you’re no knight in shining armor, you took advantage.”
“Me!? I’m nothing like you.” Satoru pins Nanami to the wall now, as you and Hiromi look at each other.
“Can you get through to him?” You whisper, and he sighs, shaking his head as he looks down.
“He’s in love with you, how do you fix that?” You feel the guilt clawing at your heart as you look on with horror at them, at the man you couldn’t love enough, and the man you can’t stop loving.
“You are more like me than you think, I heard you, I saw you with her, and instead of killing you like you fucking deserve, I let you go. Now you’re coming up to me like this? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Someone who actually loves her, who cares, who wants to beat you to a pulp for how much you broke her. Do you know how far down she was? How she hated herself because of you? I knew her before you ruined her.”
“Ruined me…” You whisper, choking back tears, but of course they can’t hear with their own blood pumping in their ears.
“She’s not ruined, despite my efforts, she’s strong, and yes I was shit for it, but it’s not you who gets to come at me. She can.”
“She won’t, she’s too sweet and caring, she cares about you when she sure fucking shouldn’t.”
“Nanami, please just�� talk to me.” You ask then, and he glances at you, clear hurt all over his chiseled features.
“You can’t truly want this.” He says, and you sigh.
“I do want to be with him, I’m sorry… but I do.”
Nanami tenses, glaring. “What have you done to her so quickly?” Nanami asks, and Satoru smirks then, leaning close.
“I don’t know, had her cumming all over-” Nanami punches him again, now Satoru’s stumbling into a wall, earning your glare.
“Satoru, really?” You demand with a hiss.
“You’re mad I had her first, aren’t you?”
“Nanami!” You glare now, Satoru’s enraged at him.
“You’re bragging about taking my wife’s virginity? When she was hurt and vulnerable-”
“Hurt by you. By you. Can’t admit it?” Nanami has him snatched up by his suit now, crumbling the bright blue fabric, clenching his fist again as Satoru struggles out of his hold.
“I admit it, time for you to admit your fault.”
“I don’t have any fault in falling in love with her, when you threw her away like she was nothing. Why wouldn’t I fall for her?” You hear the emotions in his voice, usually so composed, Satoru is quiet for a moment, stopping the struggle.
“You don’t even know her, of course you think you’re in love, she’s everything… she’s beautiful, she’s amazing, she’s sweet… she’s also a fucking mess, she’s reckless, feisty and short tempered. She cusses like a man, and she’s most importantly her own person. She didn’t choose you.”
“She’s too blinded by you, by your manipulation. Is this what you do, treat her like shit until you almost lose her?”
“I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to her.” Satoru says then, voice breaking, you can barely look at them, breasts heaving with your breaths, tears falling hot and sticky down your cheeks.
“And she’s forgiven you already.”
“She has, but I won’t forgive myself. And I won’t forgive you, for taking what was never yours, you call me manipulative when you did worse. You would sleep with a virgin-”
“Please stop!” You beg, but it falls on deaf ears.
Satoru grins psychotically now. “She didn’t like it, baker.”
“Oh, she came on my-”
“Now!” You shove at them both again, huffing and turning to Nanami. “Don’t, no more please.”
Nanami’s brows lower. “How can you defend him?”
“He’s… I… I love him. I do.”
Nanami is quiet now, as is Satoru, so quiet you can hear the blood rushing through your veins. You know this will hurt him more, but it’s going too far. “You don’t know what you feel.”
“Stop speaking for her, she can speak for her fucking self just fine.” You glare at Satoru now.
“That’s enough out of you, both of you. Acting like children, fighting over their favorite toy. Nanami, I know you’re hurt, let us talk. Stop this.”
“Stop fighting for your honor?” He demands, leaning down now.
“She doesn’t need you to fight for her goddamn honor, she’s no damsel in distress. She was happy this morning, for once.”
“As if you could truly make her happy. And no, no one should treat women like you do.” Nanami shoves at Satoru again.
“So is it your knight tendencies or did you really love her?” He asks, raising a brow, and Nanami’s seething now.
“Don’t pretend to know anything about me. How much has she cried over you, and your endless cruelty?”
Satoru blinks, white lashes trembling over his gaze. “Well I’m not cruel now, and I’m fucking trying. She is my wife.”
“For now.”
“Jesus christ. Nanami… come talk to me.” Satoru grabs your arm then, glaring at you. “Let me talk to him.”
“Touch her again and I’ll fucking end you.” Satoru says, and Nanami smirks, tilting his head.
“Oh will you now?”
“Enough!” You drag Nanami further down the alleyway, as he’s brushing himself off, and Satoru’s stomping away, Hiromi turns around to give you both privacy. “This is too much, you must stop this, I’m not worth your efforts.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Nanami cups your face, bending low.
“You mean to get killed!?”
“You deserve someone to fight for you, for what he did, it wasn’t right and you know it.”
You grip his wrists now, and something feels so wrong about this, about his hands on you, when just days ago you welcomed them. “I appreciate you, I truly do, but I don’t need you to fight my fights. I am capable.”
“Capable of being manipulated?”
You glare now, taking his hands off. “You’re hurt.”
“Yes I am hurt, how can you be…” He leans close now. “How can you be cumming all over my cock, how can I have taken your innocence, and then you just… you just…”
You feel sick now, barely able to stand the thoughts of what you’ve done, and how deeply he was affected. The memories feel so long ago when they just were days ago. “I shouldn’t have slept with you. I’m so sorry for it.”
“What!? No…”
“No I never should have. You’re right, I asked for it, and I never should have done it. I shouldn’t have kissed you that day, I should have been friendly and moved on. Because I’ve destroyed you, and I care for you so much. Watching you… like this… I can’t…” You’re sobbing now, covering your mouth and shaking, Nanami gulps, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
“I can’t regret being with you. How could I?”
“You should! You should.”
“All I can think of is you, and to see you kissing him. Happy? How the fuck can I be all right with this!?” He’s gripping your shoulders now. “I’ve never felt what I felt with you.”
“I don’t feel the same.” You’re speaking between sobs now, shaking your head as you hurt him more. “I never did, Nanami. I enjoyed you, I respect you… you’re handsome and perfect, I wanted to. I did. Wanted to love you like you love me, but what I feel isn’t enough for you.”
“How do you even know-”
“I’m in love with him, the undying love you think you feel. The need to constantly be with him, the consuming need in my heart. It’s for him, Nanami. I didn’t want you to be hurt more, but it’s true. I do.” Nanami’s eyes glimmer, and you hate yourself. “You deserve to be chosen. You do.”
“You’re foolish.”
“Maybe I am. But I love him. Despite it all, despite every terrible thing he did, I fall deeper every moment. I didn’t feel it for you, I felt… I felt affection, desire.”
“Just affection and desire?” He repeats, raising a brow.
“You’ll make someone happy. Someone who deserves all the love you have, and Nanami… you have to let me go.”
“Let you go?” His voice is broken, his handsome face just falling and you feel it like a punch in your stomach, the ties of your bodice tighter now, as if they’re strangling you. “Did this mean nothing to you?”
You shake your head, gloved fingers swiping at the hot sticky tears that fall. “No, it meant so very much to me, your kindness, your care… what we did however, I think I acted on impulse, I didn’t think it through. I was hurt. I should have never taken it as far as we did.”
He sighs now, emotions glimmering in his own gaze, cupping your face with one of those rough hands, thumb brushing a tear. “He is correct on one thing, I had a fault in this, I carried on with you. I let my desire cloud my judgement.”
“You have no fault here. He is merely upset, I’ve upset you both, hurt you both. I told you, it’s what I do.” Your shoulders shake with your cries, and he is tense now, shaking his head.
“No, I was at fault, you were so upset that day. I should have told you no, but I wanted you so badly. Then I wanted to make it right somehow, what I did. Do you know I would have given you everything? Anything you wanted?” You just nod, eyes closing, more tears falling. “It’s not what he can give but-”
“It is not about that, it never has been. I know you would.” You take his hand now, kissing it and resting your forehead on it. “It’s that I am not your person. Deep down, I think you already know.”
Nanami pauses, hand clutching your tightly, you feel his hurt through his every breath, and it stabs you and twists you in your heart. “I can’t just fall out of love with you. You can’t expect that.”
“I know. I know. But please, let it go. Please open your heart to someone who will not crush it. I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you.” Nanami gulps now, blinking rapidly, easing his hand down finally, still entwined with yours.
“You deserve better than him, I don’t care what you’ve done. I will let you live your life, you won’t see me again.” Your heart shatters into pieces as he backs away, knowing that someone you cared so much for is gone forever, but you know it’s what is best for him, you know you finally have done the right thing, ending it so he can move on.
But it hurts, fuck it hurts.
“Did you ever even care, I’m curious? Or was I just for amusement?” You sense his voice, he is more terse with how he speaks, and who can blame him?
“How can you say that! Yes I cared. But it wasn’t enough.”
“Just enough until he wanted you? Was it to get him to want you?” You’re shattering more at his words.
“You’re unexpectedly cruel right now.” You whisper, and he looks away now, hands clenching at his sides.
“I am curious about your motives, I mean no cruelty. Before I never see you again I’d like to know. If you used me to get him.”
“If anything I assumed it would make him hate me more, but no, I did it because you made me feel beautiful, desired, when I felt so unwanted. You made me feel special, seen and heard. You are a sweet, loving person, and of course I wanted to feel loved. But it shouldn’t have been at your expense. Why did you do it? Since we’re asking.” You say softly, his eyes lock back on you.
“Because I felt something for you, even that night we met.” His voice drops an octave. “Also, because I wanted to save you, to fix you somehow, you seem so very broken.”
“Fix me?” You sigh now, shaking your head. “I fear I’m no easy fix.”
“You certainly are not.” He takes your hand once more, you notice the blood on the backs of his knuckles. “I wanted to do right by you, I never meant to dishonor you, to just sleep with you on a whim.”
“I know you did. I never expect you to forgive me, but I hope you find happiness, I hope you find everything you deserve.” You say, and he has two tears fall, as he brings your hand higher towards his lips.
“I wanted you.” He kisses the backs of your fingers now, you can feel the gaze of Satoru behind you, Nanami’s eyes lock with his over your head now.
“I’m honored you did, I’m honored I knew you Nanami Kento.” You say softly, in between sniffles and cries. He tilts his head, a little softer, a little less angry, sandy blond hair falling just a bit over his furrowed brow.
 “I will let you go, and wish you whatever happiness you wish in life. You deserve happiness, whether you think so or not, Duchess.”
“Th-thank you, I wish the same for you Mr. Nanami. Truly, with everything in me, I hope for your happiness.” Your voice is hoarse as you hold back further tears, and Mr. Nanami bows his head, finally stepping away.
“Farewell, Duchess.” He tips his hat to you, surprisingly still on his head after the fight with Satoru, and he walks away, past Satoru now, who is glaring at him with unbridled fury. “You don’t deserve her.” He says tersely.
“I know I don’t.” Satoru says, his own voice broken completely, and Nanami’s shoulders relax just a bit. “But I’ll do everything to keep her.”
“Then do good by her.” Nanami looks at you one more time, and there’s no soft smile, no sweet eyes, they’ve gone cold, emotionless, ending you further when he leaves with his friend. Satoru’s eyes catch yours, and he’s on you in mere moments, as you nearly collapse.
“I’m horrible, I’m terrible, I’m-”
“You’re just a girl. You’re just a human being. Stop it.” Satoru cups your face, and his hands feel so calming, his presence somehow soothes everything inside you, and it had for longer than you care to admit.
Even when he caused your panic attack, you loved his soothing touch, his words. Being held by him even when you hated him, despised him. Now he comforts you for losing your lover, something he should hate you for, but there is understanding in his gaze, in his eyes, blue and glimmering, a cheek swollen, blood on his perfect lips, which you caress softly.
“Do you hate me?” You whisper, and he shakes his had.
“No, how could I ever? How could I ever hate you for doing what I did, for being pushed to. Even when I said I did… I do not hold anything against you. Him though?” Satoru’s eyes narrow. “He’s so clearly wanting what I have.”
“He will move on. And be better for it.”
“No one is better without you, Princess.” His words melt you, then you’re assessing him, seeing the injuries.
“You’re hurt. We need to go home.” You say, and he grins suddenly, an insanely huge grin, splitting his lip further. “Be careful!”
“You said home.” He whispers, pulling you flush against him now. You laugh softly, shaking your head, arms wrapped around his neck.
“Aren’t you furious at me!? In this situation?”
“Oh I’m furious at him, I want to kill him with my bare fucking hands, but you saying that it’s your home? That overtakes damn near anything.” He picks you up in his arms, as you cling to him, dangling like you’re nothing, his madness fucking infectious, you start to smile yourself.
“I need to take care of these cuts, so yes, let’s go home.”
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“You’re so oddly calm, Satoru.” You murmur later, delicately cleaning the wound on his lip, on his eyebrow with a little cloth. Satoru’s sitting on a chair in the living room, there is no longer a table, Satoru’s gotten rid of it and ordered another, a pleasant and amusing surprise earlier.
“I’m getting nursed by this sexy Princess right now. I’m content.” You snort, shaking your head, beginning to tape his slice on his forehead closed, he flinches just a bit, so you blow on it soothingly, earning his hands pressing against the nip of your waist, squeezing, eyes on your decolletage.
“Are you staring at my breasts!?”
“They’re in my face. Yes.” You roll your eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I am. I feel terrible for what I caused…”
“He’s not innocent, he is a grown man, and knows what he got into. I think you put too much guilt upon yourself.” Satoru’s tongue laps out at your skin, right against your collarbone, you feel your body tense at it, tummy clenching in desire.
“I hurt him.”
“I hurt you.” You look down at his perfect face, his brows together, lips pursed just so, and his endless stormy blue eyes. Every moment makes you ache, every second he stares at you, you feel yourself falling impossibly deeper.
“You did hurt me. I think I hurt you in response, however, at his expense. He brought up that I used him.”
“He clearly was in love with you, I saw it all over his face.” Satoru says, hands sliding down further, until his hands are on your outer thighs, fingers pressing in under the satin skirts. “I don’t blame him for punching me, I’m furious because I hate that he touched you, but I can’t blame him. I’d have done it too.”
“You would not have!”
“I would have for you. Why did you have to lose your virginity to a boxer, do you know how bad my ribs hurt?” He says with a glare, and suddenly you burst into laughter, as does he, hand raking through his silken white locks.
“Oh, Satoru… at least you have not slept with a boxer.”
“Or have I?” He’s grinning deviously.
“You’re ridiculous. If it makes you feel better, I regret it very much.” You get on your knees now, gently unbuttoning his tunic, checking his bruised abdomen, he winces a bit as your fingers brush against his rib cage.
“Do you regret him being your first? I thought you did not.” He’s brushing your hair now, as you press a cool patch against him, he exhales in relief.
“I regret it, even if I still do not think you deserved to be my first. I still hurt another person, and I… looking back I don’t believe I enjoyed it much.”
“Interesting take, considering you let me know how much you loved sex.” You flush now, looking back up at his gaze.
“I embellished, to rub it in. I wanted to hurt you. Like you hurt me. You brought a darkness out in me…”
“I know I did. I know.” Satoru takes the cold cloth from your hand, setting it down now, bending in his seat as you kneel between his spread thighs, brushing your hair back delicately. “I still hate him for touching you, for having you first. I only did not kill him because I love you so fucking much. I know you care for him.”
“I do care. He is not a bad person, Satoru, he’s a good person.”
“Perhaps he is, but do you know what I realized?” Satoru’s thumb traces your lip now, swollen from biting it so much.
“What is that?”
“He’s not in your heart.”
“No, he is not. It’s got a rather slutty and whorish Duke overtaking it.” Satoru raises a brow at that, your fingers are caressing delicately where he is bruised, over his perfect muscles, flexing as he sucks in a breath.
“Perhaps you should make it up, your former lover punching my pretty face.” You snort then. “You think I’m jesting, bratty girl?”
“Indeed, you are. You deserved a hit for being terrible.” Satoru reaches down now, unbuttoning his trousers, his hard, thick length slapping his belly button, and you feel heat pooling between your thighs.
“Open your mean little mouth.” He orders softly, you shift on your knees as he sits up, obediently opening your mouth, for him to grab your hair, shoving his cock inside of it. “Oh fuck… your mouth is so…”
“Mmm…” You’re moaning as he is, sucking on his cock and looking right into his eyes, the most heady thing, his huge hands enwrapping in your locks as you suck him greedily, feeling him hitting the back of your throat.
“Take all of it, Princess.” He whispers now, and you pull back with a pop, saliva dripping in strings from his pretty tip.
“All of it!?”
“Relax that throat, you can do it.” You struggle to breathe through your nose now, taking more and more of him with every sloppy stroke, now he’s fucking your face and throat, and you can’t stand how good it feels. He hisses then as you sink all the way down, throat bulging with him, his hand touches it now. “That’s it, slutty throat, she can take me.”
You press even deeper, feeling him stretch and burn your throat now, nose flush against the thin white patch of his hair, he’s whimpering now, your eyes are watering, but you continue, sucking him, over and over, cunt dripping wet as your hands brace on his thighs for stability. You feel him thickening now, as he bucks up into your throat, rougher and rougher.
“Th-that’s it… Princess you… s’good, f-fuck…” He's falling apart, using your throat to bring himself closer and closer. “Bet he didn’t use you like this, bet he was all sweet, hmm?”
You glare and he’s lost it, cupping your face and moving more and more, mumbling incoherently.
“I’ll use your bratty fucking mouth, so you can’t talk, what do you think?” He slaps your cheek gently, you’re moaning more against him now, urging him on. “Fuck every memory out of your pretty head.”
You want to tell him, they’re already long gone, that all there is now is him, even when he’s speaking like this, it just makes you want him more, the duality of him, so dirty but sweet. Fucking you so brutally one moment to worship your entire body the next, calling you a beautiful Princess then a slutty brat. You want it all, you want every bit of the Duke.
“Going to drink up all my seed, aren’t you? Greedy little whore.” He mutters now, fucking your throat harder, you gasp for breath as he pummels it, reaching down to touch yourself, you’re so wet and needy. “No.”
Satoru yanks your fingers up like he did last time, leaving you to whine out, as he sucks on them greedily, continuing to pump your mouth.
“She is mine, only I touch her, unless I tell you to.” Satoru moans louder now, hips stuttering. “You’re so wet already I bet. Think I should touch you?”
You shake your head, sucking harder, saliva and precum dripping down his veiny cock, and his eyes are dilated, so dark, eyes lidded as he watches you suck him, throat hurting so bad tears are pouring. But you’re wetter now, grinding against nothing, wanting him so badly you can’t think, like he is fucking your brain, like he has been since you first kissed him truly.
“If you take all this cum and swallow I’ll touch you, greedy little Princess. Can you do it?” You simply suck harder, glaring, and he smirks. “Such a good- fuck!”
Satoru’s pumping now, all his hot gooey cum pouring down your throat, you swallow it hungrily. His cock slows now, backing away, throbbing as you swirl your tongue around it, looking into his eyes as you take him all. You’re gulping all of his seed down, lapping more and more up out of the little hole on his tip, now he’s panting, hands shaking.
“Oh my… you…” Satoru pulls out with a suctioned pop, his cock glistening with all of your spit. “Open up.”
You eagerly do, tongue out, and he moans.
“Fuck you took it all. Perfect, pretty, slutty Princess.” He picks you up off your knees now, bringing you against him, between his legs, cock still semi hard as it falls against his pelvis, nestled against his white pubic hair.
“Did I make it up to you, Duke?” You tease softly, coughing just a bit and rubbing your now sore throat.
“Oh you did. Took me so good, you’re so good for me. I want to be all you ever think about, I want to consume your fucking mind.” He whispers now, standing and looming so tall over you now, his shirt half opened, his pants undone, hair falling so messy.
“You stupid man.” He glares, as you do. “You think you don’t already consume me!? You think you’re not my every waking thought? You think you’re not my madness, my obsession?”
He gasps now, eyes darting back and forth across your face, hands squeezing your head so tight you wince. “You feel it too? The… insanity?”
“I feel it, Satoru. I’m insane for you, insane to be with you. You are all that is here.” You put his hand on your head. “And all that is here.” Now you put his hand on your heart. “And… all that is here.” You take it and press it lower, your lower tummy now, earning his molten gaze, slender nostrils flaring. “All I ever want is you.”
“You’re all I will ever want. You’re everything to me. Please, please stay, please…” He’s tearing up now, and you nod, feeling his every emotion.
“I’m not going anywhere, foolish Duke.”
“God I love you.” He slams his lips on yours finally, and you feel it, the blood pouring from his lips, you back away carefully.
“Your wound-”
“Look at you, covered with me.” He moans now, swiping the blood across your lips, you feel it so warm and you taste it, like copper.
“You’re fucking insane.” He smirks now, leaning forward again.
“I am, but so are you, Princess. Aren’t you?” You just nod weakly, and he’s kissing you again, taking over every part of your body and soul, you tremble as his tongue entwines with yours, tasting himself off your lips, now mixed with the bit of blood still falling. “You’re mine, all mine. Say it, Princess.”
“You just fucked my throat is that not enough?” He laughs, picking you up, wincing. “You should not, you’re hurt.”
“Fuck all that, I care not, I just want you to say it.” Satoru is now carrying you over to the chaise lounge in the room, laying you down, sliding up your skirts inch by inch, making you tremble. “Say that you’re mine.”
“I am yours.” You whisper, earning his two fingers sinking easily into your slick cunt, he moans at it, as you cry out weakly, hips arching up for him.
“Feel her, soaked from sucking me. Has anyone got you this wet?” He leans over you, fucking your gummy walls with his fingers, in and out, bringing you to the brink of pleasure so quickly, goosebumps scatter across every inch of your skin. You cling to his open shirt, shaking your head. “Only me, then say it.”
“Only you… and you… have you cum so hard… for anyone?” You demand, yanking him down and glaring, he shakes his head now, blue eyes on fire, touching you as much as those long fingers do.
“Never, no one compares to you. They are nothing. Nothing.” You cry now, as his words overtake you, words you need, words you crave. He’s slamming his lips back down your cheek, your neck, as his elbow bends and he fucks you with his fingers, loud in the manor with the squelching wetness of your cunt.
“I love you, Satoru.” You say between tears, he moans at that, forehead resting on yours, one hand cupping your face as his other presses up, hitting your spot, your back arches and you scream out.
“Beautiful, fucking love you. Love how you feel. Cum on my fingers, slutty Princess, please. Soak them.” He whispers against your lips, and his thumb hits your neglected clit, you shatter. “That’s it, good girl, good girl.”
“Satoru!” You scream now, burying your head against his chest as his fingers ease, you’re spasming around them, gushing arousal everywhere, body on fire with pleasure, so intense you feel like you’re floating. He sucks on his fingers, moaning now, before unlacing your bodice, revealing your breasts, which bounce out for his hungry eyes.
“All mine, every bit of you.” He says, and you descend further into the madness that is Duke Satoru Gojo, when he is suckking on a peak of your breast, looking at you under lowered lashes, mouth latched on tightly as he flicks his tongue, fingers curling up on your spot and hitting again, again, again.
You’re a mess as he’s sliding up your skirts, fingers circling your engorged clitoris now, your hands cling to his broad shoulders as he’s pressing you into the chaise lounge, firm cushions against your back, his hot mouth on your neck, suckling hard, leaving a mark that’ll be there for days. He’s taking you over now, all of you, and you never want him to let go.
Your breathing is erratic, and your eyes are rolling back as his hand works you, you’re so wet his fingers slip, while his teeth are sharp, grazing your skin and bruising, leaving a trail of his marks. “Want to mark you everywhere.”
“Mnh!”
“Everywhere. Your body belongs to me.” He says then, you feel him hard and hot against your thigh, and fuck you’re lost in him, lost in the feeling of his hand, lost in the sound of his moans in your ear, the breath tickling you and just serving to make your desire more and more intense.
Satoru kisses your cheek now, so sweetly, before he heads down to your collarbone, his hand moving faster as it works you so well, his thumb pressing harder, biting the thin skin over your chest, hurting and bruising you instantly. You’re so close, so close to the edge, your toes curling in your delicate slippers, fingers clinging now in his silky hair.
“Cum again for me, Princess, let me feel it, let me hear it, I want it all for myself.” He whispers, and you do, of course you do. Your orgasm hits so hard your hips buck back, getting so overstimulated, mouth wide open in a scream.
As your orgasm subsides, his hand slows, and he kisses you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours, cupping your face. “Satoru, please…”
“Please what, slutty girl?” He hums those words, taking his fingers off you and sucking on them, cheeks hollowing.
“Fuck me. Please.” You’re begging, but you truly do not care, you crave him so badly.
“Fuck you, hmm?” He teases, you pout. “You’re cute.”
“Satoru! I sucked you off so good, you promised.”
“You’re impatient.” Satoru’s stripping you of your dress now, then your undergarments and chemise, even your slippers, leaving you bare for his hungry gaze. “Let me take my time with you.”
You obey, when he’s looking at you like that, when his hands are trailing down your body, every inch, then you gasp as he flips and bends you over, pulling you up on your knees, making you tremble. You’ve not been on your knees like this, though the desk was quite similar, you peer back at him, he’s kneeling on the lounge, head low, huge hands spreading your ass apart.
“Satoru we haven’t… um…”
“I can see all of your pretty cunt like this.” He whispers, now spreading the puffy lips of your pussy, and the softness of his kisses up your thighs turn to something more urgent as he moves up to your inner thigh, and you feel his hot breath against your entrance, making you jerk and him chuckle. “So pretty.”
“Ngh!” You cry out when he kisses the slit of your cunt, his tongue darting out to taste you, making you jolt. His mouth kisses down to your clit, his tongue circling and flicking, making you gasp and whine out. “Toru!”
“That’s it, let me taste you, Princess. Let me taste how much you loved swallowing me.” He whispers, your eyes roll back at how good he feels, at what his fucking words do to you. Now Satoru’s huge hands hold your thighs open as you try to clamp them shut from the intensity.
You're so sensitive from his earlier ministrations you can barely stand his little teasing flicks, each one sends sparks through your body, you’re so weak you damn near fall apart from just a few, then when he’s burying his face into your cunt you’re shattering, back arching, ass pressing against his face.
“Oh, that’s it, arch f’me.”
"S’too much!” You cry out, but he just smiles against you, you feel the upturn of his lips.
“Just getting started, Princess. Let me reward you, you took my cock in that throat so good.” Satoru doesn't relent, no his tongue working you faster, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh, when he bites down on your clit, the pain and pleasure so fucking blinding you cum right then.
“F-fuck!” You scream out, gushing arousal all down his face, you can hear him drinking you up, hear him slurping you as if he needs every damn drop.
You're on the edge again, and he knows it. He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking hard as his fingers slide into your wetness. You're so close, you can feel it building, and just when you think you can't handle anymore, he slams his fingers into you, curling them just so, and you're falling over the edge again, three of them stretching you beyond your limits.
“Please, please, please!”
“So desperate for my cock, hmm? Needy, slutty girl.” You just whimper, arching your ass out for more.
“Please!”
“Cum once more, I’ll give it to you.” He says softly, teeth nipping an ass cheek as he curls those three fingers, making your pussy gush when the orgasm hits, and you’re shaking violently, pussy pulsing around him. “Oh, you’re so ready.”
“Will you fuck me Satoru!? Or will you keep running your- ah!” Duke Gojo shoves his long cock in you then, curved tip smashing your cervix, making you shatter, cumming all over his cock so quickly, he laughs softly, hands pressing into the dimples of your back.
“Fuck you’re easy.”
“Just… just… fuck me.” Satoru moans then, slamming his cock into you, in this position it’s so deep you can hardly stand it, you’re already drooling when his tall body leans over you, overtaking you, long fingers of one hand wrapping your little throat as he fucks you so deep. “T-Toru…”
“Love that name from your perfect fucking mouth.” Satoru shoves two fingers in your mouth now, two that had been so deep in your cunt, you suck yourself off him, as he fucks into you harder, long, slow, powerful strokes that wreck you.
Satoru raises a knee now, planting a foot on the floor as leverage to fuck your pussy deeper, so deep it hurts, but you crave it, you need it, drooling all over his long fingers as his cock wrecks you. Your walls flutter all around his thick cock, dripping down his length, his balls smacking that overstimulated clit as he wrecks you, stretches you, fills you.
There’s nothing but him, you cannot even fathom that there ever was anything but this, as badly as you want to resent him, to feel hurt, it’s all too good, you with him, you around him, him inside you. And he’s not just inside your pussy, no he’s in you completely, feel him in your stomach, in your throat damn near, stroking your entire body with each thrust.
Your breasts are shaking with each one, jiggling just so, as your ass jiggles when his pelvis smashes against it, and now he removes his fingers, bringing you to your knees, choking your throat tighter. He’s looking right at you as you’re close again, squeezing the oxygen out of your throat, but Satoru has always done that, he’s always taken your fucking breath away.
“Feel s’fucking perfect, perfect pussy, perfect body.” He grips your tit with his other hand, squishing it now before smacking it, you cry out in pleasure. “You like it, me ruining you, don’t you?”
You can’t answer, you just arch up for more, raising and lowering your thighs, sinking your pussy down onto his cock, while his hands explore every inch of you. Your head falls back against his chest, hair splaying softly across it, Satoru should be sore, he’s been hit, but he’s fucking into you without a grunt of pain, only groans of pleasure while your slick pools.
You’re a sticky, sloppy little mess for him, and he relishes in it, quiet chuckles and then soft cries in each of your ears when he presses you back to your knees, pulling your hips up so he can fuck you better, harder, deeper. Impossibly deep, you hear the smacks of his skin while he does, while he relentlessly fucks you, tip dragging against that spongy spot in your walls.
“Fuck look at you.” Satoru smacks your ass cheeks, each one, over and over, marking them with his hand prints, thickening in your cunt now. “This won’t do, I need to see your face when you cum.”
Satoru has you flipped on your back so quickly you’re breathless, he’s laying over you, sweat dripping on his face, his blood dried against his pretty pink lips, eyes mad as they stare at you. He grabs your thigh, sliding it over his broad shoulder, the sole of your foot pressing into his collar bone, your legs are too fucking short for his long body.
“You are mine. Say it, Princess.” He says now, tip brushing your swollen clit, you gasp at it, hands sliding up to cup his face.
“I am yours, my Duke. Yours.” He moans, shoving his cock in your aching little hole again, even slicker and easier entry, his head thrown back, you watch the strong muscles of his throat and shoulders as he works over you, moaning. “You are mine, say it.”
His eyes lock, his expression serious, leaning lower, cock rocking against just that spot, making you tremble, jaw locking in pleasure. “Oh, I am yours, Princess, all fucking yours. I’ll do anything to keep you.”
“Oh… I want to stay…” You blink back your emotion when he lays firm over you, your breasts squished under his firm chest.
“If you did not, I’d chain you up in my dungeon. Keep you.” You scowl, and he grins, taking a breath. “What, I’d still fuck you all the time.”
“Y-you’re…stupid… ah!” Satoru fucks you so deep and hard you can’t tell where he ends and you begin, it’s all too heady and overwhelming, when his eyes lock on yours, and you’re moaning so loud with him.
“Keep your attitude and find out.” You clamp your cunt down now, laughing breathless as he lets out a strangled moan, pulling back. “Slutty brat.”
“Arrogant manwhore. C’mere.” You yank his mouth down to yours, and you kiss so sloppy, tongues entwined as you clutch his white hair, as he rolls his hips and groans into your mouth.
“Where do you want me to cum, Princess? Want me to fill your greedy little cunt up again?” You nod shyly, he smirks, even as his cock wrecks you, this motherfucker just smirks. “Fill your stomach up?”
He presses it now. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Satoru exhales now, pressing your leg up high and pounding your cunt so good, over and over, stretching you to fit him. “Made f’me, made… say it.”
“For you.” You finish weakly, finally he’s pulsing inside you, thickening and pouring all that hot gooey cum that had been in your throat in your cunt instead, he’s crying out as he does, mouth wide open in an O, as you cum just from feeling his hot seed coat your walls, shaking as you grind up against him.
“Feel so good around me, god you’re… I’ve never…” Satoru’s murmuring little nonsensical words in your ear, brushing your hair back as he bites your neck and groans, pumping his cum further and further in your sore cunt, that’s milking him for everything.
“I… I… love you.” You whisper now, breathy and weak, and he exhales, tickling your skin with it, leaning up just a bit and cupping your face, feeling your aftershocks gripping him.
“I will never deserve you, Princess. But guess what?”
“Wh-what?”
“I’ll fuck you so good you forget.” He smirks now, pushing his cum deeper, but your cunt is already making most of his cum drip back down his cock, his balls, down on this fancy chaise lounge.
“Conceited…”
“Can’t even finish your sentence. You love my cock too much.” You snort now, rolling your hips, watching him gasp.
“You love my pussy too much.” You counter.
“Oh I do.” He kisses you again, deeply, over and over, brushing his hands down your skin softly, he exhales now, easing as he studies you. “Does it scare you?”
“What, Satoru? The feelings we share?”
“No… if you’re with child… Do you think I’ll be a terrible father?” He’s emotional, you feel it, radiating off him. You shake your head, swallowing carefully.
“No, not at all. Satoru, if you do not wish to have children yet, we can stop that part, there are things I’ve heard I can take… to not become pregnant.”
He shakes his head, stroking your cheek, still nestled inside you, softer now, your body is wrapped around him. “I’m just terrified. I want to give you anything you wish for, anything at all.”
“But do not go against everything to do so.” You say softly, your hands caressing up and down his strong back. “You need not sacrifice everything for me, because of your guilt.”
“It is not my guilt that craves this.” He presses a hand on your tummy, hot and burning against your slick skin. “It’s something far more primal. But when I have a moment to think, I am still in fear.”
“Then we can stop for now-”
“But do you want children?”
“Yes, but… I can wait. This is new, and we are still young.”
“You sacrificed too much already.” Satoru’s voice is hoarse and emotional when he eases out of you, fluids dripping down between you both.
“I know you will be an amazing father, but I can wait. Do you want to give it time and see if we…”
“Could we?” You nod. “How soon would you know?”
“I will get my monthlies in a few days time, so soon we will know. We can be careful until then. I do not want you to be a father before you’re ready.”
“I just don’t deserve any of you.” Satoru whispers, kissing your forehead now, over and over. “I will be the best father I can be if you are. But I want to become better before I father a child.”
“You already are becoming better.” You smile up at him now, and he sighs, kissing your lips over and over gently, as you daydream about it, about a baby with him, it’s too soon surely, but it make you ache.
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The next week
Opera house
“Satoru, stop!” You hiss out a whisper as you both are sitting in a box seat, up high watching the opera below. Satoru’s hand is slipping up your thigh under your skirts as you’re staring into the little binoculars, watching the depiction of Hamlet, your thighs clench with desire as he brushes up and down your skin.
He leans in close, mouth brushing your ear. “Then why are you so hot for me, hmm, Princess?”
His hand slips up higher, making you flush in the dark theater, you feel yourself gushing and he’s not even near you, so much it’s inane. You actually pause just a bit, as your tummy clenches, and you feel some twinge of pain, all while your husband, the Duke Gojo, has his fingers slipping higher and higher. You all had this box practically alone, aside from your parents and Satoru’s, and Suguru and Shoko.
Suguru and Shoko were actually courting now, which made you so happy, though Satoru had been so disturbed by the idea. Eventually he came to, since he no longer has to worry about his friend kissing you of course. They are leaning close, whispering and laughing softly, no one is really paying attention to the quiet movements Satoru is making.
But…
“I must… excuse me.” You whisper, earning a concerned glint in his bright blue eyes, you rush out of the box as you start to feel it, something pouring from you now, and it’s a tell tale sign.
You rush into a room, feeling Satoru’s steps behind you, cursing as you lift up your skirts and see it then, the stain of blood dripping, indicating you were indeed not with child. Satoru and you had been careful all week, as you both truly want to make it work, you want to bring a child into your home when Satoru feels ready. So why then, are you devastated!?
Why are you sobbing now, frantically grabbing several handkerchiefs, pressing them against you as you hunch over, tears pouring down your cheeks. You should be relieved, as this was too soon, Satoru and you were just now finally being good together, open and loving, and you know he was apprehensive, so you should be happy right?
You can’t stop the sobs as Satoru enters the quiet room, looking at you with concern, locking the door behind him when he sees you. His thin white brows go together now, striding in long steps to you, holding you by your shoulders and looking down at you now, realization hitting his face.
“Are you alright?” He asks softly, stormy blue eyes searching your face, eyes that you fall deeper into every moment you breathe. You quietly look down now, where your hand still presses.
“I am not with child. That is good… right?” You whisper, tears hot and burning your eyes as they fall more and more. Satoru sighs now, shaking his head, cupping your face with one of his hands.
“I would have been happy either way. Terrified but happy.” He murmurs, instantly relieving you, the tension in your shoulders dropping as you lean against him, crying on his dark blue vest as he strokes your back. “You wanted to be.”
“I guess I did, I did not truly know until now. Satoru I’m sorry-”
“No, no. Of course you want this, everything about you wants to be a mother, it is I who am afraid, it’s I who should give you it.”
“No, it’s fine, I swear. I just need a moment.” Satoru kisses you then, passionately, over and over, even as you’re holding the cloths against you, he’s tracing his hands down your waist, over the burgundy evening gown you’re in.
“I’m really just enjoying you for now, all of you. Maybe I’m a little selfish for wanting just you longer.” He murmurs against your lips.
“You’re selfish alright, whore of a man.” You tease, sniffling, and he laughs then, nodding a bit.
“Indeed I was planning to finger you right in the theater. You’re so dramatic, ruining my fun.”
“Oh!” You shove at him playfully, the cloths dropping, you panic as he picks them up, pressing them back against you, his lips parted now. “I’m so sorry! It’s so very embarrassing.”
“It is not at all. Let’s go home.”
“But-”
“Home.” His husky voice orders. “You are not merely just upset, you’re clearly uncomfortable, I’ll not have you sitting for another two hours. Now agree or I’m carrying you out and causing a spectacle.”
The thought of him carrying you in front of everyone just makes you smile, and he snorts, rolling his eyes.
“You’ve hurt your ankle, go along with it.” He says now, picking you up in his arms, and just as the intermission is started, Shoko comes up with concern, as does Suguru, and Satoru’s mom.
“What is wrong dear?” Satoru’s mom asks softly.
“She hurt her ankle, Mama. I’m taking her back home.” Satoru’s hands tighten just a bit as your mother walks up now, she has said nothing to you since he told her to leave you be, a blissful reprieve.
Your hands clutch his suit nervously, he feels it, the tension in you, as he holds you close against his chest. She says nothing however, turning her attention elsewhere. Of course she doesn’t care, but it’s better than what would previously occur. Your dad frowns. “Does she need a doctor?”
“No need, I inspected it, she’s just clumsy.” Suguru and Shoko share a look, then raise their brows at you as everyone says their farewells to you both.
“Clumsy hmm?” Suguru suggests, and Shoko laughs behind her hand.
“An excuse for you two to go back to your chambers.” Shoko says, and Satoru feigns a gasp.
“How dare you, scandalous woman! Sugu, get your betrothed under control.”
“Not his betrothed yet.” Shoko nudges Suguru with her shoulder playfully, her brown eyes assessing your face carefully. “Are you alright? You look as if you’ve been crying…” She gets serious then.
“I promise I’m fine. Um… feminine things.” You whisper now, and she nods quickly, Suguru smiles at you both.
“And Satoru’s being a gentleman? Never thought I’d see the day.” Suguru pats you on the head affectionately with a little smile. “All right we will see you two for dinner later this week, yes?”
“I can’t wait!” You say with a grin.
“Take good care of her.” Shoko says, and they head back to the show, Satoru’s nuzzling your cheek as he holds you so close to him, against his chest.
You catch a glimpse then, of Satoru’s old mistress Catherine, and she smiles at you nervously, looking at you both, she’s with a Lord that you cannot remember the name of. Satoru tenses, looking away and walking quickly, but you give her a little wave that she returns, as Satoru carries you to the carriage that is sitting out front of the opera house.
You shiver a bit in the cool night as he brings you in the carriage, sitting you sideways on his lap, making you tense. “Satoru…”
“How can you wave to her?” He asks, his voice hoarse, your eyes catch his in the night as the carriage gently rocks you both, his big hands pressing on your back and tummy as he holds you firm.
“She is a sweet girl.”
He laughs darkly then. “After how I carried on with her? How on earth can you just act so calm.”
You glare now, pulling off him, only for him to yank you back. “Because I will not let our past issues define us.”
“You should hate her. You should hate me!” You glare once more now, continuing to try to pull off him. “Do you remember? That dinner…”
“Yes, of course I do. But I don't want to!” You feel the tears start again, and he gulps, shaking his head, wracking a hand through his hair, making it all disheveled as it gleams in the night.
“You want a baby with someone like me? How!”
“You’re more than your past!”
“Stop being so fucking forgiving, so fucking nice. Will you… be angrier!? Punish me!” He’s shaking you gently, you see it then, the two streaks on his cheeks. “I hate me so much right now, seeing her. I could almost forget how horrible I was, the things I did, things you don’t even know.”
Your chest heaves with your emotions, taking you over. “I don’t need to know more than I do. What, Satoru, positions you two were in!? I care not, we were not in love with each other then. We are now.”
“I can’t forgive myself yet. Not for those cruel words, not for flaunting her around and saying you were adequate when you were so beautiful.” You cup his face now, struggling to control the sobs that are escaping, as you remember the pain. “Do not comfort me, damned brat.”
“You comforted me when my former lover punched you. Satoru we are both not perfect, fuck you’re far from it.”
“You have one lover, I can’t escape all of mine.” He leans his head back against the carriage seat, you try once more to pull away, earning his icy glare. “Stop trying to move, brat.”
“Your brooding is annoying.” He laughs then, even through his emotion, you smile tremulously. “You’re feeling so sorry for yourself.”
“No, sorry for you.” His hands yank at your hair, bobby pins falling every which way, making it bounce out of its coif, as his lips are barely against yours, you feel his every breath, shifting against him now. “You saw us, I remember.”
“I did.” You whisper back, and he lets out a breath, clinging to you, hand enwrapped in your hair, your own gloved hands cling to him.
“Even then, you were all I could think of, imagining your perfect body, your perfect pussy, how your face would look as I pleased you. Fuck I wanted you even then, and I never told you. I told you lies.” He presses his lips against yours, you’re thrown even further against him as the carriage jostles on a patch of dirt outside, soon you’re hearing the pattering of light rain.
It’s just you and Satoru, a man who did those things, they still hurt you, but you’re trying to move past it, but you see it now, it tortures him more than it tortures you, the pain of hurting you, of hurting someone he loves. You watch the toll it’s taking when he pulls back, caressing your face gently with long fingers.
“You wanted me then?” You ask, and he laughs without humor, nodding, pressing his lips against each cheek, sticky from your drying tears.
“I wanted you then, but I didn’t deserve you, I still don’t. I don’t deserve you being so kind, so sweet to me. I don’t deserve to look at your pretty face every morning, as if I’m in some goddamn dream.”
“I’ll decide what you deserve. I want you Satoru, I chose you.” He rests his head against your collarbone now.
“There will be more obstacles, more women. More… problems. I am not worth-”
“You’re worth everything to me. Now shut your mouth.” He glares, earning your grin now.
“Excuse me?”
“Shut your bloody mouth. Whiny man.” His hands press deep on your waist, and you’re giggling through your tears.
“You insolent brat. If not on your monthlies I’d beat your backside.” You smile now, snuggling against him, feeling desire hot and heavy.
“If not for them I’d love to be punished. I’m afraid I’m still very…”
“Slutty.” He finishes, with a grin finally, you scoff, shaking your head. “You want to be fucked even now, don’t you?”
“N-no! That would be scandalous. I could always please you though.” You suggest, hand trailing down his abdomen, as the carriage comes to a stop, and now you’re both kissing, tongues entwining, just the thought of pleasing him makes you undeniably sensitive, throbbing even.
Satoru has you inside and undressing you before you can think, inside his bed chambers now, you’re blushing then, shaking your head. “You can’t see me right now…”
“Hush, wife.” Satoru lays you down on the bed, on your back, naked now, caressing your bare breasts as he kisses down your neck. You gasp as his thumbs brush over a nipple, bringing it taut.
“Satoru, what are you thinking?”
“Thinking my wife is a wanton little brat, who wants my cock even now.” His whisper just edges you on, and you’re arching your back.
🩸Period Scene Begins- scroll down if you don't like🩸
“Do not tease me so! Let me just suck you off- Mmm!” Satoru’s kissing down your neck, sliding his jacket off as he does, you hastily unbutton his dress shirt, looking at him nervously, curiously, flush decorating your cheeks and neck, while he peppers you with kisses all over your breasts, your collarbone, your neck, his hands slipping down your thighs.
“Do you want me, Princess?” He asks huskily, lidded gaze when he pulls back, undoing his trousers, and you bite your lip nervously, sitting up, only for him to press you back down. “Not sucking me, do you want me inside you?”
“That’s… not what is done and madness… and…” Satoru has slid a towel from his nightstand now, lifting your ass and propping it right under you, smirking down as he leans up on his arms, you gasp when you feel his mushroomed tip kissing your soaking wet entrance. “Mmm!”
“She’s so hot for me, fuck.” He groans now, leaning on one elbow, putting your leg over his hip, your heel pressing into the strong muscles of his lower back. “Do you want me to fuck you, yes or no Princess?”
“But I’m…” You look down, squeaking, seeing the bright red blood on his cock, on your inner thighs. “I…” You cling to his bare skin, arching up now, eyes locking, watching his cheeks dust pink with desire for you. “I want you.”
He moans now, kissing, pressing into you, without any play it would hurt but you’re so wet with all the blood and desire he sinks in, gasping as he fills you, the warm liquid acting as lubricant, coating Satoru’s cock in red. He pulls back and you look at it, but his eyes just watch your face, caressing it, shoving his cock back inside you, your back arches.
“You’re so tight… holy…” He’s slipping further inside you as it starts to feel so good, you can’t even be embarrassed, by the blood mixing with his precum dripping on this towel, not when it feels so good. Not when the tension in your tummy is easing with every stroke, and he’s kissing you, crying out into your lips.
You cry out back, clinging to him as he’s working his cock inside your tight entrance, she’s greedy and hungry for more of him, and when his tip starts hitting your cervix, you fall apart, gushing cum all over him, mixing with the bright red. His tongue devours your mouth as he fucks into you so slow, so good, deep strokes, fucking you through your orgasm and pushing into another.
“Satoru!” You cry out, desperately, your hands slipping down to his strong muscles of his back to grip his ass, sinking him in more and more. “It feels so good, oh my-ah!”
His eyes are dilated now, as he’s fucking into you, slamming your cervix, you hear the squishing sounds as the blood flows, pooling between you both, but he doesn’t care at all, and neither do you. You can’t remember even hurting now, your tummy has relaxed so much, being filled with him. He eases back on his knees, hands on your hips, watching his bulge move your tummy.
You watch with him, seeing the creamy ring at the base of his cock mix with you, watching Satoru’s perfect abdomen coated with light trickles of your blood, his strong hand presses your tummy now, giving you so much pressure you scream out.
“Look at me inside you. Filling you.” Satoru’s eyes are mad now, sweat dripping down his perfect chin as he presses your thigh up high, feeling his cock deep in your pelvis.
“It’s s’good… th-thank you…” You whisper, eyes rolling back, as he grabs your waist, bringing your cunt down harder on his length.
“I don’t want you to be sad. I want… you… cumming…” He’s huffing now, tip dragging on that spot, and you do just that, screaming out your pleasure, as he fucks you harder, faster, overtaking your every sense.
“L-love you… sorry I… was… wish you…” You’re nonsensical, he’s tensing a bit, but he nods now, as he works over you, pumping even deeper, face resting an inch from yours.
“No saying sorry. Oh my God I wanna fill you up with me.” He whispers, and you crave it, desire it more than anything.
“Fill me then.” You beg now. “Please, Toru, please…”
He slams his lips on yours, pumping your pussy full of him, and you’re so full, with his cum, with your arousal, the blood dripping and mixing, you’re a trembling mess as he does, as you feel him release in you after a week of not. “God it feels so good, fuck you feel so… fuck I love this…”
Satoru’s crying out now, clinging to your body so tightly you can barely breathe, and you’re trembling from aftershocks, dizzy and weak, as you gently brush his shoulders with your hands. He leans up, eyes dark now, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips. You both stare at each other carefully.
“I’m terrified, but I want it. Want you round with me.” He murmurs, only making your pussy throb again, earning his hiss, as he pushes in once more. “You’re maddening, intoxicating, like some drug.”
“Me a drug!? You are the drug.” You kiss him deeply, over and over, and he smiles now as he looks at you. “What is it?”
“You’re so pretty like this. All cock drunk.” You glare and he chuckles. “It’s quite fetching on you, slutty bride.”
“Oh you’re so annoying! And perverted!”
“Says the woman with cum and blood dripping down her thighs.” His hushed words make you tremble, as he eases out finally, and you squeak, earning his laugh. “It does not bother me, Princess.”
“Are you sure?” You ask softly, touching your tummy. “My cramps are all but gone somehow.”
“They are?” You nod shyly. “Then we must always do it whenever you cramp, to help, you know.”
“Oh my… as if you couldn’t get freakier. Slutty Duke.” He snorts, cleaning up your mess now, but it’s truly too much of a mess. “I’m afraid I need to bathe…”
“I’ll have them draw a bath for us.”
🩸Period scene OVER 🩸
Soon you’re in Satoru’s arms, in the scalding hot water, his hands are dripping wet as they slip up and down your skin, kissing your neck gently, making you laugh as it tickles. You feel such a bliss, even knowing you’re not with child yet, there is much time and you are enjoying him far, far too much. He’s humming something softly, making you a little curious.
“What’s that song?” You ask.
“Something I’m composing. About a demonic little succubus.”
“Oh, I’m jealous!”
“Mmm, you know it’s you. No one else would make me compose a song.” Satoru’s hands rest on your tummy gently. “You addle my mind.”
“You have fucked my mind away I’m afraid.” He snorts in laughter, burying his head against your neck, his soaking white hair dripping against your cheek. “It’s fine if I’m not with child for a while, I’m sorry I reacted like that. I don’t want to pressure you into this.”
“There’s no pressure, I’ll second guess myself until it happens, and when it happens, I’ll worry I’m not enough.” You exhale, turning and looking up at him, reaching behind you to cup his face.
“You are enough. I promise.” Satoru moans softly, kissing you over and over.
“We could have had this, from the beginning, and not have had… others interfere with it. It’s all my fault.” You cannot find the proper words to soothe him, you just kiss him again.
“Just enjoy the moment.” He nods then, hand taking your face over, shoving his tongue deeper and deeper into your mouth, more passionate with every stroke.
“He could have never handled you. Too freaky.” He says against your lips, wiggling his brows.
“Me!?”
“Yes you. Imagine, he’d probably run in fright.”
“Oh you’re ridiculous, it was your idea!”
“Mmm, and I wanna go again.” He nips your shoulder. “I can never, ever get enough of you, I swear.”
“I cannot either, Toru.”
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Three days Later
The Royal Palace
“I can’t believe we’re meeting the King!” You whisper to Satoru now, and he just smiles at you, as you all wait in the decadent hall to be introduced. King Sukuna had just taken over for his twin brother who had passed away, and not much was known about him yet.
“I hear he’s a dick.” Satoru mentions, you laugh but then quickly quiet as others around you both stare at you. “So improper.”
“Oh hush, you! I can’t believe he’s granting us an audience.”
“I’m a Duke, you’re a Duchess, of course he is. Now relax, or I’ll get very jealous, you so excited for another.” You glare up at him, and he’s grinning so big, it warms your heart, it warms everything, to see him so happy, so lit up.
You adore him so much.
It’s quiet now as the King walks in, he’s joined by his younger sister, Princess Uraume, who has short white hair and is lovely in an ethereal sort of way that’s entrancing. King Sukuna himself is tall and broad, with a giant smirk and shocking light pink hair. He’s so big it’s intimidating, his sister is so tiny next to him, but then you notice who is with her, as a lady-in-waiting.
Your heart stops right in your chest, Satoru’s hand grips you so tightly you can scarcely breathe, as King Sukuna looks at you, up and down, taking his time with each inch, making you almost forget who is with his sister. She looks at you, her eyes, your eyes almost, in shock as she meets your gaze.
It’s like looking in a goddamn mirror.
“Duchess, it’s an honor to drink in your beauty, as beautiful as everyone has said across the land.” King Sukuna says, and you rip your eyes off her, as she and Satoru glare at each other. King Sukuna kisses the back of your hand, breath hot on your skin, looking up at you with dark brown eyes, almost crimson.
“Your Grace, it is my honor.” You manage to whisper back, curtseying low over his hand, earning his chuckle.
“No need for such formalities.” He does not let go of your hand, lewdly staring at you with a brow raised, then looking at Satoru, who’s frozen like a statue in shock, as he can’t rip his angry gaze off the woman who looks just like you. “Ah, the resemblance is uncanny, is it not? There must be a relation?”
“There must be. Hello there.” You say to her now, and she smirks, cruelly in fact, assessing you.
“Adelia. Hello your Grace.” She says, her voice is nothing like yours, it’s cold, it’s calculated, as is her entire demeanor.
“And Princess Uraume, hello.” You curtsey to her, she nods just a bit, staring at you curiously as well.
“Greetings, Duchess.” She says softly, and you finally look at Satoru, who squeezes the glass in his hand so hard it shatters, making the room go quiet.
Your heart is breaking as you watch him, as you feel his tension, and suddenly it’s as if everything could go wrong, your short found happiness. What if he still loves her!? What if he’ll hate you again!? What if…
What if…
Suddenly it’s as if you cannot breathe, you feel it, overtaking your chest, tightening your throat, and King Sukuna holds you carefully, concern in his formerly amused gaze as he looks at your face.
You can’t breathe.
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A/N: This chap was a fkn DOOZY, Say hi to King Sukuna and bitch ass Adelia lol <3 Did you think we were done w/this story yet!? No lol. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, or a reblog, they help so much. Ty for reading this one!!!!
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Part Thirteen
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