#likes to manhandle people still
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evillillad · 1 year ago
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i know i already posted ninas ref but here she is again with molly
LORE DUMPING BELOW SORRY
this is mollys "doll" form. i decided that MAYBE nina is a bit nicer to molly than i originally planned. like not straight up an asshole but more like a very strict, very emotionally distant mom. she doesnt beat molly but like.....she doesnt show affection... UNLESS molly goes baby mode and starts trying to like snuggle her or tries to do something nice for her (that doesnt end up with a huge mess) then MAYBE she'll crack a smile and call her a good lil doll. otherwise its very transactional their relationship. Nina can loan/control molly for hits but has to take care of her and molly can live on the surface and experience life but can never be free from nina(blood bond? pact? contract? idk but she is a demon devil thing, hence why they need nina as a carrier in order to use her, idk the laws of demon contracts but im sure home wouldnt be too pleased if wally decided to use another demon directly). nina refuses to acknowledge the fact that she did cry when molly got her a mothers day gift (it was a dead bear, yes a fucking bear. molly knew she needed something impressive. oh and also some wildflowers she picked. idk what happened to the bears body molly probs went freak mode and ate it idk).
Mollys very much a doll in this au. not so much a husk/numb but more like a blank slate. coming to this world, she knew nothing and was basically a feral scared animal, and nina was able to make her feel safe (stockholm syndrome much lol). so now shes bonded with nina and is kinda learning how to live. i imagine nina focuses more on teaching her respect and appearing proper (and of course controlling the beast tm) and not so much the emotional aspect of being alive. she'd def pick up on how to act and enjoy things and laugh and cry from the other members, and sorta bringing these emotions back to nina. how nina reacts to these newfound emotions changes drastically. molly was def locked up for several weeks after giving nina attitude. on the other hand she did start letting molly hold her hand after someone taught molly it was a way to bond with someone you care about. also shed a tear but wont admit it.
also yes she is wearing a collar. usually only used when out on a hit. but there nonetheless
ok byeeee~~~~~
I FORGOT TO MENTION THE MATCHING HEART SCARS CUZ THEIR CONTRACT OK NOW BYE
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zappedbyzabka · 1 year ago
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Bigger taller people do not have to top or be tops bigger taller people do not have to top or be tops bigger taller people do not have to be the top
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throes-of-warm-tornadoes · 28 days ago
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the 2001 planet of the apes is so good to me. like, the 1968 version will always have a special place in my heart because the makeup magic was... dare i say... very magical, but i liked how the 2001 one leaned into a more biologically accurate angle. like, those are straight up apes. no wonder humans aren’t speaking as a survival tactic, those things could hurt you without even trying. again, the 1968 one was so good and impressive but the fact that taylor could overpower the actors that were playing gorillas was a little jarring lol. which makes sense, cos so much of his escape plan relied on him being strong enough to push people out of the way.
this isn't a complaint btw! they're just people in costumes---they are still very much giving ape, but there wasn't much they could do about that on a physical level. so, when the 2001 had these big hulking gorillas and more accurate looking chimpanzee faces on the screen, i appreciated that detail about the humans exploiting their fear of the water. it leveled the playing field without making the fight against the apes look like a losing battle
#i do really love that u can still tell it's makeup though#i feel like people say that as an insult bc it apparently “takes them out of the story” but like. cmon#cgi or not they're not real apes either way#i explained this so horribly as per usual :(#but im just saying that those mfs---especially chimps---are STRONG#like if we wanna get technical the gorillas at the beginning had to have been making a conscious effort not to use ALL their strength#when they were hunting the humans in the 1968 movie#otherwise they prob just would have died/been severely injured by just being manhandled into their cages#i think the only hint of ape strength we got is when cornelius straight up murdered that mf just by whacking him in the head w a lunch tray#im no movie expert (far from it... i cant be trusted to analyze anything really) but i did rlly like the 2001 version for a lot of reasons#the first one obviously being what this post is about: addressing the natural strength advantage apes have. which is why they don't use gun#bc why even give humans a sliver of a chance to get the upper hand#also they officially addressed why they hate monkeys! i mean u could kinda assume why but the confirmation was nice lol#i lowk didn't understand how the apes rose in that movie like even tho it was weird in the 1968 version#at least they dedicated several movies to the concept#woah these tags got long! thank god for this sideblog cos im not even embarrassed about it#ah shoot i forgot to add actual tags!#planet of the apes#planet of the apes 2001
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clearallcathy · 2 months ago
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but they hace to keep making ballet aesthetic tik toks so i can be motivated to show the world how much of a like Freak thing it is
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constanthinople · 1 year ago
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So I don't have anyone to tell this but I think I figured out my sexuality. At age 25 no less. I'm happy that I'm not suffering anymore.
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doux-amer · 2 years ago
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I can’t believe it took me until 2022 to finally understand Andrew Garfield’s appeal... I thought he was cute like a deer, and then I was just neutral about him beyond “seems like a nice guy. Also seems like he’s very enthusiastic and he’s straddling that cute eager puppy and annoying theater kid line closely once in a while for me” in the later years. But then something clicked last year? And then the Golden Globes flirting this year????? I’m not sure what, but I think I can see the attractiveness.
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perelka-l · 1 year ago
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u said u dont have a lance doctorate but luckily I DO . lance/silver is good. listen to me. this isn’t propaganda (it is)
brat tamer lance ok. ok. silver is a bratty kid with daddy issues and a suppressed praise kink and lance is either going to fix him or fuck him trying. think abt it
- ☔️
Hello, ☔ anon! Ok first things first: :O :O :O :O :O :O :O :O :O I AM LISTENING VERY INTENTLY I AM PUTTING 100% OF MY NEURONS TO WORK
Thank you for offering me your doctorate for good things!!! So I have thoughts now!! Like, I always knew Lance more as more goody guy, if at times to dipping ridiculous levels but... I guess he didn't manage all the dragons being nice, so maybe there is something underneath that.
And maybe maybe as much as Lance really wants to be nice and help Silver out on his path in becoming a better trainer and person... But Silver is bratty and tsundere and mildly traumatized and can't deal with/doesn't want Lance's goodness. And maybe Lance genuinely wants to do this nice way but one day Silver is particularly bratty and maybe says something that makes Lance snap and go ok, I tried.
Silver would probably be a little scared seeing Lance do, well, maybe not a 180 but definitely he would never expect to be manhandled so roughly by this guy of all people like this... Maybe even dip a bit into a dubcon territory but they are both a bit fed up? Maybe even mid-training, just right there, on a ground and still entirely clothed, somewhere away from people but still in plain daylight.
(And later Lance will apologize for being so rough and praise him for enduring it and Silver clings to him and notes for the future what made all of this happen and ponder how else he can put ice under that dragon's scales uwu)
I hope those are correct conclusions based on subject matter dear professor from Lance studies ;w;
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uravitypng · 6 months ago
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big beefy number one pro hero deku is absolutely smitten with you, his chubby little girlfriend, and yeah you're a little bit of an airhead sometimes but that makes you all the more endearing to him.
prior to meeting you he used to feel embarrassed whenever he'd ramble too long about heroes or quirks. after some time people would drown him out after he started his disjointed babbling, not wanting to listen to him ramble. with you it's different, the first time it happened he went to apologise to you. jirou once told him he should try and apologise if he realised he did it to strangers afterwards- especially now that he's a pro hero.
so he goes to stammer out an apology after realising he spoke to you uninterrupted about all might's golden age for five minutes and you tilt your head and giggle at him. izuku draws in a breath. "why are you apologising deku? i really liked hearing you speak. what about his other ages?"
izuku felt like he was malfunctioning, "what?"
you bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling again. who knew pro hero deku is so cute? "like the silver age and the bronze age? are those all the ages or is there like a platinum age too?" izuku grins, you're so interested in what he has to say he can't help it. "wait was is all might's quirk again? he's like strong right? that's his quirk."
izuku pauses for a second before barking out a laugh. you pout and glare at him feigned annoyance. 'she's so adorable and ditzy. i need to speak to her again.'
you constantly praise him, not just for hero work either, and ever single time it makes his entire face red. it doesn't matter that you've been dating for four years now and izuku's brought an engagement ring, he still gets flustered with all the compliments.
people compliment him all the time, it comes with the job, but when you do it it means so much more. " 'zuku you're so brave!" "i don't understand this at all izuku, can you explain it too me? you're the smartest person i know." "you're so pretty." "your hair is so soft." "you're the best hero ever!"
a light sheen of sweat covers your forehead after being manhandled by your boyfriend into the cowgirl position, he loves holding onto your love handles and moving you up and down on his cock, with each bounce your body jiggles. you'll lay in bed with your face buried in his chest as you trace the scars on his arms with your fingertips lightly, "you're so strong izuku." you turn to face him and your chubby cheeks lift as you smile. "i'm so proud of you." his heart skips a beat. he's never loved anyone more than he loves you.
izuku gets possessive of you, he doesn't like people touching you. you're his. before you he never thought he would be jealous or possessive but then you came into his life and he nearly broke the glass of champagne he was holding when he saw todoroki talk to you. he knows todoroki doesn't like you like that, he's liked yaoyorozu since ua but he was too close to you and izuku hated it. his legs moved before he could think, walking up to you both with a forced smile on his face. he wraps his arm around your soft waist, tightly, and kisses your forehead. you smile sweetly at him and lean into his body. izuku brought you home earlier than you thought he would that night, holding onto your thick thigh with one hand while his other hand is on the steering wheel, driving you both home.
his jealous nature was cemented a week after when he saw kaminari talking to you. not just talking to you- flirting with you. if izuku was holding a glass like he was last time he most certainly would of smashed it in anger. you don't even realise what kaminari is doing and izuku knows you don't.
you listen to him talk intently and nod your head, you smile at him and laugh at his jokes. to some people they would think this would be you flirting back but you're not, you're just trying to be nice. kaminari has decided to talk to you and you want to be kind and listen to what he has to say and izuku has really admired that quality about you but right now he wishes you could pick up on the clear signs that kaminari is giving you.
izuku snaps when he sees kaminari look at your cleavage and glance at your body, his eyes lingering on your plush thighs. his voice is strained as he pulls you away from kaminari making some half-arsed, offhanded excuse as he takes you home immediately.
when he saves a small child and he gives them his award winning grin all he can think about afterwards is you. 'who are our kids going to look like? will they have my freckles? or maybe her hair? if they're half as cute as her they'll be the cutest kids ever.' he's already planning their bedrooms and his eyes drift to the baby clothes section at stores.
your boyfriend has the biggest breeding kink known to man and you get reminded of that as he folds your body into a mating press and groans deeply in your ear, "can't wait to see your soft body get softer puppy, promise i'll look after, you won't have to lift a finger." you loudly whine, grabbing hold of his large arms, every thrust causes a loud slapping sound with how wet you are. "you're gonna look so pretty puppy. i'm going to pump you full, make sure you don't spill any for me, just like the good girl you are."
izuku adores you and you feel exactly the same about him.
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sooniebby · 5 months ago
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ఌ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘
W.C › 6.4k
Warning › bottom male reader. Reader has a cock and is mentioned to have slept with girls and boys. No set character, this is an OC, but you can imagine anyone
Plot › basically just this idea I had but expanded
Kinks › manhandling, accidental creampie, cross dressing, lite feminization, mirror sex, hint of dom/sub relation
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
To say you were a playboy was an understatement. New girl every week was you being nice. Now, as a senior, you didn’t care as much anymore.
Which led you to your current predicament.
You’d practically ran through the entire school by now and you were… bored.
The first years didn’t interest you. And you’d already gone through the pretty people in third and second year. It was looking like you’d have to start branching out to schools nearby.
A sigh left you as you plopped down at your seat, flicking at a lint of dust on your desk. It was lunch time and you weren’t feeling hungry. Well you were hungry for sex but not for food.
“Man, (L.Name), view this as a good thing! It’s lucky you haven’t gotten an STD by now.” Your friend, Ryun, said as he ate from his bento box. You only gave him a huff.
“I use condoms. They work, 99.9%!”
“Sure. I’m surprised none of the girls have gotten pregnant yet.”
Ryun let out a howl as you kicked his knee underneath the desk. “I fuck guys too! You should be wondering if I’m pregnant.”
“Wha—(L.Name), you can’t get pregnant.”
You shrugged. “You never know.”
“Are you insane?”
“Should you really be asking the resident slut that?” A voice cut in. Your eyebrows rose as you turned to see who was so bold to call you that only to see it was another one of your friends.
“Sana…! That’s so mean! I’m not a slut.” You whined as she plopped down at the desk beside you. She only gave you a knowing look before digging into her own bento.
“Ryun!” You looked straight at him. “Am I a slut?”
“Do you really want me to answer that…?”
“GAH!! Ryun~~~!” You whined, pouting heavily as you rubbed at your face in annoyance. The two ignored your childish behavior as you finally began to start eating your bento. It was a comfortable silence for a moment before a ding popped in your head.
“Oh no…” Ryun muttered, knowing that look in your eyes.
You leaned in close, grinning. “Guys.. This senior year, I should go for someone special!”
Sana sighed. “Who? Who haven’t you fucked by now?”
A teasing grin pulled on your lips as you motioned for them to come closer. As they pulled in, you looked around to make sure no one was ease dropping and giggled in excitement.
“Ito Yuki.”
A pin could be heard as Ryun and Sana stared at you for a moment. Their faces slowly contorting into something of pure disgust and disappointment.
“Him?! Student Council president, Ito Yuki?!” Sana whispered yelled.
“Mhm. I’ve never even noticed him before until now! You should’ve seen him. He still has those ugly glasses but he’s buffed up! What’s he training for?” You joked, laughing loudly in the quiet classroom.
Ryun groaned. “No way. Ito doesn’t date. Ever since he got ‘buff’ he has had girls tripping for him. But he’s turned them down! Every last one of them.”
Sana nodded in agreement. “Yeah. No way he’d get with you—especially with your reputation of dumping people after a week!”
“But that’s a good thing!” You cried. “If he’s never dated before, that means he’s a virgin!! Inexperienced!! Those are the best, especially in boys!”
“Gross, (L.Name).” The two said in unison.
You pouted. “Aah! You guys don’t understand!”
“I’d rather not,” Ryun countered.
“You’re just really perverted, (L.Name). And so weird. You won’t even let us call you by your first name.” Sana said, rolling her eyes.
“But he has no problem letting someone see his flat ass.” Ryun chuckled.
“My ass is not flat!” You gasped. “I’ll prove it—”
“—NO!!!”
You sat back down with a huff. Yeah, you were weird. Sana and Ryun, your friends since diapers didn’t use your first name. Only your mother and father did but you didn’t even like them saying it either. For some reason, it just sounds.. off hearing it from people.
There didn’t seem to be a real reason. You just didn’t like it. Though you’ve been hoping that one day someone would say your first name and you wouldn’t immediately grimace.
Oh well. You had more pressing matters.
And that was Student Council President Ito Yuki.
ཆི❤︎ཆྀ
“How are you going to ask him out?” Ryun asked, pulling out his bento. It’s been a week since your declaration to take Ito Yuki’s virginity but you haven’t really done anything. Mainly because he’s always doing student council president shit. Always so busy.
“Like how I ask everyone out.” You said, popping a grape into your mouth.
“Serious?” Sana gasped. “That unromantic shit you do? Gosh, people here have such low standards. I hope he rejects you.”
You gave her a tight glare and threw a grape at her, grinning when it hit her right on her nose. You weren’t unromantic so to say. But… your proposals left much to desire. You had a a short and sweet line.
“Hey, you’re hot. Wanna make out?”
You thought it was romantic but Sana believed the students here just didn’t have enough self respect. Both were probably true.
“Why would anyone reject this?” You sensually pull down your blazer to show off your collarbone and give Sana a flirty lip bite. She gagged immediately.
Ryun hummed. “I can think of many reasons why someone would reject you.”
“Ack! You two suck! Where’s the motivation?! ‘Ah, (L.Name), you’re so hot!! Who would ever say no to you?!’ Like huh??”
“You don’t need anymore compliments. Your head is about damn near jelly from your narcissism.” Ryun said.
You rolled your eyes. Tough crowd. The three of you continued on with lunch when there was a sudden shrill voice. You looked at Sana and Ryun before moving to the sliding door of the classroom, sliding it open and looking out the hallway.
And there he was.
Student Council President Ito Yuki.
A soft mop of jet black hair with over grown bangs. Mono lid eyes that resembled a fox eye. A beauty mark right underneath his right eye. Plump lips. Cheekbones. He still had those stupid circular glasses. His body, though. His body was insane. He wasn’t crazy buff but he certainly put on weight compared to his stick thin body from first year. He practically had boobs (pecs) now!
He was taller too. Maybe 182 cm…?
A group of girls followed behind him, all holding letters that they waved to try and give to him. Huh, was today? Fuck, it was Valentine’s Day!!
You cursed as you watched Ito Yuki continue to walk and ignore the girls, passively pushing away any one that got too close. You didn’t have shit to give him.
Also it wasn’t White Day so it would’ve been weird if you did… but boys can do Valentine’s Day too..? Right?
Ah, fuck it.
“(L.Name)?!” Ryun whispered as you stepped out into the hallway, right as Ito Yuki come close to passing your classroom.
“What are you doing??” Sana yelled, covering her mouth when a few students looked at her in surprise.
You squared your shoulders and stood up tall, only now noticing you only came up to his chest. Ah, you were a perfect height to suck on his—
Not now, (L.Name)!
Even in your thoughts you didn’t even use your first name. You let out a sigh and gave Ito Yuki your signature flirty smirk. Your eyes peering up at him, giving yourself a cute look. You had multiple ways of flirting, especially when it came to boys or girls.
A true bisexual playboy!
“Ito-San.” You said, blinking slightly to flutter your eyelashes. Ito seemed to be focusing on something else in his mind despite his eyes on you. Well you can’t have that.
You leaned in closer, resting your hand on his arm. You felt him visibly twitch at your touch, earning a slight grin on your lips. Too easy. There was whispering happening around you but you didn’t care. You’ve asked out people in public spaces loads of times.
This… was a piece of a cake.
“Ito-San… you’re—”
“—hot?”
You blinked, staring up at him in shock. Did he just? Your lips parted as you short circuited—should you continue or just come up with something on the fly? A slight gasp left you as his hand reached up and grabbed the back of your head, bringing you closer.
The crowd erupted into gasps, even Ryun and Sana looked absolutely shocked. You couldn’t even think. Someone.. was taking control? You—you—??!?
His breath tickled your ears as your eyes clinched shut, your hands digging into his blazer as you let out a stuttered breath. You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle.
“Sure. Let’s make out.” He said, loud enough for only you to hear. With that, he pulled away, his hand gently rubbing the back of your head before dropping. His face was stoic, his lips straight but you could almost see a slight smirk on them as he walked past you.
It was hushed whispers as everyone dispersed as soon as the school bell rang, signaling lunch was over. Ryun and Sana ran over to you, Sana gripping your shoulders as she shook you.
“Hey, what the hell was that?!” She cried.
You only let out a whimper, looking at the both of them in pure shock. “I…I don’t know…”
“Wow. Ito Yuki changed. He put (L.Name) in his place!” Ryun laughed, patting you on the back. “So? He rejected you?”
Right. They didn’t hear him. You paused, almost wondering if you should tell them. Would they believe you? Sana and Ryun looked at you expectedly.
“Yea…” You muttered, laughing slightly. “He rejected me.” You looked down as Sana rubbed your shoulders in a comforting manner. Ryun just patted your head as they steered you back to the classroom.
ཆི❤︎ཆྀ
“I..Ito Yuki?!”
You glanced up as you heard your classmates exclaim in shock. Ito… Yuki? It had only been a week since that incident happened and you hadn’t seen Ito a lot. But that was to be expected. He was in 3-A, smartest of the third years and c student council president.
Sana and Ryun were geeking out beside you as Ito walked into the classroom, heading straight towards you. You felt weird. Not uncomfortable but odd. Like your body was… scared of him? But it wasn’t a bad scared. It reminded you of going on a rollercoaster.
The fear during but the ecstasy afterwards.
“(L.Name).”
Oh. That’s a first. You didn’t like hearing him say that. Huh.
“H..Hello, Ito-San.” You muttered, your grip tightening on your bag as he looked at you. His gaze was intense, even with his overgrown bangs. You wished those bangs covered his eyes more.
“Let’s go on a date.”
The classroom erupted into screams at his words. Date?! Date with you of all people?! No one even cared that Ito was surprisingly into men. No, it was surprising he would go for someone like you. The school campus’s proud playboy that was barely passing through school!
You didn’t even get to answer as his hand grabbed your wrist and began tugging you along. Your eyes met Sana and Ryun who looked at you with pure shock. You couldn’t blame them.
You’ve never really gone on dates before. Sure, at the beginning in first year when you were starting out your slut activities. But by second year, anyone who dated you knew that you mostly wanted them for sex. So to have Ito Yuki, of all people, coming to date you was… shocking.
Also fake. It had to be fake.
Yeouch!
Not fake. Not fake at all.
This was how you’d soon find yourself in a movie theater. Ito had something about liking movie dates and there was a movie he wanted to watch. A horror movie maybe? You couldn’t pay attention. You sat down beside him, staring off into space as the movie began playing.
It was an American movie, judging by the fact you couldn’t understand them. You glanced up at the screen, seeing the subtitles on the right. Ah, a slasher. You’ve seen multiple slashers so you knew the format like you knew blowjobs.
But you didn’t expect Ito to be interested in this type of stuff. You glanced over at him, watching as he stared straight at the screen, occasionally taking a sip from his soda. Huh, he’s zoned in.
You sighed and decided to get comfortable. Lucky for you, most slashers knew not to over stay their welcome. So you began watching, occasionally glancing at the other moviegoers who decided to watch a slasher at 5:00 pm on a Friday.
Mainly older couples. A few high schools students. And what you could assume some college students.
A hand grazed your thigh which caused you to let out a loud gasp. Luckily a jumpscare drowned you out. You looked down to see the arm rest pulled up that blocked you from Ito and his hand resting just an inch from your thigh.
Huh. What did he..?
You didn’t get to think any further when another loud jumpscare filled the theater. Your attention turned right as a poor woman was sawed in half. Oh, what a way to die. There continued to be gorey deaths that you forgot all about Ito’s strange decision to pull up the armrest.
Not until the movie cut to a random couple having sex in the car. Ah, you knew kills like this. Directors seemed to love having naked women run for their life after their boyfriend is killed.
There’s probably something wrong about that.
Before you could delve deeper into this question you felt a hand rest on your thighs. Just as you were about to even look down, the hand moved to your crotch and squeezed. A gasped left you that was coincidentally timed with the actress’s.
Has Ito’s hands always been this big? You let out a sharp shudder as you watched him grope your crotch. Really, you should’ve pushed him away. But you were just shocked that someone like Ito would be doing this.
And in a weird way, you did… like it? But it didn’t last long, just as the actress was killed by the killer, Ito pulled away. You couldn’t help your slight whimper as you glanced over at him. He didn’t even spare you a look.
Jerk.
ཆི❤︎ཆྀ
“You went on a date?!”
You sighed as you rubbed your eyes, staring at the two clowns in your room. Ryun and Sana had a spare key to your home—thanks mom!—so they didn’t even need to wait for you to open it. It was the next day after your date with Ito. It ended a bit unsatisfactory.
He just walked you home and waved goodbye. He didn’t even give you his number.
“Yea… he literally said that yesterday after class.” You whined, wanting to just plop back down and sleep. You masturbated all night last night, wishing he had touched you more. Which was a fucking first. You usually never have a wet dream about your partners.
“Wow… maybe, Ito-San likes you?” Ryun muttered, biting his lip as he sat down on your bed.
“Ito-San and (L.Name)?! That’s crazy.” Sana exclaimed. “But Ito-San isn’t someone to prank around.”
You couldn’t help but smirk. “Mhm~ maybe this sexy body has him curious.” You teased, sending a flirty wink to Ryun. He looked at you with pure disgust.
“Yeah, right.” Ryun grabbed a pillow and threw it at your face. “If he does, I owe you dinner for a week.”
“Deal!”
“Oh,” Sana suddenly muttered. “Wouldn’t yesterday be the start of the week? So you’ll break up with him next week Friday?”
You pursed your lips. Yeah, she was right. But why did you suddenly hate the idea of leaving him? You only gave a noncommittal nod and get out of bed, wanting to just take a shower and wash off the masturbation from last night.
Ito had to have know about you. He knew your usual phrase when asking someone out.
Well, you had the rest of the week to find out what he wanted from you.
ཆི❤︎ཆྀ
Technically you didn’t. Because it was already next Friday and he didn’t come for you at all. It wasn’t like you could call him either—you didn’t have his phone number. Sana and Ryun could tell it was affecting you but you didn’t even know why.
You’ve dealt with this. Sometimes the weekly partner ended up being just one night. And sure, you got a bit upset the next day but you’d bounce right back right after. You didn’t understand at all.
“(L.Name).”
You glanced over to see Ito Yuki staring down at you. Your classmates seemed able to not scream like last time. But their phones were out and were whispering to each other.
“I..Ito-San..?” You slowly stood up, looking up at him in shock. You should’ve been mad but you felt your heart flutter. Wow, you must’ve really wanted his dick.
“Let’s go to my house.” He said, which earned a round of gasps. Sana and Ryun looked like deers in headlights. You could only nod as he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the classroom.
Damn, Ito Yuki. He’s probably the only partner that ever had you this bad over dick. And you haven’t even had it yet! Shame it was the last day.
Once you reached his house, you were shocked at how big it was. “Wow… Ito-San, are your parents rich?” You asked, slipping off your shoes as you walked behind him.
“Yuki.”
“Hm?” You replied, grunting when you bumped into him.
“We’re dating, no? So call me by my given name. That’s what couples do.” It—Yuki said nonchalantly, moving to go to the kitchen. You followed right behind him, unable to hide the growing heat on your face. This.. this was a first.
Would he do the same…? You hoped he would.
Much to your surprise, Yuki began making dinner for you. It wasn’t anything difficult, just chicken Katsu curry. You tried to help but he quite literally manhandled you to sit down at the dining table. If there was a growing bulge in your pants you quickly decided to ignore it.
After he finished, he placed a bowl in front of you and sat down beside you. You ate in complete silent. It was a bit uncomfortable because you weren’t used to dinners like this but it gave you perfect view of Yuki.
He looked so pretty? You weren’t sure. He had pulled his bangs back with a cute hello kitty pin and you couldn’t help but wonder who gave him that. He didn’t seem like the boy to like cute stuff. You were able to see his eyes better now—fox like eyes staring right at you.
You coughed slightly and looked down at your curry. “Hm, this is good curry, Yuki. Who, uh, taught you how to make it?”
“My mom.”
“Oh. Where’s your parents?”
“They’re out for the weekend.” He said, his eyes trailing down your face, right to your lips. “They won’t be back until Monday.”
Oh? A slight shudder left your body as your back straightened. The whole weekend? Did he not want this to last the week?
“But today is a full week?”
Yuki hummed. “Since we started dating? Yeah, do you like those type of things?”
“Eh?”
“Keeping track of how long we’ve been together? Do you like doing that? I can do it for you.” He said, finishing his plate off.
“Uh—”
“Sorry I couldn’t meet you during the week, I had to help plan the festival coming up.” He reached over and grabbed your plate. The plates clinked together as he carried them to the sink, gently dropping them in.
Before you could stand up, you felt Yuki rest his chin on your shoulder. You flinched at the touch but calmed down as his nose nuzzled your neck. A giggle left your lips at the ticklish touch. He pressed a kiss on your collarbone before pulling away, motioning for you to get up.
“Do you,” he muttered, reaching over and grabbing the back of your head. “want to make out?” You didn’t even think before eagerly nodding, looking up at him expectantly. He pressed his lips against yours with ease. His glasses pushed against your face but you didn’t find it in yourself to care.
Your hand slowly reached up his body before resting themselves on his shoulders, fingers curling at his button up. Your lips locked with his, easily moving in tandem without pulling apart. Breathing didn’t seem important at the moment.
You hadn’t even noticed you were standing on your toes until the pressure on them began to hurt. A struggled gasp left you as you pulled away, needing to catch a breath while also resting back on the balls of your feet. But Yuki immediately chased your lips, sacrificing his back as he bent down.
His hands gripped your waist, his thumbs digging into your skin. When did he even pull open your shirt? You didn’t get to think with how eager he was kissing you. It felt like you were the inexperienced one with how easily he was taking control.
“Y-Yuki.” You managed to moan into his lips, pulling away to breathe. A giggle left you when he subconsciously chased after your lips again but you pressed a finger against his. “Wait a minute.”
It was different—but in a good way. You were always the one in control during make outs. People were the one to pull away after you made them breathless. It was exciting for it to be the opposite.
“Are you…?” You whispered, wanting to make sure.
Sure, you were a degenerate who liked having sex with virgins, but you always toned yourself down when you did. Treat them like glass unless stated otherwise was your motto!
Yuki hummed. “Virgin? Yeah.”
“Do you know how—?”
“—I’m a virgin, not an idiot.”
You pouted. “I was just checking. Your first time needs to be good.”
“It’s already good.” He whispered, a slight smirk on his lips when you looked away in embarrassment. “But it could be better.”
“Hm? Better how?”
For the first time ever, you saw Yuki’s lips pull into a full smirk. Oh no.
Oh no indeed…
In front of you on the bed was a dress. A cute dress. But a dress nonetheless. It was white with a black bow on the chest. Frilly ends on the sleeves. Paired with white stockings.
The outfit reminded you of something but you didn’t know what.
You dated a lot of people. You’ve done strange shit because of people’s kinks. This, was tame. You shuddered at the time you dressed like a dog. Not even just dog ears and a tail… a full on dog.
Honestly this was a breath of fresh air. So you huffed and slipped out of your clothes, putting on the outfit with ease. Hm, it fit perfectly. You briefly wondered if Yuki somehow had your measurements.
“I’m dressed, Yuki.” You called, slipping on the last stockings. There was a mirror on the closet door. You moved over and couldn’t help but twirl. The dress really was cute. You took in the detailing of the dress and noticed a slight stain on one of the sleeves. But how could it have gotten a stain? Did Yuki make other people wear this?
That left a bitter taste in your mouth. Just because he was a virgin didn’t mean he hadn’t fooled around before. Which you couldn’t judge. That was your reputation!
A pair of arms wrapped around your waist causing you to flinch. Yuki hummed as he looked at you from the mirror. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his face still stoic. But the way his hands gripped your waist and body as it trailed around you.
“It still fits.” He suddenly muttered. “I was worried you would’ve grown too much since then.”
“Huh? Grown?”
“You don’t remember it?” His hands gripped your waist as he easily spun you around to face him. “First year. School festival.”
Festival? You stared at him confused for a moment before gasping in disbelief. “No way! You kept this?! I thought I threw it out?!” You said, pulling at the fabric in pure shock.
In your first year, your class did a maid cafe, but instead of girls, it was boys as the maids. You played as the head maid because you looked more girlish compared to everyone when you wore the wig. It was fun but you didn’t see the use in keeping the dress after so you threw it up.
Apparently Yuki found it.
“You did. I just grabbed it before they took out the trash. I would’ve saved the wig too..” he muttered, a slight pout on his lips.
You couldn’t help the slight scoff leaving you. “Wig? Do you want me to be a girl?”
“No. You just looked… cute. I like cute things.” He said, shrugging. “You just look cuter feminine.”
“But I don’t even remember you at the festival.”
Yuki hummed. “How could you? I was shorter than you back then. But I remember you. The cute head maid flaunting his cute little dress in front of everyone.”
You blushed. “I wouldn’t say I flaunted it…”
“Really? I think you were a lot of guys awakening that day. So many eyes on you.” His hands tugged at the bottom of the skirt. “Hm, you grew in height. It’s much shorter now.”
You reached down and noticed that it was resting just at the end of your ass. Certainly shorter than in first year when it was closer to your knees. Well at least you can say you did have a growth spurt… just nothing compared to Yuki’s.
“So, you want to have sex with me in it?”
“Mhm. I’ve masturbated to you wearing it for years now.”
You sputtered in shock, watching as Yuki moved away to possibly grab a condom and lube. This Ito Yuki was nothing to the one you thought you knew back at school. The way he could say it so casually made you feel some type of way. But you couldn’t explain it.
Gosh, you’d assume you’re the virgin.
With a slight pep talk in your mind, you squared your shoulders and stormed over to Yuki. He looked over at you and tilted his head, opening his lips to ask something but you pushed him down on the bed. Though you had to use a lot of strength for that—jeez, how tough was he?
You straddled his hips and grinned, looking down at him. “Don’t worry, Yuki~! I’ll make your first time special.” You whispered, gently rubbing your ass against his growing bulge.
Yuki seemed to want to say something but you kissed him, helping him pull off his pants. You knew what to do. You’ve done this so many times it was practically second nature. When you slipped off his boxers, you almost whimpered at the sight.
It was bigger than any you’ve seen before. That stereotype of slender men having bigger dicks didn’t seem like an internet lie anymore. You wondered if it looked bigger when he was thinner and didn’t have the lean muscle he had now.
Shit.
“Are you ready for your first blowjob?” You asked, smirking slightly. You expected him to finally start acting like a blushing virgin but he looked more so bored? Huh?
“Another time. I wanna be in you.”
You felt your cheeks flush. He wanted you quickly, huh? That’s a first. There were even times guys just wanted a blowjob from you and nothing else. This was, interesting to say the least. You gave him a hum and pulled down your own boxers, pulling up the dress.
You felt his eyes zero in on your body as you grabbed the lube and squirt some on your fingers. This was the best. Having someone watch you as you got yourself ready for them. You didn’t waste anytime, easily slipping in two fingers inside your hole. A grunt left you but you kept going, easily stretching yourself out.
If Yuki wanted to be inside, he’d get it. Besides, who doesn’t like a little bit of pain?
The dress was sticking to your skin already and you hadn’t even got his cock inside you yet. It was thin and a bit cheap in material but it certainly knew how to make you warm.
You reached over and grabbed the condom on the nightstand, easily tearing it open with your teeth. The slight eyebrow raise from Yuki made you smirk. It was a habit that you gained from sleeping around so much. Also past partners said it was sexy so you kept doing it.
What works, works!
After finally slipping the condom onto his cock, which surprisingly fit, you moved up to level your ass with his cock. You gave him a slight smile and rest your hand on his chest.
“You can always tell me to stop, okay?” You whispered, making sure he heard you. Yuki only gave you a nod, a look of impatience in his eyes.
Not wanting to make him anymore restless, you wordlessly began to sink down onto his cock. A short gasp filled the room as your fingers gripped his shirt. He was huge but feeling it inside was a whole different experience. You haven’t slept with a guy in a minute so you certainly felt a bit nervous than normal.
But it was fine.
The sight of Yuki was pretty to say the least. He still had on his stupid glasses, the hello kitty pin that held back his bangs. His face was already sweaty while his lips pulled into a slight grimace.
Ah, you knew the face well.
You leaned in close to him—your noses touching.
“Good? It’ll get better from here.” You grinned, leaning back as you slowly rolled your hips.
Except it didn’t really..?
It had to have been maybe ten minutes and Yuki hadn’t cummed at all. You came once which was embarrassing since you weren’t used to cumming before your partners. But you thought maybe he was just nervous so you kept bouncing on his cock.
But by the ten minute mark, he looked bored.
You thought you were imagining it but no, you could tell he was zoning out. His eyes were focused on you but he wasn’t reacting. Even when you picked up the pace, he didn’t even grunt.
A wave of embarrassment mixed in with anger flared within you. You stilled your hips to a stop, finally earning Yuki’s attention as he blinked and actually paid attention to you.
“Seriously…” You grunted, rolling your eyes. “If I’m that boring, you take over!” You were so used to being in control that you actually didn’t want him to take over. Really you wanted to go home, fully embarrassed that in the first time in forever, your partner wasn’t satisfied.
The hands that once laid on your thighs without any grip slowly moved upwards, digging its’ nails into the free upper thigh that wasn’t covered by your knee socks. You let out a surprised grunt at the pain but you didn’t even get to say anything about it before they trail up and grip your waist.
A gasp leaves you when you feel his hips slam up into you.
“Wh—?”
Colors blur as you feel yourself be pushed down onto the bed, your head bouncing slightly from the fast movement. Your legs are grabbed and pushed up, almost knocking yourself in the face.
“Yuki..!” You managed to cry out at his manhandling but he doesn’t seem to care at the moment. You can only watch as he takes off the hair clip and carelessly tosses it away. His bangs fall over his eyes and to your dismay, you can’t see them this time.
Doesn’t help the bedroom is only lit by a small lamp on the nightstand. The shadows practically cover his upper face beside his lips. You can see a slight glint in his glasses but he soon removed them as well, gently resting them on the nightstand.
It’s weird. Your stomach starts to feel weird again. That same feeling when he pulled you close on Valentine’s Day. What was this?
A quick slap of skin bleeds into the room as your thoughts are jumbled before you could even think. You could’ve sworn you heard a cry—like a high pitched voice. Was that?
Yeah, it was you.
Your back arched as Yuki slammed his cock inside you in a constant rhythm. There was cries and whimpers coming straight from you in tandem with his thrusts. You’ve never sounded like this before—you didn’t even think you could make a sound like this.
Your eyes began to water as you pressed your hand against your lips, wanting to muffle the new strange sounds coming.
“Hey…” Yuki’s thrusting slowed down as he reached over and grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away. “Did I say you can do that?” His fingers tightened around your wrist, earning a slight squeak from you in pain.
A laugh filled the room. A boyish smile appearing on Yuki’s lips. He looked so scary like this. No eyes for you to look in. Just the sight of his lips being your only way of knowing how he’s feeling.
“You’re so cute. Like a little hamster.”
“H..Hamster..?”
“Mhm.” His thrusting began again, filling the room with the sounds of squelching and skin slapping. “Cute little hamster. Squishy.”
“Squish—!”
A whimper left you as your toes curled. Shit, you were cumming already?! You let out a grunt and turned your head to the side, wanting to just bury it in the soft bedsheets beneath you.
“Two already.” Yuki said absentmindedly, his hands releasing your thighs as he slowed down his thrusting. You glanced over at him, seeing his hands trail up your body. They were veiny. Larger than yours. He could hold both of your wrists with one hand. You shuddered at the thought.
“Don’t make fun of me.” You whispered, hoping he would just cum already.
Yuki hummed. “I’m making fun of you?” He asked, genuinely confused. You wish you could see his eyes—just to see a glimpse into what he’s thinking. But all you get a little smile.
“I’m not making fun of you. I’m keeping count.” His hands reached the top of your collar, slowly tightening around it. You hummed, wondering what he was about to do. “So I can give you more next time.”
“Give me more?”
“Mhm.”
The sound of fabric tearing caught your attention as you glanced down and saw your dress being torn apart by Yuki’s hands. It started off slow, as if he was fighting the seams before easily pulling it apart once he reached the middle.
A strangled moan left you at the show of strength. Oh man. How could you survive any longer with this guy?
“Yuki!”
“I’ve always wanted to do that.” He said, leaning down as he pressed kisses on your bare skin. Your toes curled as you gripped at the bed sheets beneath you. “I’ll buy you prettier dresses.”
A breathy whimper left your lips. “There’ll be a next time?”
“Why wouldn’t there be? You’re my boyfriend.” He pulled out his cock and easily flipped you to rest on the side of your stomach. He plopped down behind you and raised one of your legs, slotting himself easily back into your tight heat.
“Y… You actually like me..?” You muttered, gasping as he begins a slow and steady pace, resting his chin on your shoulder.
Yuki simply hummed. “I wanna fuck you. We can talk later.” He said bluntly. You shrieked as he captured your lips into a kiss and began fucking you in a harsh pace.
The sounds of skin slapping and your muffled moans filled the room. Your fingers digging into the bed while his dug into your skin. There was a slight burn on your thighs and you weren’t sure if he possibly broke your skin from just how hard he gripped you.
You pulled away from the kiss, needing to catch your breath when you noticed why Yuki had put you in this position. The fucking mirror.
Damn pervert.
You couldn’t really hide yourself, not with his arm holding you up. All you could do was kiss him again, not having to see your fucked out expression. It didn’t take long for you to reach another orgasm with ease, the cum coating your stomach in a sight of white liquid.
A whimper left your sore throat as Yuki maneuvered you to rest on your knees as he continued fucking into you. Finally, you buried your face into the sheets, biting them to muffle your moans.
“I’m close. Just a little more, (Name)-Chan.”
Yuki let out a surprised grunt when he felt you tighten around his cock. You whimpered in embarrassment, squeezing your eyes shut. No way. No way that your body just did that.
A slight chuckle left Yuki as he draped his chest against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. “So cute, (Name)-Chan.” With that, he pulled away and gripped your hips as he chased his own release. It didn’t take too long, his grunts mixing in with your cries.
His hips slammed against your ass as he groaned, finally reaching his orgasm. You hummed before feeling something wet coat your insides. Yuki pulled away and hummed.
“It broke.”
You turned around, seeing him hold a broken condom. “It broke?!” You cried, moving to sit up only to wince in pain. “Yuki… why are you so calm?!”
“It’s fine. It looks pretty.” He said, pointing at the cum slowly leaking from your ass.
“Pervert!”
“Mhm.” He pushed up his sweaty bangs and sighed, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Shower?”
“Yeah. Uhm, are we… a couple?”
“Yeah.” He got off the bed and leaned over to you, a slight smirk on his lips. “I’m the only man you can be a slut for from now on.”
“I’m not a slut!”
Yuki only gave you a shrug before walking away to start the bath. Well, it looked like you weren’t a playboy anymore.
But it felt good.
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
First fic back!! Way longer than it needed to be… hope yall like Yuki. I kinda want to make him into a full OC, but I’ll see.
Tag list: @flurrina @chill-guy-but-cooler @iwishtobeacrow @ofclyde @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @tomoeroi @tehyunnie @the-ultimate-librarian @smellwell @love-kha1 @star-3214 @remdayz @rhetorical-conscience @mooncarvers-world
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kamiversee · 6 months ago
Text
Not So Innocent ꨄ
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[ { Synopsis } ] ➤ Your boyfriend Choso was always a freak but, your newly wedded husband Choso is ten times worse.
[ { Need to know } ] ➤This is a What-If scenario that stems from my fic; The F*ck List— A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt.
[ { Content & Warning } ] ➤ f!reader, heavy dirty talk, language, spitting, manhandling, praise, degrading, rough sex, overstim, slight cum play, filth, etc
[ { Paring } ] ➤ Choso Kamo x f!reader.
[ { Word Count } ] ➤ 3.1k
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——CHOSO'S SO SWEET. Often did you hear such words during your wedding. Your friends, family-, everyone called Choso sweet and simply perfect for you.
The way his eyes lingered on yours for moments far longer than needed, how he'd find any moment to caress your hand, trace small shapes into your palm or your shoulder when he could-- he was such an attentive man. People praised him all day long for how he acted around you.
Even when you weren't around and Choso talked to the guests about you, people commented that he had such a beautiful way of describing you, how he'd explain that you were his muse and all his success in the world of art stems from you.
Choso felt like without meeting you, he may have never gotten as far in life as he did. It took roughly five years or so of dating for you to even be ready for marriage. And for a long time, Choso didn't know what it was you were so afraid of but he still waited patiently until you started to hint that you were ready.
Through those years of dating, you eventually got the whole truth from Gojo, whom you hardly think much about now but, after getting the truth-- you think that's the day you ran to Choso and started throwing out hints of marriage. Perhaps that's what'd been holding you back for so long, not knowing why things happened the way they did in college.
Hell, even after you found everything out, it took some time for you to really wrap your head around things. Part of your heart, this really small part, still longed for Gojo and for that, you felt like shit for months.
Up until you eventually poured the truth out to Choso one day. The whole truth. Every detail of the list, how it started, how it ended-, everything. Choso had responded to you saying that what you told him explained a few things...
Even so, lots had changed over the course of five years. The truth was out and you were completely free from confusion. Not only that but, not too long after Gojo confessed every detail of his truth, Sukuna released his custody over Yuji. So, of course, you and Choso were at an all-time peak of happiness.
Hence why you date the day of your wedding as the happiest day of your life. You recall every moment, every laugh, every happy tear that was shed-, everything. It was such a beautiful and peaceful day.
And Choso was so sweet— too bad that only lasted until the sunset and the two of you were off to your honeymoon destination.
Okay well, he was still sweet for that day since the two of you were a bit too tired to do much after a draining flight to where you are now. As for the next day, the first day of your honeymoon... well, Choso was...
“C’mere baby,” His deep voice, husked with hours of sleep that'd just barely faded off, filled the air of the room you were in.
Soft sunlight peeping in through the curtains, even softer sheets surrounding the two of you, clothes messily scattered to the floor-- he may not have gotten to you on the night of your wedding due to sheer exhaustion but the next morning? Oh, you couldn't get a second away from him.
You've dated Choso long enough to know that sometimes he just wakes up hard, his cock poking at your ass as you'd shift around in your sleep. It was a natural occurrence you'd gotten used to. Sometimes you both ignored it and sometimes it was taken care of immediately.
But when you just got married to this man less than twenty-four hours ago, there was no way for you to have expected him to just ignore his morning wood. Especially not when Choso's been on cloud nine ever since he saw you stroll down that aisle looking just as beautiful as the first day the two of you ran into each other.
A heavy groan pours out of your husband's mouth whilst his hands run along your body, fingertips dancing against your supple skin before he finds his rightful hold on your hips.
Cheek down against the mattress, back arched sensually, and ass up in the air-- the sudden snap of Choso's hips against your ass rips a moan from your mouth, one of many that's already left you within the past hour or so.
You'd married such a sweet man but in bed, he was an entirely different person, hence why your fingers are curling into the sheets and you're attempting to pull yourself away from him for only a second. Only to earn a grunt from Choso who tugs your hips back to him, “Don’t fuckin' runnn baby,” He sighs, a lazy smile spread across his face at the sight.
You've got a bit of drool slipping down your face, Choso's fingers are stopping you from moving too much and all you can do is take it. "M-Mmgh..." Your eyes began to water a bit as his thick cock drilled into your hole relentlessly, "C-Cho, hahh, you're s-so-"
"Big?" He finishes for you, earning a squeeze from your cunt in response. The sudden tightness makes his brows push together as he tosses his head back, "Yeah baby, you've been tellin' me that for years," He teases, "M'not gettin' any smaller, sorry princess."
His tip was so fat and angry against your insides, leaving you utter mush beneath him with how hard he was fucking his cock into you. "C-Can't stand you-, fuck." You gasp as he lands a hand onto your ass, gripping at the fat and chuckling at your words.
Then he's leaning forward a bit and angling his hips differently, drilling deeper inside you before grunting out a low, "Yeah but you can cum f'me again," Choso comments tauntingly with a smirk on his face.
One of his hands starts to travel to your back, pressing you down into the mattress before he lifts a leg a places his foot onto the bed for better leverage. If you weren't clawing at the sheets before, you damn sure are now as his throbbing cock bottoms you out.
Your jaw went slack and you were tearing up, "Ah, mgh, oh... oh fuck, Choso..." You moan, trying to collect yourself and not get too caught up in how good he was fucking you.
But how could you not? Choso was fucking you deep and hard, grunting and groaning without a care in the world while trying to hold out on painting your insides white too soon.
Then there's the way your pussy narrows around his shaft, letting him know you were close again, "See? There you go-," Choso loses his words for a moment as you start moving your hips backward to meet his thrust. You'd caught him completely off guard and it makes him choke, "Y-Yeahhh, fuck yourself on me, jus’ like that," He moans.
Choso leans up a bit just to watch you, eyes glued down on your pussy lewdly taking his cock over and over again. The sight makes him smile, as always.
"Shiit baby, you've got such a pretty fuckin' pussy," Choso praises as he tilts his head, jaw-dropping a bit at how you part your legs a bit more and arches your back further, "Fuck, princess-, fuuck... so fuckin' pretty," He stammers a bit while he continues to praise you, losing himself in the way you continuously bring yourself back on him.
His cock thrust in to match your movements, both of you fucking each other in sync. Oh how you drove Choso to the brink of insanity-- he was moving to spit down on his cock just before it disappeared inside you without a second thought, watching his saliva mix with the slick from your cunt and releasing another moan afterward.
Then Choso brings his hand to your ass again, "Baby, I complimented you, didn't I?"
You just nod stupidly, not thinking twice about what he's hinting toward, "Mmhhmm-," Choso snaps his hips forward again, pelvis clashing into you and making you whine, "F-Fuck."
Cocking his head to the side, Choso starts picking up his pace again, "What're you supposed t'say when you get compliments, huh?" He asks, tone rough with you.
His swollen cock rutted into your cervix, leading your legs to quake and your breath to escape you, "Choso-,"
"No pretty, c'monnn," He cuts off on purpose, "Where's those manners of yours, hm? Have I been too nice to you lately?" Voice dipping down into something a bit sweeter with you, your stomach churns before he's stretching you open all over again.
"Fuck... Fuck-," You gasp and your eyes squeeze shut before you're panting, "T-Thank you Cho..."
That earns a sexy smile from your husband, "There ya' go, suuch a good fuckin' girl f'me. Smart woman I've married, sayin' thank you after gettin' praised. Y'like it when I tell you how pretty y'are, hm?"
Blindly nodding into the bed, "Uhuh..." Is the most you can babble out.
And of course the sound makes Choso smile. He loves getting you to the point where you can hardly speak. Which is exactly why he’s smiling as he hums to you, "Speak up baby." Just as those words leave his lips, his cock is turning your cunt to mush, leaving you nothing more than a mindless hole beneath him.
Panting and clawing at the mattress, tears slip down your cheeks and your words come out jumbled and whiney, "Yes, Choso-, hhgnn… y-yes."
Choso puts on a pout to mock you before he scoffs and reaches a hand down to your hair, "C'mere, look at me,” He utters surprisingly softly before tugging you up by your hair so he can get a decent look at your face.
He forced your head to angle toward him and you swear he’s fucking you harder than he was before. Your pussy was sloshing all over his thick shaft, leaving where you were connected and slipping down along both of your thighs— you were a wet mess but Choso seemed to love you like that.
"Hi baby,” Your husband whispers, his eyes hanging low as he gazes into yours. Then he pouts at you again, “Aww, you cryin'? Feels that good, huh?" Choso teases. He watches the way your brows furrow and decides to go even further, bringing his free hand around your body and moving two fingers down to your clit.
Your body jumps within his hold once he starts rubbing over your clit, a strangled moan pouring out of your mouth, “C-Choso-, hahhh… fuck-,”
He just smirks, "Does it feel good when I touch you like this too?" He asks gently, as if he can’t see the clear effect his touch has on you.
You couldn’t even answer him verbally just yet— quiet mhm’s leaving your throat was the most you could manage. Your hand went over his and your nails were scratching against his arms, legs trying to draw together and your body nearly falling forward.
"Hm? I can't hear you princess,” Choso has the nerve to taunt you, “C’mon, jus' talk t'me. Tell me what you want me t'do," He instructs before pulling your body back against his.
Your mouth simply hangs open and his fingers won’t stop toying with your clit, his heavy cock resting inside you and leaving you full and lightheaded with pleasure, “…Mmh, k-keep-, nngh, g-go- oh, fuck, fuck… keep goin’ Cho… hahh, don’t stop, don’t fuckin’ stop…”
His cock aches inside you at the sound of your small whimpers in between words and your twisted-up face. Smiling, "Keep goin’, huh? You close?" Choso’s voice is sudden in your ear and you just moan into the air. “Gonna make a mess on me? Hahhh, fuck I guess I married a slut too, huh?”
You manage to meet his eyes and Choso swears he’s never seen you with an expression this lewd before. Well, he definitely has but, it still amazes him every time.
His brows push together and he groans, "I mean, look at that face-, shit,” Choso gasps. Just looking at you with a completely fucked out expression almost made him fold, “So fuckin' perfect. My perfect wife."
Your lower lip pokes out and you whine, “C-Cho…”
“Mhm, y’know you’re mine right?” He coos, leaning in to kiss the side of your neck. You huff out a sigh in response and he starts talking against your skin, “Yeahhh, my wife. My lil’ slut to ruin whenever the fuck I want, right?”
His voice grew rough all of a sudden and he started moving you around again, placing a hand to your back and forcing you back down to the bed. Then both of his hands were on your back, pressing into your arch before his hips picked up in pace.
The veins decorating his cock rubbing against your walls, cockhead digging deep inside you and making you gasp all over again.
Then there’s his voice, “Y’like that Mrs. Kamo?”
Oh you practically lose yourself right then and there— a slick mess of cum coating his dick due to one simple phrase. Choso scoffs loudly at the sight and the feeling of your pussy squeezing him like crazy.
“S-Shit, y’like your new last name, huh?” Choso huffs, sounding a bit more breathless than he did just moments ago.
“M-Mhmm, ah… mmgh-, fuck,” You bite your bottom lip for a second to get yourself together before uttering a sweet, “I love it Cho…”
He really starts to lose himself after that, mindlessly pounding into you with his jaw-dropping a bit. Choso doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on in his life. You were his. His wife.
Fuck he was seconds from emptying himself inside of you— hell, maybe he should. Fuck you nice and full of his cum… It’s been a while since you’ve let him do so after all.
“Baby,” Choso grunts, heavy pants leaving his wet lips, “F-Fuck, m’gonna cum…” He suddenly heaves out.
So lost in the thought of cumming inside you, Choso hardly realizes how he’s drilling into you right now— the bed had begun to shake and your body was dipping down into the mattress, his cock twitching wildly inside you as it ached for release and heavy balls slapping against you with his every thrust.
The fabric below you is wet from your drool and you could hardly even whisper his name out, the sound leaving in a light squeak, “Choso.”
“Uhuh,” Choso responds mindlessly before he moans, “M-Mhmm, fuck… lemme cum inside you, princess.” He finally manages to blurt out his thoughts and it catches you off guard.
Followed by that is Choso moving a hand under you and rubbing his fingers over your clit yet again— tugging a cry from your throat, “S-Shit-, hahhh,” Your body was practically folding in on itself but his other hand remained firm on your back, keeping you in position, “Choso, fuck, Cho… mmmh-“
“Please?” He whines, “Fuck-, fuuck… baby… I need to,” Choso’s quick to beg you as he’s desperate for his release, “Needa’ stuff this pretty pussy full of me,” He babbles out before throwing his head back and groaning, “Fuuck, I wanna see it drippin’ outta’ you when I’m done. ‘Nd then stuff it right back in, make it nice and sloppy.”
His words had you cumming again before you finally agreed, nodding desperately against the bed, “Okay, mgh, okay, fuck,” You whisper.
His thrusts grow sharper and his body weighs into you a bit, “Okay, what?” Choso grunts lowly.
Just barely, you angle your head back as best you could to look at him and flash the smallest fucked out smile you could manage, “Cum inside me, Cho.”
His reaction is priceless, seed spilling into your pussy seconds after those words hit his ears— or maybe it was the way you’d looked at him, either way, he was fucking his cum into you within seconds.
Babbling as he ruts into you with mindless, almost animalistic-like thrusts, “Fuckin’ love you-, holy shit, I love you,” Is the only thing Choso could repeat as his cum spurted into you, the sound of slick growing louder and messier as he never once slowed the pace of his thrusts.
And he’s just thrusting in and out and in and out over and over again, watching that messy white ring form at his base and letting out a long groan at the sight.
“F-Fuck, say it back pretty, tell me you love me,” He huffs impatiently.
Sure, Choso knows you love him and he can clearly see how difficult speaking is for you but he didn’t care, he needed to hear it back from you anyway.
“Love you, Cho,” You whimper, “Mmmh… I love you s-so much.”
And then he’s fucking you through those very words, his body leaning over yours at this point and a moan of your name leaving his lips— followed by the faintest whimper.
When he finally calms himself, he’s pulling out with small whines escaping him. His face was flushed and he couldn’t stop panting.
Then he was moving a thumb to your sensitive folds, spreading your cunt apart to watch his cum trickle out and angling the tip of his cock against your hole just to watch his cum drip out of you and down onto his skin.
It was messy, nasty even, but didn’t care one bit. A smile was etched onto his face as he did so and you just laid there completely still for a while.
Choso was behind you toying with the mess below, enjoying himself a little too much, “Can’t get enough of this pussy, y’know…”
You scoff, “Choso…”
“I���m jus’ sayin',” He hums before tilting his head, smiling growing, “She’s so messy, I fuckin’ love her.”
You roll your eyes at the man, “Cho… please stop talkin’ about my pussy like it’s a p-person…”
“Shhh baby, I’m trying to listen t’her,” He says, completely disregarding your words as he continues to just rub his tip in between your folds. “Nasty fuckin’ girl. Y'Made such a big mess,” Choso coos. Then he shrugs and you feel him start pressing his tip into you, “S’okay though, you’ll make another one f’me, right?”
You send your husband a look, “Choso.”
“Shhh princess, don’t be rude,” He hums, smiling to himself as he doesn’t even attempt to look away from your cunt, “I haven’t even made my pretty girl squirt yet,” He comments before his smile widens, “Good thing I’ve got all day t’do so.”
Yeah, you definitely weren’t getting any more rest…
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tags;
@blognicole @suguruologist @luqueam @ivoryviness @sinaxalui @rxnnie18 @carlacujo @gods-landing @bitchysouljellyfish @miles4hour @sinaxalui @annananamin @heart-snow @kiyomizzx @hanuh @acehyacinth @mccookiemonster @tojis-ball-sack @cartwheel6869 @mariluvsusstuff @addie1010 @slammynics @actualz0mbie @hisbitchhh @kay-xle @cunttee3 @voids-universe @raininglovelyfire @itsbokutosjuicyass @peaceoutbritta @barbielani @gennaray @r3inae @kfmcykdy @camiihutt @tokina @curtin81937 @hopefullydecent @nameless-shade @ureuphoriasworld @forgetfulmachine @legbouk @lilliaannn @clementineee0-0 @divinelseraph @didibxx
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entitled-fangirl · 2 months ago
Text
War prize.
Cregan Stark x Targaryen!reader
Summary: The North hates Cregan's wife and shows it rather harshly. Cregan is there to tell them off.
Warnings: violence, sexism, talks of losing virginity unwillingly, the poor reader just going through it😭
A/n: My writing is kinda eh on this one but I got it done which is all that matters. Huge italicized sections mean like a little flashback in case you needed to know that. Based on an ask!
Masterlist
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She watched her guard lock the door behind him.
How long had she been stuck in this castle?
She felt used. Taken as a trophy and nothing more. Purely a way to show status.
Purely a way to show who won the war.
Cregan Stark had won the war. And now she was his.
He was kind and caring, quick to compassion and slow to anger. If not for the others, she could've seen this as a happy marriage.
But the others made that impossible.
For the door was not locked to keep her in, but to keep others out.
Cregan saw the very actions his people tried against her, and he was concerned. 
It didn't help that all of her dresses were green. A reminder of what had come to pass.
Anytime Cregan's back was turned, something happened to her. Whether it was harsh words, spitting at her feet, or even once a manhandling that almost turned into a mob.
Cregan knew she deserved better. She was kind. He hardly believed her to be a Hightower. At first glance that day in the Keep, he thought perhaps she was Aemond's wife, or another one of Aegon's whores he had always kept around.
But no. Aemond's twin sister.
He felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness when two men threw the woman to the ground in front of him.
Her dress was torn in places. Her hair was tangled and dirt ran from her temple to her chin, clearly having been thrown around a lot. She wiped the falling tears from her face with bruised hands. 
"What is this?" He asked the men. Others began to crowd around them to see what would become of her.
The men had only seen prostitutes along the path from the North to the Keep, and even those were few. Seeing a highborn lady was a rare sight.
"Found her hiding away," the man on her right commented.
Cregan sighed and reached down, pulling her chin up so he could look at her. He tipped her face from side to side, observing her. "And what did you hope I'd say when you threw a princess down at my feet? Did you expect me to reward you?"
The man paled. "Well, this is a traitor, my lord. Surely-"
"-Her only crime was the womb she was born from."
"She wears their colors still, Lord Stark-"
"Is she? I can hardly tell under the mud you've drug her through." He huffed, "I want you two out of my sight."
They looked at one another and nodded, moving to pick up the girl again. She jerked back in fear. 
"Leave her," he grumbled. "Well? Be gone. All of you!"
Slowly, they filed out of the room. "Are you gravely injured?" He asked softly.
"Not particularly, my lord," she whimpered.
He sighed and bent at the knee, joining her on the ground. "Did any of them truly put their hands on you? More than to drag you here?"
She wiped her face again, "Are you hoping to take my innocence, my lord?"
A noise involuntarily left his throat. "What?"
"I… It is yours. Just please don't harm me," she sniffled.
Any motion he made to comfort her, he pulled away as if burned. "I'm not going to do that."
"No, no please don't leave me to them," she begged when he pulled away. "Please don't let them have me. I'll do anything."
"They won't have you," he tried again. "Nothing more is going to happen to you. Now, go get redressed and come back. You're not leaving my side until I get this situated."
After a few hours, Cregan unlocked the door and entered their shared chambers. "My love?"
He cursed under his breath when he noticed she had fallen asleep on the bed. He wouldn't have been so loud had he known.
He sat on the bed and brushed her hair from her face. "Wake up, dear wife."
She hummed in discontent.
His lips pulled into a thin line. Things had gone especially wrong lately and it had begun to show in her actions. 
"C'mon." He began to pull her up. 
She whined and began to lean into him, tucking her face into his neck.
He chuckled, "I have something for you."
Her eyes opened, "Oh, do you?" 
There was outrage when Cregan took her as a wife. The North fought against the idea of having a Southern traitor as their Lady.
He had promised King Aegon III to be fair and just, and the boy said okay, knowing that he would stay honest to his word. 
But the North hated her all the same.
Cregan never considered to fear for her safety, for she was the Warden's wife, and he thought the people would know better than to touch her. 
That, and she hadn't told him of the things said right to her face when he wasn't around. She figured he knew. 
They walked through the city, her arm in his as he showed her around. She took in every sight she could, entranced by the culture of the North. 
But that also welcomed the stares.
Cregan had noticed them immediately, and he flipped her hood up. He didn't care about them, but he knew she would. So by doing so, he was hoping it would bring her a little more comfort. 
Anyone in Westeros would recognize that silver hair.
He leaned down just a bit. "Just tell me when you grow tired or cold."
She nodded, "May I go explore?"
He smiled, "So eager to get away from me?"
"No," she corrects.
"I'm only jesting. Go on."
She grinned and began to look around, trying to decide where to go first.
"Don't wander off too far," he remarked as he moved towards a lord to chat.
She nodded and went, walking a little further down the road. She looked back occasionally to make sure she was still in his line of sight. In doing so, she bumped into a woman harshly.
Y/n pulled back and apologized. "Forgive me!"
The woman set her basket down and straightened her skirt. "Foolish girl. Watch where you step next time."
"I do apologize." She dug in her pocket, pulling out a few coins. "Here. For your trouble."
The woman's eyes widened. She pulled the coins from her hand accusingly. "Where did you get these?" She hissed.
"Well… I… just from…" she turned back to where she could see Cregan. 
The woman grabbed her arm. "Did you steal these? Tell me where."
She jerked against the woman's movements. "No. No, I didn't."
"My lady, is this girl bothering you?" A tall man interfered, helping the woman.
The woman tilted her head, "She's throwing around coins like she's something of value. Look at 'er."
The man eyed her and reached up, pulling the princess' hood down. Their eyes widened. 
She turned to try to catch Cregan's attention, but the man pulled her to him. "A Targaryen, eh? The usurper's bitch sister, aren't you?"
"Please let me go," she whimpered.
"A green traitor in Winterfell? Seems the rumors were right."
She tried to pull her arm away, "Unhand me."
"Shut it, traitor scum."
"CREGAN!" She yelled out of instinct.
Cregan's head snapped immediately, his heart dropping to his stomach. His eyes scanned the crowd, trying to find her amidst the people that had begun to gather. But he couldn't see her. His worry grew and he began to step out into the crowd in hope of finding her.
She fought against the man's grip. She remembered this feeling of helplessness from only weeks before. "Stop! Please… Please, I'll do anything! Just stop!" 
Anyone around them was stopped now, onlooking or shouting at what was going on.
Cregan's jaw set as he figured she was in the midst of it, and he rolled his shoulders back.
"CREGAN!" He heard again, and that was all he needed.
He began to shove people to the side in an attempt to move through the mob that had begun to form. His angered shouts were drowned out.
Luckily, the Northern Warden was burly and built like a wall, so he was able to work through the crowd by sheer force alone. 
Once towards the middle, he finally saw her. 
The man held her tightly by her silver hair. Her hands were trying to lighten his harsh grip on her as she cried. She couldn't stop the others’ hands from pulling at her skirt or the way they spit at her, but she could at least try to stop the pain erupting from her scalp.
"ENOUGH!" Cregan yelled. He finally made it to them, and his hand gripped the man's throat tightly and he leaned down to his ear. "Unhand her."
She sunk to the ground and clutched at her dress.
Cregan kept his hand firm but looked out at the others that still surrounded them. "Leave." he growled through his teeth. "All of you." When no one moved, he threw the man to the ground and turned to them in rage. "LEAVE!"
One by one they left quietly. He looked down at the man. "May the gods have mercy on you, for I have none."
"Keep your eyes closed," he chuckled when she almost stumbled. "I've got you."
"How far must we go?"
"Almost there, I assure you."
After a while, he finally sat her down and instructed her to hold on her arms.
A heavy weight was placed in them. Something soft. Something moving.
"Open."
"A dire wolf?" Her eyes widened.
"Mere pup now, but a mighty predator later. I felt I owed you one."
She frowned, "You don't owe me a thing. I… I feel as if I owe you."
He couldn't stop a bright laugh from escaping his throat. "Hardly."
"Cregan," she began, trying to ignore the way the pup cuddled into her for warmth. "You have saved me time and time again. Without you, I would be in some brothel, or maimed by a man without heart, or…" her voice faltered, "Paraded through King's Landing as a true war prize. But I am not. I'm your wife instead. That is a fate I did not deserve."
"But I failed you. I promised to protect you, but I find that I cannot do that as well as I had hoped. This war was hard on my people. While I cannot fault them for their anger, it is wrong to use it on their Lady of Winterfell." His voice grew persistent. "You are mine. You are no Hightower anymore. You and I both know that."
She nodded and began to pet the wolf. "I pray that the North does one day."
"They will," he confirmed. "I shall make them if I must."
"I just don't want to be stuck in this room anymore. These walls are driving me mad," she admitted.
He sighed. "I'm sure they are. But soon you shall have a protector for when I cannot be there." He leaned down at pet the small pup on her lap. "This too will pass eventually."
"Once I give you an heir?"
"Once we have a child," he corrected, "I'm sure they shall be lighter on you."
"And until then?"
He smiled sweetly, "I'll do all I can. Now." He brushed hair from her face. "Please say you like it," he said as he looked down at the pup.
Only then did she let herself truly consider that she now had a dire wolf. "It's beautiful. I just…"
He held a finger up, "Enough of that. I promise you that I and this pup will not let another hand touch you."
She flushed lightly and smiled. "Thank you. I do not say that enough."
He shrugged. "You do, it just usually looks like other things instead."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," he looked down at her dress, "wearing the dress that I had made for you is a thank you in and of itself. Blue suits you well. I could name things for all eternity. You are a perfect wife. And I admire you greatly."
"You've only known me seven moons."
"And that is seven moons enough to know."
"Cregan, I am a trophy of your accomplishments."
"You are hardly that."
She sighed, "But that is what they see me as."
"Do I?"
She considered his question. "I don't believe so."
"Then does it matter? I respect you, and with time, I will make sure they do as well."
She nodded and adjusted the dog in her arms. "Very well. I trust you."
He smiled and stood. "That's all I ask for. Now, name your pup and dress for supper. I'll come collect you myself. Is that alright?"
She nodded again.
"The North will like you," he left off with as he closed the door behind him.
She heard the lock behind him.
In time. 
In time.
Either they learn to like her, or they shall meet a Stark dire wolf closely.
The actual dire wolf or Cregan Stark, it didn't matter.
Their jaws would both equally snap at any threat.
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Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver,
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taegularities · 4 months ago
Text
entertainer | jjk (m)
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Summary: Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers (or something); angst, bits of fluff, smut!! ➳ warnings: do not fall for this jk i repeat do not f– 🚨 he's kinda hot though; (not so) silent yearning, flirting, a shit ton of sexual tension, sexual fantasies, some jealousy from his side, he is very VERY attracted to her, mystery, oc is a big question mark, full jk pov!, difficult past(s), (mention of) sexual harassment, mentioned past death of a side character, crying, fear, manipulation, confrontation and fighting, aggression, cursing, cocky and selfish kook, overthinking, secrets and revelations, explicit sexual content: kissing, fingering, teasing, drunk shenanigans, sooo much lust, big dick jk, dom jk, oc is odd, oral (f. receiving), spit stuff, handjob, manhandling, orgasm delay, lip ring…, light choking, bit of hair pulling, a spank or two, coming on oc, some cum tasting mmmh, ass stuff, protected sex, rough sex, various positions, masturbation; as always THE ENDING!! lmk if i forgot something!! ➳ wc: 32.4k ➳ a/n: MHMMM, it's finally time!! i experimented with the trope a little; def not a professional when it comes to this genre, but i tried my best. both oc and jk are odd in this one, and you might be on either's side and hate either of them, i can't say :'D very curious tho, so come and drop a message to lmk what you think. let it aaaall out :P <3
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➳ listen to the Entertainer playlist! 🖤   
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs 
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Jungkook has always wanted an audience to perceive him.
Not just to perceive him, in fact. To worship him.
Jungkook doesn’t consider himself a bad person. Spoiled, a little selfish, but not necessarily bad. He enjoys attention, no matter how temporary or who the giver of it. Feasts on it like an incubus.
What’s wrong with that? Nothing.
Or. 
Maybe there is. Maybe he’s coming on too strong.
Because you’re not part of his audience, sitting over there, middle row, middle spot, with your eyes lowered to the notebook. And when you do look up, there’s nothing but indifference in your eyes.
It irks him. Maybe he is a little narcissistic, and maybe he can’t quite deny it after all — but as part of his future team, you should at least fake a smile, right? Display a certain amount of enthusiasm, the joy of working with aspiring artists.
But no.
You’re occupied, scribbling into your notebook. Jungkook, cognisant of the fact that he hasn’t issued much of significance today, understands that you cannot be taking notes of his words. And he also understands that… if that is true…
You’re not granting him as much fascination as he’s used to.
General admiration thrown into the same bucket as his unwavering talent — that he’s well aware of — might just be the reason he climbed up so high in no time. Sometimes, gentle livestreams and vlogs do the trick — locals have found reasons to adore him already.
At times, a good song and strong vocals aren’t necessary to woo people.
Jungkook, however, is insatiable — that’s what keeps him pondering at times. That it’s just the locals, and on an international scale, there’s still much to achieve.
But he’s not a quitter, he’s a conqueror.
And he’ll reach that mind-boggling status of a well-known, global icon, name flowing as naturally through the seam of people’s lips as a still-lying, tranquil lake.
Jungkook knows it’s cocky of him to praise himself to the skies and to rely on his resolute hopes so much. He knows life backfires sometimes, and that endeavours don’t always pay off. He only started as an insignificant city boy, too.
Survived the cruelty of elementary and middle school; shared a room with his brother, relying on him until he grew and learned to finally rule over high school; every single soul at his beck and call. Then, trudged through college before any of where he’s standing even existed.
But he’s here now. And people acknowledge it.
Except you.
And it throws him off his balance. Which is probably why he shortens the end of his speech, close to slurring distracted syllables before he realises he’s forgotten a prepared sentence or two.
No matter; the relevant and main message should have been delivered by now.
So he leans back in a chair in the back, flashing a captivating smile and waits for the applause. Somewhat proud when the praise needs a moment to cease for his manager to reclaim the mic, freeing the metaphorical stage, much in the form of a simple pult, for the CEO of the company.
Taehyung is savvy of how to regain control over a stage; Jungkook doesn’t know whether he fucked up his final remarks, but Taehyung summarises his ideas well. But the clapping does say a lot.
And between those raising their hands to appreciate Jungkook’s speech, you were, too. He knows because he looked directly at you; still is. And when your eyes drift to his, the two of you hold each other’s gazes for at least a couple seconds longer than the others.
And your smile, while present, is somewhat tight-lipped, a bit awkward but confident, too. Odd, as well; hard to explain, but as though you know what you want. As though you have your priorities set straight and cannot be swayed by anything the world might throw at you.
He doesn’t have a word for it. Poised? Self-reliant? Fearless? Can a single look even say this much or is he being delusional?
But this can’t be true, honestly. Nobody is this unperturbed or passive. He’ll find out.
Your stare aligns with his a couple more times over the next minutes, staying there before continuing the journey over the crowd. Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch just a little whenever your eyes pierce into his, so tantalising and deep, big sweet ires, but so conniving at the same time.
He doesn’t know your name, but he’s sure that it defines intrigue. And maybe, just perhaps, it might serve as the synonym for drop fucking dead gorgeous, too.
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When Taehyung leads you to Jungkook’s stuffy studio, the latter hears your voice through the open door several seconds before you come in. Or actually, it’s not quite his studio.
More like a collective office that a couple of the newcomers use. Jungkook has been part of this crew a little longer, but he needs the additional success, more prosperity; he’s been told to yield more results to earn his very own four walls. Carrying his signature flavour.
But it’s okay. For now, this suffices…
The stench of coffee and the sound of the AC. The pot and plants that always rest in some corner of the room, courtesy of Taehyung who insists on some colour in the grey-white, small room. Jungkook has gotten used to it all.
Which is why it’s strange, seeing your splendour enter the small space, delighted by whatever Taehyung might be explaining. Your grin is the widest Jungkook has seen since yesterday.
He didn’t get to meet you properly yet, so he can’t say where your humour lies. Nobody introduced you, despite your new position as his very own, personal work partner. A second manager, here to guide and aid him when Taehyung can’t; and apparently, you’ve found some charm in Taehyung that you didn’t see in Jungkook during the stupid meeting.
Not that Jungkook would ever dare to doubt his friend’s appeal, but you’ve stormed into his life like a present, and so silently, too; and he wanted to be the one to open it. To reveal it.
Not Taehyung. Even if it’s his job.
Okay. Calm down. Jungkook sighs. That again.
A motherly blanket of praises and fatherly pats of pride. That’s what’s gotten his head so riled up. He was coddled too much as a child. Made felt special. That’s over now, Jeon, you’re in an industry filled to the brim with competition.
Chill chill chill.
But now?
With that alluring smile staring up at Taehyung, only hints of it left when your eyes move to Jungkook. Fuck.
But Jungkook’s stance remains steadfast and self-assured when he greets, “Hi there. Welcome at last, huh?”
Jungkook notices when your mind snaps out of the conversation with Taehyung and into the one he started; a gentle hand frees your face off your hair to enable a proper view to it. The other is still dug deep in the pocket of your leather jacket, covering parts of the white top underneath.
Semi-long, silver earrings rest right below your ear, against your neck when you tilt your head a little; your expression so respectful and inviting when you smile. Jungkook inhales you in that one split moment, details stinging into the eye without much effort.
And perhaps he’d observe more, appreciate your stunning, obvious beauty and elegance further; but time passes as it does before you finally utter your very first sentence to him, “Hi. Didn’t think I’d ever be saying this, but… thank you for having me.”
That’s sweet.
Your words are reminiscent of the adoration his fans grant him, but your expression is as cool as a refreshing autumn wind. The perfect balance, possibly.
Jungkook gestures to a small couch in the back, right next to the door, but you raise a rejecting hand, claiming, “Been sitting all day observing Taehyung. Need to walk a bit.”
And you do. Deliver a last farewell nod to Taehyung who waves a little, gripping the handle and locking you in the room with the younger man nearly drooling over you.
The hand hidden in the jacket before has emerged, arms loosely folded as you take in the interior of the studio, allowing no more insight into your thoughts than, “Nice.”
Jungkook hums in distracted agreement, standing at the wall, watching you roam around the humble space in small steps. It’s odd, being in here with you; the atmosphere fizzles, a little less like electricity, just a bit more than carbonic acid.
But the moment was to arrive anyway; you’ll be a close link to Jungkook from now on. Of course you need to familiarise yourself with his space, too. So far, you seem to have an opinion on it already.
“Easy to trigger claustrophobia, but,” you walk through the open door to the darker recording room, tapping the mic for a moment, “cosy, too. Very cool equipment.”
“Yeah. I agree.” Pause, eyes dropping to your fingers grazing the stand of the mic. Then, “I would’ve come to you today… or yesterday for that matter, but things were so chaotic and—”
“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure, waving his concerns off, “I could see people rushing around and preparing the moment I got here. I’m probably not the main concern right now among everybody.”
“Nah, that’s not it. We have a great team here.” You step out again, hands folding behind your back until you’re leaning against the wall opposite of him, mirroring his stance. “I’m sorry you arrived at such a stressful time, though.”
“Not your fault. I decided so myself fully knowing you were in the middle of something.”
Ah. So you’ve seen his interviews, read the news. You came here with sufficient knowledge about him, alright.
“Really though,” you continue, blinking slowly, “I’m just glad to be here at all.”
Ah. Yes — about that.
“What brought you to our company anyway?” Jungkook asks, coating his voice in sugar to decrease the risk of unintentional and prying rudeness. “I mean — it’s been a while since somebody joined the main team, is all.”
“Oh. What brought me here…” You slide down the wall just a few inches, staring at your feet before you meet his eyes again. Something flashes in them for a miniscule second, albeit too brief to be caught and analysed. Then, you say, “Sentiments?”
Jungkook gathers words of confusion the moment you utter yours, a question already on his tongue. Has he been here long enough to evoke sentiments in his followers? Or do you veil a whole different connection to this company than he might understand?
Who knows. It doesn’t feel too deep, at least, when you speak again, elaborating when his eyes reveal his bedazzlement before he can, “I mean, I like your work.”
Okay. So much he interpreted; and he must admit — the feeling of pride is a thoroughly unique one.
“I think you’ve been deserving of your growth, and I just,” you speak, shrugging your shoulders, digging one heel into the solid ground, “I could never stop thinking of what I’d say or do if I was here or how I’d try to help, even though I’m not a true musical genius like you.”
This is so excitingly new.
How poised you remain as you talk about your fascination for him; how carefully you choose your words. He’s met fans before, but he doesn’t think any of them has ever practised such control over themselves.
And harbouring such emotions for a tiny little celebrity like him while simultaneously treating him like a human being is an art you’ve well mastered. Despite Jungkook’s urge to feel loved and worshipped to a dependent degree, you’re an incredibly attractive change in pace.
Ugh.
Dependent degree.
Although, he does wonder what you’d be like if you fawned over him.
Jungkook contains the fantasy; suppresses his sigh.
“So,” he starts, “you’re here because you’re a fan.”
“Mmmh. Kind of. My friends started it and then pulled me into this. Honestly, at first I couldn’t imagine ever getting into your stuff.”
Your gaze moved down to your trainers a mere moment ago; whether to hide your expression or give into a habit, Jungkook can’t say. But the honesty surprises him; even stings a little as he voices, “Oh?”
Your head shoots up, lips forming a circle before you imitate, “Oh. Wait. That was… pretty rude.” You seek confirmation or denial in Jungkook’s eyes, and when his slightly wrinkled forehead, tight-lipped smile reveals the answer, you immediately opt for an apology, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it then?”
“Just that.” You fiddle in your position, bringing your digits to waist level. Then, you laugh; a rhythmic sound. “Okay, don’t hate me, but. I was one to judge a book by its cover, and you had this young adult too-confident-too-sly something about you. But your music’s surprisingly sentimental.”
Jungkook halts for a moment, moving his head to side-eye you; producing a hoarse Uhhh before he admits, “I’m not sure whether you’re complimenting me or fully destroying me.”
Another lovely laugh. “I am complimenting you. To be fully transparent, I was probably, uh, biased? Because my friend. They have a knack for usually pulling very questionable men, so I probably just didn’t entirely trust their intuition.”
“Fair enough. I guess?” Jungkook matches the softness of your giggle, nodding towards you, “And now you do?”
“Mmmh, well, we’ll see.”
Jungkook must be stupid. Of course you won’t be able to deduce much from the first meeting yet; perhaps the flirting needs to slow down for just now. You seem the patient kind; much like now, letting the quick silence prevail without much struggle.
No sign of awkwardness surrounds your aura; only a hint of… suspicion? Flashing into your eyes when you let them move through the room again, freezing right next to Jungkook’s head. You’re not looking at him, but at something past him; but you don’t question nor voice anything.
Merely return to his stare with a smile, and he uses the moment to pour some courteous manners into the mix, asking, “Do you want something to drink? Coffee, water? A Red Bull?”
But you immediately raise a hand, shaking your head, “Oh, it’s okay. I’ve already got caffeine flowing there instead of blood,” you slide a finger along your arm, indicating a vein under your layers, “I just mainly came to say hi and to introduce myself. And to ask if I can help anyhow.”
“Ah… well, uh,” Jungkook halts mid-sentence, throwing a look around as though he’s searching for something to appear before he concludes, “don’t think so. I was in the middle of some production work, but don’t think I need much.”
“I see. Okay! Then I’ll leave yo—”
“But,” Jungkook intervenes immediately, adamant on keeping you around. Maybe he can wrap up work earlier today? Bring you home? Probably not — not on Taehyung’s watch. “Maybe you can tell me what you think once I’m done?
“Of course. It’d be my pleasure.”
“Would have an excuse for your company, too, then.”
The laugh that follows is so subtle that Jungkook barely hears it. It doesn’t leave your throat, stuck in there, just a tiny sound reminiscent of amused bafflement. 
Jungkook knows his way around words — understands what his utterances and implications usually apply. But somehow, not too many people have been the calmer ones in the room; aside from his superiors at work, not having the upper hand is new to him. 
So you set a fuse loose in him; destroy a nerve in his brain, changing up his communication habits. Because he certainly did not mean to say this out loud. And not in such a sense either.
He adds quickly, “I mean, it gets lonely here.”
“Right…” you concur, albeit weakly and with somewhat… entertained mystery in your eyes? He can’t say. It’s as though you’re wearing your face as a mask, undecipherable. “I get it. Even though your studio is cosy enough to enjoy your own company at times, right?”
“Not mine. But we’ll work on that.”
He cards his fingers through his hair, aware that he is probably more than an open book right now; his usual perfect poker face does not work with you.
Why? 
Weird.
“Got a couple things here that are mine, though. Yoongi and the others allowed me,” he adds.
“Ah… Like…”
Surprisingly enough, you take another look through the tiny room, possibly trying to detect something you didn’t see before. Regarding details. Then, you settle next to his head once again… and once Jungkook moves his eyes off you for the first time since you came in, he sees what you see.
Which is to say, nothing much out of the ordinary. In fact, the most trivial thing in the room.
“Like that?” you voice, pushing yourself off the wall to near his relaxed body. The scent of your perfume wafts through the room before you’re close enough; tenderly grazing his senses. “What’s that?”
Focus.
Your finger points to the object next to him, hanging at a nail at the wall; dark blue with white letters on it. Pretty mundane, pretty basic design.
“Just… a cap I bought back in college.”
You read out the name, pronouncing it perfectly, yet slowing down as if you’re learning a new foreign term. The sudden inquiry is strange, too: you don’t seem as truly curious about it as your question did; perhaps you’re playing for some time with him, too?
He wouldn’t hate it if you did.
“Do you know that one?” he questions.
You nod; a main hint as to why you wanted to know, yet indicating that the knowledge wasn’t of much significance. You say, “Isn’t it a popular one? I had a few friends who went there.”
“Hm… yeah, I mean. I guess it’s a known one. I got a degree there in broadcasting and entertainment like… four years ago.”
You exhale a barely audible puff of air before you whisper-murmur the most infinitesimal, petite, “Damn,” underscored with one indecipherable tilt of your head. He can’t see your eyes too well, so the reaction remains as transparent as you have been thus far.
Until he raises a thick eyebrow, confusion hidden in a somewhat relaxed yet awkward smile as he wonders, “What?”
“Hm? Oh, nothing, just. It’s impressive how much you’ve achieved in just four years, right?”
“…Well. If you say it like that, it does sound pretty neat.”
The bubble of pride expands alongside his ego; right beneath his chest. Somehow, the feeling changes his posture, makes him feel bigger. 
Perhaps you notice what your praise elicits; perhaps you’ve already fathomed his persona that he usually doesn’t dare to reveal this fast. But whatever he conceals with his fans, lies in front of you with an open access.
You make it easy to feel comfortable; he doesn’t need to know you too long to acknowledge this much.
“I graduated not too long ago, too. Three years?”
“Oh… then look at you,” Jungkook compliments, using the moment as an excuse to examine you further; head to toe and back. Your legs are crossed, upper body and face confident, but the position somehow delicate. Hm. “You’re quite awesome, too, don’t you think?”
“I mean— took a while to get here.”
“Right. So what have you been doing during this time since graduation?”
Whatever distraction you have found in the cap seems to break as you silently forage your brain for a response; possibly attempting not to divulge too much. And your answer is accordingly hesitant, though never dubious.
“Saving up? Preparing for life, I guess. And waiting for a good opportunity.”
For what? Do you usually keep your statements in fragments?
He prods, “To do what?”
“Well, to do,” you gesture to the wall in front of you, albeit clearly hinting to the situation, “this. Hoping to change everyone’s lives around here.”
You smile wide, the joke obvious as can be, but Jungkook can’t help but think that you might not be too far off. Unique minds alter brain chemistries; there’s something unforgettable and magnetising about them, and Jungkook steadfastly believes his intuition that you might just be one of them.
For the first time ever, he murmurs your name, delighted by how easily it melts on his tongue. It falls out breathier than he intended to, but when you tilt your head, the intrigue in your pupils inexplicably matches his tone.
He adds to your name, eyelids drooping just a bit, “So… you’ll turn out a long awaited surprise, huh?”
And you, against all expectations, lean in for just a minimal, not too inconsequential moment, hands back in your jacket. It’s a playful, harmless motion as you move back on your heels, then steady yourself again, bodies and faces still far away. You could’ve just as well given him a pat on his shoulder.
But there’s something in the way you look at him, tempted and ominous at the same time. He can’t say what you’re thinking because every feature in your face implies something different.
Even more so confusing what methods for success you came into this company with when you finally say, no pretext or further clarifications, “I really do hope so.”
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“Do you come here a lot?”
Everywhere he goes, the lights are bright.
The white walls in the rooms of the company building reflect the sun in the summer and maintain a sense of optimism in the winter. They’re what Jungkook imagines waiting halls before Heaven to look like.
Then the fluorescent vibrancy in his apartment. And the sunlit sky, albeit cold in this winter, giving way to the planetary system’s star through the floating, parting clouds.
Even this modern art museum with its complex design, winding staircases, glass walls and high ceiling. It lets through an abundance of light, unaware of the balance Jungkook usually craves.
Dark and light — a healthy mix.
It’s why he cherishes the comfort of the recording studio so much. Its dim walls and the silence, so unlike the hallways outside of it. Or why he prefers his apartment unlit, often merely allowing the few lava lamps to illuminate his rooms.
But again… it’s only a balance he usually craves.
Today, he doesn’t mind the brilliance.
Because you’re part of it.
Clad in a beige long-sleeved cotton top, slight turtleneck included. It doesn’t fully cover your neck, still revealing a mole similar to his. It’s tucked into your light brown skirt; your legs are covered in sheer tights, crossed. A gentle hand holds the strap of your bag. Light academia at its finest; somewhat soothing, and somewhat radiant.
You look at him with an initially neutral expression, surprised that someone spoke to you, but more relaxed when you realise it’s him.
“Oh,” you voice; the faintest autumn-tinted smile tugs at your lips. “Hey! I, uh…” Your gaze flits to the painting in front of you, then back to him. “Not at all actually. Which… surprising.”
You gesture towards him before you grant him more of your silky voice, asking, “Do you? Come here much?”
Your eyes are indecipherable to him, cheeks dusted in natural make up. All the damn time, you sport this relaxed, unbreakable mask, and he can’t quite guess what you might be thinking about.
It’s so easy with anyone else. You’re like a scene from BBC’s Sherlock, embodying Irene Adler’s mystery.
But maybe your guard can be broken, too.
“Not really,” he admits, “only when pretty people are around.”
A weak attempt, but it makes your eyebrow cock in amusement. He knows you are, because the hint of mischief that scurries over your face resembles his own.
“Ah, and you happen to know when pretty people are around. Or did you follow me here?” you, however, ask.
It’s an obvious inquiry, but weirdly enough, he didn’t expect it. You exhibit the first sign of a proper, humane emotion. Delivering three quick blinks, voice quiet, suspicion swims in your eyes, slightly irritated.
Or even… scared?
You can’t truly be.
So he backtracks, slightly angling his head. He sighs — hiding how much his lungs crave a breath of air. He doesn’t want to scare you off just yet.
“No,” he defends, “of course not. I was just joking.”
“So… I’m not pretty?”
Oh. Oh?
Perhaps he misinterpreted your expression. Perhaps you’re merely a good actress; messing with him as he is with you. The smirk suggests this much, at least.
Perplexed, he holds his breath before letting out a choked laugh; the head tilt and click of his tongue carry a sliver of scolding before he admits, “That’s pretty frustrating, I won’t lie.”
“I’m just kidding, too. It’s a big exhibition. I expected a familiar face here.”
Why is there something so devilish about you?
He can’t say; maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s enough to join the game, to be just as cocky and see how you react. 
Perhaps he’s being selfish and too certain of himself, and in the worst case, he might just be imagining the tension buzzing between you like sparks off an electric fence. But does he have anything to lose, really?
Barely ever.
“Then,” he begins, “is it a good face?”
“All the art around us and you want me to admire you, huh?”
“…The art won’t be mad if you do.”
Jungkook is bold, he’ll admit. He hasn’t always been — he remembers a time spent in the back of classes, preferring to eat lunch alone. Did college tug him out of his shell? Was it senior year?
Then again — did that one kill the timidness in his heart or rather the last shred of humanity?
Maybe his cold matches yours, too. Is that why he feels so drawn to you?
Because you’re as bold as him; you don’t sugarcoat words and thoughts. And Jungkook appreciates the honesty, the ingredient to actual success — even if it’s achingly direct.
Like now.
You uncross your legs; your hips move in an elegant curve, and Jungkook attempts his best to keep his eyes off the arcs of your body. Focuses as you say, “You shouldn’t be flirting with a coworker, Mister Jeon.”
“Wait. I thought we were warming up to each other. Don’t demote me from Jungkook to Mister Jeon now.” You chuckle; that’s something, right? “Besides, I was just conversing. We need to spend all our time together now, so better get along, right?”
Right. Right; of course he’s right.
But… what is that?
It lingers for the faintest of moments, just a glimpse of an unspoken feeling, gone with the next blink. In this crowd of unsuspecting visitors you’re the closest to him physically, but your thoughts are miles and centuries away.
“Maybe you’re right,” you still say, as if whooshing away all unwelcome sentiments, “then I should not… dodge your conversation, right?”
“Sure.”
“Behave, though.”
He’s so confused — but not deep in this enough to question it. So he merely shrugs his shoulder before he responds, “I have been. I can converse, alright.”
“Right.”
“Like… first of all,” he steps closer, raising a hand, gesturing for you to walk on as new admirers of the modern piece approach, “tell me, have we met before? Feels like I’ve seen you somewhere.”
You halt in your steps, but immediately resume to the stroll when a stranger nearly bumps into you. “You’re doing it again.”
He’s honestly not. The aura surrounding you like an ominous fog is omnipresent and eerie, yet… you carry a sense of familiarity. But you’re a presence too distinct to ever forget.
Which doesn’t help his case.
“Yeah,” he still agrees before potentially embarrassing himself, kissing his teeth, “sorry. I’ll stop.”
“Why are you the textbook definition of a fuckboy, honestly.”
“Fuckbo—”
“Nevermind.”
If he wasn’t well acquainted with this little game, he would’ve missed your subtle, nearly veiled intent to tease. But he’s done this a million times before — hence, catches the faint twitch of your gorgeous lips immediately.
You’re enjoying this. So he should join… right?
Yet.
You’re not being entirely insincere. In fact, he hates how he picks up on the note of truth in your velvety voice.
Trimmed nails scratch the back of his head, and he barely notices when the two of you halt in front of another piece. Distracted, he doesn’t bear the art any mind, instead asking, “You really think of me that way?”
You shrug a shoulder. Nonchalance a constant feature, but so natural, even somewhat gentle, that he can’t help but feel drawn to you. “A little.”
“Well, shit.”
“Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the art.”
“Sure.”
Reluctantly, he glances to the canvas. It’s a mess of hues; a random arrangement of spontaneous emotions. Resembles the masterpieces he used to create in Microsoft Paint, back when his legs would still dangle off the chair.
“Then,” he starts, nodding towards the painting, “what do you see in this?”
You hesitate. Or maybe it’s not hesitation — more like… a thinking pause. Sometimes, when Jungkook notices a whirring mind, he sees a steaming brain through a skull. Working at full blast.
But somehow, he only sees a calm ocean as he observes you gather your thoughts. Everything about you is gentle, but wrapped in dark mystery. How much mental training does it require to become this inscrutable?
When you finally speak, you’re saying similarly strange things.
“I see… colours.” Right. Stating the obvious. Jungkook chuckles, delivering a head tilt. “And am wondering how the painter got to create this at all. I mean, this looks so meaningless at first, doesn’t it?”
“And it’s not, yeah?”
“We’re fast to think that. Most of the time, there must have been a trigger, or a thought about something, no matter how small. Something might have been bothering him. This is—” A soft hand gestures towards the painting. “Such a chaotic mind.”
Interesting…
“Is this what you usually think about all day?” Jungkook wonders.
You scoff. “I’m just a person, too. I think about a lot of random things.”
“Ohhh. Like what?”
“Like… seeing all the green in this exhibit made me realise how this colour makes me cry.”
Jungkook takes a haphazard look around. Now that you say it — there’s no hint of a nature theme, but the abundance of green is striking now. It’s as calm as you. No wonder you’d immerse yourself in a showcase such as this.
You continue, as if tracing and reading his mind like an open novel, “It’s soothing, right? And unique. These earthly things sometimes make me feel like not all of us are deserving of seeing such beauty. Like it should be reserved for those who earn it.”
Earn it? How? 
Jungkook can’t see your thoughts as clearly as you’re apparently capable of doing, but he has an inkling of what you might mean. Truly dazzling souls merit the stunning bloom of the world, right?
And then…
If that’s what it is.
He wonders — do you think he deserves to see the colour green? Or is it already over if he has to ask? Perhaps, should he be perceiving it as grey right now? He doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know how you think of him — doesn’t know anything about you at all. You’re a tough nut to crack. 
“Hmm… that’s a way to think about it,” he says.
“Only because it’s the same for people. And I’ve had this thought about humans a lot… I…” You hesitate, blink, and then grant him your stare. “I knew someone who was the colour green. Not everyone deserved them, either.”
Poetic minds carry a certain pain in their eyes.
He’s been seeing it in yours. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t.
Instead, he asks, “What else are you thinking about?”
“Uhmmm,” you voice, straightening your back a little, as if waking up from a dream — nightmare? “I’ve been thinking about trying that, too. Painting, I mean. It doesn’t have to mean anything or be good. Just a great way to capture something that resonates with what I feel.”
Every word you’ve uttered today was otherworldly. You didn’t talk like that when you were in his office, or at the meeting. Your soul is somewhat free-floating here, and he doesn’t understand why.
And it’s a behaviour he usually strays away from. The vulnerable ones can be dangerous.
But somehow… you’re too strong of a magnet.
One who shrugs all the mystery away — and he sighs in despair. Maybe it’s not time to find out what you feel just yet. What resonates with you — even though he’s dying to hear it.
He inquires, “Are you always this open?”
“No. Not at all.” Of course not. Rhetoric question — he knows this much. “But I like thinking out loud sometimes.”
“I’m glad to be a sounding board then.”
“Yeah. I was also thinking how I appreciate that I met you here.” Pause. Oh? What a surprise. Out of the blue, too. Strokes his ego, though. And then, unexpectedly again, “You wanna go to the museum restaurant?”
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Jungkook has barely seen half of the exhibition yet. But just for today, he couldn’t care less.
Perhaps it’s enough for now, sitting in this overpriced restaurant, watching you from afar as you inspect your nails calmly. You’re not busy on your phone like the rest of the crowd — entertained by the same media that he’s part of.
Maybe he can be a bigger part of their lives one day — be the one flitting over their screens, the one they adore. The one they worship.
But you don’t seem to indulge in those mind-numbing devices for now. You might be an addition to his team, but privately, you float in your own world. Distracted by the thoughts you won’t disclose.
Your hands retreat, arms crossing on the table and lips curling into a smile once he strolls back to you. Satisfied, he informs you, “One cake with the coffee. As the lady suggested.”
“Oh,” you make, “don’t you want one?”
“I do.”
“So…” You stall, and he waits until it clicks, your head tilting in understanding. “Are we sharing?”
Jungkook lifts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder, back to the register, “Those chocolate cakes are sweet as heck. I’ve got a sweet tooth, but believe that it’ll be enough for the two of us.”
You laugh — a sweet, disarming chuckle before you breathe an, “Alright.”
Jungkook doesn’t know you well enough to feel any skip in his heart; yet, you stir something else in his mind. It’s always people like you who intrigue him the most — those who veil themselves in a coat of secrets.
He sighs.
“That was fast,” you note, eyes at a point behind him.
And he understands when the waitress arrives a couple moments later, two perfectly prepared lattes and a mouth-watering chocolate fudge slice. You thank her with a gentle smile, tuck a hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing the dangling earring.
And he watches.
Watches as you nod towards him, urging him, “Start then.”
Observes your smile as he signals you to start instead. And he gazes at you as your delicate digits reach for the fork, tearing off a piece, wrapping your lips around the utensil.
And then… God.
He feels his guts twist; hears all background noise fade; blood rushing away from his head, through his body as you slowly relish the sweetness and then drag your tongue over the fork. Licking away the leftover chocolate.
Jungkook swears it happens in slow motion. And witnessing your elegance at snail's pace… makes him sick.
When your eyelashes flutter, gape lifting to meet his, the sounds around him come alive again — as does he. He averts his stare from your mouth, covered in the same colour as the coffee, but you notice.
You see him looking. And it makes you… smile? Shit.
But you don’t boast your effect; only digress as you say, “Well… tastes as fancy as it looks. Try it.”
You’re as relaxed with him as you can be. But you always are; with everyone. He craves that bit that’s only reserved for him — then again, maybe he’s too zealous too fast. He hasn’t known you for long.
But making you smile must be an achievement. If only… you didn’t think of him like…
He nods, and then leans over the table ever-so-slightly. His knees brush against yours, a soft but deliberate move. He places an elbow on the table, grasping the fork, close to you. If he lifted his hand, he could touch your cheek.
He wishes he could.
His eyes meet yours through his bangs, the cake’s taste irrelevant to your presence. And when his ego doesn’t let him relax, he finally asks, almost as if insulted, “Do you actually perceive me as a fuckboy?”
The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, furrowing your eyebrows, and then giggle before questioning back, “Jungkook… it’s bothering you this much? Mmmh. How would you like to be perceived?”
“Just. As a decent guy who wants to get to know you. And I know you know.” You blink, but he doesn’t buy it. So he elaborates, “I’ve been trying to make clear that I find you lovely. And somewhat attractive.”
People usually display a flicker of glimmer in their eyes upon hearing such praise. But you don’t quite budge; in fact, your eyes remain the same, if not a little darker. Why?
Yet, you cock an eyebrow, sporting a teasing, playful tone, “Somewhat, hm?”
He shakes his head, clicks his tongue. “You’re pretty and I think you know,” he blurts, “and I don’t want to screw up right away.”
Is it the habit of never failing? The urge to solve an enigma? The chance to dive into you until you’re bared to him? Why are you so interesting to him?
You’re just a person.
Maybe it’s just the unsettling need to discover what you’re hiding — it won’t let him rest in peace. There’s something about you that screams to him to unravel. Makes him want you more.
He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know if you’re even from the same world as him — even though you seem to have crossed his realm before. No matter what it is; Jungkook merely understands for now that he wants to take off your layers.
Wants to be the colour green for you. 
“Ah—” you voice.
“In fact, I’m not supposed to hang out here with you.”
“…How come?”
“I should be with Tae,” he admits. Maybe he’s revealing more to you than he should — maybe he should adjust to your level of secrecy and wait. But this is frustrating him. “He dragged me here, so I could get inspiration from all sides.”
You listen; perhaps not quite loving the idea of seeing him in such a way?
Fuck. Maybe it really was a mistake. No turning back now, though.
“He said artists find motivation in art, too, and I do like to paint, so…” He looks at his cup, still left to be tried from, and then stares up from the cream leaf that the barista formed in his coffee. “I didn’t wanna come here, though. I already have an idea of what I want to do.”
“And…” you start, still not addressing the issue on hand; choosing to talk about something else for now, “he doesn’t like what you’ve come up with?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t know about it yet.”
You take a sip of your coffee, softly smacking your lips once to relish the taste. You’re living proof that subtle gestures can make a mind race. Then you say, “Maybe you should introduce it to him then.”
“I will. Just… mmh, need a better grasp on it.” He throws a nod towards you. “I can’t wait to show you either.”
Another sip of the seething liquid.
If the gentle hint of him being bent on your presence flatters you anyhow — stirs anything in you at all — you don’t let it show. Are you, by chance, used to being swarmed from all sides?
Are his advances kindergarten to you?
You don’t budge as he waits for you to respond, setting the cup back on your saucer before you inquire, “Where is Taehyung, anyway then?”
“Uh, I’m sure he’s going around admiring the art?” Jungkook guesses, head reflexively moving to the side, as if his friend and co-worker could materialise out of thin air. “He enjoys it even more than I do.”
“And you separated from him because…”
Because Jungkook ascended a spiral staircase. Because he turned right and halted in front of the second instead of the first room. Because he recognised the familiar curves and edges, as intriguing as ever, from this far distance.
And told Taehyung to continue without him; that Jungkook was going to explore a different corner of the museum.
He tilts his head; his left eyebrow raises just a twitch, fingertips tapping the hot surface of the coffee cup. And then, charisma gathered in the middle of his pupils, he tells you—
“Because I found you.”
There it is.
The slightest of reactions.
Your eyes widen barely an inch, but he sees it. How your lips part a bit, even though you should’ve expected his answer after the conversations hitherto shared. Hm…
“So you did follow me,” you say.
He can’t say if you’re joking or not. But all of a sudden, he wonders if he’s creeped you out. He opted for flirting so clearly, but… maybe you interpreted it vastly differently.
But he keeps himself relaxed; not faltering now when you aren’t either. Answers, “If you want to call it that. I call it finding you and then sticking with you. You’re interesting, Miss Manager.”
You smile.
Genuinely, thoroughly, wholeheartedly.
The beam reveals more than any word could’ve today — that humanity slumbers somewhere in the crevices of your heart. Your eyes suggest it as much as your stance on art did.
Whatever might have scarred you in life, behind all that ache, you hide a delicate soul.
Green, green, green.
And your cryptic worry, uttered a moment later, doesn’t bring him down from his sense of victory. No. Not now.
“Yeah?” You cross your legs, letting out a breathy sigh. “Then I sincerely hope that doesn’t change.”
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[6:43PM] Jeon Jungkook: i’ve been thinking about something. and of you
For a bedroom as sparsely decorated and light-coloured as Jungkook’s, he should be surrounded by a brilliant glow. And usually, he is.
The windows occupy half of the wall, the bedsheets a perfect white; had he texted you a couple hours prior, he would’ve found himself in the gleam of a pale blue late winter sky. But if he’d tapped your name on his device earlier, he would’ve indulged in a whole different mood, too.
Wouldn’t have given into fatigued, delirious fantasies. Daydreaming about the curves of your lips and about the single strands of hair kissing your cheeks. Or the way you love exposing your neck, as if to taunt him.
It’s right there, but you can’t touch it, Jeon.
And…
And the mounds of your chest, slivers of it visible whenever you put on those heaven sent dresses. Their cuts are almost as deep as the ones damaging Jungkook’s brain. And not much for the sake of his sanity, the thirst isn’t quenched just yet.
Crossed legs badly hidden under your see-through tights. The movement of your hips when you walk into his studio, placing yet another gruesome schedule onto his desk. Your scent when you lean into him, pointing to another meeting he barely recalls.
You… you…
If Jungkook hadn’t already cleaned up the sloppy mess previously covering his knuckles, trickling down his thighs, he’d possibly give into the urge to sneak his fingers back to where he craves them to linger.
No, you made that mess.
Of his sheets, of him. And you never needed to be here in the first place.
Jungkook is no fool — unlike many of his friends, he doesn’t deny the way his body winds. He knows what he wants; and right now, he hungers for you. Wants you to eliminate the drought on his tongue; wants you to replace it with some taste instead.
“Fuuuuck.”
The word drags into the emptiness of the room, filling the silence that someone else should be lifting. But you’re not here, and you’re not answering. Not yet, at least. Has it been seconds or minutes?
Too long, is all he knows.
His digits are cleaned thoroughly, but he can’t shake the persisting feeling of sheer, dirty lust as they reach his phone again. Lighting up the screen, then curling inwards in frustration.
He repeats the desperate attempt of manifestation a couple times until he throws the device aside, nearly missing the mid-air vibrations, indicating the long-awaited message. Jungkook’s heart falls out of his ribcage and squeezes his guts; your name elicits far more than it should.
And he feels just a little guilty.
Because he doesn’t deny himself any pleasure — so he knows this isn’t love. This isn’t starving for emotionality. Not for sentiments. What you pull out might be his ugliest, beastliest side; his mind is filled with images of you that he shouldn’t be having.
You’re so respected. So tender and kind. Intriguing, a riddle, but inhabiting secrets probably far darker than his thoughts. So he feels odd about the wanton desire; feels guilty.
But just for a bit. Just a little.
The message you sent back is too humble, too innocent. Sometimes he reckons you’re aware of your power, and sometimes he assumes you think of yourself as… ordinary.
But you’re not. And he wants to show you.
Just one touch, please.
“Fuck, shut up, you creep,” Jungkook whispers to himself, scolding his treacherous mind before he reads again.
[6:52PM] You: Oh? Why would you be thinking about me? Of all people?
Should he wait? You did, too.
Or should he make as crystal clear as he can muster that he’s been waiting for you?
Screw it.
[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: what else should I be thinking of?
Your next response is immediate — you’re online. Waiting for him to answer.
Good.
[6:53PM] You: Your music?
[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: my music doesn’t talk to me as much as you do these days
He smirks. Keeps the beam plastered to his face until the waiting becomes a little too long. Message on read, you leave the chat room empty of you and full of a nervy Jungkook. He opts out of it the same second, keen on patience before it fades again, bit by bit.
Because then, the thoughts flood in.
Are you rolling your eyes? Throwing the phone into a corner of your couch? Has he fucked up before anything could start?
But it’s been going so well. You talk to him every single day. Ever since the museum, the two of you have been orbiting each other; partly due to work, partly because he’s caught you smiling, too.
Your words are too sickeningly often accompanied by a soft touch of yours against his shoulders; against his arms. Sometimes, you brush his back, his eyes wide awake, the smile timid yet crushingly losing against your confident gaze.
All this must mean something.
“Nah. Fuck it,” he mutters again, sighing over his own constant use of curses. “Come back.”
[6:55PM] Jeon Jungkook: actually… I did come up with one tune. It’s just a skeleton of a song tbh, but I need a sounding board.
It takes another one minute for you to come back, and Jungkook angles his legs, relying on the movements of his body to ease the impatience. But then—
[6:56PM] You: Oh, and? [6:56PM] You: Sorry, I had to step away for a sec
Sigh of relief. Even though embarrassment annoyingly adds itself to the mix, an uninvited guest.
[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: …do you wanna come to the studio?
[6:57PM] You: Right now? It’s like… [6:57PM] You: 7pm
Unconsciously, Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, unbothered to the bone, just craving, craving, craving…
[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: a true artist never rests. [6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: and I’d rather die than stop hustling for my passion
As the next message appears at the bottom of the screen, Jungkook can’t help but bite into his lower lip with a certain pride. He nods as if he caught his prey, trapping it between his fangs.
[6:58PM] You: 😂LOL. now that, I admire, mister Jeon :) [6:58PM] You: I’ll finish my wine and be on my way
Oh.
Are you tipsy? Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but the emoji seems so unlike you; yet, you somehow manage to capture the core of what and who you are in the rest of the message. Six coherent words. That’s all it takes.
Goddamn.
You’re so thoroughly you.
[6:59PM] Jeon Jungkook: wait. really?
And that’s it. You disappear.
Perhaps you’re joking; perhaps you’re messing with him. The sun has already set; and he doesn’t think he’s ever stayed with you much longer than dusk before.
If he met you in the evening, or on other nights, would you make more sense than you usually do? Are you the type to unravel when the world quiets down? Or the one to blend with the darkness more, drawing back further?
If there’s pure truth in what you just said, devoid of all mockery you could revert to… he might find out. And it seems you’re in the right mood today, earnest with your intentions when he feels his phone vibrate against his thick thigh again, making him flinch.
[7:11PM] You: Yes? I’m already dressed. Get your ass up
Oh shit.
Despite your order, his limbs still shut down. His muscles and bones melt into the bed, a fleeting image of your sly smirk crossing his mind and an assured voice surrounding his eardrums.
And if he didn’t overthink each of your movements; didn’t fantasise about the possible rise and fall of your voice, he would’ve discarded his phone and gotten dressed a lot earlier.
How embarrassing.
The fact that his mind doesn’t want to categorise this as a crush, no matter how much he asks. That his body responds to you like that, superficial and intrigued.
Embarrassing. He should focus on more important things.
Yet, he can’t be bothered with the intruding sentiment, shame shoved aside and trampled under his feet as his car turns into a parking lot, perfectly in front of the building’s entrance. Your form is crystal clear in the dark; not even the shadows and lack of light can hide your silhouette.
The radar sensor beeps when he creeps too close to the hood of the car behind him, and he mumbles a curse, averting his eyes from your unmoving self to focus on proper parking. Letting the roaring engine die.
Your shoulders are slightly raised when he approaches you at the door. One hand is stuffed in the pocket of your thin, baby pink coat, the other curled into a fist, possibly resisting the urge to enter the building and combat the cold.
You could’ve waited inside, too. Unless…
Maybe you’re excited to see him, too.
You smile, lips reaching far up; he tries his hardest to believe he’s right. Takes the gesture as a good omen, and the hair pulled up in a loose bun as a sign of hurry. You look domestic, comfortable in your skin, no matter who’s around.
But somewhere between the comfort and the softness, there’s that everlingering intrigue, too. And… some timidness. Showing in the crossed legs his eyes drift over, up to the short skirt barely visible underneath the coat.
And your face… so natural. More than usual. Mascara only? He doesn’t know.
All he knows is that he needs to say something.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” you throw back, tilting your head in tease, “where were you? Took you long enough to get here.”
He steps closer; fiddling with his jacket’s pocket, fishing for the keys. And his proximity changes something about you so subtly, a miniscule movement. Hand digging deeper into your coat.
You’re on guard for some reason. And he can’t help but admit he’s on guard with you, too, albeit in a less physical and more mental way. The unfathomable, dichotomous sensation of wanting you near, wanting you far is killing him.
What are you hiding?
If he could, he’d speak it out loud.
“I had to freshen up,” he finally responds, “I honestly didn’t expect you to say yes.”
Your body might be in protection mode, but your voice is as composed, even somewhat amused, as always, “Well.” You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t see why. But I’m here now, and honestly… a little cold?” Nodding towards the door, “Should we go inside?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
He sniffles, fishing for the chip to unlock the door. For an ephemeral second right before walking inside, your breath lingers incredibly close to his own, grazing his lip ring. “Don’t forget to dress warm this season.”
Near enough for his fingers to succumb to the impulse and sidle to you, skimming your thigh so featherlightly. He thinks he hears the sharp inhale you suck in. His skin tickles, the shiver icy on his body. He watches you smirk, lowering your head; his fingertips insist on the vicinity just for the tiniest seconds before he says,
“Okay. Let's go inside before you catch a cold, silly.”
But the bitter frost permeates the hallways of the company in the same ruthless manner. Perhaps somebody’s still lingering around in the daunting dark. Revising steps in the mirrored practice rooms or hovering above lyrics and tunes, neck bent and back tired.
But the building isn’t heated; and it shows in your rather quick steps, an arm wrapped around your chest to rub the layers above your arm. The guarded demeanour doesn’t match your usual confidence; aside from the hollow hallways, it seems that you’re scared of more than just the cold.
He doesn’t point it out. And he doesn’t stare for too long.
If he did, you might realise.
Instead, he saunters to the elevator with you in tow, delighted about the light that never changes in the small rectangular space. You let your hand drop to your purse, lazily toying with its zip, and turn your head to observe the closing doors.
And Jungkook observes you. 
The glow of your cheeks in the bright beam, half of your face devoid of the hair tucked behind your ear. As you breathe in, your lips split a fraction, and their gentle, soft curves mesmerise him for a moment too long.
It’s difficult and cruel, being around you. Haunting, agonising, aggravating.
And when your eyes align with his again, sparkling a little in line with your tender smile, Jungkook realises that he’s been holding his breath. Because it escapes between the seam of his mouth in a sudden push, his knees nearly buckling.
He resists the urge to bite into his fist, instead disguising his thoughts when he covers his mouth, teeth digging into his plump, lower lips.
“So,” he quickly adds, leaving no space for you to question his eccentricity, but you initiate another convo in the same tiny second, “It’s…”
You pause, withholding your statement in order to listen to his. But he shakes his head, lifting a hand to sign for you to continue. So you say, “It’s a little scary here at night.”
Okay. Not that tough of a topic.
“Right?” he confirms. “I always imagine getting here and hearing a hum that’s not really there.”
“Uh…” You blink in disbelief, lifting your eyebrows, but when he shrugs your confusion away, your hesitation marker turns into a chuckle. “Why the hell would you say that?”
“It’s just something I imagine. It’s terrifying, but my mind goes places, and I never ask it to.”
“Well, it’s a mean thing of your mind to do.” The ding of the elevator distracts you, and when you step out, your thoughts remain at an afar spot. Kept inside your pretty little head until you whisper, “And? Have you ever heard it, then?”
“Hm? The hum?” You nod, and he suppresses the snicker your curious, cocked eyebrow nearly elicits. “No. Only myself. Humming helps me control my breathing, so I do it to practise.”
“Weird. It’s so different from how I’d imagine you.”
Huh. Seems he’s not the only one sketching your entire being to keep himself awake at night.
“How would you?” he asks.
“As a rockstar?”
“Oh?” That’s new. “As a future RnB slash pop sensation I find this officially peculiar. Why a rockstar?”
You cock an eyebrow; either digesting the confident prophecy or pondering his question. The crooked smile matches his own signature smirk a little, and you puff out a breath before your sombre yet sparkling eyes wander an inch further down, right to his mouth.
Your eyelashes are endless, on their way to brush those delicate apples of your cheeks — in reality, it’s an impossible fantasy written in novels and poems, but it’s exactly how it looks. Exactly how much your curious gaze drops.
Only, the tingling sensation in his chest soon subsides, freeing a path to the realisation that he’s yet again misunderstanding. Because you’re not drawn by his lips, but rather considering a response.
He sighs in subtle disappointment when you point to the shiny metal encircling his lower lip, telling him, “Gotta be the piercing.”
“Ah. Ahhh. Well. First off, this is a very stereotypical assumption.” You shrug your shoulders in amusement, watching him cram for his chip until he halts in front of his studio, keeping you in his vision. “And secondly.”
The lock of the door clicks as he swipes the chip across the reader, defined knuckles paling a bit when he pushes the handle down. He raises his chin by a fraction, pulling out the most-assured smile, and asks, “Do you like it?”
And you, composed as ever, respond, “It suits you. I always wonder how comfortable these are, though.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, like. Do they have a metal taste? Do you ever get hyper aware of them and then get annoyed and want them off? Are they… cold?”
He laughs. There’s something endearing about how your voice quietens further the more your curiosity grows. You’re not quite looking at him, pupils focused on a random spot, hands expressive as you vocalise your thoughts.
“Let’s see,” he mutters, jacket thrown over a chair, “sometimes and, again, sometimes. It feels a bit cold right now because it’s cold outside. I mean…”
He rubs the chill off his tattooed arm, fingers diving under the short sleeves of his white, oversized t-shirt. Attempts never faltering, he leans into you in intrigue, parting his lips before running his tongue over the jewellery.
“Do you just. Wanna touch it and find out for yourself?”
You blink, frozen in place.
The room isn’t too spacious; Jungkook will get his very own studio, name tag and all once he reaches a clear peak. For once, he’s glad about the crowded room, girded by a guitar on the wall, chairs standing side by side, a little couch leaning against the back of the wall.
As ever, he can’t decipher your mood; as ever, you’re still quick to answer, “I… no. It’s okay.”
Why don’t you want him?
Goddamn it.
“Okay,” he simply utters, shrugging his vexation away. “Let’s get started then.”
The excitement in his tone dips, seemingly aloof, but as he walks into the dark square of silence, reaching for the headphones he placed right here mere hours ago, wordless curses dangle off the tip of his tongue.
He makes sure you don’t see the clench of his jaw or the fast and steady fall of his ego, but you’re shoving back the chair and adjusting anyway. Crossing tight-clad legs as you place your coat on your lap, throwing your mane to one side to free that damned neck.
It must be on purpose.
He waits for you to settle, the headphones on the table in front of you enveloping your head. They look way too big on you, and Jungkook can’t decide whether to tut at his anguish or swoon at your stellar being.
Jungkook uses his headphones to communicate through the glass, raising a thumb to ask, “Ready?” You nod, matching his gestures with your own. “Be honest, how professional do I look?”
Carding the fine hair back, he pushes a hand into the pocket of his pants, taking a stand in front of the boom microphone. He mimes a typical grimace of an immersed artist, letting out an immediate, sweet chuckle that you chime in joyfully.
You lean in, long earrings brushing your jaw, pressing down the button for the talkback mic to assure through the intercom, “You look like a born star.”
He rolls his eyes, playfully clicking his tongue, “Ahhh, that’s a nice yet basic thing to say, but. I’ll take it.”
“Why did you go in there anyway? Weren’t you just going to show me a song?”
“Adlibs, baby. I’m still missing those.” He adjusts the headphones again, clearing his throat, almost in position. “But I didn’t warm up my voice, so I’ll need to re-record them anyway.”
“And still you’re straining your voice because…?”
“We’re here to impress you, so let me.”
Your finger lifts off the button, but the movement of your lips suggests to him undoubtedly what your teasing self might be mumbling.
Oh damn. Sorry then, boss.
You raise your hands in defeat until you detect his beguiled smile, raising your eyebrows in a clear question that he answers with two words; a simple title of a song, not as glorious as the tune itself but hopefully as memorable.
Eyes scurrying across the now opened laptop screen, you search for the instrumental until you stumble upon it. 3:54 minutes of what Jungkook prays to be blasted everywhere in a couple week’s time before the big concert, chiming in his ears.
The initial guitar riff drowns the room in a mixture of intriguing anticipation and uncurbed sentiments immediately. Jungkook’s eyes dart to your face, attempting to decode a reaction. And when you notice, hands on the headphones, you nod approvingly.
Most of his vocals are already recorded to perfection; a silky voice laments about a lost time with purity. Jungkook largely listens in, searching for wonky bits or moments to be re-tackled. Of course, he will need to discuss the details with Taehyung tomorrow, but whenever the passion burns the hottest, he can’t help but add an adlib here and there.
As he sings, his eyes reflexively close, and for a couple dozen seconds, the melodic current pulls him towards a bigger ocean; the sense of freedom and possibility is astonishing. There’s a certain ardour he feels towards music that nothing will ever be able to elicit.
Do you feel the same?
As somebody spending day in, day out surrounded by musicians, does that phenomenon make your heart surge, too?
Maybe.
When he looks at you again, it’s at least something fervent he detects in your gaze. A bit like the longing he feels. Intense fondness, or perhaps, even zoning out — until you’re barely blinking anymore.
Your features relax a little more as the song proceeds, bit by bit, the calmest when the ending notes arrive. Jungkook observes you; freezes at his spot. The change from the built-up chorus to the suddenly calm ending, instruments dying, are as forgotten as the last touches… because you, behind the glass, are much more interesting.
Just staring. Looking at the screen, its brightness reflecting in your pupils. When you blink again, most of the preceding smile is gone, something indecipherable in your eyes.
He doesn’t know whether you actually enjoyed the entire thing or became consumed by memories he doesn’t know of. Some the song might have drawn out but shouldn’t have. There’s… a past in your stare.
He knows because much like the vast existing humanity, he’s been tending to faraway memories for years, too.
And he wants to know about yours.
Gently, Jungkook grasps the headphones covering his ears, the mane victim to the impact before his fingers fix it again. He frees his eyes off his strands, never directing them away from you, and when he opens the door to the small room you drifted off in, you look up.
Your emerging smile is unsuspecting and polite as always, and you deliver a tilt of your head. Jungkook could sign the previous oddness off as just this, or a sinking into arts just as he does sometimes.
But what’s enough is enough; brushing questions off his mind has become tedious.
So he rolls back the second chair next to you to take a seat, placing his arm on the one of the furniture before folding his fingers; leaning in, asking, “You okay?”
You react with a soft nod, a tender hum, “Yeah! I was listening.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“You zoned out.”
“Which is a good thing, I promise.”
Jungkook looks for a moment. Waits for you to break or admit that the truth you display might not be as pure as you think; waits for his instinct to wind up correct.
But when you do nothing of that sort, eyes a resolute and solid statement, he sighs. Tongues at the lip ring for a moment before he clears his throat and questions, “Good thing, yeah? What else do you think?”
“It… goes deep,” you confess, an impressed declaration in your expressions, “what are you talking about in that one? I mean, I know, but… it sounds so personal.”
“More or less? I’ve spent most of the last few years dedicating myself to this job. The training, the late night sessions, the failure and lost time. I wanted to depict those hardships.” He nods, emphasising his points. “I want this song to help me look back one day…”
He shrugs his shoulders, thumbs slowly circling around each other, “And comfort my older self that despite the hectic life, things are okay.”
“I see.”
Your tone is neutral, but your chest rises and falls a little too slowly. Your sorrow is quiet. He closes the distance further, nudging your arm, “Hey. Did you not like it?”
“I did,” you defend, honesty and reassurance in your voice, “I do. You have an amazing voice, come on, what’s not to like. And the sound is incredible. Should you manage to release it, it will be celebrated a lot.”
“I will manage to release it,” he says with furrowed eyebrows, resisting the urge to touch your elbow again, but settling on simply calling your name instead, “you’re part of my team. Let’s be optimistic.”
“I am. Teamwork makes the dream work. Etcetera.”
“Right,” Jungkook breathes, word close to a yawn. He throws his body back in the cushioned chair, manspreading as much as the space allows; stretches his arms until his muscles crack. “Ahhh… I really want this to be good.”
His gaze falls to the darkening laptop, soon giving way to pitch darkness, potentially to some screensaver. The title of the song remains still in the opened audio file, and he smacks his lips, blinking only when you voice an approving, “Mhmmm.”
His head darts to you the moment you deliver a subtle nod towards the computer, deducting, “You really strive to be big.”
Well, yeah. That’s been the plan. Always, always.
“Shouldn’t I?” he argues. “It’s a dream.”
“It’s good to have dreams.”
“That’s right. Mine is to… Stand on a bigger stage. I think I’ve reached a solid group, but I think if I keep working hard and with the right team, I can make it?”
“This determined, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he responds with a hint of obvious self-evidence, slight confusion shadowing his mind — have you never wanted something so badly? “The audience’s eyes glued to me. Don’t you have a dream?”
Another deep inhale of air, chest working hard, as if you’re breathing out fatigue. He prepares for another vague answer that might leave him guessing; and albeit clearly seeing the usual curtain veiling your true thoughts, what you say next makes his ears perk up.
“Honestly. I’ll allow dreams again once I’ve moved on. That’s all I want.”
What?
Did you actually want to say that? Was it on purpose? A slip of the tongue?
Because it seems so unlike you. Reveals too much. He doesn’t think you’ve exposed your innermost thoughts like this before, even if still not quite transparent.
“…From what?” The previously relinquished distance dies when he inches closer again, digits sneaking close to your knee. A fingertip floats over your tights. “Hey. Is something bothering you?”
“Ugh,” you say; the sliver of sadness seamlessly transitions into an expression of nonchalance when you wave your concerns off so quickly. “Young adult stuff.”
Nevertheless, you speak on. The biggest development in this friendship between the two of you yet. “I once had a friend that moved away. We were pretty close, and now she’s far away. Which sucks.”
“I’m sorry.”
That’s it.
Jungkook offers to listen, but he doesn’t necessarily deem himself the most expressive guy when it comes to emotions like these; even if he so deeply wishes to read your thoughts. Music is different; speaking to an audience is, too. Articulating gratitude isn’t as difficult as extinguishing someone else’s grief.
And while not quite confronted with anguish, he houses demons that still haunt his nights; he can barely obliterate them.
Maybe he doesn’t need to.
Maybe he can comfort you in the only way he’s ever known. The stupid, selfish way; offering relief and distraction in the most sinful manner.
“Listen…” Jungkook starts, but in all honesty — there isn’t much to say.
Only to crave. To look.
At the curve of your lips. The distance between them. The bare wrist needing to be held, tired eyes wanting to replace the sorrow with something else.
Is he an asshole for wanting to annihilate your heavy breaths of dejection and replace them with sighs of his name instead?
He doesn’t know. He barely hears his thoughts. Only the blood rushing to his ears, and then away from his head, down his body.
Fuck.
The levitating finger drops an inch; you gasp almost inaudibly when the tip touches your knee, skin separated by the tights only. Jungkook loves fashion choices like these, but hates the hurdle right now.
His warm palm opens, placing right above your knee, approaching the meat of your thigh. He knows you’re not breathing because he can’t hear the exhales; and when his eyes, hooded and possibly insane, flit up to you, he recognises the change in your pupils.
You gulp; and then finally push out some air again. Your hand moves to his inked wrist, touching lightly, unsure what to do. But when you don’t resist, his other arm lifts, touch moving to your face, holding it.
The world spins, moving like an earthquake as his mouth draws nearer. You let out a miniscule sound that punches him in the guts; sweet and pure.
He wants to shatter and wreck you so bad; wants you to feel the same poison you’ve fed him. Irresistible, deadly.
But just as the metal of his jewellery grazes your lips, the softness and warmth radiating towards him, your breath shakes. Your face budges enough for his upper lip to feel a brush against yours, but that’s all he gets.
Because you retreat without giving in. And he doesn’t know why.
He clenches his jaw. God fucking hell. What’s your problem?
The sense of failure overwhelms him. Failure. Failure.
That’s not the term his mind should conjure. He knows the moral compass hides somewhere in his dark heart; he knows. Yet, he can never give into it. Is he a bad person? He doesn’t know.
Control was never his domain, after all.
But he keeps those intrusive thoughts inside, intending to not scare you off more than he already might have. So he accepts the dodging of the kiss, moving back, immediately leaving you safe from his touch.
And then, he says, “Uhm— I’m sorry.”
You don’t answer, still catching your breath, back to the heavy sighs that he was going to help shove back. Once again, he tries, “Honestly, I apologise, I just…”
“No, no. Please, don’t be sorry,” you reassure, slightly touching his shoulder. A wave of relief washes over him. “I’m just. Not in the right mindset for it yet. But I’m flattered, really.”
“Okay.” He nods. His eyes drop to his fingers; he still feels your heat on his skin, basks in it for a moment. But when the awkward silence lingers, he suggests, “Then. Let’s call it a night and I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. I’m definitely getting tired.”
“Me too.”
Jungkook rises from his seat, still unable to wrap his head around what happens — or almost happened. Maybe another time. Grabbing your coat from behind you, he helps you into it, avoiding your eyes, trying not to showcase his frustration.
Uncertain what to say, he reverts back to small talk, stating, “Thanks for still coming so late. You really do like the song, yeah?”
“Jungkook… it’s honestly very good.”
You smile; there’s something about your honesty. About the way you say his name. And how hopeful you truly seem for him. How much you seem to mean it when you say—
“If there’s anyone who can manage to wrap the world around their finger, it’ll be you, Jungkook.”
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“Alright. I think I have an answer to your question now.”
You down the sip of red wine with a delicate smack of your lips, blinking at the change in topic. The evening has followed a pleasant pace so far, conversations well balanced; even though you still carry a sense of caution that Jungkook sees no reason behind.
Perhaps it’s the fact that after weeks of subtle, flirty undertones and advancing attempts you’ve taken the seat on his couch as he’s imagined for so long now. Maybe he still exudes something that screams for caution; maybe that’s just who you are.
Jungkook, for one, is just glad to receive any kind of recognition from you. But he’d be a fool to not insert all his effort into tonight, from the food to the type of drinks and conversations. He knows where he needs to be and he wants you to want it, too.
“What question?” you ask.
It’s just.
Despite the lightness with which you carry your talks, some of your movements feel off, detached from your body. Not quite matching the grace your face portrays; just that one hint. The one hiding in your fingers, tapping the dark screen of the phone resting on your thigh.
As if you’re waiting for a call or something to happen that Jungkook isn’t aware of. Who knows. Nothing has happened in the last hour, so this might be an unconscious gesture reasoned in nothing but an absent or distracted mind.
Yeah.
You’re probably not even aware of it and he’s just overthinking it.
He takes a breath, inhaling the aroma of the almost finished wine, “What I’d do if I could spend a day in a virtual reality.”
“Wait, does the Wembley Stadium doesn’t count anymore?”
Jungkook smirks, dismissing his own prior answer with a click of his tongue. “C’mon. Does it really? You can ask literally any artist ever and that’s what they’ll say.”
You ponder his response, pursing your lips in thought, and then shrug one shoulder. Nodding along, you acknowledge, “Right. So what is it then?”
“I’d just.” He sucks air through his teeth sharply, leaning back with a signature smack of his lips. “Get into a reality in which this damn song is already finished and mixed and ready to be released.”
This song referring to the concoction of sounds he showed you earlier, yet to be concretised and burnished to what he truly envisions. It’s the only song left that shackles him to the studio; at the upcoming concert, he’ll just sing the demo version as a sneak peak if needed. What a source of stress.
But you don’t see it as much of a struggle; you’ve told him a dozen times that hard work justifies a slip-up. That the progress on his album balances out the artist’s block.
Possibly why you laugh his worry off without mocking it, merely throwing back, “I’m disappointed.”
Oh?
“Why?”
“Just because — the Wembley answer was better.”
Unexpected and sudden — much like the snicker you elicit, throwing his head back just a little. Concurring, he sighs, “Okay, okay. What about you then?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me what you’d do.”
“You didn’t ask,” you remind him, already slurring your speech a bit, though still remaining a stable and solid stance, “dunno. You want the sappy or the basic answer?”
“Is the sappy one a tear-jerker? Sounds like it.”
“For sure.”
“Then the basic one. Don’t dig being sad.”
“Thought so,” you answer, and Jungkook holds back from prodding again this time, despite wondering what image he gets across, “alright. I’d do things I’m unsure of in real life. Like bungee jumping.”
“Oh? Kinda did not expect this.”
“No?”
“Just having a hard time imagining somebody as calm as you jumping off a building. Or yelling.”
You roll your eyes. “Anyway. I’d love to go, but I’m too scared of the risks. Like, rope stuff. Don’t want to be jumping for the last time.”
“Okay, yeah, but,” Jungkook starts, hesitating, “I mean, you could say that about anything. You leave your apartment and get hit by a car and then you’d be going out for the last time.”
You begin shaking your head mid-sentence, already drawing a breath, ready to disagree. Then, “That’s a bad comparison. These things are a once in a lifetime experience.”
“I’m just saying! Why hold back from things that excite you.”
“…Maybe you’re right.”
Jungkook’s proud nod and hum are reciprocated with a soft smile, fleeting when you roll your eyes back to your phone briefly. Absent-mindedly, you drag a fingertip across the device’s side as Jungkook follows your movements.
Yet, unsure what you might be harbouring in this pretty head of yours, he doesn’t ponder but asks, “What was the sappy thing?”
It’s as if you live multiple lives, hiding them in your innermost parts; because once he finishes his question, your sparkle returns, and you smirk a little, suddenly leaning forward.
Wordlessly, you fish a tissue out of the square, wooden box, puzzling him for a second until he understands right before you clarify, “For the upcoming tears.”
His titter is immediate, a reflex. You might be relaxed as a calm river, but your humour does shine through among your other million traits. He shakes his head in rejection, smile still plastered to his lips, and watches you lean back again, clearing your throat.
“Mhh, I’d say,” you muse, “I’d try to get into a simulation of Heaven. Try to meet those I miss.”
“Oh… damn.”
“Yeah.”
“…I don’t know what to say.”
But despite the dumbstruck silence, his mind does conjure prompt associations. Like when the two of you sat in his studio just two weeks ago, you engrossed in his music yet somehow dissociated from reality.
You spoke about lost and faraway people back then, too. And he didn’t ask then, either.
In the depths of his mind, he wants to believe that you’re trying to lead him somewhere, fishing for his hand but never quite reaching it. Drawing back right before pleading for help; or perhaps wanting to make him understand a thought he can’t fathom in the way you form it.
The pattern is repetitive, loud — but he knows you’ll retract the moment he does lean into you, offering his ear to your worries and thoughts.
He can’t win.
“That’s okay,” you say, making up for his lack of proper empathy, and that’s where you leave it. Not hesitating, not indicating another hint to lead to your mind.
Yet, he clears his throat quietly, licking drying lips, and asks in attempt to grip the truth, your whatever-truth, “And, who’d be there? Do you want to talk about that?”
“Mmmmh,” you hum, pondering, before you treat him with the same disappointment he’s suffered throughout the last weeks, “no. I think I’m good.”
Unbelievable, and truthfully, frustrating.
Are you playing this side of yours? Is it an act? Are two sides of you fighting within you?
“Okay,” he simply responds, clearly agitated but unsure whether you notice. You’re looking at your phone again. He sighs. “And… Do you believe in that stuff? Heaven, Hell, stuff like that.”
You shrug a bare shoulder. “Dunno. I like to think there’s something, but then again I don’t.”
“How so?”
“The way I see it, it’s kinda simple,” you explain matter-of-factly, “some people are good enough to deserve a place in Heaven once they’re gone. And some people are terrible enough to burn for eternity.”
Coming from your sweet mouth, uttered in an equally soft tone, the sentence feels jarring. Jungkook has had these thoughts before; he’d be a hypocrite to judge you for yours, recalling moments when he wondered where he’s destined to land once he’s left this realm.
And somehow, it was never the prettier option.
Still, he utters, disguising his own past pondering, “Wow. That’s dark.”
“It’s true. There’s some serious crime in the world.”
Agreed. Perhaps, compared to the extreme sins, he can be forgiven. Right? Maybe…
“Yeah,” Jungkook accords, “then, why did you say that sometimes you don’t like believing in it?”
“I mean, if there’s actually something like Hell, and I happen to fuck up throughout life… I don’t wanna end up there.”
It’s like you’re mirroring his thoughts.
Even if he never quite thought about it to such an extent. Even though his idea of the afterlife built on what he’s already done, and not what he’s still going to do.
But your words give a subtle hope that redemption is possible. Who knows. Who really knows.
Perhaps it’s easiest to stray away from these thoughts and focus on you at this very moment. Even if it’s you triggering innermost fears; he doesn’t quite have a clue how you do it.
No matter. He’ll focus on you. Altruism might be the first step to vindication. Karma points. Karma points.
“Valid,” he says kindly, “can’t imagine you fucking up, though.”
“How would you know?”
“The company grapevine whispered a lil something about you.”
“Ahhh—”
“Good things! Other than that, I just think. Don’t know.” A small gap, well-hidden so far, grows in the back of his mind, tiptoeing to the very front of his mind. Before he’s thought it through, he blurts, “I’ll be honest with you.”
Your ears perk up, eyes suddenly wide.
What was that?
Okay. Whatever. Can’t stop his speech now, “Uhm, I’ll be honest and say that I’m not the best person I know. Like, I’m aware of that. It’s why sometimes, I don’t really understand how people can be as genuine as you.”
…Has he said too much? Or not enough? Because he could swear your face deflates, expression dimming, as if you expected something else.
And all you say is, “I understand.”
A flicker of slight panic creeps into his overthinking head, not usually a trademark of his personality. But you look dispirited, even if just for a second. He tries further.
“And from what I’ve seen, you go through life gently. The way you do anything is how you do everything, right?”
“Hmmm,” you voice again, pupils hidden until you look up. And when you do, he breathes a sigh of relief; deep and obvious, and he doesn’t care if you notice. Smiling sweetly, you tell him, “You said that really well.”
The way you say it is riddled with woe, but within a second, your eyebrows relax, mouth forming an authentic grin. Displaying real emotions suits you better than the mask of the frigid ice queen you keep plastered to your face; you look different right now.
Vulnerable.
And it makes him want you more.
Does it have something to do with the warm light he chose for this room? No. It doesn’t shine brightly enough to really illuminate your face that much. With the intensity lowered beforehand, some of your features hide in the dark when you lower your head a little.
And it’s not the decent amount of alcohol the two of you slurped.
It’s the usual, mysterious shimmer in your eyes, begging to take off more of your mental layers. The fragility behind the pretence of invincible strength. No doubt, you’re still a textbook definition of a femme fatale.
Still, there’s some sweet urge to surrender, visible in your stance. A fragrance luring him in. Warm skin close to his; calling for his fingers.
And he’s at your beck and call, ready and motivated; giving into your wanting eyes — or is that his own desire he’s confusing? — and leaning in. A little more with each tiny moment, advancing until the tips of your noses meet.
Your warmth consumes him; your breathing quickens, resulting in fitful exhales that he takes in with vigour, much drowning in his own head until you gasp and he realises—
“Sorry,” he mumbles, not yet retracting. His hand touches your knee, carefully but with intention. Waiting, he asks, “Is that okay for you?”
“…I’m not sure.”
Your answer takes a seat on his ego and weighs it down. Harsh, sudden, perhaps not unexpected but definitely breaking a string of patience within him. But consent is consent; he understands. He’s grown now.
Yet…
“Fuck,” he whispers under a faint sigh, dejected and confused.
And you hear it. Bambi-eyed, you ask, “What?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
He’d lie if he suppressed the disappointment. Working towards you for weeks was supposed to end in realising his fantasies into a palpable, actual feeling, with a side achievement of a deeper connection.
You don’t seem to want to provide it; he understands, but the agitation courses through him like a fire burning up a forest. The trees are his nerves; alight with different emotions. You’re fumbling with the soft cotton of your winter dress, and he averts his eyes.
Shutting them for a moment, he ponders his options; does he continue the awkward conversation? Or perhaps, ask you for your opinion straightforwardly? Maybe, after all this while, it wouldn’t be so stupid to swap a penny for your thoughts.
And his mouth opens, but it seems you’re faster. Crushing his questions and uncertainties when he hears you gulp, witness to another change of mind as your knee shifts forward. His eyes open rapidly, and when he looks at you again, you’ve moved closer.
Your leg touches his thigh; your eyelids half fallen, lips an inch apart and fingers hesitating, yet advancing towards him. Hope sparks and sparkles in him anew, and he suppresses the cheeky, triumphant smile.
He feels like an asshole. Oh, he feels so selfish — but he can’t be the only one. He cannot possibly be the first or last to give into deepest desires out of self-interest.
Carefully, he matches your pace, moving into your direction much like you are drawing into his. His hand lifts to your arm, and you suck in a breath as he touches your skin, your chest rising and falling deeply.
And his eyes observe. The motion drives him crazy. He wants to pilot his touch to this spot, wrap his palm around your mounds, desperate to feel your nipples perk up under his skin, your mouth fall wider.
Should he? Maybe, maybe—
Not yet.
Instead, he draws an invisible line with his fingertips, up your arm and to your shoulders until he reaches your neck. The sound you let out is so tiny he barely hears it, and you tilt your head to the other side, giving him free reign over your skin.
A spark lights up under his finger, as if he’s touched a defective bulb. He wonders if you feel the same flame when he charges for your jawline, tracing it for a moment before he moves to your seething hot cheek.
You’re burning up.
So he asks in a quiet, gravelly voice, somehow much lower than usual, “Are you okay?”
Your eyebrows are furrowed, and he starts to worry again; but maybe that’s just the same tension unleashing that he’s felt, too. The temptation runs deep; he could scream it out of his lungs and it wouldn’t be enough.
Relieved as you nod, he mimics the movement, whispering an, “Okay,” before he then dips forward, exhaling close to your neck hotly and… leaves a small kiss right there. He doesn’t know about you, but if you did that to him, he’d possibly faint.
One more kiss, and suddenly, your hand is on his knee. His head spins. Must be the alcohol. Must be you.
And you’re probably in no better state, judging the hot cheeks and the slight sway of your body. Must be the wine. Must be him.
And when his lips graze your jaw, your fingers curl in, clawing onto his knee, and his inner voice celebrates, “Jackpot.”
But not really. He’s going with the flow, exploring your preferences, but this needs to be the night of your life. His mind and ego want you to perceive it that way. So what should he do? What do you like?
Are you one to push him into the bed, holding his shoulders down? Straddling him keenly, pouncing on him, eyes rolled back?
Or do you give away all the power you usually emanate; hands bound with a tie, legs struggling between a rope, screams muffled under a gag? Do you wind and go crazy when somebody has their way with you, edging and then overstimulating, refusing a touch and then slapping your ass wound…
Should he let your siren eyes tempt him into submission or will you be the one drilled into his mattress with a hand around your neck and a trail of black mixed with tears under your eyes?
He doesn’t know. Because you’ve disguised all of you; hidden your mind behind a mask of absolute neutrality, hard to decipher. He can usually read women so easily. They lick their lower lips when they want him under them, and quiver when vice versa.
He’d oblige to either for you. So what does it matter in the end, anyway?
No, it doesn’t.
His tongue that lashes out, however, does matter. Tasting your skin as it drags over your chin and then to your mouth. Insane when he reaches your lower lip and you sigh, then back to your neck, blowing, teasing, still not kissing you… touching your thigh, moving inwards…
“What do you want me to do?” he asks.
And this time, while still a little quiet, you finally say, “More. You can do more.”
“Yeah?”
You nod as if starved, relieved when his hands leave your leg and venture further in. It’s hidden under your dress, but somehow, not seeing your full glory just yet, but observing your reactions to his movements, stirs his thoughts. If any were left, that is.
The touch to your panties is light, tender as he reaches the hem, driving a finger underneath it in exploration. You don’t say much, but he sees the zeal in your eyes, murmuring a little, “Mhm…”
And when he finally presses against the fabric slowly dampening, lightly as he rolls his digits right where your skin so incredibly softens… you moan. You moan.
It doesn’t sound the way he imagined. But it kind of does. He doesn’t remember what he imagined — doesn’t know much at all. Just that he wanted this sound to echo within his walls. For him to be the one to drag it out. Not for anybody else, but him.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Okay. What if he does… this…
Thought so.
Sometimes, human beings have a fantasy unmatched, don’t they? Able to form and reform expressions on people they know that they have never seen. For example, he can imagine what you look like when you cry. Or when you’re mad. Or…
He knew you’d press your lips together, along with your eyebrows, muffling your sound once he sought out your clit and pressed against it. And not because he’s seen other women contort their faces like this; no… it’s an entirely new sensation with you.
You don’t compare to anyone. Nobody compares to you. Nobody, ever.
Sick of watching the invisible movement under your dress, he lets his eyes wander to yours, and you notice, do as he does. Eyes hooded, staring at him as if drunk — possibly, probably drunk.
Just once, he gapes down again, trying to adjust without crushing your knees with his. Comes closer. Then looks back at you. Absolutely astonished by the coloured lips drying up. Seeing your tongue peak behind your upper teeth, pushing against them.
Then you’re blinking, several times, not rapidly, but enough to indicate that you’re losing yourself, too. And then there’s some melancholy behind your gaze; he can’t say where it derives from… you seem to be coming out of a room that you kept dark for long enough.
He can’t say whether he’s further dimming the light in that room or lightening it up — and as he advances, gauging your reactions, he inwardly hopes it’s the latter.
So inwardly. So desperately.
Patience only persists for a moment; Jungkook barely believes in it. People always break. And he does when you lean forward as he drags his finger between your pussy lips, still over the clothing. You balance your weight with your arms, holding yourself up.
And then…
You so tantalisingly, softly, quietly, whisper his name.
Okay.
The snap was expected. The sigh he lets out was expected. And the way his lips finally crash against yours, making you almost fall back onto the sofa was expected, too.
But your taste… Why did he know you’d be as sweet as a cliché, like a perfume made edible? Matches your mystery and your elegance.
And the mellow, yet wanting sounds fit every move he makes. Like the moan-sigh combination when his bold hand wraps around the bun you’ve arranged your hair into. How you breathe into the kiss when he tilts your head a little, and then proceeds to loosen up said bun.
Releases it. Lets your hair fall. Pulls you in, pausing the make-out in the process, and then diving back in with a greed he’s never been met with before.
And as he kisses you, his index finger still dips into the uncharted territory below, ruining your panties some more as he soaks them; fucking loving how you whimper as a result.
No… this is ruining him just as much.
So he draws back from your body, attempting and probably failing not to look at you like an animal glaring down at his prey, ready to devour. He’s never seen this expression himself, but one or two girls have uttered quiet, “Oh-oh,” in such moments before — do you see the danger, too?
Or is he being cocky? But it’s not his fault. You make him cocky because he can never fucking say what you think! Of course he’d need the mental praise to himself — your opinion on him is too difficult to decipher.
He’ll keep the energy up. Make you shrink in his hold.
Hands under your ass, he lifts your lower body a little, amused by your wide eyes and how you wonder, “What are you d—”
Silencing the moment he uses his palms’ position to grab the hem of your panties and pull them down your legs. Over them and then on the other side of the table. The two of you won’t need those tonight.
“What does it look like that I’m doing?” he teases, smirk effective and permanent.
He likes that about himself. Maybe you’ll do, too. If not, then you at least do like how his fingers, impatient, find their way back home again, not before lifting your dress to your hips until you’re bared to him the way he’s craved.
And he pauses.
Oh, this treasure…
“You…” he starts, moving two ring-clad fingers between your folds. Testing the waters. “I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight. You’re staying right here…” He leans forwards, body on body, whispering against your lips. “Trapped under me.”
You want to answer, he thinks. Your eyebrows relax for a second, an inebriated smile playing around your mouth. If he knows you well enough, he’d guess you’re urging to dive back into your witty remarks.
But none of it is possible just yet. Because when he caresses your pussy again, increasing the pace without being too unreasonably fast, you bite your lip. He urges you to release it with his tongue. And when you do, his finger plunges in; as deeply as it can. So easily, too.
He kisses your clavicles the moment your nails get ahold of his arms, wiggling underneath him, but still caged in. And he sees the built-up frustration; how you kept yourself at bay, but can barely do it now. How you yearn for just one or two more right touches here and there before…
But before he can, he stops. Immediately, unexpectedly for you. Once again, mean, but…
“You’ll thank me later,” he utters — and with those four measly words, something awakens in you that was hidden for just the last ten minutes.
“Oh? You… you’re confident like this.”
“Of course I am.”
“Jungkook…” you say in such frustration that he thinks you’ll beg some more. But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head and say. “Men rarely manage to…”
“This isn’t rare. I’m not giving you rare, ‘kay?”
“I…”
“How…” he readjusts your body, pulling you down the couch, shifting until his knee keeps your legs apart. “How fucking insulting.”
Do you hear any of this anymore? Because your eyes are closed again. Hands still holding on; and… and body winding in order for your cunt to shift closer to him, suddenly rubbing against his knee.
It’s all you can get at the moment since his hands are so far out of reach. And the satisfaction of knowing that you’ll strive for anything at all is cosmic.
“You’re ruining my jeans,” he mocks, clicking his tongue as if to reprimand.
“Then…” You hook a finger into one of his jeans’ loops, pulling and then releasing again. “Take them off, coward.”
You don’t have to tell him twice. They say that if you have waited for so long, what’s ten more minutes? But no more. Not another second.
So he obliges immediately as he mutters, “‘Kay,” offering a helping hand when you work on his shirt. Off and to the ground. Pants off and to the back of the couch. He already knows he’ll be finding them all scattered the next morning.
But that’s the problem of just that next-morning-self.
Boxers still on, he returns to give you another initial taste of what’s to explode. The dress moves up from your hip as he slides it over your skin, stopping right under the mounds he’s still so curious about.
He needs to keep this balanced. Rush as much as might be appropriate, but not too much to make things embarrassing. This… the way he leans down again, opening your legs, erection grinding against your pussy and offering the bare minimum… this is good enough for now…
Or maybe not. Because merely a couple seconds later, you halt mid-moan, letting out breathy words that he struggles to understand until you repeat, “Is that… all you’ll be doing tonight?”
“Hmmm, you want more?”
“I— I don’t know.” Pause, a gulp when he presses his clothed length between your cunt. “Are you going to tell me your secrets if I say yes?”
His secrets?
You must be kidding. He has been an open book to you, chasing you around; if anything, he needs to unravel your mind.
But for that, he needs to play along. So he feigns the same mystery you emanate, teasing, “What do you wanna know?”
And you don’t hesitate. “Everything.”
…Hmm…
You’ve never seemed as interested as you are now. Never dove into his thoughts and the dim heart like now. If he agreed now, would you blurt out something specific? Questions that you formed when he wasn’t paying attention?
No idea. Maybe that’s something to worry about later. Pillowtalk. The morning after talk. Just anything… just not now.
He removes the obstacles currently standing between the two of you. The cushion standing against the back of the couch, constantly falling into your face. He throws it on the ground, so you don’t have to keep swatting it away.
Then, the dress covering your body. He gives a sign of wanting to proceed, and you play along, lifting yourself, chasing his lips as your outfit follows the cushion. And then, the phone right underneath the small of your back, having snuck there, undetected until you yelp, “Oh!”
“What?”
“Cold. Don’t know how it got there.”
He fishes out the device, watching it light up, a notification at the top that he can’t decode and that he doesn’t pay any mind to. Puts it on the coffee table. Then… last but not least… the uncertain atmosphere.
He says, “You want to know everything? Then make a list. I’ll tell you if I feel like it… deal?”
“You’re so…”
“You gotta make me. No other way out, baby.”
An answer lies on your tongue, ready to disrupt the moment. He knows because you look distracted all of a sudden, possibly still thinking about the same thing you did before, dissociating as he sat next to you, wine in hand.
It’s probably about work. Or about Taehyung — God, nobody at work but Jungkook would know, but you mention that guy all the time.
But tonight is not the night to think of others. So he shakes your upcoming inquiries away, giving you no time to think about it further as he, thirsty and impatient, picks you up and off the couch.
Right into his lap. Right onto his cock.
Still a layer between the two of you, watching you grind immediately. For a moment, you put him under your spell, urging him to stay right there and not move away until he’s shot buckets of cum into his boxers.
But…
But he’d rather do it in you, with you, because of truly you.
So he wastes no second as he executes his former plan, large hands sprawling over your ass before he stands with willpower and strength. He throws you a couple inches into the air, making you adjust, and then moves.
Away from the couch, stepping onto the clothes on the floor, careful not to stumble and hurt the two of you. The way to the bedroom seems endless, and you so naked… so… so his for the night. Like what, he still needs to wait those couple square metres?
Fuck, how…
No. It must be a primal instinct that hankers him to give up already, having made it halfway through the room and almost to his bedroom when he suddenly stops. Pinning you against a random free spot at the wall, right under a silent clock.
“What are you…?”
Your voice is trembling, for some reason so incredibly small. For the first time since you lay beneath him on the couch, he sees your eyes properly, and they flit back to the couch as if you’re looking where you just departed from — and then back to him.
“What are you looking for?” he whispers. Tantalisingly, he brings his fingers to your chin, pinching it lightly as he raises your head. “Hm? I’m here. Do you want to go back? Missing the couch? Wall might not be as comfortable, huh…”
“No… that’s not a problem. I’m just… surprised by the change.”
You do look surprised. A little cheekier again as your tone rises, your head falling to the side, lips smiling as if to distract him from something bigger. As if there’s anything bigger in existence right now than you.
“It was just sudden,” you conclude.
“Is that bad?”
“Not at all. I’m just curious.”
He doesn’t need to ask what about. He sees it in this expecting gaze of yours that you want to read and decrypt his next steps. And you can have them.
Because he lets you go, making you fall silently on your feet, kissing you once before he falls to his knees. You groan when he grabs your leg, placing it on his shoulder, restless when his lips charge for your open folds.
He offers you, “Curious, huh? No need,” before kissing your clit, adding another, “Just indulge in it… no need to use your pretty brain today,” and then attaching his mouth and tongue to your dripping pussy.
Digging his large nose into you, tickling your nub, he swirls his tongue around, slurping you up like his favourite drink. Holy fuck, you taste good. He could eat you up, down you in one like a shot. Stay right here all night.
You get ahold of a patch of his hair, but don’t pull — somehow, he wishes you would. Instead, you seem to focus on your body, trying not to fall, keeping it upright. You’re winding, your leg moving, and he soon wraps an arm around your thigh to keep you from stirring too much.
And with the other, he targets your cunt, mouth moving up to make space for the digits to easily, effortlessly slide into you. You gasp, just a bit louder when the metal touches your hot sex, calling his name — and for possibly the first time, he hears you curse, “Fuck. Fuck, I’m— I’m going to pass out.”
Oh my God.
If he could lick you to unconsciousness, he’d feel shocked and proud at once. He wants to see you become weightless, wants to catch you in his arms, and then bring you to his bedroom, still delirious, and fuck your brain out of you.
He wants you so bad. He wants to fuck you so fucking badly. His cock aches, godfuckingdamn.
As he rolls his tongue, lips kissing yours, moving his head left and right as he makes out with your pussy, he almost pulls all the way through. Nearly gives into your body language, nose moving over your clit, fingers pumping in and out, breathing into your pussy hotly.
But he has other plans. He wants to see your damn tears; wants you to unleash all your desperation. So, just when your sounds change, less pauses between them, high-pitched, heavy breathing, he stops.
Draws back, watching you press your ass into the wall, head suddenly hanging low. You whisper, “No…” as he looks up in satisfaction, waiting for you to say more.
You’re out of breath, exhaling through half gritted teeth, a palm on his chest as he rises again. You declare, “I’m going to blueball you, too.”
But the adrenaline has poured buckets of confidence over Jungkook already, and he’s drenched in it as much as in your scent, cocking an eyebrow as he challenges, “You can try.”
“I’m gonna suck your dick so fucking slow.”
“Do it,” he keeps the mask up, wondering how much of the effect you saw upon gracing him with such a provocative image, “let’s see if you make it this far. Might just fuck you into space before that, you know?”
He lets out an unsteady breath, a strand of your hair swaying upon impact. His hand taps at your thigh, testing whether you’ve closed your legs again; and as he realises that you haven’t, much to his pleasure, he palms your pussy, heel of his hand pressing against your clit.
“You’re trying to set me off, because you know you can, right?” he questions, for a split moment distracted by the teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “Smart of you. You are truly smart, babe… but you’re also mine tonight. So don’t play games.”
A slap lands on your vulnerable pussy, and he understands your frustration as you open your mouth, the lower lip previously captive rolling back into place. Soft and gorgeous.
No matter the fading distance, there’s still something inexplicable in the air, as if he can’t really separate a dream from reality. As if he needs evidence that this isn’t yet another figment of his imagination; the ones he’s awoken from several times, underwear threatening to burst.
The hand just torturing your cunt wanders up your body and settles around your neck, like a chain or a necklace or a motherfucking leash. He feels home here, just like this. With your fingers on his wrist, gulping under his touch.
Pinned firmly against the wall, he looks down to where you’re dripping and he’s standing tall, gripping the ever-twitching length that is begging for more. Begging for relief. He’s doing this to himself — because his body is burning up, as if scorched by sun flares.
He’s doing this to the both of you.
The kiss underneath your ear as he leans in. And the still harmless yet sinful touch between his tip and your folds. How he holds the shaft firmly, leading the head between your pussy lips, teasing until just an inch intrudes your awaiting hole.
He moans the moment you do, moving, fucking just the first of the tip into you; scrambling his own thoughts as he says, “God, I could just slide in… you’re so, so wet.”
“What… why say this if you won’t do it?”
Guess you’ve figured him out well enough. Guess that’s the cockiness you implied when you called him a fuckboy in that stupid museum. Or how you kept a safe distance — because thinking about it, maybe Jungkook could be someone to break somebody’s heart.
No. He knows he is. But…
He shakes the thought off his brain, returning to this very moment where you’re waiting for his answer, a heart made of steel. You won’t let him hurt you; you know better than that. You could dodge him easily.
Mentally, at least. Physically, you’re under his mercy.
So he uses this weakness, muttering under his breath, “I will, I will… but not here. We can do better than here.”
Wasn’t this just a pit stop after all? What he’s seeking is still waiting in his bedroom, soft sheets spread over the cold mattress, waiting for a body to warm it up. Or two.
Already hot and bothered, Jungkook lets you go entirely; and the next minute happens in a blur, as though he’s struggling with recognising his own apartment. Suddenly self-conscious about everything and nothing at once.
With you in his grip, he walks along the dark, small corridor; then past the paintings, through the door, into a well-managed, tidy bedroom until he’s sat your ass down. It happens within the tiniest moment — he could narrate how you got here but he can barely recall it.
Dick at the same height as your mouth, he wraps his hand around it. You don’t initiate anything of what you promised, looking into his eyes with a question; he knows you want to avenge yourself and provide the same vanity, but you’d rather skip to the best part.
He wants to, too.
So he doesn’t ram his cock into your mouth, hitting the farthest spot until you gag. Instead, he relishes the image mentally and quietly, fantasising about the warmth of your spit, about the tongue swirling around.
And then… then he goes a step further and imagines the even extended pleasure if he dug into your pussy now, maximising whatever your mouth could make him feel.
Are his thoughts too straight-forward? If he spelled them out like this, one by one, would you find him weird? Too eager? Obsessed?
Maybe he should slow down. Just a bit.
Which is why he holds his shaft closer to you, still surprised when you don’t open up, hints of the past confusion alternating with your confident, mysterious, teasing self. It’s weird to witness. But your eyes are still hazy at least. You don’t seem to want to stop.
God. He can’t figure it out. Not figuring out is agitating even in this moment.
But… good energies. Good energies. All the pent-up frustration needs to be morphed into sheer craze. He can do that.
“Spit on it,” he orders.
You only hum. Something in your gaze changes again, eyelids fluttering, as if awoken from trance. But you’re willing. Immediately mimicking him as you bring a thumb to a mole on the protruding veins. Tracing them, all the way back to his balls until you touch them just lightly, but enough for him to nearly lose his shit.
“Fuck, I said,” he reprimands, though delighted by the sudden rapture, “spit on it.”
You nod as if carrying out a task given by your manager; perhaps used to the last days and weeks when he’d command you around. Ask for another meeting, or for your opinion on a song, or just to keep him company to keep him productive.
Or, to keep you close to him. Lost in thoughts. Many thoughts. And even though none of them became a reality in that room, none of the equipment shoved aside to sit you on the desk, this… this right here is more than enough.
You suck in your cheeks, collecting spit, and when you lean forward… you make such a mess. Spitting onto the tip, a string still connecting your lips and his dick, leftover saliva dripping down your chin and then on your tits.
The view is… worth diamonds.
Do you even know?
“Okay,” he utters, no real direction in his mind, no real sentence to utter. “Okay.”
But you’re equipped with ideas, immediately getting onto the trail you left, spreading the spit over his cock, down to the base. The tip and the slit glisten, traces of precum mixing with your drool, but it’s not enough to cover his length all over.
So he mutters a mental, “More,” to himself, tapping your lips until you open, sticking two of his fingers in and pressing against your tongue. Lubricating his digits, he rolls them over your tongue, far enough to nearly make you gag until he draws back.
Watching you work on him rolls a wave of satisfaction over him. He’s proud, enduring like this. Because judging from the creature you are, as if jumped out of dark mythology, he truly expected to give up way earlier.
But he remains steadfast; eager to not explode until he’s filled you up first. Drawn out your own highs.
“Sweetheart, aren’t you a good one?” Jungkook praises, helping you out with whatever his fingers gathered in your mouth. Then, grabs your wrist, pushing you away, hovering above you with a, “Turn around.”
You gulp again. Then shift back on his bed, sighing as you feel the soft silk underneath your skin, kissing and hugging your body. The sight is gorgeous, with you fleeing to the back of the mattress, obliging so easily. Prey.
And…
“Holy fuck.”
Holy fuck, how you look when you finally get into position. Ass up, upper body down. And the arms over your head? What in the world.
Okay… okay…
Wait. You’re saying something.
His knees dig into the mattress, hand unconsciously pumping his cock — he doesn’t even know when he started — as he moves closer, over your body. Kisses your shoulder, bringing his ear close to hear before, “Huh? What’d you say?”
“I’m already so spent.”
“Ah… do you want to stop?”
“No… you made me feel spent. But you’re not done, are you?”
Pause. Bright smirk. Then, “Of course not. Does it feel like it?” Another kiss to your shoulder, wet this time. “Condom or not?”
“Oh.” Seems you hadn’t even thought about this yet. Kind of nice. “I’m… I use an IUD. Have you… slept with many people lately?”
No answer yet. He thinks. Thinks back to the several weeks since he met you. Should he say it? Would you back away if he did? Years ago, there’d be no debate about it — he wouldn’t have told you. Kept it to himself.
Perhaps there’s still a part of him that’d dodge your question, but he somehow feels like you’d see through him. Hear the insincerity. 
Fuck, is that selfish? Maybe. Doesn’t he already know that he is? But he’s not bad; and people are selfish.
So a second later, he truthfully admits, “Once. Two or so weeks ago. Nothing special though, just dumb, drunk shit. Some girl from a club. And I tested after.”
As soon as the sentence finishes, he wonders if you deem yourself just another one of those. But… in all honesty. She was a one night stand whose sounds, name, dirty talk did nothing to him.
All he could imagine was you. Perhaps not out of loyalty, but surely out of curiosity.
He can’t fathom his thoughts into feelings yet; he still wouldn’t describe his attitude towards you as falling in love or anything. That’d be too far stretched. But he thought about it — that maybe he liked you too much.
Yet, his heart remained empty; but his body never did. He feels bad; and still, he won’t deny whatever his skin and mind whisper to him.
Other than that, he could probably declare with quite a firm certainty that you don’t feel any different about him. You can’t be.
So maybe this is good enough for now.
“But know what?” he says, voice lower, repeating his thoughts. “Could only imagine what it’d be like if it was you. This pussy,” strokes his cock along your cunt, “and this body,” touches the small of your back, “these thoughts got me going. And you’re so much better in reality.”
“Mmmh,” is all you utter, nearly hiding your face in the pillow before you say, “maybe… maybe we can still use a condom then.”
Shit. Expected it.
But okay. Okay.
Where are the condoms again… bedside table? No. He used the last one ages ago, before he knew you. He gets up; walks to the closet; somewhere near his socks, there must be a new pack. A moment to think.
For a second, he looks back at you. You’re still the same, only with the ass having dropped again, losing balance and energy. And maybe, you’re still drunk, too — probably, because even he still feels the world spin, careful not to close his eyes for too long.
Okay. One… no, two foils out. As he turns back to you, nearing you, his head is just a little calmer than a minute again, and he wonders… were all the thoughts his own? The past half an hour or however much passed, didn’t he spiral more and more?
Did you notice? He shakes his head. Who cares?
Not him, not right now. He keeps telling himself that with a goddess waiting in front of him on all fours, he probably doesn’t need to worry about anything unless there’s a reason to. You’ve been cooperative and the night has been successful, minus the strange gazes you keep throwing at him periodically.
“Alright, baby. Up you come,” he mumbles, bringing your ass back to his crotch. His hands are already trained and incredibly skilled; doing work on the condom doesn’t take him more than a couple seconds. “I should tell you now.”
You pause. Suck in some breath, as if expecting something in particular. You agree with an unmatched thirst for knowledge, “…Tell me.”
“I don’t tend to go easy. If you need me to be, you’ll have to tell me. ‘Kay?”
“I… I can take a lot more than you think.”
Fuck. He’ll wreck your shit. “Perfect. You’re honestly a good one, huh? Such a good girl for real, no— no, you’re the best.”
Is he just saying whatever now? Perhaps he should stop boring you and get to it. Right? Please, the goddamn, blood-filled tower down there is desperately imploring him to.
He collects spit like you did before, targeting your glinting pussy, one blob right onto it. Then, he brings his fingers back to where they love to be, distributing the filth between your folds. And then, two fingers into the tightening hole.
Right before moving north, between your ass cheeks, thumb rolling over your other clenching hole. 
And you tense immediately, without saying a word, taking it quietly. Then… then he finally starts.
Brings the annoying rubber to your soaked pussy, poking for a second before he gets serious and eventually dips in. The free hand raises your ass some more, and he shifts forwards, your butt backwards, helping him get in further.
He hears the reaction. Hears the almost-screech in a second, nails biting into the pillow over your head. You hold onto it for dear life as he slowly bottoms out, your sporadic breathing and high-pitched moans mingling with his own bursts of lust.
Deep creases appear between his eyebrows, lips bitten sore, and once his waist has finally connected with your ass, he takes a deep, long inhale. Watches your face disappear deeper into the pillow, sounds muffled.
Enjoys it for a moment before he starts moving slowly. Out, in. Concentrating before he might spill too early. Beads of sweat shimmer on his forehead, dampening the hanging strands of hair. You feel good. Too fucking good—
He wants to go off right away. But… focus.
“How’s that?” he asks.
“Stop… stop talking.”
Oh. Bold. But a good sign, isn’t it? If you wanted him to stop, you’d say it. So he keeps going… dares just a little more, courageous, encouraged by your cooperation. Explores your ass and what lies between the cheeks more, groaning before he says, “You stop that.”
His hand reaches for your wrists, keeping you from tearing his pillow and leading your fingers to where his touched your ass before. You keep your touch there, unmoving until he says, “Keep them apart.”
And you seem to understand. His thumb returns to your unoccupied hole as his cock impales your pussy whole, still going at a tormenting pace. Thick and soaked, he’s splitting you in two; maybe that’s why the slow plunges are such a plague. Because both of you know there could be more.
Pulling your ass cheeks apart, you remain with your face in the sheets, arms trembling as he circles your hole again. He doesn’t know if you’re into this; doesn’t know if you’ll protest. So far, he’s been pretty obvious with his intentions, and he’s sure you must understand this one, too.
And you’re not fearful; if something bothered you, you wouldn’t hesitate to voice your displeasure. So he spits one more time, right onto his thumb, using the lubrication to carefully, curiously dip the tip of his thumb into your ass.
You yelp immediately; as your hole tightens around the little bit of his thumb, your pussy narrows around his cock, too, and he nearly loses it. Nearly drools onto your back as his mouth drops open, blinking rapidly for a second.
God, your body reacts with such intensity. Still, he makes sure, “Too much?”
And you, candidly, reply, “I don’t know. I… think so.”
“Okay. Then I’ll sto—”
“No. No, wait… I want to— I want to know what it’s like.”
Thought so. He knew that underneath all the chic charade, you crave just as much as he does. And if it’s him that you long for, then what even stands between him and the rocket shooting his ego to the sky?
This feels good. Really good… not just physically. You lift his spirits.
Ready with an exhale, he dares his thumb deeper, letting more of it disappear in you. Out of all the women he’s ever been with, not more than a handful has been willing to venture into this part of sexual desire. Most of them can’t stand the discomfort, and some of them don’t feel any particular way about it.
But you lay open to him in every way possible. An open book for once; easy to read, as if calculating how you wind, planning how to sound, guiding him fearlessly.
Soon, he’s adjusting his thrusts to your moans, and you’re adjusting your moans to his thrusts. Synchronised, the two of you groan and cry out together, and he makes sure to keep you filled to the brim, reducing the pauses between the shoves bit by bit.
Until…
“Hey,” he whispers, waiting for you to react, but as he pumps into you, slowly yet balls-deep, you don’t do anything much but scream into the pillow. So he just continues, “How much do you think you can take, baby?”
“I… I’m—”
You’re attempting your best, but you’re tongue-tied. With each push, he catapults your body forwards, but your mind is long lost in the stratosphere. With gritted teeth and a rising, heavily breathing, golden chest, he leans in close to you, hand snaking under you and around your neck as he retries, “So?”
“I don’t know,” you blurt, and as you raise your head and look back at him, he sees a sight to behold — mascara underneath your eyes, lipstick smeared, a quivering chin. He’s fucking you so good; he must be, because you soon add, “Just do an—and I’ll let you know.”
“Good idea. Very good idea.”
He’s fucking you good. But it’s not all he’s got; not all he’s wanted for days and weeks.
No. If he unleashed all he’s been fabricating in his mind, he’d drench your cheeks in tears. And now that you permitted him to, he might just go ahead, right?
Right.
Which is why the next steps come easy to him, naturally, as if you pressed a button he’s been waiting to smash. A big, red one, like the ones in games urging you to not touch or you’d lose. But by God, right now, he’s not losing.
If he looked into his reflection in the dark window, he’d see a winner through and through.
A fiery rage courses through his burning veins. A face contorting when he lets you go, only to move his fingers back, wrapping them around the back of your neck. Shoving you into the mattress, ramming his cock into you, once more keeping the familiar pace and then—
And then he closes his eyes. Matches an expression to your yelps. Drives into your deepest core and picks up speed until, all of a sudden, it turns jarring.
Jungkook doesn’t get enough. He doesn’t know if he ever will; damn the approaching end of this. There shouldn’t be one; he should be capable of ruining you forever. Maybe he will be.
For now, he directs his thoughts fully on how you feel and how you sound, uncaring about the jagged breathing that burns up his chest. Leaning forward, he attempts twice until he catches your ears, nibbling at your earlobe.
At first, he doesn’t know if you register the touch, given that he’s occupying you with far crazier sensations. But then you reach out a hand, panting into the pillow, grabbing a patch of his hair. 
And he, fired up and insane, leans back, gripping your wrist, removing it from his mane and pinning it to your back instead. Your face moves to the side, not muffled by the pillow anymore, and you gasp for air before you beg, “Please, I’m about to—”
That’s all you get, because he soon interrupts with a cheeky, “You can hold on for a bit longer,” pausing on purpose. He wants to see you when you come. Wants to wipe more of your make up across your face. Wants to kiss the colour of your lipstick onto his own lips.
Letting your orgasm fade, he waits, just a couple seconds, allowing you to catch your breath until your eyebrows furrow. You blink repeatedly, then looking up into his eyes, and it’s all he needs to feel his patience dissipate again.
Jungkook gets into a new position, leaving one knee deep in the mattress while angling the other leg, planting its foot on the sheets. He keeps his cock from falling out, leading the tip and the shaft back in before he resumes to fuck you wound.
Your arm is still hostage to his grip, the nails of your other hand gripping the sheet for dear life. It’s gorgeous, the view from where Jungkook looks down at his meal. Crazy how you purr and whine when he leans in, touching your swollen clit, electrifying you. And he keeps looking at you.
At the upper body waving a white flag, too weak to keep yourself upright anymore. And then, the ass in the air staying firmly at its place, his dick aiding you, the flesh of your cheeks wobbling with each thrust, like an ocean wave. Whenever it collides with his hips, the slaps resound temptingly, and Jungkook soon mimics it by letting his hand fall hard on your ass.
You mewl, calling out his name twice, the second cry half uttered, half of the Jungkook omitted. And when you catch the tiniest of your breaths, still working with drying lungs, you say, “L-let me come, please—”
“Wait,” he says again, still sadistic, still masochistic, absolutely out of his mind before an idea lights up his mind. “This isn’t it yet.”
The finger working on your nub was an evil tactic, he’s got to admit. Perhaps he led you to believe something he’s not ready to give you yet, and once you seem to realise, you let out a sob.
And he’s positively delighted once he stops. Lowers his head to look at you. Sees the dark, smeared mascara on his pillow when he digs his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back as he says, “I know. You thought we were done, right? We’re not done, though.”
“Wha—”
He lets his body fall onto the mattress, right next to you, and pulls you in, back against his chest. Hand under your tits, pressing against them, moving them up and down before pinching your nipple once.
“I said,” he repeats, probably unnecessarily, because he doesn’t think you actually demand an answer, “I’m not done. Understand?”
And as expected, you don’t nod or answer. You only push your body further into his, and he reckons that’s a mighty sufficient implication already.
As you lay sideways with a breath as heavy as his, his exhales hot against your ear, you let out sounds reminiscent of marathon runners. You’re exhausted, sweaty, and so is he — but neither of you are finished, and he’d be damned if he permitted the night to end like this.
Diligently, he throws your quivering leg over his; your impish remarks have lessened since he took over, and in turn, his own insolent emotions are reigning supremely. He leads his submerged, rock-hard, twitching cock to your battered cunt, pushing in so easily he thinks he’s dreaming.
It’s like putting a key into its lock.
“Ahh, fuck.” It’s hard to fully bottom out in this position, but he can touch you so much better now. He lets his hands explore your bare body, fondling with your tits, kissing your ear and jaw. “Hold tight. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”
It’s cruel, he knows; the gentle praises as he wreaks havoc down there. He crosses your wrists against your tummy, holding them tight, and you close to him. Fucks you dumb and stupid as you wail in his arms. Moves to your clit and gives it pleasant, gentle rubs, so opposite from the rest of his ministrations.
And the pressure builds. His balls, hard as steel, prepare to shoot their load into you, his cock impossibly stiff, but… but…
You haven’t come yet. And this position won’t do. Can’t do, won’t do, he needs to see you.
So he echoes, “Won’t do,” as he gets up again, keeping the previous position short lived. Doesn’t stay away for too long before he’s on his knees, pulling your legs apart, after the briefest interruptions deep inside again before he leans into you.
And then, everything happens crazy fast.
How he keeps you from wrapping your arms around him; instead, capturing your wrists once again, raising them next to your head. How he moves to kiss you for the first time after quite a while, intertwining your tongues, moaning hard as he feels his high approach.
The fast pace changes a little as he loses his mind and focus, one of the strokes stopping as he almost pulls out, and then plunges in again. Your fingers curl in, nails sharp enough to dig into the digits that hold you, and he cries out in delight, letting a breathy chuckle fall.
He says, “Alright, yeah. Next time… we’re tying you up. Love how you whine.” He lets one hand go, gripping your face again and you move your touch to his shoulder immediately, gasping. “You always p-play the mysterious girl, huh? But you’re so pathetic right now.”
The inhibitions are out the window. The overthinking, too. Whatever he thought might make you run away from him has long exited his mind, because he’s got you right here, under his control, nearing the end.
There’s no going back. No return to his yearning, because you’ve satisfied it so thoroughly.
Time to give it all back to you. One last time before he submerges himself in all his glorious egotism.
“There we go,” he says as he watches your expressions change. You open your mouth but don’t say anything. He doesn’t know what your orgasm feels like, but he knows you’re going through it. “Let it all out. Cream my cock, I fucking dare you.”
He’s saying whatever now, he knows. But he doesn’t have the capacity to think much as creases appear on your forehead and between your eyebrows, tongue mingling with his for a short moment when he goes in for another kiss, barely succeeding.
You’re trembling, lifting your hips as much as the weight above you allows, wanting more friction, more of a touch inside your pussy, on your clit, everywhere. And then, when you do come… when he brings the stars from the sky into your eyes…
Yours roll back into your head. Throwing it back, giving him access to your neck. Lips still apart, and he uses it to push a finger into your mouth, on top of your tongue. And fuck… how your pussy constricts. How it tightens so fucking much.
He’d be lying if he said it didn’t affect him.
So much so that his head spins; and as he feels himself getting dizzy, he buries his face in the pillow next to your head before moving it to kiss your shoulder. Barely looks at you anymore; doesn’t care, it’s his high now, he wants to fucking come, and that’s it.
Finally, finally he’s gotten to this point.
Will he hate himself for these thoughts later? Is this too over the top? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care.
His thoughts are occupied, alright, don’t need another string of questions to intervene. His attention remains resolutely on his movements, vigorous, rhythmic, your sounds perfectly matching each of his strokes.
And your hands, the poor little palms, unsure where to settle. This isn’t new; across this broad back of his, every girl’s touch wanders like this. Your nails scratch the small of his back, then up his spine, across the muscles of his shoulder blades.
The fact that you’re a goner as much as him, giving yourself to him is probably the last of reassurances he needs — as if any more were required. Because still panting into your skin, eyes shut tight, he works towards the peak of his sanity, exhausted but eager as he relishes the wet tightness of your pussy; surrounding him just right, still clenching, unclenching from your orgasm.
And then—
“Ohhh, fuck,” he whispers.
His voice is shaking uncontrollably; he barely recognises it. Which… must mean this is new, right? Experience be damned, apparently you spark off phenomena nobody has ever acquainted him with before.
And oh, how you make it worse once he finally emerges again, as if catching his breath after holding it underwater for too long. Your eyes are hooded as he gets on his knees over your body, caging your hips in between his legs. Gripping one of your tits, you nibble your lower lip for a second before letting out laboured breathing, nose flaring.
It’s all he needs. All that’s left when he rips off the condom and envelops his filthy cock with his veiny hand, stroking immediately and hard. Close to the end as he rushes to ask, “Where do you want it?”
You understand what he’s asking, and nod, back to yourself when you utter mysteriously, “Anywhere but inside…” Okay. No time to ask why not — but he wouldn’t have anyway. He obliges, giving his all, one more second left before you tell him just in time, “Here.”
Your palm rubs across your skin, moving over your tits and your stomach. So he’s quick to opt away from your face and redirect his aim to where you pointed, moaning out a couple last, broken vocals before he finally spills.
Milky white, multiple blotches scattered over your skin, like a modern art painting. He’d rather draw these all day than be stuck with you in a museum restaurant, staring from afar, wishing he could reach out under the goddamn public table.
Going until he’s empty, he senses a relief unknown to him thus far, mind suddenly vacant. Once again, the ocean; he feels like the ocean. Like the water as it stills and calms after a thunderous storm. You lifted the waves of his sea high above and have now turned him into a lazy, peaceful lake.
God, he should fuck you more often; you make him a poet.
Okay. Okay, where was he?
When did he unfocus? Dizzy all of a sudden. He puffs out a breath. Then takes another look at you. Watches as you spread the sticky substance over your mounds, touching your nipple, so indecently messy.
The smirk is unintentional but inevitable, reaching far as he shakes his head at you. You smile back wordlessly, and he lets his fingertip run over his cum, too, bringing it to your lips as he asks, “Taste?”
You don’t answer. Thinking for the barest second before you scoff, stretching out your tongue before he puts the finger on it; closing your eyes, sucking it clean. He groans at the feeling; luckily, he’ll be immobile for the foreseeable future, or he’d bend you over again.
“Okay. That should be enough for now,” he breathes, letting himself fall next to you. “I promise I’m a lot more energised on other days. But…” He turns towards you, pinching your chin, bringing your face close. “God, did you take me out there. I’m beat.”
He doesn’t kiss you; only drops back, still filling his lungs with new oxygen. Pity — he still wants you, but his muscles are aching. Eyes shutting.
Then opening again when he hears you laugh, right before you say, “You don’t need to prove your endurance to me. I’ve got a pretty good idea of it now. Besides— let’s be honest. I didn’t do much.”
“Oh, you did more than enough, sweetheart,” Jungkook retorts with a snicker, giving his eyes some relief. He sighs, and then adds, “Your existence did it for me already. Wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”
He shoves his arm under his head, the other untidily covering the two of you with the blanket; whatever. He’ll wash it tomorrow. For now, the two of you should probably get some rest. Although—
Did you say you wanted to stay? He didn’t catch it if you did. Perhaps he’s also just inattentive; suddenly remembers that he still has a long way to go socially, remembering that permission is courtesy. Selfish, selfish, selfish.
“Uhm,” he starts; this is awkward. He doesn’t do this often — not many stay overnight anyway. Strangely, he didn’t question it with you; maybe because he wants you to. “Do you want me to bring you home?”
“In all honesty, I… I don’t think you can drive tonight. We’re both not sober yet, so I’ll just leave in the morning. Need to be in the office by noon.”
“Ah? Why?”
“Meeting with Tae. I forgot that he wanted to go through a few organisational things for the upcoming concert.”
Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company.
Jungkook forgot about it all. Responsibilities still exist. Of course, he needs to be in the office tomorrow afternoon, too. This is his dream, his goal, everybody’s eyes on him, the biggest source of entertainment in the country.
Feels so stupid, forgetting you’ll leave at some point. That he can’t flip you over again all day tomorrow, that you’ll be occupied somewhere else, with someone else. Jungkook grits his teeth.
“You wanna come over again tomorrow night?” he asks.
And all of a sudden, despite the last hour, you seem lost in thoughts again. Probably tired, but he can’t help but overthink. You don’t answer immediately, keeping him on the edge, and as he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, he looks over, seeing your eyes open when you say, “Don’t know. Might have a couple things to tend to.”
Ah… okay. Sure.
Where’s your mind right now, he wonders?
Maybe circling around work. Maybe your urge to go is as little as his? All these things, they don’t sound too delightful right now, do they?
Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company. Tae.
When did you start using his nickname like this? Weird. Didn’t know the two of you were so close. Then again, does it matter? No. He shakes his head.
Shakes it slowly, making sure you don’t notice, sighing again before he breaks into a smile. It’s okay. You’re next to him. Not next to Taehyung. His friend. You’re covered in him. So he doesn’t let another’s name fog his brain, instead seeking peace and succeeding until—
“Don’t worry, another time,” you say, following up with a goosebump-inducing, “I’ll stick around until my feet tingle.”
Somewhere… at some point in his life… under probably not the best circumstances— 
Wait.
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THE FIC ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼
as always, tumblr hates content creators and has a 1k block limit. which is why you can read the rest of the story in this reblog hehe we're almost at the end <3
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monzabee · 18 days ago
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diet pepsi - ln4 (+18)
masterlist ||
Summary: The one where you and Lando have a rather interesting way of resolving an argument. 
Pairing: lando norris x fwb!reader 
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: kinda cute ass fighting so fluff??, sex in a car, fingering, penetration, manhandling, no use of protection (wrap it before you tap it!!), cursing, minords dni!! 
Request: “okay but what about good old car sex with lando pleaseeee” 
Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! first of all, who knew addison rae had the power to make a song that made me write this whole thing under 3 hours?? i certainly did not. secondly, i thought it would be nice to take a little break from the charles-carlos drama, and before i finish the third and final part to that little mini-series, i thought you guys would enjoy a little treat in the meantime! i have to admit writing for lando again was an interesting experience for me, but who knows, maybe i'll do it more often (i have one request that i'm obsessed with so that’s definitely coming your way as well!) also, i have an oscar fic in the works as well, so maybe the sudden change in mclaren also started to affect me lol. a quick psa, i know many people asked me in my last fic, but i do NOT have a taglist and i won’t be making one any time soon either! anywaaays, i hope you guys enjoy this fic, and feedback is welcome as always! thank you to the anon for their request, and good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee 
Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 
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“I can’t believe you’re drinking that in my car.” Lando complains, shooting you a sideway glare as you sip your choice of beverage contently.  
You tilt the cup slightly in his direction, grinning. “Relax, it’s not like it’s going to explode, nor it is your car.” 
“It might as well,” Lando mutters, eyes back on the road. “Knowing your luck, the second I hit a bump, that thing will be all over the place and I’ll have to explain what happened to Zak. Do you even know how much it costs to clean these seats?” 
You laugh, swirling the drink in the cup. “You’re being dramatic, it’s not like you are the one to detail the cars you use. It’s fine, I’ve got this under control.” 
“Famous last words,” Lando grumbles. His grip tightens on the steering wheel as if he’s preparing for impact. 
You glance at him, amused. “Are you always this paranoid about your car, or is it just me?” 
“It’s you. Definitely you.” He shoots you another look, this one laced with mock suspicion. “You have a history, you know.” 
“Oh, puh-lease,” you drawl, rolling your eyes as you turn your upper body to face him. “Tell me one time I actually made a mess in your car, and I’ll throw away this can right now.” 
Lando doesn't hesitate as he answers quickly. “Monaco. Last year. You remember that smoothie incident, right?” 
You blink a couple of times, taken aback. “That doesn’t count! That was your fault for speeding around the corner like a maniac. How was I supposed to hold on to it?” 
He smirks, clearly enjoying the memory. “Oh, so now it’s my fault, huh? You were the one who insisted on bringing a smoothie into my car five minutes before a race.” 
“You didn’t even have to brake so hard,” you mutter, crossing your arms defensively. “I had it under control until you decided to turn it into a F1 race.” 
Lando chuckles, shaking his head. “Doesn't matter. I still won, throw it away now.” 
“That doesn’t count, it was clearly your fault!” You complain, holding the can protectively. “There’s no way I’m tossing this because of your bad driving.” 
Lando laughs, shaking his head. “Bad driving? I think I’d take that up with the people who hired me to race professionally.” 
“Professionally doesn’t mean you’re not reckless,” you quip, a playful glint in your eyes. “Especially when there’s a smoothie involved.”  
“Fine,” he contends, shrugging, “how about that time I made you come too hard, and you leaked onto the seats?”  
This manages to shut you down for a moment, with eyes nearly bulging out of your head, you gasp at Lando’s sudden choice of words. “Lando!” You exclaim, reaching over the console to hit him on the arm gently, “That’s vulgar!” 
Silently chuckling at your reaction, he reaches over as he places a hand on your upper thigh, his hand tightening as you hold his wrist in warning. “It’s the truth,” he reminds you with a smirk, “don’t go shy on me, now, you were the one to get the seats all messed up because of how wet you were.” If you weren’t blushing before, your face most definitely resembles a tomato now as he continues his stream of consciousness, “Not that I’m complaining, though, I’m pretty sure I came in my pants when I made you cum just from my fingers.”  
 “You– you did?” The question flies from your mouth before you can stop yourself.  
The smile that overtakes the smirk on Lando’s face is almost sweet, and he coos at the innocence of your question as he squeezes your thigh again. “Oh baby,” he coos, “it was the hottest thing ever.”  
Your thighs attempt to trap his hand as you inadvertently press them tighter together, your nose scrunching up in confusion. “But it was messy.”  
“That was the best part,” Lando confirms, his thumb caressing your skin. “I loved getting to clean you up afterwards, didn’t I? Almost as much as you loved it.” 
“Sure.” You mumble, shrugging as you do your best to ignore his burning stare. You’d be worried about the fact that he was supposed to be driving if it was someone else, but considering he’s a F1 driver, you don’t comment on Lando’s lack of his surroundings as he pushes your thighs apart. “What are you doing?” You ask, confused as he moves his fingers further up your skirt.  
“You just focus on finishing that drink, okay?” He mumbles as his fingers pull your underwear to the side. “I’m suddenly in the mood for something sweet myself.”  
“Lando, I don’t think we should do th–hat.” Your voice waivers towards the end as his fingertips press on your clit, drawing lax circles on the bundle of nerves. “Lando,” you try to warn him, but your voice comes out as a high-pitched whimper.  
He shushes you gently as his fingers spread your wetness around your skin, causing you to bite down on your lip to silence yourself. Lando lets his dissent known by clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, mumbling, “Don’t silence yourself, let me hear you, baby.” And when you give him what he wants and let out a loud moan as your hips involuntarily buck against his hand. Grinding the palm of his hand against your puffy clit, Lando uses your wetness to slowly push two of his fingers into you, drawing out another moan as you lean your head against the headrest. “My God, baby, look at you. You’re already making a mess on the seats.”  
“N-no,” you manage to whine, shaking your head as you give him a pleading but stubborn look, “I’m not making a mess.”  
“No?” He asks, mocking the pout that has found its way onto your lips. “Then who is so wet against my hand that it’s dripping, huh?” You're not sure if it’s his words or the way his fingers keep moving in and out of your cunt, but in either case, the overwhelming need of just something more causes you to attempt to put the can in your hand down, when Lando tuts again in warning, “You don’t get to put your drink down until you first come on my fingers.” 
After his words set in, you finally come to your senses, suddenly opening your eyes as you give him a shocked look. “Wha–what?” You ask, “What if I spill?” 
He shrugs, an innocent smile on his lips as he throws you a glance, “I guess you’ll just have to be careful and not spill it.” The smile on his lips grows as you let out a frustrated sound, and he responds by moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to git the spot, which causes your body to arch into his touch. “Are you going to give me what I want?” He asks, his concentration still on the road as he tries to find a secluded spot to park the car.  
“Uh-huh,” you mutter, voice shaky as you focus on not dropping the can in your hand, “I will, Lando, just keep doing that.”  
“Doing what?” He asks in a faux-innocent tone, as he goes back to simply continuing the pistoning movement of his fingers. “Like this?” He asks, with a shit eating grin on his face as you whine. “Or, like this?” He asks again, but this time, he repeats the movement of his fingers previously as he hits your g-spot again.  
You can’t control the scream that gets released from the back of your throat as your body shakes violently. “That,” you breathe out, your free hand holding onto the seatbelt so tight that you can feel it starting to cramp your hand a little bit, “don’t you dare stop doing that.” 
Lando lets out a low chuckle, clearly satisfied with your desperate plea. His fingers continue their relentless pace, teasing and coaxing you closer to the edge. “Oh, I won’t stop,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet commanding. “Not until you give me what I want.” 
Your entire body feels like it's on fire, the combination of his skilled fingers and the impossible task of not spilling your drink has you teetering on the edge. The car feels smaller, the world outside irrelevant, as Lando’s attention is focused solely on you. Being so consumed by the way Lando’s fingers move in and out of your cunt, you don’t even know that the car you are in at the moment has been abandoned in the side of a deserted road. You grip the can tighter, your hand trembling as the tension builds in your core. “Lando,” you gasp, a hint of desperation seeping into your voice. “I— I can't—” 
He smirks, enjoying your struggle. “You can,” he counters smoothly, leaning slightly closer while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. “You can do it, just let it go, baby.” His thumb presses harder on your clit, drawing another loud moan from your lips. 
“Lando, please,” you beg, your voice almost cracking under the weight of your impending release. “I’m going to—” 
“Good,” he cuts you off, his smirk widening. “Let go for me, baby. And don't you dare spill that drink." 
His words are your undoing. With one final flick of his fingers, you shatter around him, your body convulsing with pleasure as you ride out your high. Your head falls back against the seat, your hand gripping the can so hard you’re not surprised it bursts under the pressure. 
His words are your undoing. With one final flick of his fingers, you shatter around him, your body convulsing with pleasure as you ride out your high. Your head falls back against the seat, your hand gripping the can so hard you’re not surprised it bursts under the pressure. 
You hear Lando’s satisfied chuckle as he eases his fingers out of you, giving your thigh one last affectionate squeeze. “Good girl,” he murmurs, glancing over at you with a proud smile. “Look at how good you look.” He shamelessly holds his fingers in front of your face, then without missing a beat, he brings his fingers into his mouth. The way he moans is nothing short of sinful, and you watch him with your lips parted as he mumbles around his fingers, “I think you spilled it a little bit.” 
“E-Excuse me?” You stutter, looking at Lando with the horrified look on your face. “No, I didn’t!” 
Lando raises an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering as he glances down at the mess on the seat. “Oh, but you did,” he teases, licking his lips after savoring the taste of you on his fingers. His eyes gleam with amusement as he points at the spot between your legs. “Not the drink, though… you.” 
Your face burns with a mix of embarrassment and desire, your breath still uneven as you try to process what just happened. “That’s not what I—” you stammer, crossing your arms over your chest, but Lando just laughs softly. 
“Relax, love. It’s nothing a little cleaning can’t fix.” He leans back in his seat, eyes never leaving you, his hand returning to the steering wheel like what just happened was the most normal thing in the world. “Besides, I’d much rather clean you up later.” 
You feel the heat spread through your body again, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel a wave of arousal wash over you. Lando’s confidence, the way he handles you with such ease, is almost intoxicating. But as much as you’re enjoying the moment, a small part of you knows this is ridiculous. 
“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, trying to regain some composure, though your flushed cheeks give you away. 
Lando just grins, completely unbothered. “You love it,” he says casually, shooting you another one of those playful sideway glances that makes your heart race. “Admit it. You like when I make you lose control.” 
You bite your lip, fighting the urge to throw a retort his way. But you can’t deny it, not after the way your body reacted to his touch. “You’re lucky you’re good at this,” you finally concede, your voice barely above a whisper. 
Lando’s smile softens, just for a moment. “Good at a lot of things,” he says, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. Then he pulls the car to a stop, turning off the engine before leaning toward you, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “And I’m just getting started.” 
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tired-biscuit · 5 months ago
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I licked it so it’s mine
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pairing: stepbrother!yuuji/fem!reader
premise: After a long day of work, you decide to make use of the empty house by having some drinks and a movie night with your older stepbrother. Eventually, one drink turns into two, two become three, and so on. As the buzz of the alcohol progressively fills you with more and more courage, interesting things commence.
cw: 18+ MDNI. stepcest, ‘in the flurry of the moment’ setting, no curses AU, characters are in their 20s, intoxication, dubcon, implied corruption, coersion and pressuring from reader, descriptions of size difference, manhandling and roughness — poor yuuji gets a little too into it in the end.
wc: 6.7k
divider credit: @/adornedwithlight
———
Your big stepbrother Yuuji is likeable. He always has been.
To be fair, what is there not to like? When it comes to his looks, Yuuji is tall, handsome, a proud owner of a pair of pretty honey-coloured eyes that make him resemble a puppy, and an even prettier smile. Every summer, his skin gets this wonderful, almost golden tan that makes him outright glow from within, and his face gets sun-kissed, causing his already rosy cheeks to get dotted with tiny, barely visible freckles that gather under his eyes and only enhance his cuteness.
However, after living with him for so long, you’ve since learned that he rarely actually pays attention to his appearance, much less dresses to impress.
After all, Yuuji is a simple man. He does not care about clothes besides the level of comfort they provide, and yet he still somehow manages to achieve victory. Catching girls checking him out when he’s in nothing but his trusty pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt is a common occurrence. Even listening to flustered whispers and giggles has turned into a regular thing at this point.
On top of all that, he’s also nice. Kind and open and warm – you could use so many more positive words to describe your stepbrother’s wonderful personality, but you’re pretty sure that they’d never do it justice. Perhaps the only bad thing you could say about him is that he’s too nice. Too helpful and giving.
Especially towards the people who don’t deserve it.
And as you watch him from the corner of your eye now, hanging out at the park and licking the ice cream that he’d treated you to as a reward for beating him in his favourite video game, you try to consider yourself as one of the people who do deserve his everlasting kindness. Who do deserve to be treated nicely by him, and to hear the laughter in his voice, and to accept his almost naive generosity.
It’s a nice day out today. The wooden park bench that you’re sitting on currently is warm from the setting sun that still filters through the leaves above your heads. Small, moving patches of light and shadow linger everywhere, causing you to stare, almost mesmerized, as some of them lazily continue to dance across your big brother’s face.
Yuuji’s arms are splayed wide open and draped on either side of the worn backrest that you’re both leaning against. He’s finished his ice cream ages ago, so now he’s got his legs outstretched and his head angled up towards the sky, enjoying the peaceful tranquility that this year’s summer brings. 
There are quite a few people out and about in the park during this time of day – most of them joggers and dog walkers that are using the slightly cooler temperatures to their benefit – but if you listen closely, you can make out distant shouting and laughter coming from a group of children who are occupying the playground that’s on the other side of the trees.
The sound makes you feel kind of old, so you zero in on your sandals to keep yourself busy.
“Remember when you used to scream like that?”
“What?” 
When you turn your head to the side again, Yuuji’s gaze looks expectant.
“Back when we were kids,” he explains, jerking his chin towards the direction of the playground. “You got all shrieky and high-pitched whenever it was my turn to chase you, remember? Made you sound like a deflating balloon just by running in your direction.”
“Oh!” You take another lick of your ice cream, fully flattening the scoop before sinking your teeth into the edge of the cone. The scent of strawberries fills your nose in an instant. “In my defense, that probably happened because I didn’t like playing tag with you all that much.” 
He quirks an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “How so?”
“Well, for starters, your legs were longer than mine, which made you catch up so fast that it wasn’t fun for me anymore. Aaand your hands were also always sticky for some reason,” you reply, still chewing on the wafer. “It was gross.”
“Wow, okay.” He rolls his eyes but it immediately gets followed by a brief chuckle that escapes his lips. “Excuse me for trying to be a little bit sentimental with my clean freak of a baby sister.”
“I’m normal… You’re just nasty,” you fire back, smiling when he goes to playfully shove you.
His hand is warm when it lands on your shoulder; so warm, in fact, that you can feel the rise in temperature even through the sleeve of the thin, cropped T-shirt that you’ve put on this morning. 
It doesn’t take you by surprise. For as long as you’ve known him, Yuuji has been one to have blood as hot as molten lava running through his veins. You’re unsure how he survives it whenever the weather is scorching hot, like today for example – August has always proved to be a bitch whenever it comes to heat – but so far he seems to be doing just fine.
And while it may be weird to some, him being hot-blooded is the reason why you sometimes like to drag him into your bed during the winter months, when it’s cold and you come back home from work feeling like your toes have turned half-frozen in your shoes. Besides being provided with good company, he’s also like your own personal heater.
And that’s it. There’s nothing else to it; how could it be when he’s your stepbrother, for crying out loud! You grew up together and have lived under the same roof for years. He’s walked into your room just to leave the lights on and the door open so many times. You’ve endured his godawful Fortnite phase and have seen him be at his worst just as he did with you. The only feelings that you harbour for him are strictly platonic. 
You’re both pretty set on that.
“I should take that ice cream from ya as a form of punishment for being so mean to me,” said stepbrother teases now, pulling you back from your thoughts. When you look up at him, he’s grinning like a little boy. From ear to ear and in a way that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.
Cute.
“Nu-uh,” you respond, allowing the evidently distrustful tone to lace your voice. “I licked it so it’s mine.”
“Tsch.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Like that’s ever been an issue before. C’mon, give.” 
“It is for me because unlike you, I’m not- Hey!” Before you can finish your sentence, he swipes the ice cream from your hand, successfully stealing it right in front of your nose.
You glare at him now, brow slightly furrowed in annoyance, as Yuuji proceeds to lick the melting sweet with exaggerated delight. Since whatever was left of the scoop sank deeper into the cone, you realize that you’re unexpectedly intrigued by the fact that he needs to push his tongue out a little more to get to it. 
And he does; of course he does. He twirls it across the flat, creamy surface, and it’s not long before the inside of his mouth is coated in milky pink and there’s a hum of overly satisfied approval sounding from the back of his throat.
You’re unsure how to feel about the entire thing, but you definitely don’t dwell on it.
“Mmm,” he purrs, squeezing his eyes shut. He even makes sure to go as far as to smack his lips. “Mmm-mmm-mm! So good.”
For whatever reason, you feel your stomach do a weird spin as you listen to the sounds he’s making now. It’s like there’s an instant flash of heat searing through your body, similar to the pesky one that you get in the middle of the night when you’re hormonal and on your period, but before you can even properly acknowledge it, it’s gone as fast as it came.
“Again: you’re so gross,” you manage to say with a huff that’s supposed to be disapproving but doesn’t sound like that at all. The shake of your head that you add to the jab also feels somewhat unnatural. Every one of your mannerisms does, actually.
Yuuji, seemingly blissfully ignorant of your inner turmoil, laughs before he takes a giant bite out of the side of the cone and finally hands it back to you.
“Hey, at least my hands ain’t sticky this time.”
———
The house is empty when you come back home that evening.
This too is not much of a surprise, really. Your parents have been gone for the last couple of days, enjoying their yearly vacation to the seaside that neither you nor Yuuji could attend this time because of your work schedules. 
So while your mom and his dad are basking in the sun and drinking sugary cocktails, you’re waking up at six in the morning every day to make it to your dull desk job in time, and he’s stuck flipping burgers at McDonalds and honing his social skills in the drive-through booth for eight hours every day.
Poor, poor you.
“Did you see the drinks they’re having over there? Gosh,” Yuuji grumbles on this exact topic as he throws himself onto the couch and flicks the TV on. His expression looks mildly conflicted at the list of movies he’s being offered by the streaming service you’re both leeching off of, but it eases back into neutral as soon as he rests his feet atop the coffee table and crosses his ankles. “They even had those fancy umbrellas on the top and everythin’.”
“There, there,” you say, quickly patting his knee before sitting down beside him. You’re not sure why, but you pay extra attention to the small sliver of distance that you keep between his leg and your own now. The feeling from earlier didn’t fully go away yet, so touching him or him touching you still feels kind of odd.
Meanwhile, Yuuji doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all, because now he’s resting his head against your shoulder, invading your personal space whilst he pouts.
The action is nothing unusual for him – it’s normal, he does it all the time – and yet you still swallow thickly, trying to ignore the sudden hyper awareness. 
“What is it now, you big baby?” you manage to muster out, taking the remote from him.
“Eh… It’s nothing,” he says.
“Aha,” you say.
“Well… It’s just that I want nachos and cocktails with fancy umbrellas, too!” he bristles at your prodding, pressing the side of his face even further into your shoulder. His hair tickles your cheek because of it.
“We have nachos at home,” you utter, trying to avoid the ticklish sensation.
“Yeah. Shitty tortilla chips that come in a bag, with a side of tasteless dip from the fridge,” he quips. “Yum.”
You stifle your laughter. He’s making such a big deal out of a silly thing like nachos. “I’m pretty sure they all come in a bag, Yuu… Come to think of it, theirs are probably stored in one of those big, wholesale bags that most food places get.”
“Well, I want the wholesale ones, then.”
“You’re pretty set on this, huh?”
He just gives you a look.
“Okay, okay, okay,” you ramble, pulling back just enough to make him lift his head and look at you properly. “How about… we try to make semi-decent nachos and cocktails with what we have, and have ourselves a little movie night since we’re both off work tomorrow and we definitely deserve it after all the pain and suffering we’re going through?”
Yuuji muses. “All you do at your job is sit behind a desk all day.”
You feel your eyes narrow. “So?”
“So,” he says, sounding smug. “I’d hardly call that pain and suffering.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you chide. “I wasn’t aware that your job also consisted of crawling underneath barbed wire and coming face to face with excruciating death between all those burgers you flip.”
He pokes you in the side for the insult. After jumping a little bit at the ticklish sensation, you make sure to immediately return the favour.
“Do you want those cocktails or not, Ronald McDonald?”
Yuuji stretches his arms above his head and yawns before he gets ready to stand up. “Yeah, yeah… Let’s make ‘em fancy.”
He follows you into the kitchen then, where you both work to recreate the vacation food and drinks to the best of your – and your pantry’s – capabilities. 
The nachos end up being surprisingly decent after you sprinkle some shredded cheese on top and give them a spin in the microwave. The cocktails, on the other hand, are a mixture of cheap wine from the corner store and coke, adorned with pieces of sliced pineapple at the top because you sadly ran out of cute paper umbrellas, much to Yuuji’s disappointment.
Though in the end, everything works out just fine.
You have yourselves a nice, perhaps you could even call it relaxing kind of evening. You change into your comfortable pyjama shorts and tank top, he gets rid of his T-shirt because he prefers being shirtless during the summer, and you play a couple rounds of his favourite game again; all of which you lose because Yuuji decides that he isn’t holding back this time. Afterwards, you watch a movie that isn’t all that good necessarily, but isn’t half bad either, and take rather hefty sips of your makeshift cocktails.
By the time the credits start to roll, you’re both feeling a little buzzed and warm in the face. Neither of you feels like calling it a night just yet, though – being off work the next day at the same time happens so rarely, after all – so you decide on watching something equally as uneventful and drinking some more.
So that is how both yourself and Yuuji end up drinking more than you’d initially planned. The alcohol becomes easier to swallow down when you’ve already numbed out your taste buds and have adapted them to the cheap, shitty wine flavour. It even makes the pineapple slices look cool.
And now you’re both drunk. Not shitfaced, per se, but definitely more than tipsy. Enough that it’s making your vision a little bit blurry around the edges, your limbs soft and pliant, and your mind fuzzy. Enough that it’s making you feel like you could do just about anything you’d set your mind to.
You’re both giggling like morons as you sit cross-legged and face each other on the couch. He’s desperately trying to tell you a story about one of his co-workers, who, according to him, is supposed to be very weird, but he keeps on slurring his words and keeps on losing track so often that it’s making the entire thing outright incomprehensive.
“Dude-” Your voice falters as yet another set of giggles pushes its way out. Goddamn alcohol. “You have got to stop laughing and tell me whatever it is you want to tell me about this weirdo, because if you don’t, I swear to god that I’m going to fucking lose my shit.”
“Listen… Jus’ listen-” 
“I am listening, you dumbass!” you interrupt, reaching over to flick his forehead. He flinches at the action.
“No, but like,” he mumbles now, rubbing the aching spot. “I want to tell you, but at the same time… I kind of don’t.”
This instantly succeeds in sparking your interest. There’s something he’s unsure about telling you? How curious; you tell each other everything!
You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on your knees. “How so?”
Yuuji’s eyes flicker towards the television for a quick second. The movie is still playing – it bathes half of his face with light and the other half in shadows. 
Much to your bafflement, he sheepishly bites his lip before he says, “‘Cause it’s a secret.”
“A secret? Really?” You groan as you grab the small decorative pillow just so that you can throw it his way. Despite his intoxicated state, he’s still rather quick to deflect it. It lands on the ground soundlessly.
“What was that for?” he asks now, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, I dunno,” you say, bristling. “Did it maybe ever cross your mind that telling me that is only gonna make me want to hear it more?”
“I mean,” he says, scratching the back of his head and shrugging. “I guess…?”
You give him a pointed glare. “You know how much I love secrets, Yuu!”
“I know.”
“Then tell me!”
“No.”
You pout in answer, clearly unsatisfied.
Yuuji looks at you, his expression slipping into something that’s a bit more sincere and apologetic. He watches as you continue to avoid eye contact and push out your bottom lip, clearly trying to appear upset as much as you possibly can in order to get him to change his mind.
Sooner or later, it ends up working.
A person like him is so giving… Who is he to ever tell you no?
“Oh, fine,” he says, sighing with defeat. “Just pinky promise that you won’t tell anyone, okay?”
Your grin is pleasantly lazy because of the alcohol that’s still coursing your veins as you chirp, “Of course.”
He hooks your pinkies together and shakes them from side to side lightly as if it’ll help solidify the promise better.
“So, what’s the secret?” you ask when you pull your hand back and use it to support your cheek.
After a short moment of silence, he finally forces himself to blurt out, “My co-worker, he, uh… He thinks you’re hot.”
You stare at him, arching one eyebrow. “Wait, that’s it?”
Yuuji can feel his entire face tingling with heat now. The blush that steadily continues to bloom makes his skin slightly itchy, but he refrains from scratching it. “Yeah, that’s it.”
You watch him closely. 
“What?” he inquires, not liking the fact that you aren’t saying anything. The flush of red has crept down to his neck now.
“You’re lying,” you reply at long last, expression blank.
He sputters when he inhales a sharp breath, ready to defend himself. “Am not!”
You throw another pillow at him. He avoids this one, too. “Are too!”
“Stop throwing stuff at me!”
“I will, if you tell me the secret!”
“I already did!”
“The actual secret, dumbass!”
“Fine… Fine! Ugh,” he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He also said that, umm…”
You enthusiastically gesture at him to continue when his voice fades into nothing again. Curiosity is threatening to eat you alive at this point. “Yes? He said what?”
“He said-” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows thickly. “He basically told me that if you were his stepsister, that he would’ve been all over you ages ago. Or whatever.”
You stare at him once more. He stares right back.
“What?” he asks again, this time slightly more nervous. His pupils are huge and the blush is starting to make him sweat. “What is it?”
After a moment that seems like forever, you repeat, “...That’s it?”
Yuuji feels like his heart has dropped to his ass. “What d’you mean that’s it?!”
“Exactly what I said,” you say, shrugging. “Your co-worker has a ‘Oh no, stepbro, I’m stuck’ fantasy. So what?”
“I-” Yuuji’s eyebrows draw so tightly together until there’s a small v etched between them. He pauses for a long time before he says, “Don’t you think that’s weird, though?”
“Not really.” You take another small sip from your glass and place it back onto the coffee table. “I mean, have you never noticed how popular it is in porn? Lots of people are into that kind of stuff.”
“N-no…” He stutters, somehow succeeding in turning even redder in the face. “I don’t-”
“Watch porn?” you offer quickly, already rolling your eyes.
“Not porn like that,” he quips, suddenly sounding uncharacteristically snippy. 
You chuckle at the tone he uses, attempting to tame the upward curl of your lips. Things are getting interesting and dirty – something you don’t get to encounter a lot whenever it comes to golden boy over here. “Well, what kind of porn do you watch, then?”
Oh, that is very bold. If it weren’t for the liquid courage, you doubt you’d dare ask the question. But it’s out in the open now.
Hanging in the tense air that’s between you two. Waiting. Preying.
“Not the stepsister kind,” he says in a low mutter, surprising you that he even chose to answer. “I’m not into that.”
You can’t help but let the smile show now. “How can you know if you’ve never seen it?”
Yuuji gawks before letting out a nervous laugh. “...What?”
“I said,” you repeat, leaning ever so slightly closer. Enough to make him feel on edge, but not enough to scare him away. “How can you know that you’re not into it-” There’s another pause, another closing of distance. His freckles are visible now. “If you’ve never seen it? Hmm?”
“I just-” He tenses up when your knee bumps into his. The short moment of contact is electrifying for some reason; it jumpstarts his heart into a far quicker rhythm. “I just, uh, do.”
You look him directly in his sweet honey eyes. “Yeah?”
And he immediately rushes to break eye contact. “Yeah.”
“You know,” you trail off innocently, patting his knee this time instead of ‘accidentally’ bumping it. Unlike before, though, your hand remains on his leg. “For someone who swears up and down to not be into it… You really don’t sound so sure about it to me.”
“Well, I am,” he protests in a heartbeat, however the bite that’s supposed to be in the statement isn’t quite there. 
The reason behind it might be because he’s quite tipsy and can’t bring himself to be firm with you. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because he’s staring at his lap when he says it; right at the spot where you’re still touching him.
Your hand feels so warm as it sits on his thigh. And pleasant. 
He doesn’t exactly… want it to go away.
You watch as he huffs in defeat and shakes his head with evident frustration the thought must have evoked. It causes a giggle to bubble up your throat from how entertained you are. You don’t even try to stop it this time.
He could tell you off, call you names, push you away, whatever… But he doesn’t. 
No, he’s just too good of a big brother.
So you allow the flat of your palms to rest on both of his knees now. Still careful, though not nearly as much as before. Meanwhile, your own knees dig into the softness of the couch as you readjust your weight forward so that you can lift yourself just enough to be eye level with him.
Guilty anticipation pools inside his gut and turns him frazzled when you use the momentum to invade his personal space even further. All of a sudden, you find yourself nose to nose with your cutesy stepbrother. Chest to chest. So close that he can feel the heat of your breath on his lips and smell the fading scent of your perfume mixing with thin layers of sweat and sunscreen. 
“Prove it, then,” you say. Your voice could barely be considered above a whisper but the silence that follows after it is so loud.
Yuuji gulps from how unnerving this entire situation has become. Gulps. “Prove… Prove what?”
“Prove that you’re not into it.”
Thump, thump, thump! His heart is going wild. “How?”
“Watch it with me.” You move your hands upwards ever so slightly as you speak the words, but it’s not long before you’re sliding them all the way up to his thighs. 
They’re strong, his legs, and the muscles in them flex and harden underneath your touch, making the lines of his gorgeous, so profoundly male-like physique all the more defined. The hairs there are lighter in colour and they’re silky smooth. They tickle the tips of your fingers when you finally let them settle at the very edge of his gym shorts. 
Digging your nails into his skin just enough to make him jump a little, you add, “Please?”
God, you’re so drunk and… something else. Your pupils are huge; so big that Yuuji swears he can see himself in them, and the laugh you let out a moment later is girlish and kind of breathless. 
And he, well, he just looks so goddamn confused in response to it. Like a little puppy that’s been caught doing something naughty and bad. Big, round eyes, twitchy upper lip and everything.
“I, umm… I dunno,” he chokes out finally. He feels like coughing so that he can clear his throat, but he somehow manages to stifle the annoying sensation. “I just… I’m not so sure about that-”
“Pleeease, Yuuji,” you repeat, pushing, pushing, pushing. You even start pouting right at him as a means to get him to budge. “I wanna!”
Fuck.
The whine that’s appeared in your voice now makes his cock involuntarily twitch. What the actual fuck, his dick is responding to you – his baby sister. Little by little, blood is rushing south; right below his waistline until he can feel warmth slowly taking over every inch of his lower half. He tries to make it stop, to put an end to it, to slow it down at the very least, but his efforts prove to be completely useless.
His throat feels scratchy and dry now from not allowing himself to cough, and his skin feels too tight on his face. It makes him rasp as he says, “You, uh, you wanna?”
“Mhmm,” you purr in a mere instant, squeezing his thighs again just the tiniest bit. Goddammit, since when did those parts start feeling so fucking sensitive? “Wanna… wanna see you start sweating a little when you realize that your dick is getting hard over dirty shit like stepcest, you know? Wanna prove you wrong.”
A second twitch, a second rush of blood. Yuuji’s stomach spins and tightens with anxiety. His nerves go haywire. With each passing second, he can feel his cock getting heavier in his shorts. Can feel pre-cum turning the front of his underwear more and more sticky. Can feel his mind going dizzy with quick-paced lust.
You’re just so goddamn close. Staring right at him, with your tits almost on full display in that tiny thing you call a shirt, and with that infuriating, shit-eating smirk plastered on your lips. Kneeling right between his legs, talking about stepbrothers fucking stepsisters, allowing your breaths to intermingle as if it’s no big deal.
But that’s not all. Besides being too close for comfort, he’s also pretty sure that you’re quietly hinting at the possibility of something happening tonight, like letting him stuff your pussy with his cock. Hell, forget stuffing – even just seeing it would be nice. 
Not that he’s ever thought about laying eyes on his sister’s cunt, much less filling it, but now that this entire thing is unfolding in real time, before his very eyes, and he swears that he can feel the tips of your fingers subtly brushing against the ridge of his hard-on over his clothes… He doesn’t feel like refusing the idea necessarily, if it were to actually happen.
Fuuuck!
“It-it won’t,” Yuuji stammers in one last attempt at keeping his sense of morality, however all he does is end up fumbling over his own damn self like some pathetic loser. He’s so red in the face, it’s obvious now. “I, ah, I already told you-”
His sentence gets interrupted by a sudden kiss that you press right onto his still half-open mouth. 
You don’t know what exactly it is that compels you to do it, but here you are. Kissing your big brother. Latching yourself to him. Offering him things you shouldn’t.
Oh, here you are, all right.
The kiss itself is clumsy, rash, idiotic. Your teeth clash as you hurry forward to wrap your arms around his neck, and there’s a small, muffled noise – that terribly sounds like a squeal of excitement – escaping your lips when his big hands find your waist and he yanks you forward until you’re fully seated on his lap.
One second ago you were merely looking at each other, tip-toeing the line but never quite overstepping it, and now you’re grinding against one another like animals in heat, tangling tongues and tasting each other’s spit. Everything happens so fast and it’s all based on pure instinct and executed with zero thinking, because if it happened any other way, you’d surely regret it.
He tastes like pineapple and the lousy chewing gum that he bought back at the corner store earlier in the afternoon but spat out pretty soon after. You shouldn’t find the odd combination of flavours that good, you know this, but right now the inside of his mouth tastes like sweet, sweet heaven.
And possible release.
“Fuck, Yuu,” you pant between messy kisses, running your fingers along his undercut. “You’re so hard, look… Proves me right, mm?”
Yuuji wants to tell you to shut up, to stop saying things like that, to stop making him feel both so guilty and turned on at the same time because it’s complicated and he doesn’t fucking know what to make of it.
But all he ends up saying instead is, “Yeah...”
Because, as always, he’s simply too good of a big brother. Too good to tell you no.
Especially when you’re right.
And even if your big brother’s cock is hiding underneath several layers of clothing, you can still feel it pressing firmly between your legs now. Thick and heavy and in urgent need of some tender affection; a little sisterly love, if you will. It’s making you grow more and more expectant of what’s to come. There’s no space for shame left.
His size seems promising – at least judging by the feel of it. Each time you push your weight against him, circling your hips a little, he responds by pushing you down even further with the help of his hands on your hips; spreading your folds slightly apart and allowing the seam of your shorts to dig straight into your clit.
Your breathing grows laboured because of it. Slowly but surely, you’re becoming a hot mess of mm’s and ahh’s. And Yuuji, poor, sweet Yuuji, is nowhere near to being any better after he’s forced to hear all of it.
He’s sweating like crazy. Is throbbing between his legs. Is trying to tame his pulse but it just keeps on hammering and ringing inside his ears. The blush is making his entire face itch all over again and his clothes feel too tight on his body. What else is there?
Oh, even his heart feels like it’s jammed itself inside his throat when he pulls back just enough to break the string of saliva that’s bridging the narrow space between your mouths and asks, “You sure you wanna do this?”
“Just fuck me already, god,” you hiss in response. You’re so sexually frustrated that it’s making you pissy.
Neither of you has planned this nor expected this to happen, but you’ve both been feeling lonely, terribly single; are yearning to be touched. It’s been a while for the two of you, shit happens and people get too busy to enjoy the simpler pleasures in life, and you both consider the other to be attractive, so… why not?
Why not? Maybe because this entire thing could, quite possibly, be a disaster in the making.
Still, it doesn’t feel like a disaster when Yuuji’s hands wrap around your sides and slam you down on the couch. Doesn’t feel like a bad thing when he blindly hooks his fingers to the waistband of your shorts and you bring your legs closer to your chest and lift your hips a little so that he can tug them off easier.
Either he’s too impatient to wait or he did it by complete accident, but he manages to pull down your panties right along with your shorts. They’re both left dangling from your left ankle now, hanging uselessly and completely forgotten because he’s too busy trying to push himself inside you.
His back is hunched and his rosy lips are parted as he sucks in and exhales sharp breaths above you. They fan your forehead, cooling the sweat that’s gathered there, only causing you to shiver. 
You press your foreheads together when you lift yourself slightly with the help of your elbows so that you can reach between you, tug his waistband low just enough to expose him and guide him inside you. He grits his teeth, baring them like a threatened animal as soon as your fingers curl around the base of his cock, mindlessly stroking the impressive length, spreading the pre-cum that’s gathered at the tip without any sense of patience.
Neither of you looks into each other’s eyes; all of your attention is aimed at the spot where you almost connect. After all, his fat cockhead is bumping against your sticky pussy now, inconsistently gliding up and down and smearing arousal. Every time he teases your entrance, your breath hitches in the back of your throat and you cling onto him a little harder.
“Yuujiii,” you whine, teeth sinking into your bottom lip so harshly that you fear you might have drawn blood. He almost doesn’t recognize the sound of your voice. “What’re you waiting for?! Put it iiin!”
“Yeah… Y-yeah, okay,” he bites out, trying to stop the persistent flutter of a muscle in his cheek. His arms feel like giving in but the muscles in his biceps still flex and shudder with anxiety and anticipation when he finally presses in.
His cockhead pushes past the initial ring of muscle pretty effortlessly from how wet you’ve gotten from mere kissing and a little bit of grinding. Perhaps it’s the alcohol that’s making you so pliant and eager, but it’s easy to open your legs wider so that you can let in even more of him.
Yuuji feels dizzy; like the entire world is spinning. You’re underneath him, panting so loudly and you’re so warm inside, so accepting, so wet. Your pussy hugs him just right, walls squeezing around his girth, sucking him in further. The sensation makes him drop his entire weight right on top of your writhing body the second he allows himself to slowly rock into you and sink balls deep.
He hides his face into the crook of your neck as he begins to lazily thrust inside you, doing whatever feels best because he can’t possibly bring himself to form thoughts right now. In and out, the strokes are long, slow and deep. So deep, in fact, that they make you wince each time he hits the sweet spot that’s hiding inside.
You’ve ended up so close yet again; with your limbs intertwined and your bodies pressed tightly together that your shirt is crinkling between you. It rides up with the movement of his hips slamming against your own, exposing your stomach, making you stick to each other from how sweaty you’ve gotten.
“Nngh… You feel… s’good,” he grits out, quiet moaning already lacing his voice. His breathing has gotten so heavy that it’s creating moisture on the small patch of skin on your neck that he’s got his mouth pressed against. “Won’t last long… Ca-ah… Can’t.”
He sounds so fucking drunk as he continues to say pure nonsense into the side of your throat and keeps on pressing you into the softness of the couch. Not only on alcohol, but also on your pussy it seems. 
It makes him practically start pounding into you now. Abusing your tight little hole. He slips one arm underneath you and pulls you even closer so that he can steady himself a little bit, and wetness squelches between you as a result. Skin slaps against skin, breaths intermingle. His fingers tangle into your hair crudely – it hurts when he tugs at the roots even if you’re well aware that he doesn’t mean to.
He’s so big above you. So strong. So stupidly male. And he’s also gotten lost in the moment. For a second it makes you scared of him a little bit even if he’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met, a real proper marshmallow. And it doesn’t help that his cock is as big as the rest of him is; stretching you so deliciously, splitting you wide open, causing tears to prickle at the corners of your eyes even if the booze that’s coursing your veins is supposed to numb you out to a size like that.
“Yuuji, wa- fuck, wait…!” You cross your ankles at his waist in an attempt to slow him down, heels panically digging into his back dimples and toes curling. 
“N-no, I can’t, please… Don’t make me wait, please, please, please, c’mon,” he babbles, still not slowing down, not stopping. His eyes are half-closed and they show concern, but they’re also dark and foggy when he lifts his head just enough to look at you. “Just a lil’ more, yeah…? Yeah? Just a lil’... Ugh, keep still just a bit longer- I’m almost there. So… mmh… close.”
You try to fight against him, tugging on his hair and sinking your nails into his back, but all he does is endure it, not really caring much about your thrashing and turning. He’s got you caged underneath him, crying out his name, clawing raw red lines into his broad back. It’s all drunken breeding instinct and no brain as he uses your body like a toy, and the realization that you can do nothing but take it is terrifying as much as it is thrilling.
His pounding has turned borderline ruthless by now and in his urgency to cum, he’s pushed himself so deep inside you that you’re pretty sure he’s fucked his way straight into your goddamn womb. In his weak attempt to make you last until the end, he’s even started to messily rub irregular circles into your clit.
It makes a thin line of drool dribble down the corner of your mouth from how fucked out you’ve become in a mere fifteen minutes. The overstimulation is probably completely accidental, but it achieves the same result just the same. He outright forces the climax out of your body, and the second he feels you squeeze around him, abused pussy trying to milk him dry, he’s giving in, not resisting anymore, shooting his load inside you in an instant.
The groan he lets out is almost like a growl. He arches his back again, balls tightening, grip almost turning iron-like. You can feel the warmth of his cum as it fills you in steady waves of pleasure. 
You both stay still for a long while after that, trying to gather your senses, attempting to calm down your trembling. His cum is warm and sticky; tacky between your thighs. It starts to drip out of your hole by the time his cock softens enough to create more space. 
There’s just so much of it. A fuckload.
And he’s still breathing so hard. You both are.
“I’m so sorry… Fuck, I-” he rasps out. His mouth is so dry that he feels like he could chug an entire jug of water, but he pushes that need away for now in order to get a good look at you instead. “I just- I-”
Yuuji stops mid-sentence when he sees you push two of your fingers between your legs before bringing them up in front of your face again. He watches, eyelids heavy, as you spread them then, toying with the glimmery, cloudy white substance that’s gathered there until you gently push them inside your mouth, licking his release right off of your fingertips.
His jaw almost hits the floor. He’s so baffled by what he’s just seen that he barely registers the fact that his cock is trying to get hard again, throbbing against his thigh.
“What?” is all you say in response to the incredulous look that sits on his face now. Your voice is muffled from the way you keep your mouth stuffed full.
“I licked it so it’s mine.”
2K notes · View notes
poguehearted77 · 19 days ago
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Wild Child
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summary: after being sent away to boarding school for being a wild child you're finally back and celebrating your return in the only way you see fit.
smut: pool party, ragers, drug use (alcohol, vapes n weed), size kink, Rafe is cocky, mentions of old flings, manhandling, hot tubs, they do it on her parents' bed, rough sex, step-mom slander, reader is such a flirt n a tease, curvy reader, dom! rafe, bratty! reader, skinny dipping, mentions of body shots, choking, spanking (like once).
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The morning sun was ascending high into the sky when you finally managed to get yourself out of your king-sized bed, fit for someone of your status and your parents' financial standing.
Your socked feet took padded steps towards your window where you overlooked the hills of figure eight. This was the first time you'd looked out your bedroom window in years. With a deep inhale a soft smile etched its way across your lips. You were finally home, and you had the house all to yourself. Or so you thought.
Your ears pick up on muffled indistinct chatter that managed to travel from the kitchen, down the halls up the elaborate staircase and into your room. Quickly, you headed for the source of the voices and were disappointed to see your dad and his wife plaything, Maria, conversing over coffee at the kitchen island.
"I thought you said the Jet leaves at dawn? What are you guys still doing here?" You try not to sound too curious, arms crossing naturally with your inquiry. With a clearing of his throat, your dad speaks up, "You only just came back two nights ago. Maria and I just don't think it's the right time to leave you alone for the weekend."
You scoff, "Why? You still don't trust me after what happened last time? Get over it, I'm twenty-one now, you can trust me." As you walked over to the fridge for a glass of water, you heard a muted exchange of ideas behind you.
"You can't expect us to forget about all the damage you caused. We still haven't found anyone to repair my crystal vases." You take a long sip, trying to swallow your toxic thoughts with the water.
She thinks she can just waltz up and down the house with that huge ring on her finger and think that her opinion carries any value to you.
You took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile, pitching your voice to become as sweet as honey.
"I can never apologize enough for what I did back then, but how will I ever earn your trust if you don't give me the chance." Your doe eyes land on your father, specifically his weakened composure.
You're about to break him, you can see it.
He exhales, all the air escaping through his nostrils.
Broken.
He glances down at his watch, "Fine, but if you throw another party so help me god Y/n you'll never see grass again." You play it cool, thanking him with a simple hug and completely disregarding Maria before you make your way back upstairs.
It's as though a weight had been lifted off your chest. You needed them out of the house, you'd been planning this party since you got back and made sure all the guests knew to keep it on the down low, just until they were gone.
The hours fly by, and you hardly keep track of time as you and some of your long-time friends set up the house for the party that you shouldn't be hosting, but you're Y/n Sinclair. Parties are your thing.
"Macy, you let the people in, kay? I'm gonna go get changed." The sun was beginning to set and the music was already blasting, vibrating over the marble floors of the house. Every lyric was punctuated with a shaking of the speakers that could be felt even outside.
The neighbours hated to see you coming.
You know your dad's jet was en route to Fiji and he wouldn't be able to reach you until he landed which wasn't for another six hours at minimum but by then the damage will be long done and far too late to stop.
You make your way up the stairs, the bass thumping through the house and vibrating beneath your feet. As you step into your room, your reflection catches your eye, excitement sparking in your gaze.
With a quick flick of your wrist, you reach for the strappy black and red two-piece, slipping it on, the cool fabric hugging every curve just right. Each strap crisscrosses elegantly, bold yet balanced, making you smile at how perfectly it all came together.
Next, you grab the sheer cover-up, wrapping it loosely around your waist so it drapes with a hint of movement, a playful edge that sways with you. You run your fingers through your curls, scrunching them gently to bring out their bounce, each coil framing your face in soft waves. Reaching for your lip gloss, you swipe it carefully over your lips, catching the light with a glossy shine.
One last look, and you’re ready, your heart beating in rhythm with the music below. The speakers are already blaring, the energy practically calling you back down. You step out with a final tousle of your curls, ready to join the night.
The energy crackles through the backyard as you make your way to the top of the outdoor staircase. The sun has slipped beneath the horizon, casting a dusky glow over the massive pool below, illuminated by floating lights that shimmer across the water.
The bar is buzzing with people grabbing drinks, and in the corner, the foam pit is already filling up, laughter and splashes mixing with the heavy beat of the music.
A neon sign hangs across from the bar, glowing boldly against the evening sky: The Queen of Kildare is Back. You grin, amused at the sight of it knowing it was 100% Macy's doing, and take a step down. Conversations hush, replaced by the roaring blast of excitement as heads turn your way. Hundreds of people, from familiar faces to those you only vaguely recognize from your past in Figure Eight, pause and look up, anticipation brimming in their eyes.
As you descend, your cover-up billows behind you, revealing the bold lines of your black and red two-piece. The crowd’s reaction is instant, erupting into cheers, whistles, and applause that echo across the yard.
"Y/n! Y/n! Y/n" They chant and you laugh. Every step closer to the party, you feel the atmosphere thicken, charged with that infectious blend of excitement and admiration. By the time you reach the bottom, someone’s already handing you a drink, while friends rush over to pull you in for hugs and greetings, their voices nearly drowned out by the music and shouts.
"Y/n Sinclair, s'Been a while."
There's a voice all too familiar addressing you from behind, prompting you to pivot to come face to face with a much taller Rafe than your brain could recall.
"Rafe Cameron. Long time no see." He goes in for the hug, your arms reaching over his broadened shoulders while his longer ones wrap around your waist before pulling back. He not so subtly checked you out, his tongue darting out over his lips briefly as he took you in and you did the same.
The buzzed hair sharpens his features, you think. Making his eyes seem darker, more intense, as they focus on you. His open linen shirt falls loosely over his frame, giving glimpses of his toned chest and the subtle gleam of a thin chain resting against his skin.
The shirt flutters with the breeze, barely hanging on his shoulders, hinting at the strong lines of his arms and drawing your eyes down to his relaxed, dark swim trunks.
He’s saying something, leaning slightly toward you, and his voice cuts smoothly through the bass of the party. Your eyes wander back up to his face, catching the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he knows he’s caught your attention.
"You look good, too good. How long's it been?" It's hard for you to think with the heat of his gaze on you, but you don't falter, never surrendering to this never-ending game between the two of you.
"About 3 years." He hums, the way he looks at you, casual yet purposeful, makes your pulse quicken, and suddenly, every sound around you fades, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the way he looks right at you, but you remind yourself to focus.
Rafe looks around the scene, eyes lingering over the wet t-shirt contest and then the game of chicken being held in the pool while others lounged on the various floaties or indulged in ungodly amounts of alcohol at the bar. As he does so, the pungent scent of weed drafts across your nostrils.
"Your old man know you're hostin' tonight?" You had to laugh, "Oh please, like he would ever let me have any kind of fun while he's in town. He and the skank are in Fiji."
The slight smirk that etches over his perfect lips taunts you. "So the house is yours?" He leans in, a little closer, closing the gap between you. "Until he comes back and banishes me again," You place a confident hand against his chest, pushing him away, "But for now, I'm here to party, and you should be too."
With that said you walk away from him, letting your hips sway with seduction radiating with each step. Rafe lets his thumb and fingers stroke over his jaw, feeling the weight of the pressure you'd just applied.
God, it was good to have you back.
The party raged on, slowly approaching its peak, body shots were going on at the bar, girls were doing lines in the bathrooms and the guys had insisted on a drunk game of volleyball in the pool.
Rafe took a break from the events of the party and watched from the sidelines on the couch, taking another hit of the vape that someone had passed to him, he's not sure he can remember who, and it wasn't relevant anyway.
The only person he had his sights set on is you. Watching you have the time of your life with your friends on the platform in the middle of the pool. Your little group, clearly intoxicated danced carefree while you'd begun to put your hands on the ground and throw your ass in circles.
Rafe choked, sitting up, some smoke coming through his nostrils at the interrupted airflow. He leaves his shirt behind on the couch with the abandoned vape, just as he heads for the pool topped hands him a beer which Rafe accepts before he gets in.
Maintaining a straight face as his body acclimatizes to the cool water he's almost immediately swarmed and roped into a round of whatever the current pool game was.
His icy gaze looks up to the center of the pool where you once were but are now nowhere to be found. "Looking for someone?" Your voice was mocking and he was grinning before he even turned around.
"I am actually." With little ripples in the water, he steps towards you maintaining a respectful distance that was driving you insane. "I was looking for someone to join me at the bar," He puts on a convincing facade but you roll your eyes, feigning innocence.
"Let me know if you find her," He slowly steps towards you and step back, "Don't play dumb with me, Y/n." Your plush lips form a gut-wrenching pout, "What do you mean?" Another step forward, another one back. The cycle repeats itself until he has you backed up against the edge of the pool.
Rafe’s hands find your waist, and before you can react, he’s lifting you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of the pool. You're reeling at the slutty display of his sheer strength.
Your legs dangle, brushing against his chest, and he steps closer, slotting himself right between them. His hands rest on either side of you, his arms framing you in as he looks up with that sly grin, every bit as teasing as you are.
“Always out here playin' games, aren’t you?��� he murmurs, his voice low, a quiet rasp just for you. “Gotta say, I respect it—always sticking it to your old man, doing your own thing.” He leans in, his gaze drifting down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Not many people around here have the guts for that.”
You scoff lightly, though your heart skips as his gaze lingers on you, intense and challenging. “Oh, please,” you tease, rolling your eyes. “Since when do you care about any of this?”
A quiet laugh slips from him as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles along your thigh. “You think I haven’t been paying attention to you all these years?” he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your neck.
“You might’ve been gone a while, but don't think I forgot all those nights we had our fun.” His words hang heavy between you as he pulls back slightly. Now his hand rests on your waist, his voice dropping lower.
He tilts his head, studying you with that familiar glint of mischief. “Now that you're back, I think we should relive some of our traditions, for old time's sake,” he says, leaning in until his lips brush against your jaw, light and teasing, close enough to make your pulse race. He pauses, his thumb skimming your cheek, his lips hovering just above yours, waiting. “But don’t act like you don’t want this as much as I do.”
Before you can snap back, his mouth claims yours, the kiss charged with all the years of pent-up tension and that all-too-familiar heat. His hands slide up to cradle your face as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him even closer. The kiss deepens, and when he finally pulls back just enough to catch his breath, he watches you with a smug, knowing grin.
“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your lips, his thumb tracing your jaw as if memorizing every inch. “That look you get right before we make a mess of things. I knew it—you missed this just as much as I did.”
If only someone could recount how the two of found yourselves stumbling up the stairs towards your room, your soaked sheer cover-up left forgotten somewhere in the house after Rafe pulled it off of your frame.
"Shit-- Rafe," your teeth dug into the flesh of your bottom lip as you reached to open your bedroom door, horrified to see two other people had monopolized it. They hadn't even noticed the door was opened so you quickly closed it.
"What the fuck, I thought everyone knew my room was off limits." With a quick scan, you noticed items were hanging off almost all the guest rooms in the hall letting others know the room was occupied.
"Shit, there's nowhere else to go in here?" You think quickly on your feet before rushing off to get something before returning with a key in your grip.
Rafe pulls you close with a smirk as you clutch the key to your father’s room, the gleam in your eyes daring him to follow. “Breaking all the rules tonight, aren’t we?” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with approval. His hand slips around your waist as you unlock the door, both of you glancing down the hall to be sure no one’s watching.
You twist the handle and push open the door, and his hand slides down to squeeze your hip, pulling you against him. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he whispers against your ear, his lips grazing your skin, sending a thrill down your spine.
Once inside, you barely have a chance to lock the door before he has you pressed up against it. His lips are on yours, urgent and fierce, his hands roaming over your body with possessive ease. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he breathes between kisses, his fingers tracing the bare skin of your waist as he lifts your top, letting it fall to the floor. “Thought I’d forgotten?” you tease.
Rafe just about growls, dipping down to kiss along your collarbone, his hands sliding lower as he backs you towards the bed. His fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms, tugging them down with a smirk that sends heat rushing through you.
Your heart races as you feel the cool, forbidden sheets beneath you, the thrill of defying every rule and having Rafe look at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. His hands slide up your thighs, lips trailing down your neck as he leans over you. “You know,” he murmurs, voice heavy with desire as he takes in the sight of you sprawled out before him, “I always knew you were trouble. Guess that’s why I can’t stay away.”
With a smirk, he leans in, his lips brushing over yours as his hands explore, both of you savouring the thrill of being tangled up in each other once again.
"Look at these perfect fuckin' tits." He curses, big hands cupping your breasts, kneading them and rolling your nipples between his index and thumb. Your back arches slightly with a gasp, chest pressing up into him and he laughs.
"Still so sensitive here, angel? Some things never change." He reminisces and you roll your eyes, "Fuck off, Rafe." With the blink of an eye, his much larger frame was caging you in from above, his bulging biceps giving him an erotic juxtaposition in comparison to your head.
Balancing himself on one arm he slinks his palm around the expanse of your throat with a weighted pressure. "Been gone so long you forgot your manners? Mm? That's fine, I'll be sure to fuck some sense back into you."
Your eyes flutter shut at his filthy words as you feel his hand move and begin to work you between your legs. "Your pussy's fuckin' soaked--shit." He hisses, gaze hungry and his body acts on his thoughts faster than you can register.
A particularly loud moan slips from you as you feel his tongue skillfully lap over your folds, splitting you open as the warmth of his tongue protrudes into your core. "Yes, fuck! Please, don't stop Rafe." You moan, one hand reaching down to hold him by the hair and it hits you that he'd shaved it all off.
You let out a frustrated gruff, both hands fisting the sheets while you're forced to feel the vibrations of his sick laugh running through you at your dramatics. Even the tip of his nose had been covered in your slick, your juices running down his chin as he ate you out like a man starved.
He wouldn't be surprised if they could hear you from outside, but he knows everyone is far too high, too drunk or both to hear you. It wasn't long before your legs were beginning to shake and came with his name falling from your lips over and over like a prayer.
Taking deep breaths to recover from debatedly the best orgasm you've ever experienced, Rafe walked over to the far wall, out of sight, doing something you couldn't see before returning.
Without speaking he scoops you up into his arms, bridal style, another shameless display of his strength but it would be a lie to say it didn't drive you crazy. "What-what are you doing?" Your questions are ignored until he approaches the bubbling hot tub.
A wicked smirk curls across his lips as he eases you onto your feet in the warm water, his hands lingering on your waist, keeping you close. He gazes at you with that knowing glint, the steam rising around you both.
“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, his eyes trailing down your figure, unapologetic. His fingers skim over your sides, sending a shiver through you that’s from anything but the water.
“Are you really just gonna stand there?” you call, feeling the thrill of his attention but wanting to turn the tables, your voice laced with playful challenge.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he chuckles, unfastening his swim trunks and letting them fall to the side with a carefree grin. “I plan on joining you,” he says, slipping into the water and closing the distance between you two with smooth, unhurried steps. You take a hard swallow at his size, you don't remember him being this big.
He was going to destroy you.
You raise an eyebrow, matching his smirk. “Pretty bold of you, Rafe,” you say, your voice teasing as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Just like old times, hmm?”
“Better than old times,” he murmurs, dipping his head so his lips graze your ear, his voice a low rumble. “Because now, nothing is stopping us.” He punctuates his sentence by pressing his body up against your back, elevating you a bit so your torso leans over the edge of the tub, granting him easy access to you.
"Fuck, can't believe your ass got even more fucking perfect since last time." His hand raises and comes back down with a loud spank that pulls a sinful moan from your throat. "Rafe, stop teasing." You whine, arching your back and pressing back against him.
His composure already weekend, he decided to let you get away with it this time before he lined up the swollen head of his thick cock with your entrance, "Better grab onto something." That's the last thing you hear before you're being impaled on his dick, your upper half immediately falls forward, and he stills, giving you a second.
You're breathless, it feels like his cock was taking up all the room in your lungs. Some water had splashed over the ledge but that was the least of your worries. Your mind was hazy and focused on Rafe's grunts that escaped him with every snap of his hips.
"Wish you could see how hot you look right now. The Sinclair wild child knows how to take big dick like a champ." His words run straight through you like electricity, fanning the flames of the burning heat that was beginning to form in your belly.
"Shit--This pussy was fuckin' made for me, y'know that?" You moan at his possessive statement. You can only nod, your body had gone limp long ago as he drilled into you. "R-rafe! I'm-" As if you weren't close enough, his fingers begin to rub over your clit aggressively and you jolt with a shriek.
"Oh- fuck, don't stop! Fuck! I'm gonna cum! Please, Rafe." You beg, over and over, arms hanging onto the edge of the tub for dear life as more water splashes around you.
"Wait for me, hold it until I say you can come." You're chewing your lip raw, desperately trying to hold yourself back as he wrecks you from the inside out, his moans getting more frequent, a little more airy and breathless as he tumbled toward his edge of pleasure.
"Cum with me, Angel." Your body spasms as you finish together and he leans his weight against your back, his laboured breathing fanning your ear as you come down from your high.
"Not bad, princess." You couldn't respond and Rafe took note of this, carefully holding you up with one final smug remark, "Hope I didn't wear out the queen of Kildare."
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rosenclaws · 1 month ago
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The Wolverine and His Bunny || Logan Howlett x Bunny Girl!Reader
summary: You and Logan have always butted heads and his constant, condescending reminders of your mutation don't help. It's not until your forced to train together and well, the tension is undeniable
warnings: MINORS DNI, SMUT, 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, rough sex, a variety of bunny themed nicknames (Bunny, thumper, carrots), creampie, manhandling, pain kink (Logan), doggy style, dirty talk, blow job, mirror sex, slight choking, degradation, praise, he plays with your bunny ears oops, enemies to lovers kinda? Logan's a dick at first, teasing, being pinned down.
Don't like it don't read it :)
Halloween Masterlist
wc: 3.7k
a/n: Okay look, I thought this was hot and so I wrote it. Anyways happy October first everyone! Hoping to add my degeneracy to the long list of fics to come. This also ended up being more. angsty than i mean it to be. I think I have an angst problem oops
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You hated him so much. He was. He was just a massive dick for no reason and you hated people like that. You get that he was the all mighty Wolverine who was indestructible or whatever but if he could act like a normal person for once in his life that would be great.
He wasn't even the leader of the damn team and yet every one seemed to act like he walked on fucking water. It's not like he was the only one on the team either. He may tell everyone he's a loner and he doesn't need help but we're the X-Men. Not just Wolverine.
It's just not fair.
You had the perfect plan. Planned down to the very second and Logan had to go and fuck it all up. Maybe it was an honest mistake but you highly doubted it. He always had a problem with you. You didn't understand why. The moment you showed up to the mansion he was hostile. Calling you stupid, condescending nicknames because of your mutation while ignoring the part of it that made you super smart.
You were fuming when the team got back from the mission. You stormed right past everyone to get to Logan. They shoot you apologetic looks but you paid them no mind.
"Logan!"
"What's got your panties in a twist bunny?" He leans against the jet hangar door. A cigar already lit in his mouth.
"Don't call me that asshole!" You shove his chest but he doesn't move. Your nose twitching in anger as he just laughs.
"I had a plan Logan. A good plan. A perfect. Plan. So tell me why as soon as you had the chance to, you ruined it!" He scoffs and blows a puff of smoke in your face. Your ears flatten against your head as you wave the smoke away.
"We finished the mission didn't we?." He says with a smirk. If this were a cartoon you'd surely have steam coming out of your ears by now.
"God you're nothing but a slimy little weasel sometimes!" You push your finger into his chest. He pushes your hand away and bares his teeth like an animal.
"You have no idea what it's like to actually be on the field so why don't you tuck your little tail between your legs and run back to the lab."
"Logan! That's enough." Jean scolds him harshly as you turn around and storm out of the room.
You feel tears welling up in your eyes but you force them down. Fuck him, you were an important part of the team. Whether he liked it or not.
It's like he lived to torture you. Ever since the day you told him off he seemed to just. appear. Constantly. Wherever you were he was there too. In the kitchen? He strolls right in for a soda. In the training room? He's already there. All sweaty and grunting and gross. You're outside near the water fountain, guess who strolls right on up. It was like he was stalking you or something.
Your ears perk up as you hear footsteps approaching your classroom. You taught most of the high level classes, the advanced ones for students who wished for more academic classes. So their tests were more complex to grade which is why you were still here so late into the night. Your nose twitches as a familiar scent fills your nose. Without even looking you let out a long sigh.
"What do you want weasel?"
"Now that's not very nice of you." Logan says with a smirk as he sits in the chair across from your desk. He puts his feet up on your desk. Right on top of the stack of papers.
"Can't you go bother someone else? Please. Like anyone else." He grins and you roll your eyes.
"But I just love your company." His voice is dripping with playful sarcasm.
"You're going to work yourself to death carrots. It's not good for you." The truth is he came to try and apologize for the other day but he just hasn’t found the right time. Okay well there’s been good times but he was never able to get the words out. So here he is trying his best.
He stands up and leans over your desk. You have to admit he's certainly an overwhelming presence. His face is inches away from yours, eyes staring into your soul with a wolfish grin on his face. He picks the pen out of your hand and throws it over his shoulder.
"Why not take the stick out of your ass and have a little fun?" Wow, for a second there you almost thought he cared.
"You know what Logan, just leave me alone."
"You know I'm trying to be nice here and all I'm catching is attitude." He growls. You slam your hands on the desk and stand up. Getting close to his face as your ears flatten. "
Nice? You think you're being nice?" You laugh in his face and he pushes back. Papers fly everywhere.
"Fine, work yourself to death I don't fucking care." He storms out of your room and slams your door loudly.
"Asshole!" You yell back. You turn back to see the mess of papers and sigh. Great, now your night got even longer. Logan mutters angrily as he stalks through the halls. So much for trying.
It's been at least a couple weeks since that night with Logan and thankfully he's finally decided to leave you alone. You barely saw him and in a weird way, you kind of missed him. Kind of. Barely. In fact you really enjoyed the peace. Your ears definitely didn't perk up when you heard Logan's voice on the other side of Professor Xavier's office. You push through the door and find Logan looking very pissed off.
"You wanted to see me?" You glance over at Logan who was fuming silently.
"Yes, I think it's time you join the team. On the field." You widen your eyes in surprise. You never considered yourself to be a field agent. Your mutation wasn't exactly built for combat. You were speedy but that's about it. Strategy and smarts were much more your speed.
"I think bringing you out on the field would be an immense help to your battle tactics. As Logan so kindly put it, being on the field is different from watching on the outside." You flash back to the harsh words Logan had said to you a while ago.
Logically it would be helpful for you to observe what missions were like first hand but you don't think you needed to be there. Still to get yourself a suit and be part of the team sounded nice too.
"And since it was his idea, Logan will be your instructor."
"What?!"
"Absolutely not." Charles gives you both a look, one that said to quiet down and you both reluctantly listen.
"I am not a fool,  the two of you need to learn to work together. My decision is final." His tone leaves no room for argument and the two of you leave with scowls on your face.
"Alright thumper, here’s how it’s going to go. Tomorrow. 7am in the training room. Think you can handle it?” He places his hand near your head. You roll your eyes and duck under his hand.
“Yeah yeah, see you then Weasel.”
It feels like this was meant to be a punishment more than an assignment. You get that you and Logan haven’t. exactly gotten along but to stick you together like this? That’s just mean. You showed up right at 7am the next morning dressed in workout clothes. Logan is already there dressed in his little gray sweatshirt, white tank top and sweatpants.
“So you didn’t run away? Good bunny.” He smirks as your face scrunches up in anger.
“Fuck off.” You’re already dreading this. If you could just survive an hour then you could never deal with him again.
"Okay, show me what you got." He stands in the center of the mat. Arms at his side with an expectant look on his face.
"What?"
"I heal bunny, so give me all you got. I need to see what I'm working with here." You take a deep breath and launch an attack.
You weren't helpless by any means but you weren’t on the same level as Logan, even you could admit that. He barely flinched as you darted around the room. Striking him in a few places but he just stood there. It was starting to piss you off. You get that you weren’t the fiercest but he could at least try and fucking help instead of wearing you out like this. You look around the room and see wooden poles used for combat training. He never said you had to just use your hands. You dart across the room and grab one, swinging it hard against his back. To your surprise it completely breaks. Shattering on impact. He grabs the broken half that’s left in your hands and pulls it out of them.
“That’s cheating,”
“No it’s not. I was just using my resources.” He laughs and grabs your wrist. He slowly backs you up until you hit the wall.
“Oh yeah? What you’re gonna find a really big stick out in the field?” He mocks.
“This is useless.” He lets go and walks away from you.
You feel anger bubbling up in your chest. You don’t belong. You’re useless. What good are you to the X-Men? You are sick and tired of hearing shit like this all the fucking time and Logan was the worst about it. You launch yourself at him. Running as fast as you can and jumping on his back. It blindsides him, he tumbles to the ground. He grunts as you start to hit his back hard.
“What is your fucking problem!” He pushes you off and you wince as you hit the mat. You scramble away before he can get up and jump back onto him. Legs straddling his waist as you push his shoulders.
“Why do you hate me so much?! What did I do to you?!” You take a swing and hit him square in the jaw. He looks surprised but shakes it off easily. He doesn’t fight back, more in shock than angry at this point.
“I get that I don’t have metal claws and I can’t move stuff with my mind but I’m part of the team too!” You swing your fist again but he catches it this time. He grabs your other one and pushes you to the ground roughly.
“Fuck off!” You hiss as he crawls on top of you. He’s heavier than a fucking boulder as he practically pins you to the ground.
“No you shut up and fucking listen.” He growls. He still has your hands pinned to the floor. An almost animalistic look on his face.
“You are so infuriating, everything about you drives me fucking crazy. So pretty, so smart, so easy to rile up.” He purrs. Your body feels like it’s on fire. What the hell is he even talking about?
“I say things without thinking sometimes but you, you make it so hard. Always running your mouth.” You squirm under him, trying to get free.
Then. He moans. He fucking moans.
You stop moving and stare up at him in surprise. Then you feel something hard against your stomach. Oh. He’s hard.
“No fucking way.” You say with a smirk. He may be on top of you but right now it feels like you have all the power here.
“Don’t tell me you were an absolute dick because you liked me?” He doesn’t deny it. Instead pressing you harder into the mat.
“Shut up.”
“Couldn’t handle your feelings so you decided to tease me like a fucking schoolboy.” You laugh and try and move your arms but he doesn’t budge.
“You know what I think, I think you need to lose the attitude carrots, I think a nice good fuck would do you good.” You scoff at his words.
“And you think you’re the one to do that? You couldn’t make a girl cum if your life depended on it, Weasel.”
“Is that a challenge bunny? Come on, say it.” He’s hot and horny but he’s giving you a way out.
If you tell him to fuck off he’ll leave and you both can forget about it, but if you don’t. If you say you want this. Well he’ll finally shut you up like he’s been dreaming about. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you. He’s breathing heavy like an animal and you’re studying his every move. Was this a bad idea? Probably. But you couldn’t deny that Logan was hot and right now all you wanted was to suck him off until he was milked dry. Shit.
“You can try, but I bet you won’t even last a minute.” He practically pounces on you. His face is buried in your neck as his hips grind against yours. You gasp as he bites your neck harshly. Eyes fluttering shut as he kisses it better.
“Dreamed of this, my bunny all wet and needy for me.” He nibbles up to your ears. Practically purring at how soft they feel.
“Not your bunny yet.” You bite back. He lets go of your wrists and sits up on his knees. He rips open your bra without the least bit of resistance. Mouth drooling as he stares at your tits.
“Fuck me.” He mutters as he harshly gropes your chest.
His thumb flicks over your nipple and you let out a squeak of pleasure. The last thing you wanted was for him to get an ego but fuck the way his hands feel on you is just so good. They’re rough and calloused and he is relentless in his movements. You almost whine when he stops playing with them, already missing his touch. He sheds his tank top, leaving him in all his muscled glory.
“Like what you see?” He asks cockily as he takes his pants off too.
“You fucking wish.” You mutter unconvincingly. You take your nails and rake them down his chest making him moan.
“You like a little pain don’t you.” You tease, digging your nails into his skin harder.
“Maybe I do.” You yelp as he shreds your pants and underwear to shreds.
“Those were fucking expensive asshole-Fuck!” You gasp as he buries his face into your cunt. His hands locked on your thighs, moving isn’t an option as he practically inhales your cunt.
“Smells so sweet, can always smell you bunny but up close is just. So much better.” You feel yourself start to melt under his rough hold. He’s absolutely overwhelming.
“Maybe later I’ll finally get a taste but right now I think I need to put your mouth to better use.” He pulls you up onto your knees. Stroking his cock as he pushes you down. Shit he’s big but you don’t even react, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
“Come on bunny, open up. Be a good girl for me.” Fuck him if he thinks he’s going to be in charge here. You smirk and take him as far down as you can.
“Fuck!” He hisses, not prepared for you to do that.
“Fuck slow down.” There's a hint of desperation in his voice and you feel a sense of pride. You pull back and spit on his cock. Using your hand you coat it, looking him right in the eyes as you roughly move your hand along his cock.
“I think you need a lesson too,” His eyes roll to the back of his head as you take as much of him as you can.
Choking as the tip hits the back of your throat. You are unrelenting, eating up every little desperate sound that’s coming from his lips. Not so tough now are you Logan you think as you feel him twitching in your mouth. He’s so damn close and its driving him wild. You feel a heavy hand bunch your ears and pull you off.
“As much as I want to come down your throat and watch you swallow it all…” He wipes some drool off your face as talks.
“I need to be inside that cunt.” Then he grabs your face and kisses you, actually kisses you. You’re startled at first but melt into it. His lips are rough and he smells so much like tobacco and whiskey but fuck its intoxicating. He’s big, rough, and so fucking hot.
“You’re soaking wet bunny.” He taunts as he cups your cunt with his hands.
“I bet you’re just aching to be filled. Don’t worry, I can help.” He manhandles you with his crazy strength till you're on your knees facing the mirrors.
“See, you’re just shaking with anticipation.” He grins wickedly as he cups your face and forces you to look into the mirror.
He’s not wrong. He’s big and you can feel his cock nudging its way into your cunt. You’re panting, hair a mess. His hand looks so good around your neck and he looks even more delicious. Your vision blurs as he slides himself inside of you. The air is knocked out of your lungs as you feel nothing but Logan. Head up in the fucking clouds as he gives you a moment to relax, whispering sweet words to help ground you back to earth.
“Is your dick inside of me the only way to get you to be nice?” You ask breathlessly. Logan grunts, not happy that you’re still able to speak beyond moaning his name.
“I can be nice, I can be real nice.” He slides out of you at a slow, agonizing pace before thrusting harshly back in. You claw at the mat as he sets a brutal pace. In and out. Slow and hard. Pulling desperate sounds from the depths of your throat.
“Logan please!” You beg, you need him so bad. Need to feel him, need him to rearrange your fucking guts. “
So polite, now that’s more like it.” He leans in and kisses your neck roughly.
Claiming you as his own in his own animalistic way. He would tease you, continue to pull you apart on his cock for hours if he could. But the truth is he needed you. A deep carnal desire to render you completely fucked out. He leans back, pulling your back to his chest. He guides your hands to his arm.
“Hold on bunny.” Your nails sink deep into his skin, drawing blood as he sets a brutal pace.
Pounding into you so hard you see stars. Fucking hell super human strength and stamina really is a gift. He coos in your ear when he notices you starting to slump in his arms. Your legs burned, he was reducing you to a puddle of nothing.
“You okay pretty? Feel too good doesn’t it.” You nod, words not forming in your brain anymore.
All you feel is pure bliss and Logan feels a surge of pride in being the one to do this. You catch his gaze in the mirror. His eyes filled with pure, raw lust. His face was twisted in focus, brows furrowed and mouth slightly open. His muscles were bulging with every move. You couldn’t stop yourself from look. Watching as he buried his cock into you.
“I know you’re close, it’s okay. I got you bunny.” One of his hands slips down between your legs. He draws tight, harsh circles on your clit making you cry. You’re squirming wildly, it feels too good. His fingers are too much but you don’t want him to stop.
“Shh, that’s it. Just relax.” He sinks his teeth into your shoulder as you come hard.
Your legs can’t stop shaking. Logan tightens his grip on you, keeping you up right as he fucks into you hard. Chasing his own release, thrusting wildly and you fucking swear he whimpers as he stills his hips deep inside. Filling you up and then some. It’s a real shame when he pulls you, an empty feeling overtaking you. He loosens his grip and you almost face plant onto the mat.
“Logan..” You whine and he helps maneuver you to your back.
“Sorry carrots, didn’t mean to let you fall.”
“Don’t call me carrots.” You mumble, still completely exhausted.
“Okay, whatever you say, carrots.” You huff as Logan helps you stand up.
Your clothes are completely ruined but he somehow finds some extra sets of clothes in the closet. When did he even get up? Maybe you were still a little lost.
“Hey, you okay?” He cups your face gently. A slight look of worry in his face.
“Aw, you do care.” You tease. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of you.
“I always cared.”
“Had a real shit way of showing it.” You snort and he just smiles softly.
“Yeah. Guess I did.” To your embarrassment you still can’t exactly walk right. Luckily Logan is right by your side. You mentally prepare yourself to tell people you hurt your leg or something when they ask why you’re limping so bad.
“I still don’t know what I did to make you hate me.” You say quietly as you reach your dorm room. He sighs and gently plays with your ears. It tickles.
“I don’t hate you, I never did. I just. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He can’t articulate just why he acted the way he did. He wants to, he really does but it just. Doesn’t come out. There's a long history of pain and loss and while you want to know why, an apology is certainly a start.
“Thank you,” He smiles softly, then realizes he’s probably overstayed his welcome. As if you two weren’t fucking in the training room less than 10 minutes ago.
“Do you want to stay?” He hesitates, unsure if this is truly what you want. If this line is ready to be crossed.
“You owe me for ruining my clothes. Just one nap.” He relents, it’s easy when you’re looking at him like that.
“Okay bunny. Just one nap.” He shuts the door behind him, crawling into bed with you.
He feels a rumble in his chest as he sinks into your bed. You’re soft and it feels like he’s meant to be here. You fall asleep quick, body aching and practically screaming for you to sleep. Logan stays awake for a while, just okay with being here. Just one nap he tells himself. 
He’s lying. It’s never going to be just one nap.
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