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cxrrodedcoffin · 2 months ago

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✟ 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 ✟

Kinktober fic 2: Charlie Mayhew ✟ Blasphemy + Church Sex

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dom!charlie, priest!charlie (duh), aspiring nun!reader, tattooed!reader, religious themes (obvi), catholicism, extremely blasphemous activities, mentions of mental health facilities and sobriety, mild religious trauma mention, baptism, submersion in holy water, semi-public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex in water + in a church, fem + afab reader, breath play, hickeys, nipple play, cream pie, mentions of scars, use of “father” as an honorific in both a professional context and sexual context.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k

When you first visited the church to inquire about taking your vows as a nun, you weren’t sure what to expect. It had been so long since the last time you’d set foot in a church, but the moment you crossed that holy threshold a childhood full of memories came rushing back to you.

The church was not a place you ever thought you’d consider your home again once you reached adolescence, but now, after a decade of poor decisions and enough casual sex to put an end to global inceldom if you so wished, you found yourself back in a house of worship for the first time since childhood.

A six month-long stint in an in-patient psychiatric treatment center had been the catalyst, your first extended period of time being both sober and celibate since your teen years forcing you to face some hard truths about the way you’d been living your life.

You decided to see if there was any ounce of the faith you blindly held as a child still left somewhere deep in your subconscious, seeking out the nearest convent you could only a few weeks after your discharge from the facility.

Each step you took down the arched corridor to the church administrator’s office brought back flashes of the past, both bitter and sweet, the kaleidoscope of colors fanning in from the stained glass windows drawing a familiar sense of melancholy you had half-expected to reappear.

One thing you certainly were not expecting out of this visit was to meet one Father Charlie Mayhew. The curve of his jaw was the first thing you caught a glimpse of as he stepped out of the administrator’s office, the striking momentary glimpse of his side profile nearly knocking the wind out of you.

You squeaked out a faint “Sorry!” as you took a step back, your eyes locking with his. His cheeks creased in a charming smile, the black fabric of his clerical shirt pulling taut over his muscular forearm as he held the office door open for you. Your mind finally registered the flash of his white tab collar at his neck, prompting you to straighten up as a sign of respect.

“Thank you, Father-”

“Mayhew.” He finished, giving you a gentle nod as you returned the smile and slipped past him through the door frame. It was a small encounter, mere seconds of interaction, and yet you couldn’t shake the image of his smile from your mind for the rest of the day.

That was six months ago, and in the time since, every interaction you’d had with him had only worsened your attraction to him. He was equal parts charismatic and enigmatic, sharing fascinating details of his hobbies and interests and how they brought him closer to God, yet remaining at an arm’s length, keeping parts of himself closed off from you as well as the rest of the clergy.

Today was the day you were to begin your official commitment to your religious journey, ready to begin the years-long journey to take your vows. There was one final requirement you had to complete, needing to amend the oversight your parents had made in never getting around to having you baptized as a child.

You’d spent the majority of the day working on your studies, doing everything you could to distract yourself from the nerves growing in your tummy over your baptism ceremony. You weren’t nervous about the ceremony itself, it was a private ritual to be held before only God, you, and the priest performing it at an hour late enough that most of the convent would be fast asleep. The only problem was that the priest performing your baptism was none other than the man you’d become desperate for, Father Mayhew.

You had completed your post-dinner stroll around the campus, the sun set well below the horizon as the moon rose high in the sky. It was almost time, and when you returned to your dormitory, you stripped from your robes and hopped into a cold shower the moment the door shut behind you. Cleanliness was next to Godliness afterall, and the heat in your cheeks caused by your wandering mind needed to be quelled before facing the man at the center of your wildest fantasies.

When you had finally calmed yourself to a manageable level you stepped out of the shower, quickly wicking the water droplets off of your skin before pulling the flowy cotton nightgown over your bare body. You didn’t bother with undergarments, knowing they’d be just another layer of soaking wet fabric you’d have to peel from your shivering body in likely less than an hour.

You made your way down the hallway of the dormitory, your simple black ballet flats clicking gently against the sleek tile floor. After what felt like forever, you finally arrived at the connecting door of the chappel, pausing momentarily to gather your nerves one last time. The large wooden door creaked as you slowly pushed it open, moonlight shining through the tall stained glass portraits lining the walls of the hall. The flicker of candlelight pulled your eye to the baptismal font, flames dancing in the reflection of the pool.

Charlie stood tall, his hands folded behind his back as you slowly closed the space between you, stopping when there remained only a foot of space.

“Good evening, Father.” You greeted, barely above a whisper. He returned the greeting and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on your damp hair. You realized it was the first time he’d seen it completely uncovered since that first day you met six months ago, and you had to fight the urge to attempt to cover yourself. You were supposed to be in as natural of a state as possible in order to properly cover yourself in God’s protection, that was why you agreed to a full immersion baptism in the first place. There was no need to hide yourself from him tonight.

“Let’s begin.” He extended his hand to you, giving a reassuring smile as he guided you to the edge of the basin, taking each step into the lukewarm water. When you reached the center of the small pool, you observed the way the water level barely reached his knee but was fully up to your upper thigh, making your height difference glaringly obvious. You shivered, not only from the slight temperature of the holy water around you, but also the intimidation that his stature brought as he looked down at you.

“Cross your arms over your chest, please.” He instructed, taking a step closer to you so his torso was mere millimeters from being flush with yours, his right arm wrapping around your waist to cradle your lower back just above your tailbone.

“I’m going to do a short reading, then guide you to fall back into the water. You’ll only be under for a second, and I’ll pull you back out.” His voice was low, dulcet tones pairing beautifully with the atmosphere the dim lighting of the room created and you felt that familiar sin rising between your thighs, unable to remove your gaze from his immaculately sculpted facial features. You nodded in understanding, holding your arms across your heaving chest, hoping they disguised the evidence of your rapid heart rate and increasingly labored breaths.

“The Lord will cleanse the baptized from their impurities and idols, and give them a new heart and spirit. Through faith in Christ's death, God makes the baptized one with himself. May our sister lead a life worthy of her vocation, and preserve the unity of the Spirit.” He chanted, executing the sign of the cross before his free hand wrapped behind your shoulder to cradle you, exchanging a slight nod before you shut your eyes and allowed your body to fall back, holy water engulfing every inch of you for only a moment.

His strong arms lifted you out back out of the water, helping you find your footing on shaky knees, all the while your eyes remained shut. You hadn’t anticipated how sheer your shroud would become once it had taken on water, the lightweight linen clinging to every curve and contour of your body. Your whole frame shivered, painfully aware of the fact that your nipples were glaringly pert against the soaked fabric.

“You can open your eyes.” His hands remained around your waist, squeezing slightly with the lighthearted words as he waited for your response to finally being cleansed and fully protected.

Charlie couldn’t deny that his natural desires were running rampant at the sight of you, all wet and shivering on trembling legs like a fawn who’d slipped through the ice of a frozen lake, barely making it back to shore. Your nightgown was exceedingly translucent as it clung to your most intimate parts, the dark outline of your tattoos being what shocked him the most despite the allure of your breasts.

He hadn’t anticipated a girl with a face as angelic as yours could possibly be hiding markings such as these beneath the long sleeves he’d only ever seen you in. But then again, he doubted you’d ever anticipate the deep scars that adorned his back either. You weren’t the girl who had chosen to get those tattoos anymore, but he wondered if the girl you were now still had such a strong penchant for pain.

When you finally opened your eyes, ready to face the embarrassment of your exposed chest, you were surprised to find Father Mathew’s gaze not fixated on your breast, but rather your arms. You were so used to your tattoos, they barely even registered in your mind when you saw your reflection in the mirror each morning, so you had completely overlooked the fact that no one in the parish knew about them.

“I-I was a very different person when I got them.” You stumbled over your words, feeling a strong sense of insecurity about the way you’d dishonored your body in the eyes of the church.

“I find them to be an exquisite decoration of the temple that is your body, you know I don’t believe in the enforcement of many of the strict rules of the old church. You don’t have to justify yourself to me.” His right hand left your hip, finding your arm and lifting it to his mouth, plush lips placing firm kisses over the prominent vein at the base of your wrist before making his way further up, following the trail of your tattoos.

You mewled like a frightened kitten, so incredibly touch starved after a year of celibacy that you thought you might cum just from the heat of his mouth against your sensitive skin. As he pushed the sopping wet fabric of the bell sleeve further up your arm, your eyes fluttered shut, knees going weak again. You couldn’t believe he was touching you this way, even just chaste kisses along your limbs forcing the heat in your core to reach a boiling point. You couldn’t do this.

“Father, stop.” You tried to be as stern as possible but it came out as nothing more than a halfhearted sigh of defeat, your eyes pulled into a desperate plead. You wanted more, needed him so deep inside you that he might fill the God-shaped hole in your heart, but you were preparing to take a vow. That was the whole point of this, the very reason you were here with him in the first place.

“Now that you’ve been baptized, you are cleansed of your past sins and will be forgiven for those you commit going forward. We are and always will be sinners.” The look in his eyes was nothing but carnal, all reservations you held melting away with his insight.

“Fuck it.” You replied, a bit of the old you peeking through for a split second. Hearing that filthy word leave your cherubic lips set something off in him, causing him to drop your wrist and use his strong grip to pull you by your waist until you were completely flush with him, his mouth quickly finding yours in a kiss so forceful you wondered if your lip would bruise.

His hands were everywhere, squeezing and groping at your tender flesh through the fabric, almost fighting with the garment as it clung to your skin. You quickly grabbed for the hem still floating against your thighs in the water, peeling it as high up as you could before being forced to break away from him to pull it over your head. The sheer weight of the soaked gown was almost too much for you to lift, your arms shaking as you attempted to move it over your head.

Charlie took the bunched fabric from you, lifting it the rest of the way so you were finally free, completely nude in front of his still fully dressed state. You felt more vulnerable than ever before, so exposed in such a holy place, all the while he still held all of his modesty beneath his sleek black clerical shirt and slacks, barely saturated by the low water level.

“Good lord, you’re straight out of a renaissance painting.” He eyed you up and down, admiring every detail of your trembling body before his eyes settled on your breasts. His mouth began to water, the need to have his mouth on you again overwhelming his every thought. He closed the space between you once more, pushing you until your back hit the side of the pool.

“Up.” He mumbled against your neck, slender fingers gripping into the flesh of your hips as you jumped, his firm hold guiding your ass up onto the ledge, your feet dangling in the water. He pushed your thighs apart and pulled you to the very edge, just teetering on the slick tile. He took a step back, ripping the tab collar from his neck and starting to undo the buttons of his shirt. You instinctively began to close your legs, his eyes boring into you like a beam of sunlight.

“Keep them open.” His tone was more stern, hand reaching out to push your knee to its previous position.

“You hold heaven’s gate between your thighs, angel. Give me a chance to take it all in.” His voice was like smoked honey, smooth and intoxicating simultaneously, his nimble fingers expertly undoing the last of the buttons on his shirt before peeling it off of his toned arms. He made quick work of undoing his slacks, pushing them along with his underwear down his thighs, his hard cock slapping against his lower stomach before bobbing teasingly between his muscular thigh.

You had to fight your jaw from dropping at the sight, his cock just as mesmerizing as the rest of him, all flushed pink and dripping, his shaft taking a slight curve to the right, prominent vein running down the entire length of the left side, and the blushed tip glistening with precum. He nearly laughed at the look on your face, pushing the sound down in his throat to prevent any misinterpretation of his amusement.

He was enamored by you, this anomaly of a woman, equal parts innocent and sinful, all wrapped up in a package he couldn’t resist any longer. He sank to his knees, creating a wave in the water around him as he crawled those last few steps to you, still barely submerged up to his waist.

He placed an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, sucking hungrily on the plush skin in a trail leading straight to your pussy, blushed purple and red bruises blooming in his wake.

When he reached your cunt, he took a deep breath and exhaled a slow stream of air over your labia, observing the way your breath hitched and your stomach muscles tightened, reactive like a born again virgin.

He gave no warning, practically diving into your folds, tongue lapping hungrily at the nectar dripping from your entrance, like Samson drinking from the rock basin after nearly dying of thirst.

His large hands held your thighs apart with a determination you’d never felt, the pads of his manicured fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. Your hands moved to his perfectly quaffed hair, undoing the gelled style with the run of your dainty fingers through it, finding the tresses at the nape of his neck and pushing his face closer still to your cunt.

He was relentless, alternating in broad strokes and pointed flicks against your clit until your thighs shook, teetering dangerously close to both the edge of the pool and your first outsourced orgasm in over a year.

He replaced his right hand with his shoulder against your thigh to keep you spread wide open, his index and middle fingers broaching your entrance only to be quickly wrapped in your tight warmth, your neglected walls clinging to any stimulation they could get. One, two, three curls of his fingers against the velvety soft patch inside of you had you riding his face without inhibition, your cries of pleasure dulled only by your own hand clamped over your open mouth.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had cum that quickly, his actions drawing an unceremoniously fast reaction from you and you almost felt betrayed by your own body, unable to control your own sober actions for the first time in God knows how long.

“Need to feel your perfect cunt around my cock.” He panted through labored breaths as he finally pulled away from your overly sensitive clit, the bottom half of his face glistening just the same as your cunt.

He rose to his feet, taking you by the hips again and helping you back into the water, a chill running up your spine at the change in temperature. Your feet had barely touched the tile at the bottom before he was hauling you to the steps, gently pushing down on your shoulder to sit on the middle step.

“I want to see your angelic face while I ruin you.” He took your ankles in his grip, forcing your legs up to your chest as he knelt on the step below yours, aligning the head of his shaft with your weeping entrance. He brought his right hand up to the side of your face, thumb brushing along your jawline before dipping lower, his fingers wrapping firmly around your throat as he entered you fully with a single thrust. You gasped, the corners of your mouth pulling into a devilish smile at the sudden show of control, reveling in the feeling of his thick cock stretching your tight walls.

The holy water around you splashed with every rock of your connected hips, surrounding the place you were intertwined most intimately. Charlie dipped his head down to your chest, taking advantage of the way your back arched away from the edge of the step to take your pert nipple in his mouth, sucking gently at first until it devolved into hungry grazes of teeth and flicks of his expertly trained tongue. His grip on your throat tightened, his forearm pressing down on your other breast as he braced himself against the tile with his free hand.

You threw your head back, crying out in soft whimpers as he moaned against your breast, the upward angle of his thrusts causing the head of his cock to repeatedly hit the soft, sensitive spot deep inside of you, bringing you hurtling toward another orgasm.

“Come on, angel, show God how good this carnal sin feels.” He pulled away from your nipple just long enough to groan out the most blasphemous sentence you’d ever heard in your life, and you almost screamed from how hard he thrust up into you, swearing he had hit your cervix.

“Please, Father!” You moaned, pawing at his back, feeling the raised skin of his scars against your gentle fingertips. You made a mental note to inquire about them after, too lost in the feeling of him drawing you closer and closer to your orgasm to ask questions in the moment.

He rose back up from your chest, an animalistic open-mouth smirk on his face as he squeezed the sides of your neck tighter still, the lack of blood flow to your brain giving you a high you hadn’t quite experienced before. His eyes burned into yours, locked in a gaze you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to break as he gave a few more brutal thrusts into your aching cunt, finally reaching that euphoria you’d been craving from the moment you met him.

“Oh, God!” You cried out, watching the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes as you clamped down around him, forcing him to slow his pace inside of you. His hips began to falter, your cunt milking him relentlessly until the coil snapped, spilling his warm load deep inside of you. Watching the way the vein in his temple strained as he groaned above you gave you the same sense of satisfaction, knowing you could bring him to such a vulnerable state before the God you both served.

When you’d both caught your breath he pulled out of you, milky white cum swirling into the water. You’d almost feel ashamed if it weren’t for the afterglow you resided in, head still spinning from the deliciously pleasurable acts you’d just participated in.

“I have to drain the pool and refill it for tomorrow’s morning Mass, and you need to be back in your dorm before Mother Superior wakes up.” He stated matter-of-factly as he took your hand and helped you out of the pool, still shivering in the cold night air.

“Can we do this again?” You questioned meekly, apprehension setting in as you felt him pulling away from you.

“I’ll come by the dorms tomorrow during your lunch hour.” He squeezed your hand, giving a final reassuring smile as he handed you your now partially dried gown, nodding toward the door before you exchanged goodnights. You spent the rest of your night laying in your bed, slipping in and out of sleep, too distracted by your anticipation for what was to come to ever slip into a proper slumber.

—

tagging my maywhores <3 (i just came up with that what do we think??): @xxbimbobunnyxx @babygorewhore

please comment or message me if you’d like to be tagged in my charlie mayhew fics going forward!!

#father charlie mayhew #dividers by cxrrodedcoffin #charlie mayhew #grotesquerie #nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #charlie mayhew smut #father charlie x reader #father charlie smut #father charlie mayhew smut #mine #my writing #my dividers #1k

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redcherrykook · 4 months ago

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── .˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ TENSION DEGREE 02

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College roomate!Jungkook x college roomate!reader- fwb 2 Lovers

You find yourself having to share your room with a very sexually active medical science major who so happens to fancy you. Good thing he´s as charming and spontaneous as you, leading to many crazy parties and places you probably should not be hooking up at. When Jungkook started ignoring all his booty calls after accidentally calling someone by your name, unable to fuck away the thought of you, he knew he was cooked. Would he really leave his playboy antics for that sweet company of yours?

series- two!

content: mild slow burn- fwb2l, roomates, mutual pining, player jungkook that falls devoted to reader, cocky!JK, Confident!reader, psychology major reader, banter, parties, lots of smut (duh), only one bed trope, skinny dipping, roadtrip vibes

episode- warnings: alcohol, the word slut, swearing, sexual content

Taglist: @khadeeeeej @ot7stansthings @whoa-jo @smoljjks @stvrlighytt @nono13bnd @jungshaking @junniesoleilkth @deepikhaprakash @rockstryoon @tatamicc @jjeonjjk7 @kookieandjoonberries @jcrl99 @httpjeonlicious @wnteraezz @aphrodyteeth @miniesjams32 @emojkoo @katie-tibo @user-190811 @massivebearharmony @hoseokteardrop @hoseoksluv89 @hoseoksluv90

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"fucking slut choking on my dick"

the groans sound through the thinly build walls, making their way deliciously to reach your ears.

"Fuck like that yoon, take it, such a little slut"

the ceiling is certainly looking very ceiling-ly today, you think, trying to drown out the noises coming from door visible, even from your cozy couch.

A usual wednesday in the apartment of Jungkook and you.

The next sounds only make it harder when it´s the sound of skin slapping against one another, lewdly coating your living room air,

Thick, heavy panting follows suit,

high pitched moans that make you feel weirdly jealous about her position in your shared apartment,

Position, you wonder how he´s taking her right now,

images of him bending her legs up in half while he´s mercilessly pounding her flash your mind without warning,

you wonder if he likes looking at their face when he does, or if he´s the type to bend them over,

looking at their arched backs, pussy filled to the brim with him,

grabbing at whatever he can when he´s reaching every last sweet spot.

You feel filthy, disgusting thinking about your good friend and roommate in such selfish ways,

such intimacy,

The thrill is good enough of a rush to continue sneaking your hands down your torso and into the little flimsy, sorry excuse of shorts.

rubbing feverishly at your clit in frantic circles when your mind is occupied with his moans, the other hand groping your tits together, teasing and tugging at your own nipples just like how you wish he would do to you.

The moans halt and bring you back to reality, harshly ripping you out of your fantasy.

Shame washes over you, the realization of what you had done creeping up.

You bite your lip when swiftly moving your clothes back in place, putting your phone on a louder volume to watch Tiktok.

Anything to look unfazed.

Yoon, or whatever her name was, would be walking past you soon.

Its always a fifty fifty on how the girls walk out,

Confidently grinning with a certain pride of walking past the only girl Jungkook swore to never get a taste of, even if they didn´t know that,

something about walking past a girl that heard you fuck her good friend,

It made them swell up in a prideful manner.

Yoon, you learned, wasn´t one of them.

"Sorry, enjoy your night" she whispers, hiding her face behind her hair, head tilted towards the floor.

She knew you must have heard,

maybe she felt as filthy as you did,

soon after the front door closes, Jungkook never having left the room,

The sound of your shared bedroom doornob clicking, echos through the quiet summer night.

Followed by the noise of the shower running.

A usual wednesday,

except for the fact that you´d be going to spend the rest of the night packing with Jungkook.

"You think bringing a hoodie is appropriate?" your sweet vocals ring in his ears, he looks at you, scoffing

Watching your hands fiddle with the thick material of his grey hoodie,

that you took in exchange for paying his dinner two months ago.

"Bunny it´s summer. We´re there for THREE DAYS. You´re packing for a month" his head shakes, making his dark strands flow beautifully on the sides of his face.

"Okay but like what if i shit myself two times a day. I need to be prepared" referring to the six pairs of underwear he saw you push into the side of your overflowing suitcase.

No matter how absurd your statement is, he laughs, and you can´t help the soft giggles of your own escaping beneath the pillows of your lips.

"Fine, I´m carrying your bag anyways" he smiles a smile so boyish, it reaches your heartstrings,

"So, I guess we´re gonna be sharing a room?" he asks, alluding to the fact that Chaewon´s beach house can hold four people,

five are invited, six with Chaewon included.

Now that the summer semester has concluded, a getaway at the beach seems like the blessing you needed.

And definitely deserved.

Straight A´s standing up proudly, reminding you that the hours on your desk and sleepless, frustrated nights were in fact so worth it.

Of course, most certainly Jungkook had to have the same scores as you, rubbing it in your face.

Arguing about how he is better still because med-science can´t be less hard then psychology.

Asshole, if only he knew the hours of math that psychology required.

He was proud of you, you were proud of him,

ironically enough both of you too proud to stop bickering.

"Unless Chaewon and I wanna share a room" you laugh, knowing fully well that Chaewon wanted to sleep in the comfort of her own room, with the possibility of her newest boytoy Yoongi coming to visit at ungodly times in the night.

You´d heard all about this Yoongi guy and his maserful tongue,

Jungkook knew that too, Yoongi is his friend after all.

Apart from those two, the other two people are guys, friends of Yoongi that Chaewon agreed on accompanying him.

"Come on, you know you can´t make them get sexually frustrated like that" he grins again, leaning his back against his bed,

muscular thighs on display perfectly as he rests them spread out on the floor,

his opened suitcase seperating you from the space between his legs.

"I know, was just hoping to get a break from you" you sigh out, the lie so evidently plastered on your face, it´s almost embarrassing.

His tattooed hand sweeps through his hair, when he leans forward, it rests on the side of his face.

Although there is a suitcase between your bodies, his arms can reach you,

and they do,

"Come on bunny, you´d never wanna be away from me" he says with the smallest of smirks, devilishly hiding under his fake hurt face,

his thumb gracing your cheek as he winks,

The action makes all of the blood you have in your body rush up to your face, collecting itself there like it wouldn´t need to be anywhere else.

He notices, so he withdraws his hand, patting your head and laughing softly when he resumes to packing,

"Fuck you Jeon" you laugh too, packing your swimsuit inside the rose colored suitcase of yours.

He knew how to push your buttons, just for fun.

He´d never mean it, that lingers in the back of your mind,

Shoved in as far away as possible so you can´t feel it sting your ego.

"Pack the white one too, you look so good in it"

His eyes move to your small crouch, hands fumbling inside the suitcase,

He did mean it, he means it everytime,

You didn´t need to know that though.

But he swore to never let that get in between your friendship.

Neither of you had to say it out loud anyways, the rules have been established long ago,

He can´t stop himself from grinning proudly when you roll your eyes, fixated on your things,

Still, your grab the white bikini and fold it neatly before stuffing it inside your suitcase.

Just for him,

neither of you had to speak those words either for them to be clear.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Jesus christ did you bring rocks?" the pretty, stuffed suitcase is currently being harshly shoved inside the trunk of Jungkook´s spacious mercedes.

"Shut up" you shout from the passenger seat, already plugging in your phone to the aux cable.

He´d gotten used to your passenger princess standards, always surrendering to your playlists and need for a coffee run before anything,

can you drive? Sure,

But he never minded chaffeuring your around anyways,

He huffs, seating himself into the drivers seat.

"Buckle up sweetheart" he clicks his tongue, buckling his own seatbealt.

Safety first after all.

You comply as he pulls out of parking, his firm hand gripping the steeringwheel, lips pursed slightly in focus.

The roadtrip to the beach would take about three hours, three hours of trying not to disappear into unholy thoughts when looking at his big veiny hands working their way.

He´s just driving, you tell yourself over and over.

She´s just sitting,

he tells himself over and over, refraining the urge of reaching out with his unoccupied hand, rounding his palm over the soft skin of your soft, shiny thighs pressed on his passenger seat, the pink striped shorts already riding up like a work of art.

"Gonna put on my summer playlist" you purse your lips, scrolling through the dozens of hyper specific playlists on your spotify.

"Hell yeah that has bangers in it" he says, stopping at the redlight that seizes an opportunity to let his eyes find your warm, sun kissed features.

On cue, Timber by Kesha and Pitbull plays, the car lightning up significantly with the 2010´s classic summer hit.

"it´s goin´down! I´m yellin´ Timber!" the both of you scream- sing in unison, grinning like teenagers while absolutely having a blast with this song.

"Swing your partner round and round, end of the night it´s goin´down!" you two continue into the chorus a few seconds later, moving your heads to the catchy beat.

"One more shot another round!" he sings, looking over to you shortly,

"That better be us or I´m leaving" you giggle,

"Will be no doubt, now that there is no where to drive" diverting his attention back to the road, his mind wanders to remembering the lyrics of the song,

not a worry clouding his mind when the window is rolled down and he´s comfortable,

with you, the most necessary part.

The carpool karaoke gets repeated with almost all the next songs within your playlist of immaculate music taste, you two sing your hearts out like there´s no one that could hear.

An hour and a little bit into the trip, Jungkook gains a bright idea, as always.

"We should totally play that game where we have to smack each other every time a yellow car drives by"

You snort, switching your attention to his build from, dressed in casual oversized fashion.

Effortlessly hot.

"I´d love that, but like, you´re driving on a highway right now"

Hinting at the fact that the game entails hitting the other person on the arm,

also reminding him that a hospital visit isn´t on this trips bucket list

"No really?" , he nods his head towards his legs,

"Just smack my legs, won´t affect me anyways, with your cute little hands"

At that, you smack your palm flat against his unfairly firm thigh, planted nicely in the seat.

He chuckles, wincing slightly, "Already?"

You shake your head, "That was for underestimating me Kook"

A yellow car does drive by shortly after, betraying your upper hand at this stupidly childish game.

His hand moves from his side to your thigh, slapping the exposed skin softly, he wouldn´t dare smack you with force,

knowing that would land him a punch in his balls right away.

The sensation of his hot palm ever so slightly touching your naked skin, longing for his hand to remain there just evoked a smile to your face.

"yellow car" he says at the same time as his hand landed on you.

"Are you sure?" you tease, knowing that both of you saw the car speeding past you mere seconds ago,

The wind from the barely gaping window makes your hair flow in all sorts of directions,

He could make out your strands framing your face in the evening sun,

"What? like I´d be too pussy to touch you otherwise?" he teases, clearly understanding the implication of your previous sentence.

The tension is louder than the current song playing,

"Maybe, been lookin lots you know" you smile innocently,

He licks the dainty silver ring that´s in the corner of his beautifully plump lips, tongue darting out like a sinful way to torture you further,

bully you into admitting how much his stupid demeanor makes you shift in your seat.

"Like you haven´t been staring at my hands bunny"

The comment brings out all sorts of things in you, some tinge of shame, even though your staring has been painfully obvious,

Some sort of lust, a need to give into his alluring voice, into his temptation,

"Guess we can both appreciate the nice things in life, can´t we pretty?"

He moves his eyes to your own ones, burning through you with his smugness, his soft looking lips curled into an inviting smile,

The window behind him saves you from loosing your shit;

"yellow car!" you shout, smacking his thigh harshly,

he giggles in response, knowing that it was probably for the better.

"Ouch" he winces slightly, even though you know he didn´t feel any pain at this rate.

leaning his head back against the cushion of his seat,

"shut up and drive!"

Rihanna always knows when to drop the best lines, you think to yourself while singing along.

The last hour of the drive passes by rather quickly, blaring music, hitting each other with each yellow car and munching on Gimbap.

Life is good when you´re having fun like this.

"that´s Chae over there! look!"

He hums, parking the car next to the other two ones already lined up,

Next thing he knows, you´re springing out of the car to your best friend,

standing in all glory next to yoongi, and

"Eunwoo" he introduces himself, his fox like eyes inviting you like a warm hug,

"Hey, Hoseok, nice to meet you!" the other guy chimes, his bubbly persona already creating a positive atmosphere.

Both men are undeniably handsome in very different ways,

one so sly and sexy looking, almost mysteriously quiet in an alluring way, but with a smile so charming it seemed like you´d known him for ages,

While the other was bubbly, extroverted and loud in every way possible but still, oddly mature and manly in energy.

Jungkook also manages to get out the car, both of your suitcases in each hand, setting them down to give Eunwoo a handshake,

"Eunwoo man, whats up?" he grins, patting him on the back

"Jk! bro, so good to see you" Eunwoo smiles back, looking over to you briefly.

Chaewon seems to have the same thought as you,

"You know each other?" she asks, her hips secured in place by yoongi´s hand wrapped around it protectively, her finger pointing between the two.

He hasn´t said a word, not out of line for him.

"You kidding? ´Course we do" Jungkook answers,

"News to me too" you say, shrugging while making eye contact with Hoseok.

He´s slick with the way his eyes find yours, having lingered on the curve of your hips mere moments prior,

interesting.

He nods his head over to the beautiful house,

The exterior is a plain white brick, decorated by the prettiest flower bushes around it, a real beach house by being a couple minutes away from said beach.

"Let´s go inside, I wanna see my room" Hoseok chuckles, everyone following behind as Chaewon begins walking.

Quickly you learned the room in the second floor of the house, on the very right side behind the staircase was yours to share with Jungkook, as previously established

A beautiful, rather spacious room holding cream colored walls, a small balcony, soft looking pillows and sheets,

Jungkook and you have lived together for so long,

shared everything,

A toilet, a shower, kitchenware, paper, pen, hairbrush, skincare, toiletries, hell even clothes and of course the trusty couch.

But never a bed.

"So, is there like uh, a extra matteres or sum´?" he asks, cautiously eyeing the king sized bed placed center of the room.

Spacious, very comfortable looking,

However, it is the only thing in the room,

no chair, no couch, just that bed and cupboards.

Chaewon sucks a breath, her head sticking intoo the room by the doorframe that borh you and Jungkook are standing motionlessly in.

"uhh sorry guys, totally forgot to uhm, mention that. Yeah sorry there´s only this"

The glare you shoot her is similar to a weapon,

if looks could kill, she´d be dead.

The suspicion you had lingering is only confirmed when she winks at you, patting Jungkook´s shoulder on her way out the door.

"You´ll manage" she says.

Great.

Amazing even, being forced to sleep next to the guy you have to physically stop yourself from drooling over.

"Bunny, if you don´t wanna do that I´ll sleep on the floor, you can tell me" his pretty, round eyes look over to your face, hoping to see anything that indicates apprehensiveness.

He doesn´t find any signs, maybe your hands clamming slightly, or your face flushing a slight rose,

it´s just the heat, he tells himself.

"It´s alright kook the bed is big, as long as you don´t wanna cuddle at night" you giggle, the feeling of nervousness making it´s way through your body, rising from the very bottom to the top of your face, your voice adjusting accordingly.

Your hands work to conceal it, distracting yourself by unpacking the clothes you had brought into one of the shelves.

Truth be told, you want him to hold you in the night,

turn it into wandering as low as you´d let him,

"A shame, was looking to hold you tight" he snarks, his actions mirroring yours, crouching his upper body down as he reaches into the space beneath your clothes,

when your eyes turn, his face is a couple centimeters apart from your own,

his honey glazed skin beaming at you, the silver metal stuck in his plump bottom lip moving softly while grazed by his tongue,

You shake your head, for one to dismiss his stupid comment and for two, to shake away the need to kiss him,

His eyes light up,

"But, I sleep naked, you sure about no cuddles?" his question so obviously to make fun of your attraction to him, it pissed you off,

Even if it did get you a bit excited,

You hated how he knew how much you are affected by him,

hate it even more of you can´t tell if he finds it as hard to resist your stares, your body, your confidence and flirting,

or just doing all of this cat and mouse to pull a reaction out of you, to tease his best friend because it´s okay,

it´s made okay because he wouldn´t ever want more than that,

right?

"You literally don´t, what are you talking about?" your grin never leaves your face, matching the one evidently forming on his.

Now having turned all your focus on the older male so closely by your side,

His teeth bite into the side of his lip gracefully, as if to stop the smile from fully making an apperance,

wrong.

"From tonight on i certainly will sleep naked" he bursts into a small giggle shortly after, wrapping his hands around your shoulder as he speaks into your ear,

you can´t even form a thought at this very moment, pushing him off by his side you begin laughing yourself

"Oh yeah? I might too then" you chuckle, shaking your head once again,

He stops hastily moving around from giggling, looking at you with a small but suggestive smirk, his voice dropping a little lower,

He can´t help himself, the heat of the moment becoming too much to hold back his surpressed need for you,

While his hand is still on your body, he uses it to pull you closer by one shoulder,

"Perfect, i´d love that bunny" he says, locking a lustful, slightly playful gaze with your own, heavy one

The hitched breath flowing out of your lips is bringing chills to Jungkook´s body when he feels it grazing his skin,

"Woah your room´s crazy dude!" Hoseoks chirpy voice interrupts,

Only then he realizes what he almost did,

what he almost let himself risk,

so he lets go of you, standing up to talk to the nice intruder,

"I know right? Sucks there´s only one bed though"

Hoseok hums, "Wanna switch? I wouldn´t mind sharing a bed with her" he jokes,

Half jokes, if you agreed he would have taken you up on that offer.

Your eyes roll, feeling like a little prize to collect after being left alone on the floor,

being talked about as if you weren´t there too.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook´s eyes roll as well

"Absolutely not dude" he replies, forcing out a chuckle,

In no world would he allow any guy to sleep next to you,

especially not a guy that you just met,

that has been staring at your ass move when you jogged up the stairs,

Or smiling at you a little to often,

A falsely warm smile hiding his primal, hungry eyes

Not a fucking chance.

"Do I get a say in that too Kook?" you shout back to him, hearing the two pairs of footsteps leave into the hallway,

"Nope! It´s us or none bunny!" he shouts back, and you swear you can hear his smile in his voice.

You want that too, he knows it all too well.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

currently 02:15 am,

The wind is blowing peacefully outside,

dark summer night is being illuminated by the bright moon blessing the horizon, above the water you can see from the broad window,

Meanwhile inside the beach house, complete chaos is upon.

"YOOOONGIIIIIII"

Hoseok screams for the hundreth time while downing another shot, trying to manage the xbox controller with his other hand,

Yoongi however, is far from into the game, having set the controller down a while ago, involved in a deep make out session with your best friend sprawled out on his lap,

His friend too far gone to take notice of his absence.

Eunwoo is outside, smoking his 3rd cigarette of the night, next to him, Jungkook who does the same

Both of them wordlessly smoking with their backs turned to you.

You?

Sat on the kitchen counter after a long first day of swimming, drinking, lots of dancing and more drinking

When Kook puts out the cigarette, he walks back in, until he´s standing in front of you,

Between your slightly spread legs,

"How was the smoke sesh?" you ask, dangling your legs from the surface,

"Relieving, Got me thinking sum´while looking at the beach" he rest his fully tattooed arm next to your hip, his hand pressed against the counter surface,

"Oh oh, That can´t be good" you reply, amused by each and every one of his sudden revelations,

You´re always up for his shit

He rolls his eyes,

"You´ll love it trust me"

Peaking your interest even more, you raise an eyebrow at him,

Ignoring Hoseoks drunken slur to some sentimental karaoke song in the bacakground,

seemingly haven given up on Yoongi´s attention.

Also hearing Eunwoo walk into his room after having finished his cigarette.

"What is it then kook?"

"Let´s go skinny dipping" he says, a confident smile plastered proudly on his handsome face

The stars aligning for you and against you all at once never crossed your mind,

Seeing Jungkook naked has been your wet dream for what seems like months now,

But seeing him naked also means, having to literally see him naked,

like it´s casual,

"Wanna have me naked? Could have just asked" you snark back, lightly punching his chest with your fist,

"Is that a yes?" he shoots back, tilting his head slightly, the look on his face too priceless to deny,

how would you ever say no to those bambi eyes?

"Sure, let´s go then"

His hands work quicker than his mind when they reach out to grab your waist, pulling you down from the counter,

"It´s freezing already" you mutter out through clashing teeth, having arrived at the beach from just a short six minute walk down the house,

almost certain that not one of the four others have taken note of your sudden trip,

definitely not Chae, nor sleeping Eunwoo

"Come on bunny, don´t be lame" he says, his voice slightly lazy and lower than usual,

All while also sliding his shirt over his head quickly before reaching down to his belt,

Just in the very moment your mind seems to sober up to the fact that you´re gonna be naked in front of a equally as naked Jungkook

Seeing him shirtless is okay,

you´ve seen that countless of times,

his prominent abs, his full chest,

small waist paired with strong muscular arms,

It´s fine,

Fine until you make out the shape of his thick cock beneath his boxers, jeans long gone by the skilled hands of his,

Considering he takes them off quite a lot, you don´t find it surprising

He doesn´t take down the final piece,

The one he would be revealing himself bare to you,

"Bunny if you wanna watch me strip just say so"

Stunned, now recognizing that you are fully clothed,

if you can call it that, a short tube top and a mini skirt aren´t that much of a coverage either,

regardless, you make a fake laughing face at him, pulling your tube top above your head,

you can´t help but smile at the immediate stare he has, locked doe eyes on your baby pink bra, hugging your chest in the most flattering ways possible,

the way he looks down to watch your delicate hands slide two fingers into your skirt´s waistband, pulling the thin material down,

he nibbles at his lip when he spots your panties matching your bra, baby pink lace clad over your pussy,

You nervously look up to him again,

His eyes having made their way back up from your full thighs, over the curve of your hips and waist, until reaching your pretty face,

He´s so mad at himself for thinking this wouldn´t push him to his limit.

His eyes roaming over you isn´t exactly new to you either but this,

this feels different,

It feels like one of you might snap and abandon whatever you build in the first place.

"Underwear too?" you ask, hoping for him to say no,

while simentaneously hoping he says yes so you can finally see every detail of him,

can finally know what the cock looks like that you´ve been dreaming of,

been fingering yourself to,

"Loose the bra and we´re equal" he says, his voice is quiet, a little rough

Underneath the dim moonlight you can still make out every line of his body,

the waves providing a sound so peaceful it´s absurd how loud your heartbeat is in compairison,

The slight salty smell covering his familiar scent, crashing over your senses stronger than the roars that hit the shore

"Wanna help?" whatever possessed you to say that in this moment is something Jungkook will be forever grateful for,

He steps closer, reaching behind your back,

"Need me for everything these days"

you can feel his fingers unhook your bra without him having to struggle for a second,

while you want to spend this moment eternally solitude with him, isolated from morals and anxiety outside of it,

his experienced hands are a bitter reminder that you won´t be different,

you can´t allow yourself to fall.

"Thanks" you smile, proudly discarding the bra,

he looks down to your chest, of course he does,

The only thing he can focus on is how soft and plump your chest looks, how it moved so fucking seductively when you tossed the bra,

how he´d love to squeeze and lick at every centimeter, taking your stiff nipples into his mouth while never looking away from the moon glazed face of yours,

shining brighter than any star ever could,

the look of lust and amaze makes you feel confident,

feel good knowing he´s seen so many tits but still glimmers at yours,

Don´t let it get to you,

you think while running into the ocean,

he laughs, yelling "You´re insane" after you while also running into the cold waves,

His large arms capture you from the back, wrapping around your torso and pulling you close against his naked chest,

the wet skin of your back and strands of hair sticking to him,

sounds of joined laughter match the quietly comforting noises of the night,

"Ready?" he asks, but before you could answer, both of you are fully crashed into the water below, plunged into the ocean by him,

drowning out the rest of the world once more.

#jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #redcherrykook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook x y/n #bts jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts fanfic

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mncxbe · 7 months ago

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EYES DON'T LIE

𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡𝒂/𝒏: the new chapter hello?? i loved it so much. tbh i never know how to write fyodor but oof i just had to. anyway, hope you like it. cw: mild angst, fyodor being a softie, bsd spoilers

It's been weeks since you last saw those deep, violet eyes, weeks since Fyodor was taken, once again, to a far away place. was he back in Russia again? or maybe he was still in Japan, hiding in one of his safehouses, or maybe this time he was actually dead. he never told you anything before leaving, so you're left wondering and during those cold, sleepless nights that's all you have: your haunting thoughts.

despite your worry, you miss him dearly. you miss threading your fingers through his raven hair at night, listening to him talk about little nothings– his cold fingertips tracing patterns on your skin. "you know i love you, right?" you'd ask and he'd smile, ruffling your hair. "i know, myshka. and i do too" if he knows you love him, why does he always leave you behind like this?

worry consumes you, your mind firing images of his body laying in some makeshift grave at the side of the road, of Nikolai showing up at your doorstep, telling you that your lover wasn't coming back. you try your best to push these thoughts away, to lock them somewhere in an imaginary drawer in the back of your mind but they keep coming back. especially at night

fighting back tears, you roll over to the side and gaze out the window, searching for a distraction, but the painfully empty side of the bed next to you serves as a cruel reminder of your predicament. you turn to the other side, pulling your knees up to your chest and reaching for the pillow that served as his replacement during the past few weeks. the material feels soft against your skin as you bury your face in it and inhale deeply. there's only a faint trace of his scent left, but it's enough to bring back all the memories you have together, so you hug the pillow closer to your chest, holding onto it as if it's your lifeline and you cry and cry and cry.

you don't even realize that you fell asleep until the sound of your bedroom door sliding open wakes you from your slumber. you stir, propping yourself up on your elbow as your eyes flutter open. it's hard to see anything through the darkness of the room, but you manage to make out the contour of a person at your doorstep. "um... hello?" you ask warily, shifting closer to the edge of the mattress. but all your worries slip away when you recognize the voice of the man before you.

"that's an awful reaction to waking up to a man inside your room, myshka" the person muses, stepping into the sliver of light that seeped inside the bedroom through the window. despite your hazy vision, you can make out some of the man's features– the thin line of his lips, the arch of his brow and those piercing violet eyes you'd recognize in a thousand lives. Fyodor, he's back.

"fedya..." you say weakly, too stunned by his sudden appearance to muster up anything else. for a moment, it occured to you that you were dreaming, but the pressure in your skull and the stinging feeling in the back of your throat serve as proof that you're wide awake. you watch him slowly making his way towards the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sits next to you.

with a deft hand, Fyodor brushes the stray strands of hair from your face, tucking them behind your ear. "i missed you, my love" he smiles and you know the voice belongs to him but you have the feeling something changed.

his touch feels strange, foreign, his fingers are more calloused and he seems... taller? the clothes he's wearing are different too but they somehow fit him perfectly. a cold shiver runs down your spin and you feign away from his touch, clutching the duvet.

a twinge of pain flashes across Fyodor's features at your reaction. of course, you didn't know yet. he never confided in you about his ability. still, he hoped that you'd simply be happy to see him. "myshka..." he sighs, reaching for your hand and giving it a light, reassuring squeeze "it's me"

you're left dumbfounded by his words. how can it be him? that's not his body, not his scent, not his touch. "but... how?" you ask in that same strained voice and Fyodor's heart sinks. you're hurting, he can tell, you need time to adjust to this new discovery but he wasn't going to give that to you. he's been away for far too long and he was too selfish of a man to deny himself your comfort.

"my dear, i want you to trust me. i'll tell you everything tomorrow, but let's just rest tonight" he reassures you, discarding his black cloak on the floor before joining you in bed, his arms wrapping around your waist. you try to scoot away from his foreign embrace but he doesn't let you, shushing you with a chaste kiss to your temple. "don't run away from me. we've been apart for too long" he pleads and you comply, despite the nagging feeling of uncertainty.

your drowsiness is long gone now and you simply lay in his arms, trying to understand what's going on. your heart is telling you that this is Fyodor, but your rational mind has a hard time piecing together the puzzle. this body doesn't belong to him– he feels different, but it's somehow still him.

he's always warned you that you'll go through some weird things if you date him, but this certainly isn't something you expected. still, you're too worn out by countless sleepless nights and worries to think about this now, so you close your eyes, relaxing your body and mind.

as time passes, you ease into his embrace, finding solace in his closeness. in the dark of the night, you are once again listening to his velvety voice. he whispers apologies and i love you s, his hands carefully caressing your body and you're more and more convinced that it's truly him. if you think about it, though justified, your initial aversion was silly.

so what if he has a different body? it's still your Fyodor. you trust that he'll tell you everything tomorrow and you'll finally be able to put those agonizing weeks behind and go back to your life together. alas, hope. good days are about to come.

#ok but i don't believe bro didn't suffer any proportion changes when he took over bram's body #i bet he's a few inches taller now #bungo stray dogs fyodor #fyodor bsd #bsd x reader #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs fluff #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bsd fyodor #fyodor x reader #bsd fluff #fyodor fluff

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usedpidemo · 8 months ago

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Stargazing (Twice Mina)

With the way things are going, Mina’s begging for trouble. And not the usual slap of the wrist kind that celebrities get away with—the kind that’s scandalous, career damning.

She’s so close to falling apart.

And as you watch her come undone—the very image that defines her gradually disappears—you can’t help but think: she deserves this.

—————

If there’s any clear-cut takeaway, it’s this: Mina is designed to be gorgeous, and she plays the part to near perfection.

That’s the whole point. Here’s a sea of media outlets and paparazzi, accompanied by flashing cameras and screaming fans on one side. On the other, stars and figures from different fields, all dressed to the nines and emanate a distinguishable aura. The ‘I’m better than you’ kind. No amount of modest smiles and perfectly curated PR-fluff can disguise the noxious air of celebrity on the red carpet.

Then you look at Mina, wearing the hell out of that backless dress, designed by none other than yours truly (you). You couldn’t have asked for a better muse. She carries herself and your brand around with a confident smile—with pride—seemingly indifferent to the raucous screams telling her to look this way, that way. Wherever her profile turns, cameras illuminate the crowd in near-perfect unison.

It’s a slow motion fashion moment.

As if she couldn't look any prettier, she brushes her hair with a quick, delicate swipe of her hand with queenly grace. The cameras live for moments like these. It’s what goes viral online; it’s what gets social media buzzing. She’s a K-pop idol, the media will say and it’s true, but she doesn’t look out of place with the so-called elite. If anything, she blends in seamlessly, rich, quiet, and enigmatic personality and all.

Cameras continue to follow her as she walks through the carpet. She greets a few other celebrities in the vicinity; mostly Hollywood actresses and artists before she disappears behind the steps of the building. Throughout the entire ordeal, you were never on her mind, not even during interviews, nor when she was in clear view, even though you made her what she is now. All she can think about is herself and her character. That’s how fame works.

You don’t even get a text. Your only reference is a note that reads 23:00.

—————

The next time you see Mina is hours later, at the promised time. One slender leg enters the backseat of the vehicle. She remains mostly untouched, leaving the gala looking the same as when she entered. She’s considerate enough to wave and give a flying kiss to the crowd, who unsurprisingly, go crazy for her. It’s a convincing act. You would, too, if you weren’t always by her side for ninety percent of the day.

She breathes out this deeply relieved sigh once the door slams shut. She’s tired—of being someone else, and just exhausted in general; she’s been in front of a mirror since five in the morning and it’s almost midnight by the time the event ends. You can tell she’d rather be in her hotel suite than anywhere else.

So you drive. No words. Just hit the road and get out of there.

Even late into the night, Paris is still bustling and lively. You don’t make it past three streets before being met by traffic ahead. It’s an agonizing crawl. The satnav says you’ll arrive at your hotel by 2:00 in the morning. Mina probably won’t make it by midnight, at this point because she’s on the verge of falling unconscious, resting her head on the door. Her heels are set on the opposite end, with her lower half resting along the edges of the backseat into a couch position.

Even when she’s asleep, she’s still gorgeous.

“Miss?” you gently call to her, snapping her from her tired daze. She gives you a mild stare through the rear-view mirror, unable to speak.

“We’re gonna be held up by traffic. You want something to eat?” you ask, knowing she likely won’t take anything more than a handful of fries or half a burger.

“Sure. Whatever.” Mina sounds cold, a little annoyed somewhat. The past day has been unkind to her health; she arrived at the airport yesterday after a different schedule and barely had less than five hours of rest before dedicating the entire day for a gala she had contractual obligations to attend. She couldn’t say no even if she wanted; she’s got her whole schedule curated and planned out for months.

You have more time to get her dresses planned out and prepared out than she has to breathe.

And time is unkind to both of you right now. Traffic trogs along at a snail’s pace. The arrival time on the satnav moves further and further away. Sunrise will meet you above a red light at this rate. How anyone gets around in this city considering the number of events that are happening all at once is beyond you. You only drive through Paris a handful of times a year, all for the same reason, and you abhor the idea—let alone the experience—every single time.

It’s difficult enough to wait, especially in this late of hours, when money and careers are on the line. Even more challenging is keeping a cool head and withholding yourself from using your instincts against the trusted systems of the algorithm. Mina will call you many things. She’ll call you insane. You don’t mind; it’ll be on the lower end of insults and comments you’ve heard from the so-called ‘elite.’

At the end of the day, you’re just simply following orders.

You swerve off the main road, into narrow alleys and streets that aren’t registered on any official map. Anywhere that can give you a sense of progress and hold momentum. You drive. You make liberal use of your klaxon against anything and anyone. You go around in circles, sometimes looking at the satnav if it’s kind enough to give you a shorter, quicker path. In your haste, you completely overlook the star, the celebrity you’re meant to protect and coddle like fine art, and cracks begin to form.

“Shit!” Mina fastens the seatbelt, in distress and wide awake from your uncharacteristically aggressive driving. She lifts her head. Pierces your gaze through the rearview mirror with a mixture of panic, concern, and frustration. All that hours spent in the makeup room to look perfect, down to the smallest of details, coming undone within a few minutes.

She seemed rather proud of her appearance, too.

Of course, her demands bounce off your ears—or ring through like white noise. You only know your task. Get her safe.

Even though it’s your very idea, you forget about the thought of eating, too. You’ve passed by a couple of McDonalds along the way, but are blinded by tunnel vision to recognize a single one. It’s not a big loss; she’s as tired of eating fast food as much as you are. It isn’t good for her image right now, either.

Eventually, you do make it back to her hotel. A little over midnight, but still not as early as you wanted to be. You look at the status of your passenger princess. She’s about as coddled as a five year old playing with her doll. A mess.

When you open up the door for her to step out, it’s a dramatic moment that gathers everyone’s attention and fixes every eye. It’s loud.

It also so happens to be empty in the area.

The way she slaps you in the cheek echoes throughout the valet like the sharp crack of a whip, or the pop of a firework. Fucking hell, she hits hard. For a dainty woman like Mina, she’s surprisingly strong. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, cold and bitter.

You find no mistake in what you did. In fact, you believe you’re doing her a service. Tomorrow, she’ll be at the airport and out of the country faster than when she came in. She doesn’t have to think about you for the foreseeable future. You only see a moody, ill-tempered celebrity frustrated that circumstances haven’t gone her way. Chalk it up to fatigue, but you can’t be arsed to explain yourself or react accordingly at this point.

She’s also pretty when she’s angry, you can’t help but think. Not the pouty, cute, wholesome kind—the ‘I’m gonna rip your throat’ out kind of ire. Sometimes you forget your job and admire just how gorgeous Mina is. You’re no different than the paparazzi or the average fan.

It makes her heated. You’re mentally smirking.

It would be a waste to fight over something as petty as reckless driving this late. No one got hurt; not a single traffic light or speed limit was violated. But her heart jumped a little bit when she expected the least. In her eyes, it’s a reasonable enough incident to show some attitude and assert her status over you.

But not tonight.

Instead, you take her by the wrist and lead her to the alley beside the hotel, away from potential cameras and prying eyes. She yelps, but you slip a hand around her mouth so she remains quiet. Mina is too tired to show some resistance.

“Listen here, Miss Myoui,” you tell her, pointing your finger directly at her. “I did everything right to make sure you have a fine, comfortable experience in Paris. Did your dress, drove you around, everything. What I did was save you a few hours of sleeping in the car. I never asked for anything from you, so don’t come acting like an ungrateful brat.”

“Fuck you.” Mina raises her palm, readying another thunderous, face cracking slap as a threat. “I could have done all that instead if I wanted to.”

“Need I remind you who made the dress that you’re wearing?”

She freezes, unable to find some form of retaliation or rebuttal.

“Thought so.”

“Well what am I supposed to do, then? Get on my knees and worship you as my lord and savior?” she asks.

Suddenly, something clicks inside your head. An idea.

“That—” you pause, mentally noting the entire sequence in a flash, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

“I’m not doing it.” Mina rolls her eyes, turning her gaze away and crossing her arms. Somehow, she’s managed to recognize your intent so quickly. What isn’t surprising is her natural cleverness and intelligence. “Not tonight. Not after what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s what you believe, asshole.” She shakes her head. “Just—let me go.”

“Would be such a shame if a rumor spread around then that you were spotted in the bathrooms with one of the billionaires,” you say, blunt in your threat. “Wouldn’t you hate that? I hear there was a tabloid photo of you spotted with one of the presidential candidates too—”

“You lie.” Mina’s eyes glare at you. You don’t flinch.

She’s not wrong. You’re only telling a half-truth. It’s true that there were billionaires who attended. It would be a strange event if there weren’t any present, in Paris of all places. The report of a presidential candidate showing up is legitimate as well, but that’s as much as you know as the general public. What goes on inside, you have no knowledge of.

“And what happened there was nothing at all,” she adds. “So quit trying to blackmail me and just let me fucking rest.”

“Then explain this to me.” You point at the dress she’s wearing—your dress—and find different sized patches where they shouldn’t belong. They’re not by design; they’re clearly the result of some kind of external tampering or meddling. Around where her legs should be. Near her tummy. The gala is an indoor event, yet it looks as if she had been soaked in some capacity.

Something’s quite off.

“So?” Mina defends herself, unwilling to concede. “Got spilled by drinks, and you don’t really care if it gets ruined.”

While it’s true you usually don’t mind your dresses getting ruined, it comes at a price. “I’m not mad. And yes, I don’t care if you do fuck all with that dress. Hell, that candidate is very lucky he got to clap that—”

“Shut up!”

By instinct, Mina slaps you again.

You chuckle. The sore redness of your cheek isn’t going to silence you.

As she tries to walk away, you grab her by the wrist again. Pull her close to your chest. She trembles, but can’t do anything to stop or shake you loose.

“So you admit? You got fucked by that candidate?”

“No!” Mina remains adamant in her tone. She twists your grip to free herself. “Just—fucking stop already!”

“Only if you blow me. Just a quickie.”

“What? Why?”

“As remittance for the ruined dress, of course. Remember? Ruined dress, ruined cunt.” You can’t help but grin as you remind her of the terms of your agreement. It’s not written in the contract, but a mutual trust shared between you and your muses.

Mina sighs. A deal is a deal, even if it’s not signed on the dotted line. And she has the experience to show for it. Ultimately, she reluctantly agrees, sounding defeated in her response. “Fine. But after this, we’re fucking done.”

“I’m in a bit of a good mood today, so I don’t want your pussy,” you tell the disgruntled Mina, unbuckling your belt then unzipping your pants. “Not gonna lie, the thought of some future president fucking that cunt of yours makes me sick. Get on your knees.”

God, it feels wrong, but you’re enjoying every little moment of this, down to the finer details. The look of dissatisfaction on Mina’s face. The fact you can get her flustered with your teasing. The fact she’s obediently on her knees as you whip out your hard cock directly in front of her. She can tell you as many lies as she wants, but they have no firm ground to stand on. She’s not some stuck-up star unlike many others in that gala, but even she needs to be humbled once in a while.

“His dick is better than yours, anyway. I won’t miss this pathetic piece of shit,” she tells you, gripping to the hem of your dress, dodging every attempt to slip your shaft between her lips.

All the more reason to plunge it deep in her throat.

“Is it? This piece of shit you love to ride on?” You grab your cock and pursue her evasive mouth. You have a hand planted on her scalp, holding her still, as she begrudgingly accepts your length between her lips slowly, in a losing effort to fight back. She gulps her throat, watching as her cheeks hollow, as drool begins to coat your sensitive shaft, until eventually, her seal is vacuum-tight and tension builds up in your groin. “This cock you want to use—fuck—”

Words fail you as you become reacquainted with the warmth of Mina’s mouth. She bobs her head back and forth, slipping a hand around the base of your shaft to stroke. Your cock is poking the back of her throat, your senses relaxing at the pleasure coursing through your body. You feel yourself slipping away—at the cold, at the heat of her sweltering lips, at the layer of saliva that fills every inch of your length. It’s all too much.

This is Mina’s least favorite position. She’d rather have you beneath her most of the time, relentlessly bouncing on your cock till you’re completely drained; it’s how most encounters with her go to the point you simply give up and expect yourself on the mattress as soon as you enter her room. None of that matters now, not when she needs your very shaft to fill her thirsty, dry mouth, as a palette cleanse from the boring gala and because she needs you as much as she utterly hates you.

She doesn’t like the thought of you above her. Her eyes can’t be bothered to look up. It’s a strange dynamic; she’s the celebrity, she’s supposed to have control, not you. Your hand tugs on her black hair, begging her for more, and it reinforces the idea. You love this. Mina, the quiet, cold personality that everyone wants to be like, is zealously sucking you off and you’re helpless to how incredible she is. The suction of her throat. The drag of her tongue on your head, then on the sides. The passionate hum of satisfaction. You recognize the smug grin etched on the corner her lips while she doesn’t bother to look back, knowing full well she can take you any way she wants and you’ll fucking love it. She’s so aggressive, yet perfectly paced.

And she moves like she can read your mind—cum and saliva dripping from the corners, her tongue running laps around your balls, her mouth devouring you entirely with each entrance. Small, whiny sounds that resemble a choke—they’re nothing compared to the echoey moans you can’t help but make. You’re gasping for air as if she’s punctured a hole in your lungs—and to an extent, she has. Your body instinctively has to remind itself they’re leaning on air, because she’s making your spine contort in ways they shouldn't be twisting.

Mina is quite used to this. The notion of having to suck a cock. Not just yours, but fans, higher-ups in suits, all kinds. She’ll tell you yours is the best one, and you’ll believe her. You can tell by personal experience. You shouldn’t let control slip, especially now, when such power is rarely vested on you, but you can’t help yourself. There’s some urgency in handling her, but it might be a little too late. Especially when—

“Mina,” you pant, and you sound so desperate. “So close, Mina. I’m so close. I’m gonna—”

She continues to create friction, and eventually fire. Her hands wring around your balls and your base, tightening the coil of pressure in your stomach and in your veins. Spiraling further and further out of control, you can feel your legs crumble in a last ditch attempt to hold on. With your remaining resolve, you cling to whatever semblance of clarity you can find.

And she plunges her lips further into your length. Her tongue descends lower, to the underside of your balls. None of that disdain and hate from moments ago can be found, only zeal and passion. It’s not graceful in the slightest; it goes against everything her image represents, yet she’s so damn good at it, you can’t stomach the thought of her doing something this filthy, this obscene. The very idea breaks reality. Yet here she is, on her knees, a mouth filled by cock, encouraging you to cum without uttering a single word.

So you oblige her.

You don’t give her the decency of asking. You just pour it all over her with reckless abandon. Yanking her by the scalp, swiftly pulling yourself away in the heat of climax, blasting thick warm seed all over her pristine features, using her visage as a canvas for all your repressed thoughts. Mina welcomes every drop, sticks her tongue out with an inviting stare, unfazed by all that hot load you’re shooting directly at her. Her professionalism is practically hardwired, second nature to allow herself to be used this freely. It’s more than personal satisfaction; it also pays the bills.

It’s a win-win.

“Happy?” she asks, propping herself back on her feet, using the top of the dress to clean herself. Not a waste when it’s sole purpose is to be one and done.

The mess around your groin—residue sticking on your pants—answers her question. You can only nod in agreement as you clumsily and slowly gather your bearings. She shakes her head, amused at your predicament, but proud of her work.

Mina acts nonchalant, walks back to the hotel while you still work through your trousers, as if nothing ever happened. As if you weren’t moaning in public about how airtight her lips are around your cock. You hurriedly follow her, only to be met with a surprise waiting just past the entrance doors.

“I hope Paris has been kind to you so far, Miss Minari, because we certainly won’t be.”

Three comically mischievous men of similar stature and appearance, in nearly identical outfits (a simple shirt, coat, jeans and beret combination, how inspired) with the most cartoonishly evil looks on their faces. They could be anyone on the street. You can immediately tell they’ve been waiting for some time.

“Who are you?” you ask, stepping in front of your client. Mina looks nervous, quietly analyzing the three suspicious characters.

“Doesn’t matter who we are, even if we tell you,” replies the middle man, matter-of-factly. “We have no intention of hurting you.”

“If that’s the case, then please step aside. Miss Mina won’t be taking any requests and she’s very tired, sorry.”

“I don’t think so, buddy.”

“What?”

“We heard everything. You lucky bastard,” says the man on the left. “I don’t think Mina seems to be tired at all. In fact, I believe she wants more of it!”

All eyes turn to the person of interest, who seems to be in denial. Mina, this cold, calculated star, appears to have a harsh, sudden reaction. Offended by the comment, she angrily retorts, “No? What the hell are you saying?”

“Yeah, you heard the guy.” The third man steps forward, the other two close behind slowly approaching her. “It’s all over you. Don’t try to deny it. You enjoyed getting blasted all over that pretty face of yours!”

The three men nod in unison. You don’t have a firearm or any weapon on hand, but you’re willing to fight all three guys, even if you meet a terrible end. That’s the likeliest outcome. Lady luck seems to have disappeared on your side, but it’s part of the job, after all.

“Relax, girl. Again, we don’t wish to hurt you or your bodyguard.” The first man, the guy assuming leadership reiterates. It’s as civil and diplomatic as it sounds, but the looming threat remains prevalent. And it doesn’t do them any favors when they creep up towards both of you like wolves. “We just want what he has.”

“And what is it?” Mina frowns, hiding herself behind you, peeking over the shoulder, trembling.

“Oh, you know what we want, Miss Minari. Give it to us and then we’ll leave you alone.”

Where’s the security in this hotel, you wonder? The ground floor is dead empty of guests, which is to be expected, there’s hardly anyone at the front desk, and there are zero guards at the valet that normally wait for the next car to pull up. It’s midnight, what did you expect?

“Can’t I give you guys some money instead?” she pleads, desperate. She’s no longer hiding herself, but standing side by side with you. Shaking. Nervous. “Name your price and I’ll pay it.”

“I don’t think that will work, miss.” The three men remain adamant. They have you trapped against the corner of the entrance door. Neither of you can hardly move, let alone run. “We’re in Paris. We can easily rob anyone for our keep.”

Judging by the rather expensive watches and sneakers they all sport, they seem to have a point.

“But please, we just want one. One round with the finest Japanese idol in the business. That’s it,” the first man adds, his cohorts nodding in agreement.

Mina turns to you, calling your attention. “Hey.” You’re on high alert, waiting for the moment for hell to break loose. She merely stares. Nothing comes out of her mouth, just an expressive, seemingly strange gaze that doesn’t register anything in your head, nor does it open up any sort of interpretation. And for a while, you don’t understand what’s happening or what’s her intent. The three guys seemingly wait, shrugging whenever you eye any one of them. There’s no rush; time seems to stop at that particular moment. You know their demand; you have ears. You just don’t know if Mina is actually serious about caving to the pressure.

—————

(And fucking hell, you’re so—so—screwed.)

You don’t know if Mina will recover after this. Specifically, her career.

Clothes scatter everywhere in the room, with no regard for cleanliness or the host’s decency. Mina is set in the middle of the mattress as its centerpiece. The star of the show. Her dress is bundled around her waist, baring her chest and legs, while every man is completely in the nude. She’s spread on her fours, with the two subordinates lined up parallel in front of her, the third right behind her. You plan to join after, when everyone’s seemingly tired, when you can have her all to yourself.

At least, that’s what you think will happen. You know she’s going to get used all night long. Mina’s bracing for impact, hoping she can walk out in one piece after this.

You’re holding your phone, ready to record every little thing that happens. It’s not by their request, but your own personal desire. You love seeing it—the notion of Mina getting her comeuppance. The two men in front of her waste no time, stroking themselves hard and slapping their cocks right into Mina’s face, spilling flecks of precum on her. You notice the giddiness in their expressions as they incline the idol’s chin up, nothing but unbridled lust on their faces. The only thing missing is hurling her around and ragdolling her.

“Such a pretty face deserves all this cum,” says the second guy. He’s on the pudgier side, evidently not meant to be in the same atmosphere, let alone the same bed as Mina. “I’ll have you know you were my bias, and you have the most numbers on my counter.”

Utterly shameless.

Meanwhile, the first guy, his colorful body filled with numerous tattoos, slaps Mina’s cheek hard. It ripples throughout her lithe figure, rattles the bed a little. She keens. He takes a moment to look at the hand that committed the sinful act. He’s shaking, in disbelief. He did that. It’s a moment in time, a monumental occasion. Anyone else in his position would be shouting in the streets, celebrating too.

You would.

The third guy, this aged man who’s evidently in his mid-to-late forties and probably shouldn’t be consuming K-pop, continues to stroke himself to Mina’s face. Too bad her mouth can only fit one cock at a time. Her hand grabs his shaft and he grips her hair instead as she pumps him at a delicate pace. Their collective moans fill the room as each person assumes a position around Mina’s sensitive holes, filling them hastily. No technique, no patience whatsoever.

It’s pornographic for all the wrong reasons. How it all came to be. The setup. The characters. The very scene itself. Down to the shitty camera recording. Not befitting of an idol such as Mina. It’s got its own charm, but for the most part, it's as disgusting as you imagined. You can’t believe she’d agree to this. At the same time, you can’t look away. It’s a car crash that you know is gonna happen, yet all you can do is watch helplessly—and stroke yourself hard to.

All three men have different rhythms in which they fuck Mina. Tattoos slowly pounding at her dripping cunt, accompanying each deep thrust with a loud smack of her ass. His one hand grabbing at the hem of whatever’s left of her dress, itching to rip it off. Mina’s moan is suppressed by Pudge’s cock protruding through her throat. A fistful of hair in his grip, the other on her flushed, reddened cheek. Expecting her to take his relentless rhythm, only for her gag with each pump into her airtight lips. As if he doesn’t know how giving head works. The oldest man loosens up, lets his body hang as Mina strokes his cock with her ironclad fingers, letting flecks of cum spread over her neck and her shoulders, content with letting her handle him how she wants.

In a way, it’s admirable seeing Mina like this. Three cocks and all, her commitment to fanservice and satisfaction is any fan’s dream for their idol. You’ve seen it firsthand before, how she attends to each fan one by one, but to handle multiple without a single complaint is quite the accomplishment. She’s gonna take it, and she’s going to love it.

And in fact, she does. You’ve never seen her this dedicated and into pleasuring anyone. How she uses her other hand to seize Pudge’s cock, spitting and licking the head, setting him ablaze. Even as the man with the tattoos begins to wreck into her sopping cunt, foregoing leisure for speed—as her whines echo throughout the room—she maintains her composure the best she can. Even begging him to go harder, which he obliges. The bed’s quaking, seemingly closer to collapse, as the man screams to the ceiling, “Fucking tight—so close—cumming—aah—”

All three men are clinging to Mina in some capacity. On her waist, using her hair, or her shoulders—as they all appear close to their climaxes. Their collective groans of pleasure make this evident noise that warrants numerous calls of disturbance or concern. Imagine the commotion when the staff called in to investigate eventually finds out. The notion spurs Mina as she leans further into it—looks right into the camera as she licks up Pudge’s underside. As if demanding you to take the best shot of her while doing it.

It’s scandalous—the way Mina uses her expressions to make herself look good even under duress. How she winks, sticks her tongue, twists her face into lewder and lewder reactions while the three men who seemingly have power over her, now fold under her control. If only you could step in and be a part of the show, but you can’t.

And she looks even better with cum all over her.

The three guys moan in unison for dramatic effect. As if it was part of the intended shot. One after the other, each man reaches their own orgasm and blasts their hot load onto some part of Mina’s body. None of them seem to find their way into what they initially wanted, which is her holes. Mostly—tattoos man is partly into a deep thrust when he meets his abrupt end, only filling part of her cunt with his seed before deciding to pull out and throbs onto her back, her legs instead. Pudge gets most of her face, which she happily accepts. But even with her mouth wide open, he can hardly land his cum onto her sweet lips. As for the old man, he was never a factor to begin with. He had spilled his cum on the side, on the shoulder, on some hair, on her fingers. He was done before the others even finished.

What an unexpected sight.

You stand from the couch you’ve been sitting on, close in on the aftermath of their orgasms, watching as they stand lifeless around the centerpiece that is Mina, running her fingers over all the cum spilled on her body. This is child’s play to her, yet the most surprising thing is: she wasn’t expecting any of the three guys to finish this soon, let alone all three of them. She has this unsatisfied look in her eyes observing her conduits, the supposed ‘threats,’ as if they didn’t live up to her expectation.

“Did I look good?” she asks you, tilting up, resting her head on her palm.

You show her the phone, speed past the raw footage. She watches like she’s the director—which she kind of is.

“Mm—not good enough,” she adds, grabbing the phone and grabbing a tripod from the bedside drawer. “Set it up over there and do it again. They’re not leaving this until they get it right. And you’re gonna show them the way.”

Looking at their tired, exasperated faces, they’d rather be anywhere but here.

As for Mina, she’s the most energetic you’ve seen her in a while, eager for more—and you’re gonna have to make some phone calls explaining why she isn’t at the airport by morning.

—————

(A/N: woo missed another deadline/date but happy birthday Mina! By request/commission, so thank you for waiting and I hope it was to your liking. I do agree we need more subby Mina but in the end she owns all of us let's be real XD Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #twice #mina

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imagine-darksiders · 13 days ago

Text

Bowser x Reader drabble.

Set in the same universe as The Lovelorn King.

A few mentions of blood and injury. Self-image issues. Bowser is touch-starved. Reader has been Bowser's prisoner for a while. You show Bowser the barest thread of compassion and he becomes even more attached to you. Whoops.

-----------------------------------------------------

“What in the world happened to you?”

All the self-discipline in the world couldn’t have kept Bowser from nearly leaping right out of his scales at the sound of an unexpected voice breaching the hushed, placid peace of his castle’s library.

Overwrought muscles bunch and flex as the King heaves his sizeable bulk around and away from the doors he’d just skulked through, crimson eyes flashing open wide and darting to each shadowy corner in search of the voice’s owner.

This is the second time tonight that he’s been caught off guard.

He knows who this voice belongs to, of course. In fact, he knows it quite well. It’s been floating dreamily through his mind like a pleasant nepenthe for some time now. He just… hadn’t expected that you’d still be awake at this repugnant hour, let alone in the one room he thought he could sneak through without being spotted by anyone on the way to his royal chambers.

And yet here you are.

His wild-eyed gaze finds you easily, poised in the seat of an enormous armchair by the freshly-lit hearth with an open book resting daintily in your lap.

The moment he spots you, Bowser takes a clumsy step sideways, knocking his tail into a stack of books and sending them toppling to the floor in a flutter of dust and dog-eared pages. Righting himself, he barely remembers to whip a meaty hand up and slap it across the top of his head, tilting the palm so that his left horn is obscured from view.

“P-Princess!?” he blurts out, immediately wincing as his booming voice reverberates off the high, stone ceilings and echoes out through the library, loud enough to wake a Dry Bones.

Perhaps it says much that you only shut your eyes for a second as if pained by the volume before opening them again and blinking up at the King with an air of mild intrigue.

The embers crackling inside the hearth cast their orange warmth out into the nook, illuminating much of the nearby shelves that have been stacked to the rafters with some of Kamek’s spell books, Junior’s comics and an absolute avalanche of Bowser’s cherished romance novels.

Flickering flames chase shadows across your impassive features as you stare up at him, a lone eyebrow cocked like a weapon about to fire. “Bowser,” you greet him coolly in return, throwing a glance up at his conspicuous hand.

His stomach promptly drops, yet even still, even still, the King’s almighty heart soars on a swell of elation at the simple and unassuming fact that you’ve spoken to him....

He just wishes you hadn’t chosen this exact moment to break your vow of silence that you've been valiantly upholding for the better part of a week.

You’re not supposed to be here! Well, you are supposed to be here, in his Fortress – In fact, he’s taken a great many measures to ensure you have to stay here – but he certainly didn’t expect to find you in his library in the dead of night when you should be sound asleep in the chambers he gifted you. You definitely shouldn’t be awake and, worse still, looking at him.

Mind in a swirl, Bowser wonders if you’d already spotted what he’s hiding beneath his palm.

If he’d have just managed to avoid you until morning, he’d have found something inconspicuous to hide it… One of his top hats, perhaps. Or maybe he’d have combed his mane over in such a way as to hide the unsightly laceration that lances from a place beneath his hairline to the base of his horn, where it turns from an angry, red gouge to a dark, jagged crack, marring the inner curve of his once pristine and gleaming headgear.

He’d even polished them arduously earlier today, conscious to keep up his immaculate appearance whilst such a refined and comely lady stays in his Fortress.

Of course, he hadn’t at all expected that a rogue Treevil would be the one to catch him by surprise. A Treevil. That shuffling, twig-tossing lump of wood had the gall to launch an attack on Bowser when he was bending to wrench a fistful of flowers out of the soil, intent on presenting them to you as a gift in the morning.

The ‘twig’ it used as a club wasn’t so much a tiny piece of wood as it was a very unreasonably-sized log. It caught him squarely on the front of his skull, its hard, brittle edge landing a solid ‘thwack’ to his horn before he could even gather his wits to see what had hit him.

Of course, the Treevil now stands as little more than a smoking pile of charcoal in the centre of Dimble Wood, but it had left a blow in its own right, landed one straight down on the King’s pride as well as his body.

He’d hoped he could stay wholly undetected whilst he made his way back to his royal quarters, certain that a genius strategist like him could come up with some plan to conceal the embarrassing injury from all of his subjects, his guards, and yourself and Junior, first and foremost.

Well. So much for that plan.

“What- Uhh,” he flounders, desperate to direct your attention elsewhere, for a change, “What’re you still doin’ up?” It’s a legitimate concern. You should be in your bed where he left you, where it’s safe, and he knows where to find you. You must be exhausted to be up at this hour.

Unbeknownst to him, your mind is far more awake than he gives it credit for.

“I couldn’t sleep.” The half-lie falls so expertly off your tongue, the smitten King doesn’t have a chance of catching it.

You couldn’t sleep because you were busy making yet another escape attempt, using your time wisely by mapping out the fortress in the twilight hours when the koopa guards are at their drowsiest.

All for naught. Tonight, at least.

Ever since Bowser had ‘so graciously allowed’ you more freedom to roam around his domicile, there have been double the number of guards posted around every corner and in every doorway. This library in the West wing seems to be the only place they haven’t bothered to watch so heavily, perhaps because there are no windows or doors here that might lead to a potential exit.

After it became clear you wouldn’t be finding an escape route tonight, you sought a reprieve instead, bundling yourself away amongst the crowded bookshelves and dusty tomes to find some peace from the sleepy but vigilant guards.

Sod’s law then, that Bowser should turn up.

The King, for his part, has no idea what’s going through your mind nor that he’s done anything particularly wrong. Most of his attention has now shifted to the warm, creeping trickle of liquid he can feel break away from his scalp and ooze gently down past his eye, then on towards the curve of his cheek.

The soft thump of a book being closed wrenches him back into the moment.

Owlishly, he blinks down at you from the other side of the nook, private in his hopes that the firelight hasn’t yet reached him well enough to expose his secret.

You can’t see him like this; Marred. Flawed. He dreads to imagine what you’ll think if you spot his broken horn. You’ll probably think him weak. Unfit to take care of you.

So, when you rise gracefully to your slippered feet and lay the book down on the arm of your chair, he very nearly bolts for the other side of the library. But then the silken nightgown you’d conceded to wear after much, much protest on your part is pooling towards the ground and swishing around your ankles, each fold catching in the fire’s glow like the ripples of a curtain in the morning sun, and suddenly Bowser can’t think of escaping so much as he has to concentrate on not staring.

A padded footstep in his direction has him taking one long stride of his own in retreat, maintaining the distance you’d just tried to erase. Perhaps you recognise how… unusual it is for the King to be widening the gap because in the next second, you come to a temporary standstill, blinking up at the Koopa in surprise.

“Bowser,” you say, quiet but stern, gradually stitching your brows together into a hard line and taking another step in his direction, “You’re bleeding.”

He supposes it was too much to hope for...

The horror of being seen wars valiantly with his delight in seeing you, at having even an iota of your attention, even if it’s scornful or sad or… whatever this is.

So often, a melancholy will take you, and you’ll shut yourself away in your chambers, refusing to say a single word to him. Kamek was the one who had to tell him that you’d come around, if given enough time. You’d just been whisked away to an entirely new life without warning, after all. Far from home, far from the shores of your distant kingdom. Of course there’d be an adjustment period…

Slapping a toothy grin onto his snout, Bowser continues inching backwards whilst you glide towards him, picking up speed with every step, your eyes glued to the hand covering his blemish from sight.

“Bleedin’?” he echoes, shrugging one massive shoulder nonchalantly, “What’re you talkin’ about, I’m… I’m, uhhh…”

It isn’t often the King of all Koopas feels his courage falter. But right then, Bowser’s spiked shell hits the solid library doors, stopping him rather effectively in his tracks. Which leaves you with more than enough time to close in and come to a halt right in front of him, your head tilted all the way back to squint up at the underside of his chin.

Gulping down at steadying breath, Bowser finds himself entranced as one of your hands creeps up towards his raised arm. At once, the behemoth freezes, watching, waiting with his heart wedged in his throat to see what you’ll do next.

And in turn, you seem to hesitate as well, fingers poised just a few inches shy of making contact with his scales. There’s a contemplative frown deepening the lines on your face, as though you’re putting some serious thought into what you’re about to do.

By now, Bowser would wholly expect you to retract your arm and turn from him, skulking back out of the doors.

But instead, to his astonishment – and a Hell of a lot of your own – you knit your expression together resolutely and breach the gap between his arm and your fingertips.

The barest of pressures comes to rest upon the jutting bone of the King’s crooked elbow, hardly there at all.

So why does his body light up like a flare beneath your touch?

Synapses snap and pulse, nerve endings in his arm shoot signals up towards his brain and scurry back down to the elbow your fingers have alighted upon.

A touch… made willingly? And without any air of disgust or fear or ill-intent.

All the moisture dries up in Bowser’s mouth, leaving his tongue sitting thick and heavy as lead against the back of his fangs. His eyes are locked with rigid focus on your fingers, half hidden from view beyond the swell of his bicep.

He can’t even swallow, though he does feel the familiar bob of his gorge that calls for him to gulp.

‘What is she doing?’ is the first question that springs to his mind.

If it weren’t for the steady throb of pain in his skull, Bowser might be inclined to believe that he’s dreaming.

You’re initiating contact…

You’re initiating contact.

You’ve… never initiated contact before, no matter how many times Bowser has tried to encourage as much by nudging your hand with his or pushing his snout eagerly into your space, hoping for something tactile, a moment – just a glimpse – of something that he could mistake for returned affection. Just…

…Anything.

But this…?

This is definitely something.

Rendered speechless, Bowser doesn’t tear his eyes from the point of contact between your skin and his, half afraid that if he looks elsewhere, the moment will be gone, turning to nothing more than another sad, empty delusion he thinks of late at night.

Perhaps you’d disappear.

Perhaps you’re not even here at all, and this is simply a hallucination brought about by the knock that Treevil landed on his head.

“Bowser…”

But then, your voice is drifting up into his ears, soft and quiet and there. And the gentlest of pressures exerts itself on his elbow, pushing it down without force.

“Let me see…”

The King’s fingers instantly slacken their grasp on his mane, and despite his size, despite his indomitable strength and power and authority, he allows you to guide his arm down by the elbow, drawing his hand off the top of his head and exposing the dark, sticky trail of scarlet blood running over the plump of his cheek.

At last, his gaze moves to yours, and he watches, enraptured, whilst you give your tongue a chiding click, and your expression sheds whatever remaining steel it might have held were he not currently bleeding…

He waits...

For disgust, for the recoil, for the dip of your chin and squint of your eyes that signifies repulsion from his ugly new defect.... He waits for almost ten whole seconds - he knows because he counts each one in his head, just waiting to see how long it'll take before the inevitable blow.

“Hmm,” you murmur instead, no hint of a smirk haunting the edges of your mouth. Nothing more and nothing less is said.

Just... 'Hmm.'

Before he can respond, before he can even process your hum, you’ve withdrawn from the elbow of the arm that now flops uselessly at his side and stretch both hands up towards his head.

He’s taller than you. So much taller. Towering like a monolith over a tiny pebble.

And yet, with the breath caught inside his massive lungs, Bowser is helpless except to dip his enormous snout down to you as if riding on some old, unconscious instinct that tells him he should be the one deferring.

As it is, he’s barely stringing a coherent thought together, far too astonished and restless to see what you might do.

Is it still coming? Should he still be bracing himself? He could very easily shrug you off and prevent you from seeing any more than you already have but....

Gentle fingertips find him again, though the sensation of them is dulled this time; they’ve gingerly crested the very tips of his curved horns, wrapping around them and giving a small but effective tug.

When you use the same cautious leverage to tilt his head even further down, bringing his nose parallel with your stomach, Bowser’s tail promptly slumps flat to the carpet with a soft, heavy ‘thwump!’

‘Oh…’ flickers across his brain, and then, when nothing more eloquent comes to mind… ‘Stars.’

Mouth hanging slightly ajar, he lets his eyes travel up the length of your neck to settle on your face.

He hardly dares breathe lest even one tiny inhale proves to be a movement that frightens you away from doing… whatever it is you’re doing to him right now.

Your eyes don’t meet the King’s, though you’re aware that he’s staring. You suppose you can give him that.

“Huh,” you utter through pursed lips, following the trail of blood with your thumb up from his cheek towards his fiery hairline, stopping just short of touching the edge of a fresh, seeping laceration.

Bowser's scales grow noticeably hotter beneath your fingertips, so, quirking one side of your mouth into a wan smile, you finally drop your attention to his wide, bewildered eyes.

“Let me guess. I should see the other guy, right?” you tease, shrugging a shoulder.

Bowser merely stares at you for several seconds too many, until at last, he manages a slow, dopey blink and murmurs, “Huh?"

You’ve had too much experience with concealing your emotions to allow your lips any elasticity. Your smile does not soften at the stunned expression on Bowser’s scaly face.

That said, you can’t deny that he’d almost be endearing… if he wasn’t the very reason you’re trapped in this wretched fortress against your will.

But personal feelings aside, you can’t very well let him stumble around the castle all bloodied and bruised. He might have a concussion! Or God forbid he wakes Junior up, and the poor boy has to witness his own father with a crack in his horn and a cut on his scalp.

Fathers are supposed to be invincible.

Junior is still too young to learn that they’re not.

Heaving a great sigh that carries with it more weariness from the late hour than frustration with your ‘host,’ you let go of his horns and step back, smothering a laugh when he tilts forwards, righting himself with a hurriedly placed foot and a startled look on his face.

“Come on then,” you say, swivelling about on a heel and beckoning for him to follow you towards the library doors, “There’s a sink in your bathroom, I presume?”

Dumbstruck at the sudden turnaround, Bowser gives his head a shake, stepping dutifully into step behind you. “Uh… sink?” he parrots, reaching up with a claw-tipped finger to trace the path your thumb had left over his cheek, his touch rough yet reverent.

“To clean up that mess,” you explain, waving a hand over your shoulder in his vague direction, the first sniff of exasperation clouding your tone.

But Bowser hardly notices it. In fact, he hardly notices anything at all, save for the beguiling human leading him across the library towards the West entrance.

All he can think about, all he can do consider, is the way your hands had felt against his toughened scales, like a balm to whatever ire had been lingering after his run-in with the Treevil.

Tiny callouses on your fingertips rubbed lightly, not harshly. Careful, not cruel. You hadn't balked at his sullied appearance nor shuddered when you touched him. You hadn't even shown any pleasure at his misfortune, though somewhere deep down past the layers of wilful ignorance and optimism, a small part of Bowser knows you don't particularly like him.

In the library, the firelight flickers, forgotten.

The warmth it casts into the room pales in comparison to the roaring flame bursting to life inside the King's almighty chest.

#Uh oh #Now you've gone and done it #Bowser #Reader #whump #bowser x reader #super mario bros #Drabble #oneshot #Touch starved

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