#photoshoots can be tiring

[colossal-melody]

(Yuu had a photo concept idea, so they requested these two as the models)

A coloring and lighting study referenced from Yana Toboso's other illustration with Kuroshitsuji (I found the reference from an Instagram fan account)

[stormyoceans]

https://x.com/withmeowsea/status/1839527507898577366

SORRY FRIENDS I KNOW THAT IN THE PAST COUPLE OF DAYS Y'ALL HAVE BEEN SEEING ME YELLING ABOUT ANY NEW GLIMPSE OF THE ELLE PHOTOSHOOT WE GOT BUT IN MY DEFENSE. JUST LOOK AT THEM!!!!!!!!!!!

INVENTED LOOKS STYLE FASHION SWAG VIBES ENERGIES AND CUNT

also maybe it's just me but. they're giving popular prep girl (namtan), rebel loner (film), and shy jock (jimmy) competing with each other to win hot theater kid (sea) over but ultimately becoming all friends even as two couples form (jimmysea and namtanfilm of course) AND IM HERE FOR IT

MAYBE THE SCHOOL SETTING CAN HAVE SOME RIGHTS AFTER ALL

[sheliesshattered]

my 7 yards of silk-rayon burgundy velvet has been handwashed, dried, and properly hung up so it won't get creased before I get around to cutting out my pattern pieces

[floofymeow]

thinking about model au towa (and body guard madarame)

towa in a corset…. or in a line of lingerie….

sometimes like I think for his job he’d barely keep his health together otherwise people won’t want him

he is really skilled at pre-emptively covering any and all scars/blemishing with makeup —> but once Madarame enters the scene he forces him to do it for him as a sort of push and pull

Edit: adding a read more I didn’t think id yap for so long

towa has a set of fake eyes to put in depending on his shooting, prefers none

the only shoots he really enjoys are the ones where he gets to choose who he models for — they “model” towa as they see fitting which gets up to canon euphoria levels of intense

likes pornographic shoots the least, thinks they’re the most boring out of all of them.

begrudgingly maintains his health. like forces himself to eat meals and the only one he tolerates is Rei’s cooking. he tearfully purges the alcohol in his apartment, though he would at least retain cigarettes. thinking about a scenario where he’d be on an alcohol ban to improve his health for an upcoming shoot and madarame would be an ass and drink in front of him.

during bans towa gets really curt and easily bristled, taku would be his agent placating him and madarame would immediately resort to using pleasure as a way to shut him up.

a lot of chances that force madarame and towa into less violent sexual encounters bc they can’t royal screw up towa’s body before a gig/shoot.

madatowa’s down time together is madarame lounging reading books and towa sprawled in his arms reading model or art magazines. in a good mood they also explore new coffee shops and bars. sometimes they’ll force each other to go to literary or art meet ups, sometimes browse through museums.

id like to think rei and taku interact with madarame the way disgruntled disapproving parents who won’t intervene tolerate a clearly bad influence boyfriend that they can find no proof of being bad. taku and him would have very terse loaded tension convos, while madarame would either ignore rei or say things that get him arguing. but they’d still tolerate each other fine and maybe at some point get along… in the distant future.

madarame would also kinda be more relaxed / complacent since he’s put into a limiting position—outside of work hours, towa can rarely ever track him down and it’s always unknown what he’s up to. towa is playful in how he bosses madarame around as his bodyguard/ aide, trying to constantly test madarame’s limit.

[cloudsrust]

The more I look at Crowley's Bentley filled with plants the more I can't help but think of Dirty Car by Studio Killers-

[coralsgrimes]

Outtake of Benny Boy for A Book Of Magazine

he was yassified to maintain his anonymity in the industry on top of boy being the random unnamed british actor in them data deals ads 🧚🏻‍♀️

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Self-Aware!Sylus x Down-bad!Player

Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]

Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.

Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.

Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.

Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”

Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”

Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”

Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”

Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”

Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..

Self-Aware!Zayne

Self-Aware!Xavier

Self-Aware!Rafayel

[faebled-stories]

Home is Where I'm Enough

Poll winner: Praise Kink (Kinkvember Debut Fic)

IVE Jang Wonyoung x Male reader

The apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic tapping of keys and the soft hum of Y/N’s computer. He sat hunched over his desk, the screen’s gentle glow casting an ethereal light across his face as he polished the final touches of his latest graphic design project. He’d been in the zone for hours, the kind of intense flow only a passionate creator knows, dreading any interruption. But as the night grew late, fatigue crept in like an unwelcome guest, blurring the vibrant colors and shapes on his screen and drawing him into a hazy exhaustion.

Just as he stretched back in his chair, letting his arms rise above his head to shake off the dull ache in his shoulders, the front door creaked open. Though faint, the sound pulled his attention immediately, stirring a gentle flutter in his chest. He knew who it was: Wonyoung.

She stepped inside, her silhouette soft against the dim hallway light. Her usual radiance had dimmed, replaced by a look of deep exhaustion. Strands of hair framed her face, loosely tousled, hinting at the long hours she’d endured. Dressed in her favorite oversized sweater, slipping off one shoulder, and paired with comfy shorts, her cozy ensemble contrasted starkly with the glitz of her public persona. Tonight, she looked as if the weight of the world had finally settled on her delicate frame.

Her gaze drifted across the room, her steps heavy as she gravitated toward him, perhaps unconsciously drawn by the promise of comfort. When their eyes met, she offered a small, tired smile—a gesture that seemed automatic, though the usual warmth was replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted in a warm, low voice, breaking the quiet of the apartment with gentle concern. “Long day?”

Wonyoung let out a soft, tired breath, her smile persisting but not quite reaching her eyes. “Yeah… you wouldn’t believe how exhausting today was. Promotions, photoshoots, fan meetings… I don’t even know how I’m still standing.” Her words, though calm, carried an unmistakable weight, each syllable laced with unspoken exhaustion.

He rose from his desk, the scrape of the chair against the floor seeming louder in the stillness, closing the distance between them. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close, his embrace both protective and tender, inviting her to let go of whatever she’d been carrying. She melted against him, her body softening as she leaned fully into his warmth, the tension in her shoulders easing as if hoping to dissolve into him.

“You’ve been working so hard, princess. You deserve to rest,” he murmured, gliding a hand over her back in soothing circles, tracing gentle patterns over the soft fabric of her sweater. Each stroke was meant to ease her, to remind her that she didn’t need to be strong right now.

Wonyoung sighed, resting her head against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat become an anchor, grounding her. “I don’t even know if I can relax,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, carrying an edge of vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show. “Everyone always asks me for things, but no one ever asks me what I need. I feel like I’m always giving, and no one’s there to just… take care of me.”

Her words tugged at his heart, and he tightened his embrace, listening fully, letting her be exactly who she was. Tonight, she wasn’t Wonyoung the idol; she was just his girlfriend, stripped of the weight of expectations.

Brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, he murmured, “Tonight, I’m here to take care of you. You don’t need to worry about anything. How about we keep it quiet? I could make some dinner—whatever you’d like?”

She smiled softly but shook her head. “No, thank you… I’m not really hungry. Just too tired to eat, I think.”

He nodded, adjusting his suggestion. “Maybe a massage? Help you relax and ease those tired muscles?”

Wonyoung considered it, then sighed, her gaze drifting. “That sounds nice, but I don’t think I can even sit still long enough. I’d probably fall asleep halfway through.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over her shoulder in a light caress. “Fair enough. How about a movie, then? We could just put something on, snuggle up on the couch, and you can zone out as much as you need?”

A flicker of warmth crossed her face at the thought, but she shook her head again. “That sounds nice too, but I don’t think I’d even be able to focus. My mind’s just… elsewhere.”

He paused, sensing that none of his suggestions had quite hit the mark. Sliding a gentle hand to her cheek, he met her gaze, his voice tender. “Then tell me, Wonyoung. Whatever you need, just say it. I’m here.”

The world around them seemed to hold its breath, caught in the tender pause that enveloped the pair. Wonyoung, usually so composed and commanding, now appeared as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, her usual confidence momentarily abandoned. It was in this rare instance of uncertainty that she found the courage to voice her deepest desire.

"Oppa ," she began, her voice a whisper of its usual strength, carrying a hesitance that was seldom heard. "Can we just… be together? Just us."

His response was immediate and heartfelt. A gentle smile graced his lips, his heart warmed by the sincerity of her request. "Of course, Wony. We can just spend time together, no pressure, no work, just us."

The vulnerability in her eyes was palpable, yet it was accompanied by a spark of mischief that hinted at an unexpressed longing. As she stepped closer, her fingers traced an unsteady path along his arm, her touch betraying her nervousness. Oblivious to the full extent of her yearning, he leaned in to bestow a tender kiss upon her forehead, his words a soothing balm to her unspoken needs.

"Just us, no distractions, okay?" he affirmed, his voice a comforting promise.

Wonyoung's fingers anxiously toyed with the hem of his shirt, her courage wavering for but a moment before she mustered the resolve to voice the true nature of her request. With a shy smile that barely contained her anticipation, she looked up at him, her words laced with a boldness that belied her gentle demeanor.

"Oppaa... I-I meant... can we... have... sexy time?"

The surprise that registered on his face was genuine, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in the conversation. He had been prepared to offer her a sanctuary of relaxation and companionship, but this... this was an invitation to a different kind of connection, one that was both intimate and thrilling.

As the initial shock subsided, his gaze softened, and he saw her in an entirely new light. The playful glint in her eyes, the delicate blush that graced her cheeks—it all painted a picture of Wonyoung that was both endearing and alluring. She stood before him, her hands fidgeting with a mixture of nervousness and desire, her lips parted in quiet anticipation of his response.

Understanding dawned on him, and with it came a smile that reflected his deep affection for her. "Ah, Wony," he said with a gentle chuckle, his fingers brushing away a stray lock of her hair. "You want us to... I see, of course baby"

Her affirmation was shy but resolute, her voice barely above a whisper as she laid bare her innermost wishes. "I... I've been really stressed, and I just... I just want you. Just us."

A deep warmth rose within him as he gazed at the woman in his arms, a warmth that radiated through every fiber of his being. She was here with him, stripped of the expectations and perfection the world demanded of her, showing him the truest parts of herself. Her request, so simple yet so vulnerable, spoke volumes about the bond they shared, and he felt his heart swell with love and admiration. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled her closer, his hands finding their place around her waist, fingers pressing into her softly but with purpose. He tilted his head to capture her lips in a kiss that promised everything she might need, murmuring against her mouth, "Whatever you want, just tell me."

With that, the world around them dissolved into a soft blur, distant and forgotten, as Wonyoung melted into his arms. The room was bathed in a warm, golden glow, the light spilling over their entwined bodies and casting shadows that highlighted her delicate curves. He traced his fingers slowly along her back, feeling the subtle tremors beneath her skin, the way her body softened by degrees, her tension easing under his touch. Each stroke coaxed a little more trust from her, even as she wrestled with the restraint that held her in check, a habit formed over years of needing to be perfectly in control.

As his hands began to unfasten the layers of her clothing with gentle care, he could feel her vulnerability like an unspoken word between them. To the world, she was grace personified, a vision of poise and elegance, an idol untouchable in her perfection. Yet, here and now, she was a woman grappling with the desire to shed the weight of that polished image, to surrender the mantle of perfection she wore so effortlessly in the public eye. His fingers moved with the gentleness of someone who understood her inner struggle, his touch a balm, offering her the quiet assurance she needed to let down her guard.

He sensed the battle playing out within her, an invisible tug-of-war between the person she had to be and the one she longed to become in this private space. His lips brushed over her neck, his voice low and soothing. "Wony, it’s okay if you don’t see it yet," he murmured, pressing soft kisses along her jawline, "but you’re perfect in all the ways that matter. You bring so much beauty and strength into my life."

A shuddered breath escaped her lips as his words settled over her, each one unraveling a bit more of her control. Her hands tightened in the bedsheets, twisting the fabric as she balanced on the razor-thin line between control and surrender. His hands traced over her sides, strong and steady, each movement slow and deliberate, designed to comfort and ignite. "Let go for me, baby, it's okay," he coaxed, his voice a deep, resonant sound that seemed to settle right at the core of her, calling to her in a way she couldn’t ignore.

The endearment lingered in the air, a plea and a promise wrapped into one, coaxing her closer to that edge. Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut as she fought the rising urge to surrender completely, to release everything she held back. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words came out as a fragile whisper, the vulnerability in her voice breaking through. "I don’t… I don’t know if I can," she admitted, her voice quivering, her brows furrowed in a fleeting expression of frustration and fear, the tension of her resistance etched across her face.

His response was instant and tender. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, a gesture of unwavering support that steadied her. "You can, Wony," he assured her, his gaze holding hers, brimming with sincerity. "I see how much you keep it together out there, and that makes me appreciate even more the way you open up with me. It’s such a privilege to be the one who gets to see this side of you." His words were a gentle nudge, affirming his commitment not just to her pleasure but to her peace, his hands holding her as if promising to anchor her.

Trust shone in her eyes as she took a deep, steadying breath, his words filling her with a sense of security that was as powerful as it was freeing. Slowly, she let herself relax, allowing him to guide her, his hands continuing their slow, purposeful journey across her skin, each caress a reminder of his deep affection. The pleasure within her built steadily, a growing ache, a tantalizing invitation that beckoned her toward release. Yet, even as she teetered on that edge, the remnants of her control clung to her, a practiced restraint born of habit, a habit he was patiently helping her unravel, piece by piece.

His fingertips traced her skin with a deliberate gentleness, painting a path that left her body flushed, every inch hypersensitive to his touch. The way he moved over her was worshipful, reverent, each stroke of his hand along her curves as if he were discovering her for the first time. She twitched beneath him, her back arching to meet his touch, her breaths shallow and filled with anticipation. Every caress was a testament to how he saw her—not just an idol, but a masterpiece, a person to be cherished in all her vulnerability and strength.

His mouth moved down to lavish her jawline with tender, lingering kisses. He traveled along the column of her throat, the warmth of his breath igniting her senses and sending cascades of goosebumps across her skin. With her head tilted back, she exposed her neck, an unspoken surrender in the tilt of her head, a silent invitation for him to continue. The softness of his mouth, the slow, careful rhythm, filled her with a thrill of arousal she could barely contain, her hands gripping his shoulders as she pressed herself closer to him, wanting more yet barely able to voice it.

Their lips met then, a slow, searching kiss that unfolded with a blend of tenderness and raw emotion. His mouth moved against hers with a gentle ardor, savoring each moment, each connection, and her fingers tangled in his hair as she drew him closer, letting herself melt into the warmth of his embrace. The world outside faded entirely, leaving only the two of them suspended in a quiet dance, a sacred exchange of love and vulnerability that allowed her to shed every mask she wore. Here, wrapped in his affection, she found the courage to set down the armor she held so tightly, to accept the freedom he offered.

His mouth trailed lower, each kiss slower, more deliberate, as he left a line of warmth down her body, his fingers pressing gently into her hips to steady her. The closer he came to her core, the more intense her anticipation grew, her breath catching as he settled between her thighs. She felt the tension building inside her, excitement and vulnerability intertwining in equal measure. But as his lips neared her center, a flicker of hesitation stirred within her, a whisper of insecurity breaking through the haze of arousal.

She tensed slightly, her mind rushing to the imperfections she imagined, the things she couldn’t control. In front of him, she felt bare, unfiltered, not the polished, pristine version she presented to the world. Right now, she wasn’t perfect, wasn’t flawless, wasn’t prepared. The thought made her hesitate, and she tried to subtly shift away, her hand moving instinctively to shield herself. “It's not…I’m not—” she stammered, feeling her cheeks flush.

But he paused, sensing the change in her, his gaze lifting to meet hers with a gentleness that held her in place. He brushed a comforting hand over her thigh, the touch steady and reassuring, his voice low and soft. "Hey… don’t worry. Right here, you’re exactly as you should be. You don’t need to be anything but yourself with me." He placed a tender kiss on her inner thigh, his words imbued with an acceptance that quieted her worries, the unconditional affection in his gaze anchoring her.

With a breath, she nodded, the tension easing as she allowed herself to relax, feeling the weight of her expectations melt in his presence. His hands settled on her thighs, grounding her, as he placed a soft, reverent kiss at her center, his lips warm and gentle, easing her slowly back into the moment. As his tongue began to trace delicate, slow circles, she felt herself letting go, her hesitations fading beneath the steady rhythm of his movements.

He continued with a tenderness that felt like a vow, his mouth exploring her as though reminding her that she was already perfect to him. Each touch, each gentle press of his mouth, was a wordless reassurance, a reminder that she could be vulnerable here, could let herself be imperfect without fear. His fingers stroked over her skin, guiding her back to herself, and the pleasure started to overtake the remnants of her self-doubt.

Finally, her body began to respond instinctively, hips pressing forward as her breath grew shallower, soft sounds spilling from her lips as she surrendered to the sensation. His mouth continued its worshipful rhythm, bringing her closer and closer to the edge until she could no longer think of anything but the waves of pleasure that built within her, each one stronger than the last. Her hand found its way into his hair, gripping softly as her control slipped, her voice a soft, pleading whisper in the quiet.

In this sacred space, Wonyoung found the courage to relinquish her hold on perfection, to embrace the imperfect beauty of being truly seen and wholeheartedly loved. His unwavering presence and the sanctuary of his affection were the keys that unlocked the gate to her unbridled self. Here, in the sanctity of their bond, Wonyoung was not just an idol, but a woman fully immersed in the depths of love and the freedom it brings.

He paused and replaced his mouth with his fingers. Her warm, moist folds pulsing around his digits, slowly he leaned towards her. The voice that caressed Wonyoung's ears was a balm to her soul, a soft, soothing timbre filled with quiet strength. "It's okay, Wony. You don't have to try to be perfect. I love you just as you are, you’re perfect to me." The words, imbued with unconditional acceptance, were a gentle command that resonated deep within her core.

Wonyoung, the idol worshiped by millions for her flawless poise and ethereal beauty, found herself gasping as the first wave of pleasure crashed through her. Her fingers, once graceful and composed, now gripped the sheets with an urgency that betrayed her facade. The pleasure was a sudden heat, a surge of sensation that ignited her senses and sent ripples of ecstasy coursing through her body. Each pulsating surge overwhelmed her with a delicious thrill, her body instinctively arching towards the source of her bliss, yet her moans remained soft and restrained—a delicate symphony of need barely rising above a whisper.

The world outside ceased to exist. The contrast between the poised idol she presented to the world and the vulnerable girl who yearned to unravel in his arms was stark and dissonant. The weight of expectation, a constant pressure to maintain the image of perfection, loomed over her. Yet, in the sanctity of their embrace, a different desire flickered to life—a longing for the freedom to embrace her innermost yearnings without fear or restraint.

The pleasure surged once more, its potency wrapping around her like a tantalizing embrace. Wonyoung's heart raced, her breath hitching in her throat as she inhaled sharply. The waves of sensation enveloped her, swallowing her whole while her thoughts swirled chaotically, tinged with a subtle desperation. Would he understand the storm of emotions raging within her? Would he cherish both the idol and the girl beneath the surface?

With every pulse of pleasure, she teetered on the edge of release, a dizzying dance between her public persona and her private self. The fear of disappointment clawed at her, but his gentle fingers spoke a language of love that was both soothing and comforting, coaxing her closer to the precipice of surrender. As she hovered on the brink, her body taut as a bowstring, his lips found her ear, and he whispered words of devotion.

"You're so beautiful, so perfect. Let go, my love. Cum for me." The sensual cadence of his words wrapped around her, an undeniable invitation, and she felt the last of her walls tremble, cracking under the weight of his praise. Her body responded instinctively, arching into his touch as he coaxed her closer to the edge. She could feel it building, a molten tension winding tighter with each pulse of pleasure that surged through her, threatening to unmoor her entirely.

Then, with a choked cry, her resolve shattered. The pleasure that swept through her was intense, potent enough to make her gasp, her core clenching rhythmically around his fingers as ecstasy surged, each wave cresting and crashing through her. She trembled, her breaths coming in rapid bursts as she teetered in that blissful space. But even as the release overtook her, rippling outward with undeniable force, there was still a sliver of herself she held back, a trace of resistance lingering at her core, keeping her from fully dissolving into pleasure. It was as if her body had surrendered, yet her heart still lingered, guarded, hovering just beyond the reach of complete vulnerability.

Wave after wave of sensation left her body limp and shivering, her skin flushed, her breaths ragged. And yet, even as she lay in his embrace, reveling in the aftershocks of her release, something deep within her remained untouched, still holding on, as though daring her to surrender wholly next time. She felt the intensity of her release—a vivid, powerful testament to how much she wanted to let go, yet how much further she could fall if only she allowed herself.

Tenderly, he gathered her in his arms as she shuddered through the aftershocks. "That’s it, baby. You’re amazing. So responsive, so trusting. I couldn’t be prouder of you." He rained kisses over her face, her neck, his words a soothing salve to her soul. She clung to him, dizzy and disoriented from the maelstrom of emotions, yet cherished beyond measure. In this moment, she wasn't a fantasy or a fetish, but a woman truly seen and adored for all that she was—a duality of strength and vulnerability, perfectly entwined in the arms of love.

"You're doing so well," he whispered, his hands continuing their gentle caress. "You're amazing, Wony." His words, soft as a summer breeze, carried the weight of his admiration and tenderness.

She sighed, her breath still shaky as she came down from the first climax, a testament to the passion they shared. Yet, there was a lingering frustration in her, a shadow of doubt that marred the perfection of the moment. She looked up at him, her eyes clouded with uncertainty. "I don't know why I can't just fully… let go," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I feel like I'm still holding on…"

He shook his head gently, his fingers deftly brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "That's okay baby," he said softly, his voice full of understanding. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for. You've done so much already, I know you trust me, baby, please show it to me." His words, a soothing balm to her troubled heart, seemed to ease the tension from her body.

Her eyes softened at his words, her chest rising and falling with deep, labored breaths. She gave a small nod, her lips curving into a hesitant smile, though there was still a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. He didn’t let go. His hands moved over Wonyoung again, softer this time, each touch deliberate and careful, as though every stroke carried a promise. "Do you have one more for me, princess?" he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. The heat of his breath sent a shiver down her spine. "Just trust me, Wony. I'm going to help you let go. You don't have to hold anything back."

Wonyoung's breath caught in her throat as she nodded. The tension in her body, so tightly wound, began to loosen under his careful touch. His hands roamed with purpose and pure, unhurried affection. The way he touched her wasn't just intimate; it was reverent, as if he was worshiping every part of her. His whispered praises filled the air between them like a balm, soothing the parts of her that had felt raw for so long. His lips trailed slowly down her neck, then lower, placing gentle, lingering kisses on her chest. He paused, his mouth grazing her nipple, his warmth sending a shiver through her as he focused on the stiff nub.

"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me," he murmured, his lips returning to her neck. "The way you keep going, even when things get tough, it's amazing to watch."

With each word, Wonyoung felt her defenses begin to crumble, the walls she had built around herself slowly breaking apart, leaving her exposed. Her breath hitched as her body responded, but even as she surrendered, a small, aching hesitation remained, a part of her still clinging to control. She wanted to let go, to feel fully, to be vulnerable, yet something held her back—an invisible tether keeping her from completely surrendering.

"I don't know if I can, I don't know how to…" she whispered, her voice shaking, not from fear, but from the overwhelming vulnerability that swelled inside her. She had always been the strong one, the composed one—the one in control. But here, in his arms, she didn't have to be any of those things. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away a stray tear that had slipped from the corner of her eye.

His eyes, warm and filled with love, never left hers. "Honey, I know how hard you work to be strong every day, and I see how much you carry. But here, with me, you don’t have to keep it all together," he whispered, his voice so soft, "I love every side of you—your strength, yes, but also the parts that need tenderness and care. You’ve been strong for so long; it’s okay to let yourself rest and lean on me. I’m here to hold you, no matter what. You’re safe with me, completely, and I’ll always have your back. Let go, even if just for a moment. You’ve earned it, and I’ll be right here through it all."

Something deep within Wonyoung shifted, a missing piece falling into place in a puzzle she hadn’t even known existed. In that charged, breathless moment, her last defenses dissolved. The barriers she had clung to splintered into dust, leaving her bare and vulnerable, her emotions raw and beautiful. Her body softened under his touch, yielding, pressing close, every line of her molding to him as if they’d been designed to fit together. Her heart—her most precious, guarded part—opened entirely, like a flower surrendering to the kiss of the morning sun. Years of hidden hurt and buried longing spilled forth, leaving her exposed and breathless, every nerve alive with sensation.

Her breaths quickened, shallow and uneven, as he pulled her closer, his touch igniting something deep within her, something that had been waiting, yearning to be released. She let out a soft, needy sound, a whispered “Oh…” as his hand traced her spine, sending a delicious shiver down her back. The heat spread through her, coiling tightly, winding up like a spring. His hands roamed over her skin, each stroke a spark, each caress an invitation to let go. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, and another soft moan escaped her, higher, pleading. “Mmm… please…” she breathed, the anticipation winding up within her until she could hardly bear it.

As the pleasure built, her voice trembled, rising with each sensation that took her closer to the edge. “Ah—” she gasped as he found that spot, her entire body arching into him. “Yes, I’m cumming” she whimpered, her moans spilling freely, no longer shy, each sound a testament to the rawness of her surrender, the depth of her need. When release finally claimed her, it crashed over her like a tidal wave, an all-consuming flood that left her gasping, body trembling as she clung to him. She let out a keening cry, her voice breaking into soft, shuddering moans, her fingers curling against him as wave after wave of ecstasy coursed through her, leaving her breathless and dazed.

The pleasure was pure, untainted by guilt or hesitation, a dizzying blend of bliss and vulnerability. She felt herself come undone, a thousand stars scattering behind her closed eyelids, each pulse of pleasure brighter than the last. She gasped, her voice a whisper as her senses dissolved, leaving her floating, utterly open and alive in his arms.

She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she lost herself in the moment, in him. His hands never stopped their slow, sensual caress, letting her enjoy every last bit of her release. His lips never stopped their sweet murmurs of praise as he held her, supported her, guided her through the waves of bliss that crashed over her again and again.

When she finally stilled, panting and spent in his arms, Wonyoung felt something she hadn't in years—free. Free to be herself, free to feel, free to love. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, a smile spreading across her face.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse from her cries of pleasure. "Thank you for helping me let go."

He just smiled, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You never have to thank me for that, baby," he murmured, his arms tightening around her. "I'm always here to help you, no matter what."

In the stillness of the night, two souls lay intertwined, wrapped in the embrace of intimacy and comfort. For a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the rhythmic cadence of their breaths, akin to a gentle melody that enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth. Wonyoung felt a profound sense of peace that had eluded her for far too long, nestled snugly against his chest.

He looked down at her, marveling at the sheer beauty of the moment as the golden rays of the setting sun streamed through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow around them. The tender strokes of his fingers dancing along her back were like a soothing balm, a gentle reminder that she was cherished, easing the weight of her worries and insecurities that often clung to her like a second skin. Each caress felt deliberate, as if he were painting a masterpiece against her skin, and with every touch, she could feel the tension melt away, leaving her breathless and weightless.

Devoid of the pressure and expectations that characterized her public persona, Wonyoung felt free to be simply herself. The world outside faded into a distant murmur, and for once, the gleaming lights and flashing cameras were nothing more than faint memories. In his embrace, she was not the polished idol; she was simply a woman allowing herself to experience vulnerability.

The usual assertiveness of her personality melted into a soft bundle of intimacy. She took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of him, a mix of her favorite cologne and something uniquely his that made her heart flutter. She turned her head slightly, resting her cheek against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat sync with her own. It was a melody of trust, of safety, allowing her to lower the walls she’d so carefully constructed over the years.

As they sat there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, she shared a rare smile, a smile that spoke of the unguarded joy that danced in the depths of her eyes. In that quiet sanctuary of their shared space, Wonyoung finally understood that the pressures of the world, the expectations from fans and industry executives, had no claim over this moment. Here, with him, she was stripped of her titles and achievements. She was just Wony — beautifully flawed, wonderfully imperfect, and so deeply human. In the gentle confines of his arms, she felt liberated, ready to embrace every fragment of herself she had kept hidden away.

“I don't know what I did to be so lucky to have you in my life, Thank you so much,” she murmured softly, her words barely breaking the silence, yet carrying an ocean of emotion.

His heart swelled at her gratitude. “You don’t have to thank me, Wony,” he replied, his voice low and reassuring as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

With deliberate slowness, he shifted to tuck a blanket around them, ensuring that the warmth of their connection extended beyond just their bodies. Every gesture was measured, an unspoken promise to hold her carefully, to shield her from the chaos of the outside world. As he enveloped her further into the warmth, she exhaled a soft sigh, feeling the cares of the day slip away like grains of sand through her fingers.

The comforting weight of the blanket, combined with his unwavering presence, created an oasis of tranquility. Wonyoung nestled closer, her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of him — a blend of warmth, safety, and love. It was a scent that anchored her, reminding her that here, with him, she could fully let go and simply be.

“Your happiness means everything to me,” he murmured softly, wrapping his arms around Wony. “I love taking care of you; it’s my greatest joy.”

In the quiet sanctuary of their shared space, Wonyoung surrendered to the day's final embrace. The weight of hours spent apart now gave way to the serene pull of sleep, a tide of weariness that beckoned her to its peaceful shores. Yet, as the siren call of rest tempted her consciousness, a single, sacred ritual anchored her to the waking world—a phrase that had blossomed into their own secret lexicon, a testament to a bond that defied the physical realm. "Oppaaa… can I have… tucky?" she whispered, her voice a tender plea in the dimly lit room.

The words hung in the air, a delicate invocation, and his heart responded with a symphony of flutters. It was a request that transcended mere comfort; it was the embodiment of a profound craving for closeness, a need that only their unique connection could satisfy. "Of course, baby," he replied, his voice a soothing balm, wrapped in the warmth of a smile that illuminated the shadows.

With meticulous care, he began to undress, each movement a silent vow to honor the sanctity of her comfort. His actions were a dance of devotion, a series of quiet gestures that spoke volumes of his desire to bridge the gap between their bodies while preserving the delicate fabric of her ease.

As Wonyoung positioned herself atop him, her lithe form a perfect complement to his, their bodies began a silent conversation. Her thighs, soft and supple, cradled his hips, while her arms encircled his neck, drawing him into an embrace that promised refuge. Slowly, she lowered herself onto his awaiting form, her slickness guiding him into the heart of her warmth. A gasp, soft and surrendering, escaped her lips as he filled her, stretching her to the brink of pleasure.

In the close warmth of their embrace, Wonyoung's breasts, soft and tender, pressed against the firm contours of his chest. Each breath they shared caused her hardened nipples to graze his skin, a delicate friction that stoked the flames of their desire. Her core, a molten haven, clenched around his length, a rhythmic pulse that echoed the beating of their hearts."

Their dance was unhurried, a languid exploration of the connection that bound them. It was a communion of souls, a testament to the depth of their understanding. With each undulation of Wonyoung's hips, their bodies found solace.

Lost in the comfort of his arms, Wonyoung's sighs mingled with the quiet of the room, a harmony of contentment. Her cheek, nestled in the crook of his neck, inhaled the familiar scent that clung to his skin—a scent that whispered of safety and belonging. Thoughts dissolved into the ether, replaced by the exquisite sensations that coursed through her. Her fingertips, light as a feather's touch, traced the contours of his back, each stroke deepening their connection.

The pleasure that built within her was a slow simmer, a crescendo that threatened to consume them both. Yet, Wonyoung reveled in the anticipation, drawing out the sweet agony of their union. She clung to the moment, unwilling to relinquish the closeness that enveloped them, a closeness that made the world beyond their embrace seem a distant memory.

"You're so perfect," he murmured into her hair, his words a tender confession. "I love you so much. Just like this. Just us." His voice, laden with emotion, was a testament to the depth of his affection. In the stillness of their shared space, their love was a living entity, a force that rendered them invincible in their vulnerability.

Wonyoung smiled at his words, a small, contented grin that reached her eyes as she nuzzled closer. She gently traced slow, lazy patterns across his skin with her fingertips, feeling the soothing rise and fall of his chest beneath her touch. Each caress brought a fresh wave of calm, a deeper sense of security, and a love that wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. She had never felt so cherished, so at peace.

“I love you,” she murmured softly, her voice a delicate whisper filled with gratitude, knowing he understood her heart without needing to say more.

“I love you too, baby, so much,” he replied, his voice tender as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. There was something deeper in his touch—a promise, a vow of unconditional love and support that she could always count on.

As Wonyoung’s body relaxed fully into his, her breathing slowing, he focused on the simple, quiet joy of having her close. The rhythm of her heartbeat matched the serenity of the room, each gentle beat echoing the contentment swelling in his chest. He realized this wasn’t just an intimate moment; it was their sanctuary, a home they had built within each other where love grew and thrived.

“You make me feel safe,” she whispered, her voice soft and vulnerable, as if confessing a secret.

He smiled, holding her even closer. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he replied softly, his voice thick with emotion. “To be the place where you feel at home.”

Wonyoung’s eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion washed over her. She hummed in content, her voice sleepy but full of warmth as she faded into the quiet, but the love in her tone was unmistakable.

Time seemed to stand still. The world outside—with its chaos and noise—faded into a distant memory, leaving only the peaceful calm that wrapped around Wonyoung and him. In this moment, together, they were safe. Together, they were whole.

[violetarks]

HIII can i req for an alnst guys x mua!reader (afab) ? i want to touch their faces ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

“you like the pretty boys, with the pretty voice!”

show: alien stage

characters: till, ivan and luka

summary: he doesn’t just need to sing his best, he has to look his best too! producers have decided on pairing you up with him, meaning you would be spending lots of time tending to his physical appearance.

warnings: afab! reader, she/her pronouns used, till has never felt the touch of a woman before

↣ till

the door of his room opens, making till stand up cautiously from his bed. he was already forced into his outfit for today’s photoshoot, and now he awaited the dreadful makeup process.

you show up in the doorway, a girl around the same age as till, with a bag of items and a few electronics. “morning, till.” you say, walking in and placing your things on the desk. he visibly relaxes. “don’t you look good today.”

“shut up…” he mumbles back, walking over to you. he sits down in the chair you pull out, seating him in front of the mirror.

“okay, so i got told that you need a more bold look for the photoshoot today.” you claim, placing your hands on his shoulders, “you gonna’ let me do my work or are we gonna’ have another argument?”

“you can do whatever, i don’t even care anymore.” he groans, sick and tired of all these brand deals. his owner was running him dry with everything he was made to be doing recently. “do your magic.”

“good.” you say, opening your bag. you pick up one of the devices you brought with you, tossing it up into the air. it blossoms, opening up to show a ball of light coming from the centre. you point it towards till, getting a proper view of his face. “seems like the skincare routine i gave you is working.”

“isn’t it bad to keep putting all these things on my face?” he grumbles, feeling you grasp his chin. he averts his eyes while you inspect his face, gentle hands on his cheeks.

“not these ones.” you claim, feelings his cheeks heat up under your touch. you smile at him. “but it’s not like you really needed it anyway. the producer just said to get you on them. i thought you were already quite handsome.”

he closes his eyes, pulling back and running fingers through his hair. “anyway, what are we doing now?” he clears his throat, trying to calm down his heart.

“oh, right.” you say, taking the other device and turning it on, making a swivel stool for you to sit on. you move closer towards him, knee bumping with his. “okay, close your eyes for me, pretty boy.”

“stop it…” he mutters to you, doing as you say and leaning forward into your hands.

he’s patient with you, in a way that he isn’t with anyone else. which is why you were matched with him, he didn’t swear at you or thrash around. you made him out to be a tamed puppy, sitting as he waits for your touch. you found it cute.

you brushed your fingers against his jaw, making him itch closer to you. his hands grip the bottom of his chair, breath hitching as you dragged the brush along his face. you were delicate with him, holding his face and turning it when you needed. and he was willing to let you do whatever you needed.

“okay, that looks good.” you hum, retracting your hands. he always follows, but opens his eyes to stare at you. “let me do your lashes now. just some mascara, that’s all.”

you see the sour look on his face, making you roll your eyes. as you do your work, till sits quietly, careful not to move. you hold his jaw in your hand, focusing on your hands. but his head is running with how close you are to him. if he were to lean any closer, you would be kissing the guy…

instead, you lean back, bringing the light closer to his face. “ah, sorry, i got some on your cheek.” you huff, taking out a makeup pad.

you brush it against where you had smudged mascara on him, holding his face closer to yours. he’s entranced by your beauty. how your eyes are so focused on him and nothing else, how you smile at him after finished a part of his makeup. you were the most beautiful person to him.

he feels your knee knock against his inner thigh, making him look at you sheepishly. you were digging through your bag for the eyeliner and eyeshadow, claiming that he needed dark colours.

“i think we should go with black.” you say, holding out some palettes, “pick one, any will look good on you.”

he doesn’t even look at them for long, just picking out the one in the middle. you smile at him and nod your head, beginning the next stage. it takes a bit longer, till unable to keep still with how your legs are touching his, and your hands are tenderly holding his cheek. his brows knit unconsciously and you stop.

“till, relax. i can’t do your makeup like that.” you sigh, tilting your head, “i’m nearly done, promise.”

he tries to do so, resulting in upturned brows. your hold was too much! “i’m sorry, y/n, i’m just… i don’t know.”

“hm. it’s okay, i’ll be coming with you to the photoshoot.” you inform him, making till perk up a little. you do a few more touches before setting down the brush, inspecting your work and nodding your head. “there you go.”

he open his eyes and looks in the mirror. he looked pretty good, you were so skilled. “thank you, y/n.”

he turns back to you, seeing how you were already staring back at him. you were still so close, not wavering at all.

“you’re welcome, handsome.” you chime, grinning at him. you caress his cheek for a few seconds before beginning to pull away.

but till lurches forward, pressing his lips to yours. his eyes are squeezed shut, so overwhelmed with emotions. the electricity built up with every single touch you gave him, lingering or not. you had to have known what you were doing to him, you were so purposeful!

your hand returns to his jaw, gently holding him as you kissed back. till’s hands sit just beneath your waist, on top of your legs as he drags you closer. he needed more of your touch.

till goes from eager and rough to smooth and calm in a few seconds, slowing down and pulling away almost hesitantly. he is still in a daze, staring at your lips as you both gather your thoughts. and when he does, he widens his eyes and pulls away hastily.

“i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to!” he yelps, covering his face. he couldn’t believe himself, when did he have that much courage around you? his voice is muffled behind his hands, and his eyes are squeezed shut. “that was a mistake, please forgive me—”

you smooch his knuckles covering his mouth, a short but sweet one. he stops, freezing up at your warmth.

“it’s fine, till.” you say, grinning at him, “i liked it a lot. but i… i kind if ruined your make up a bit. let me fix it, okay?”

he drops his hand and lets you hold his face again, picking up your brush to do your touch ups. but he squeezes his eyes shut again and has to look away as soon as you’re finished. you looked even more beautiful! how could this be happening?

“till,” you say, putting your things away in your bag, “don’t be embarrassed.”

“i’m not!” he mumbles back at you, standing up, “let’s go now!”

you have to chase him down after packing away your things, seeing how red his face was. till swears he will never look you in the eye ever again.

↣ ivan

“oh, there you are.” you say, leaning against your makeup desk. the door shuts behind him, making the sound of people on the other side quiet down. “took you long enough, ivan.”

“the costumes were mixed up.” he explains, tugging at his collar to loosen it up.

you pull out the chair for him, letting ivan sit down before you set him in front of the mirror. “you know you’re not supposed to keep a girl waiting.” you joke, sitting on top of the desk and unlocking the box of makeup.

“you say that as if she isn’t obligated to wait for me.” he huffs at you, leg over his knee. he glances at your irritated face. “so what are you doing to me today?”

“clean look.” you reply, popping open the foundation.

he nods his head, watching as you take a sponge and begin to apply it on his face. you were gentle with him, slowly moving his chin to face where you needed him to face. you eyes barely strayed from him, and to say he didn’t enjoy the attention would be a lie.

one of the reason he was happy to be paired up with you was because you paid such close attention to him. when trialing to be his makeup artist, you brought him some tea to help with his throat. he asked you how you knew he liked that flavour, and you told him you saw him drink it last week. from then on, he had been stuck to you like glue.

the guy lets you do what you need to, staying as still as possible. but he opens an eye when you let out a groan. “what’s wrong?”

your fingers leave him face, almost taking all his warmth with you, as you crane your neck. “no, nothing. just hurts my neck.” you explain, hopping off the desk.

ivan blinks as you come closer to him, holding his chin in your hands to make him look up at you. you stood in between his legs, makeup brush in your other hand. ivan leans back in his chair, putting out his other leg as you come so close that his chest is nearly touching you.

“close your eyes again, okay?” you mumble out, going back to your work. you hold the back of his neck to soothe the position of his head, picking out a good colour for him. as you finish, you feel ivan’s warm hands place themselves on your waist, holding you in position. “is something wrong?”

“hm? oh, nothing.” he replies, brushing his thumb against the hem of your shirt. you shiver at the touch, hastily placing a hand on his to stop him. he opens his eyes again, seeing your flustered expression. a smile tugs at his lips. “are you alright?”

“y—yeah…” you mumble out, carefully taking your hand off his. you sigh out, trying to finish off what you needed to do. ivan is quiet, smile still on his face as you work. “okay. i’m done.”

your fingers leave his face. but you don’t get very far before he takes your hand in his. his lips press against your knuckles, gently and cautiously. you freeze up, holding your breath and staring at him. his other hand holds you in place, keeping you close to him.

he peers at you from his seat, a certain glint in his eyes. “thank you, y/n.” he mumbles against your hand.

you hold your hand close to your chest as he releases you. “what’s going on today, ivan? you’re more touchy than usual.”

“is that bad?” he asks, tilting his head.

“no, it’s not bad.” you explain, taking your brushes and putting them in the box. you could feel your face flushing, you couldn’t turn back to him. you knew he would be wearing that clueless smile. and you would be stammering for your words. “so, um… is this the only thing you’re filming today?”

“yes.” he replies, watching as you carefully put everything away. even in the mirror, you don’t look at him. “are you busy for the rest of the day?”

“no, actually. i’m heading back after this.” you say, grabbing your jacket and tugging it on. after taking a breath in, you turn to him. “i’ll tell them you’re ready.”

ivan stands up, running fingers through his hair before stepping closer to you, his hands finding your jaw. you freeze up, shivering under his touch. your lower back hits the desk, making you lay hands on the wood. he makes you feel like you’re going crazy.

“you’re gorgeous, you know.” he mumbles out, staring at you with piercing eyes.

“uh, thank you, ivan, i—hmph!”

he captures your lips in a single moment, holding onto your shoulder gently. your hands find his face again, caressing him as you slowly melt into him. your eyes flutter shut as his do, feeling overwhelmed with such warmth that you find yourself chasing after him when he pulls away.

ivan chuckles, leaning forward once more to peck you on the lips again. you open your eyes, stunned. “why did you—”

“i should go now, it’ll be starting in five minutes.” he says, checking the clock. ivan leans away, gathering himself and fixing his hair in the mirror behind you before moving to the door. he stops with his hand on the doorframe as it slides open. “i’ll see you after, okay?”

you nod your head slowly, gulping down your nerves.

“good.” he smiles, walking out of the room, “see you, y/n.”

↣ luka

“good job, luka.” you compliment him, waiting in the wings for him to come off stage. he pants, wiping sweat off his brow. you smile, holding pit a towel. “ready for makeup? full dress rehearsal today.”

“right.” he huffs out, patting his face dry. he follows you to his dressing room, feeling a little tired. “what have you been up to?”

“waiting for you.” you respond, opening the door and closing it behind him. he sighs, tiredly sitting in the makeup chair by the mirror. you blink at his state, walking over and placing a hand on his cheek. he stirs. “oh, luka… how much sleep did you get last night?”

“not much.” he groans, rubbing his eyes. you furrow your brows, retracting your hand. “it’s fine. let’s start.”

you blink at him before nodding, beginning your work. luka was probably the best one of your clients when it came to makeup, he cared a lot about his appearance, and he appreciated your work. the only difference with now is that he isn’t giving you some snarky remark or flirting with you through his eyes. he was genuinely sleepy.

“lift your head up higher, luka.” you say, taking the brush away from his face. he only hums out to you, eyes still closed. “luka.”

sighing, you step closer to him, taking his face in your hand and holding his chin up higher. he doesn’t make a sound, only leaning into your palm. “you seriously need to take a nap.”

“mhm.” he says, placing his hands on the back of your knees gently. you squirm in your spot, making him peer open an eye. “i have practice though.”

“it’s a shame.” you sigh, brushing your thumb against his cheek, “you look so pretty when you’re sleeping.”

“creep.” he mutter out.

you roll your eyes, moving the brush tip around his eyelids. he stills for a moment. “i think i overheard one of the producers saying you were losing your voice and that you’re on vocal rest.” you claim, “so shouldn’t you be keeping quiet?”

he nods his head at that after you pull away, his thumbs drawing on the sides of your legs. his blue fingers dance along your pants, listening to you move around. you were delicate with him, no matter how much trouble he caused you. the first time you did his makeup, he complained that he didn’t like it and refused to perform.

but now, he was astounded by how you carefully pat your thumb against his temple, as if soothing him.

“you’re much more bearable when you’re quiet.” you sigh, “it’s such a shame that you’ve got such a pretty voice, and you use it to be annoying.”

he furrows his brows, lifting his head away from you. his eyes open to see your smile. luka rolls his eyes at you, running fingers through his hair. you turn away to grab something from your bag, popping open the bottle and getting ready to use it.

“since you can’t talk, i’ll let you know that i was at mizi’s practice yesterday.” you explain, being careful not to smudge your work as it dries. luka lets out a small sigh. “she was telling me about how she misses homemade food. i told her that she and sua should come over to mine and i’ll make something for them.”

he peeps open an eye again, giving you a look. you raise a brow and sigh, “you said my cooking was good.”

you lift your finger from his cheek, applying the most palest pink you have on him by a loose brush. his skin was so smooth, making your job a lot easier since it wouldn’t take much to make him look presentable.

“it is.” he mumbles out, suddenly moving his arms to lay atop your hips. you sigh through your nose, annoyed at how he ignores his orders to keep quiet. “why’re you cooking for them? they don’t know how to?”

“i didn’t say that, luka.” you huff, pushing his hair off his forehead, “i actually heard from till that mizi is a great cook.”

“that boy only ever sings praises about her.” luka rolls his eyes. you chuckle, knowing he was right. the blonde hugged you closer to himself, cheek squished against your stomach. “what has she ever done to deserve it?”

“don’t be mean. so jealous, luka.” you say to him, smiling softly. he peers up at you before tilting his head.

“me? jealous of her?” he scoffs at you, shaking his head and pulling himself off of you. you were done anyway, now beginning to pack up you belongings. “that’s outrageous of you to say, y/n.”

“seems like it though.” you admit, shrugging your shoulders. when you turn back around to him, luka looks upset. he crosses his arms, pout playing on his lips as he stared at the ground. you sigh, patting his shoulder, “it’s fine, you’re still the world’s favourite human singer.”

“yeah.” he huffs out, barely audible.

you furrow your brows, leaning over and placing a plan on his shoulder. “look, you’re a great singer and you’re handsome. what more could you ask for?”

he mumbles, looking back at you, “do you like me?”

“of course i do.” you reply, scanning his face. he only gives you an unconvinced look. you roll your eyes.

leaning forward to him, you press a chaste kiss to his lips. he stills for a quick second, but soon enough you feel him melt against you. his palm rests against your cheek, pulling you closer. he feels warm when you hold yourself away just enough to kiss him.

his hair has always felt silky smooth. it brushes against your forehead, kissing your skin. his whole body felt like it was pouring itself into you. he wanted to belong.

you pull away before you ruin anymore of his makeup, blinking your eyes a few times at his dazed expression. “i like you, luka.” you say sternly, looking him dead in the eye, “i’m not lying. promise.”

luka thinks to himself for a moment before sighing and standing up. he looks back at you with the tiniest smile. “thanks, y/n.”

“good. now, let’s go. i’ll watch your rehearsals.” you say, patting his back as you walk him to the door. you fix his sleeves, smoothing out the creases.

“good luck, luka.” you chime, standing on the sidelines.

he stares at you for a moment before replying, “thank you.”

[taegularities]

colour me in: seven | jjk (m)

Summary: At first, it's an argument that causes the unwanted, childish distance between Jungkook and you. And then… open blazers and a lip ring.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: est. rel.; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: an argument, cute couple-y things but also they're dorks n cringe sometimes, seven jk (incl the promo pics, laundromat hoodie bf koo, and drenched in the rain koo!!), fighting over food, they're a bit mean to each other, but they adore each other too, brief mention of a rough childhood, sexual tension, taeun being everything, kissing, dumb jokes, period and pms mention!!, a photoshoot!, subtle hints to the future of the main story :'); explicit sexual content: ahh.. making out, dirty talk, oral (f. & m. receiving), brief spanking, face-fcking, light choking, sweet and rough sex, dom jk, big dick jk, whipped simp jk, petnames, multiple orgasms, sex on the couch n on the floor? :'), he loves her a$$ and tiddies, multiple positions, cockwarming!!, mention of aftercare... the ending lol :D ➳ word count: 25k lmfaoo it's oneshot sized yall 😁 ➳ a/n: hi!! welcome back!! this is part of my series colour me in, but you can read it as a standalone-oneshot!! tysm for supporting me and encouraging me, guys, it means so so much. this is also unbeta'd, so pls go easy on me LOL. and since this was a piece of worrrrk.. come and talk to me about it, it makes my day fr fr <33 ➳ listen to: seven by jungkook | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

In hindsight, your argument was blissfully domestic after all. In hindsight, maybe even comedic.

You’ve seen these things on TV and read about them in novels; didn’t experience them growing up because your parents didn’t really fight over such harmless matters. They never needed to lift a finger in their ultramodern kitchen, filled with up-to-the-minute equipment to fill their table.

But Jungkook and you don’t rely on such luxuries. You do things for yourself. So, such a couple-y, casual life leads to couple-y, casual arguments. Requires it. Fighting is healthy; entangles two souls some more.

Which is exactly where you are now. Exactly what you’ve become: A true unit. Quarrelling over trivial, everyday things.

Just to end up folded in half, holding onto the very last of your sanity, biting back more inappropriate screams.

In regards of making up, you’re perhaps not that casual. Because he’s a relentless, brutal beast.

Wrecking you right where everything began.

Monday

The end of the day begins with a giant hole in the middle of your thoughts.

Your previously whirring brain tossed away all thoughts of advertisements and seasonal launches, vacant and dark until your senses shut down everything that wasn’t vital to survival.

Like the lights of the evening as your car passed the streetlamps. The tired faces on the pedestrian zone, the odd wrinkles in your skirt, or the scent wafting from the kitchen when you step out of your heels.

Your mind operates on reflexes and automatic movements; the ball of your palm rubs against your eyelid, realising too late that you’re probably smearing your eyeliner.

A sense of reality only truly returns when you hear a familiar voice call out your name, muffled through the walls between you.

You exit the bedroom with fingers scratching the nape of your neck, tiny steps floating over the floor and past the living room. On the coffee table, you register one or two dishes. Rice, too. Smells so good, but…

As you reach him in the kitchen, you halt at the threshold, eyes scurrying to the few pots and ladles in the sink. He’s diligent and fast; cleans up when dinner simmers. Minimal work left after the meal.

For a moment, you take in the cleanliness of the kitchen, and when your eyes move up to the man himself, you beam.

He’s wearing an apron – baby blue with little flowers and rainbows imprinted on it. His mom bequeathed him with one of her old ones, and he’s been boasting about it ever since.

You saw one with astronauts, moons and telescopes once; you might purchase it for him at some point, not least of all because it includes all the things the two of you love.

A tattooed hand pushes back his mane, messy and pointing in all directions the way it does after his showers. His fingers card through the fine tresses two more times before he turns towards you — an immediate smile, similar to yours, spreads across his face.

The tiny little dimples over the corners of his mouth distract you for a second until you see his hand at waist level, beckoning you into the kitchen and a greeting, sweet embrace.

Compared to the cold outside, his oversized, full-sleeve, white shirt offers a familiar warmth. He always smells the same, musky and fresh; not like cherry blossoms at all, but he reminds you of their softness.

Mixed with the scent of tonight’s meal, you inhale it all, wrapping your arms around him as your eyes close in exhaustion. If he wasn’t swaying you in his hold, you’d probably fall asleep, right there against his chest.

A kiss to your temple, and he asks, “Hungry?”

You’re not sure. You cuddle into the apron and whatever’s visible of his shirt, and mumble against him, “Not too much… to be honest, I was gonna shower and sleep.”

“Oh?” he wonders immediately, traces of disappointment in his voice. “But I made this for you.”

You smile again. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll eat, don’t you worry.” You take a deep breath, and then lift your head off his chest without letting go. “In all honesty. I saw the food outside and thought you had it delivered.”

“So you were gonna waste something you thought was restaurant food?”

You laugh. You’re sure you could see his rosy pout even if you weren’t looking straight at him.

“No. It just looks very good… I would’ve heated it up tomorrow. But since yours was a one-person-effort,” you pat his back in pride, watching as strands of his bangs fall back into his eyes, “we shall eat.”

“And it comes from the heart, too.”

“Right. It comes from the heart, too.”

You rub his back once, soon backing away. There isn’t much to do for you anymore, but you still grab a couple napkins, chopsticks and spoons as he carries some water into the living room.

The couch feels soft, true Heaven, when you sink into it. Your heartbeat slows down, your mind at ease; when you tilt your head, your neck cracks.

But clinking your glasses of water with someone who cherishes you enough to step back and forth in a kitchen for hours… It's a comfort that’s incredibly close to a peaceful night’s sleep.

And it’s worth the effort, too. Despite the conversation and your complaints about work, you can’t help but compliment dinner every other moment. Possibly another endearing habit you picked up from him.

But you slow down when fatigue returns bit by bit, your eye twitching when you feel a well-known tickling in it.

You’re careful of potential spices when you lift your thumb and rub your eye with the back of it, fighting the itch. For a moment, you stop chewing, and Jungkook only lifts his gaze to you when the movement against your eye continues, circling motions.

“Hey,” he says, grasping your wrist, pulling it down slowly, “that’s bad for the cornea.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s not like my cornea's been nice to me, either.”

You resume chewing, swallowing the mushy remnants of the rice. Your attention falls back to the bowl of food, and your chopsticks aimlessly poke around for a second before he asks, “Why? You okay?”

“Mhm,” you say, nodding gently. “It’s just,” you point to your eyes, chopsticks dangerously close to your face, “that eye thing. It might be an infection or something. It’s so bad today that it’s hurting my head.”

You’ve complained about the issue a couple times — back when it was just an itch, you assumed it was the dusty town, perhaps even sleep deprivation. But the itch has transformed into a relentless pain, moving up your temples and across your forehead.

“Again, yeah?” Jungkook asks, following with a tender gesture of tucking your hair back. The pad of his thumb brushes over your eyebrow. “I’ll massage your head before we go to sleep.”

You sigh in relief, tired eyelids shutting briefly as you claim, “You’re the fucking best, you know?”

“Yeah.” He delivers a nonchalant, drama-esque shrug of his shoulder. Unmistakable smirk. “I guess I do know.”

The giggles from when you started dating still remain. You remember annoying the hell out of your friends back then, high school butterflies visible through your stomachs and in your bright grins.

Jungkook’s ears would redden, a smile even in your eyes. You can imagine how irritating the honeymoon phase felt to them — not that the two of you ever snapped out of it.

Even now, you’re drowning in it.

Well, until you’re not.

Because the moment he slings his arm around you, leaning back, his plate and bowl empty, you move forwards. Place your own dishes onto the table, cuddling further into him.

Only, he seems to interpret it differently.

“Aren’t you eating anymore?”

Not the message you intended to deliver. But perhaps… he’s not wrong after all.

Because…

While the evening ended on a gentle note, much needed, you’re done with today by now. Craving a warm bed, strong arms around you. A sweet, soft sleep.

And the meal is worth a thousand culinary stars, but your appetite keeps dwindling, and hadn’t he put so much effort and affection into all this, you would’ve probably headed straight to bed.

So you answer truthfully, “I can’t eat more…”

“Hmm.” He briefly points to your portion. “You just ate half of it.”

Brief silence. It must’ve gotten late, because among the quieter traffic on the main road afar, you hear a couple nightlife bugs chirping, too.

You look between the bowl and him slowly, blinking, unsure what to say. The arm around your shoulder doesn’t match his tone, so it feels a little awkward now.

You mutter, “I’m sorry.”

Because should you force yourself to scarf all of this down now, you probably won’t be able to sleep.

But Jungkook’s hums and insecure voice are making you feel bad — you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s the puppy-doe nature, a combination of forlorn, soft eyes and pouty words.

“Ah… It’ll go bad by tomorrow, but…” he starts, but you cut in—

“Fridge?”

An immediate shake of his head, a click of his tongue. “Not with that one. I mean, we could, but it’s gonna be all dry and unpalatable in the morning, y’know?”

You don’t fully have a right to be annoyed. Neither of you does. But the day’s been irksome, work a mess, paper sheets flying around — on top of that, you finished your blister pack of birth control last Friday.

The period, probably approaching tomorrow and meddling with your busy schedule, is already putting you in a sour mood.

So the current lack of a solution doesn’t help your drooping eyelids and still partly tumultuous mind.

You push yourself forward on the couch, sighing before you suggest, “Okay. Then I’ll eat.”

“Woah,” he immediately voices, dropping his arm. He attempts to pull the bowl out of your reach, but you grip it tight, swallowing a small bite of rice. “I’m not forcing you to.”

“Yeah, but still.”

Another sigh of frustration falls out of you, your full stomach crying, but you pull the bowl to you, another bite ready between your chopsticks. But a moment later, Jungkook pushes your hand down again, every rice corn falling back to its prior place, fortunately never leaving the bowl.

Unbelieving, you shoot an aghast glare at him, to which he responds, “Don’t force it. Seriously.”

A rice corn still sticks to your lower lip, and you pull it in with the tip of your tongue. You place the warm meal back onto the table, half turning to Jungkook, voicing an irritated, “Dude!”

“You don’t have to,” he assures, but he looks clearly offended. Looks away, rubs his thigh, eyeing every object on the table before he adds quieter than before, “You know… That’s happened a couple times in the last few weeks.”

“…What did?”

“I’d cook for you and you wouldn’t finish it.”

“Babe… The last few weeks have been tiring.”

“I know,” his voice grows higher at the end of the syllable, but then calms again after a sigh. “But we refrigerated a lot of stuff, some of which I shared with Joon or Tae the next day. Or threw away.”

“Nah.” The ridiculing smirk you respond with isn’t intentional. You drop it right away, but still shake your head in disbelief, defending, “You know I eat up most of the time, especially when you cook. Just today, I can’t do more than this, okay?”

He gulps. Two fingers scratch his ear, eyes once again skimming over empty plates or remnant-filled bowls. He drops his digits back to his thighs, rubbing once more, and then puffs out a breath between rounded lips before he comes to a stand.

And then, all he does is nod; shooting a simple, “Alright.”

His tone is stern. You recognise the expression — his eyes still big, but different now. Usually filled with warm sparkles, they look pissed now. Not because of his dropping lids or the missing crinkles.

Jungkook doesn’t need to move a lot of muscles to look angry; the lack of the glimmer is just enough. 

His lips are shut, not parted as they usually are when he focuses on something like his art or cooking or cleaning up. He’s exhaling and inhaling deeply through his nose, hands working on the dishes, but the fall and rise of his chest…

“You’re mad,” you conclude.

He looks back at you, the corners of his mouth never moving. His tone remains flat as he tries to convince you, “No. All good.”

Straightening his back, he attempts to walk away, hiding away in the kitchen until you’ve fallen asleep. He and you don’t argue too much — the little, couple-y, casual fights aren’t quite fights at all.

But they do end with a short distance until one is ready to approach the other and communicate again. A good strategy to cool your minds. You wouldn’t wanna discuss such a thing right away.

This time, however, you don’t want him to leave.

You pull him back again, holding onto the cotton shirt, and he protests with a loud call of your name and furrowed eyebrows as you insist, “No, you are mad.”

Your hand pushes against the couch, your body lifting, and you look him in the eye with a frustrated crease between your eyebrows. “Kook, I just am not capable of finishing it right now. You’re making a bigger deal out of it than you sho—”

“Yeah. Okay,” he interrupts, feigning acceptance and understanding, “it’s fine.” You scoff; sometimes, he’s truly as moody as you. “Things are different here, it’s fine.”

…What?

The sentence nearly comes out as a whisper as he finally starts walking away, and you only register it when he’s halfway out of the room. He balances the dishes in both hands, and you follow him to the kitchen.

Ask, “What’s different? Where’s here?”

“I work, too, you know? I get tired, too.”

“Jungkook,” you try again, slamming the hand against the counter; the sound’s muffled by a bright green cleaning cloth. “What are you talking about, things are different here?”

“Just.” He doesn’t seem to wanna talk. Carefully, he places the empty stuff in the wash basin, working on finding containers to dump the leftovers in them. “I get tired from working in the city, too, but I guess I grew up differently.”

…Huh.

You wait.

Let him collect his thoughts until he tells you, “In the countryside, you work for food, so you get used to finishing dinner. I know people around here rely on supermarkets, and honestly, I do, too,” his shoulders rise as he shovels the tofu dish into a box, “and I guess that’s why it makes sense why it’s easier for you to leave leftovers.”

Wow. Some statements in this world you live in are genuinely unfair.

You understood each of his words and lectures perfectly, but you still voice a little, “Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not being serious.”

“Maybe.”

You blink. Then blink a couple times more. Observe as he closes the boxes and puts them in the fridge with a sigh. And you feel bad, you swear, you do. But that unnecessary turn of events…

“So what, you mean we don’t work for our food, right?” you counter, a hand on your waist. “We might do less physical labour, so that must mean we don’t appreciate what we get, yeah?”

Damn. And what if there’s more to that? What if—

“Or do you think it’s because I’ve always had enough money to not worry?”

Okay. Perhaps a long shot. He didn’t say it, but what if that’s exactly what his thought process was, too?

Your inner panic, invisible on the outside, grows when he doesn’t answer, lips firmly locked as if they didn’t just spew some crisp bullshit. You fold your arms, sucking air through your nose, and then demand, “Apologise.”

And when his eyes lift to yours, you freeze. God, they’re deadly. And his ingenuine laugh even more so as he throws back, “No, you apologise. Especially for assuming things I neither said nor thought of.”

“You were rude. I’m asking you nicely to take it back.”

“As nicely as I cooked for you. World’s in balance again, I guess!”

He throws his hands up, staring at you until he’s passed you by, eyes rolling. His nonchalant, idle movements rile you up more, and you can’t help but participate further in that odd exchange.

“You douchebag,” you call out, shutting the bedroom door as you reach inside, “I’m not a snob. I’d always finish my stuff, you can even ask the cook in my old house. He loved me because I wasn’t a picky eat—”

“Listen,” he interjects again, “I know. It's fine. I’ll sleep,” he points to the bed, “because this tired me out. Just drop it.”

“So you can drop it as you please?”

“Nah, just asking you to rest,” the first word comes out louder than he anticipated, his shrug vexed and vexing. He clears his throat. “And I’m sure you’re tired of this, too.”

You groan.

“And if I want to—”

“It’ll just escalat—”

“Dude, I—”

And once more, he showcases his annoyance when he glares at you from the other side of the bed, shutting you up, blanket already lifted. You anticipate another rude remark, a way of justification or to blurt something he doesn’t mean.

But despite his recent idiocy, you don’t deem him an asshole. Not to you, at least. Which proves right as he takes a breather, one knee hitting the mattress as he finally states—

“Let’s sleep over it, okay?”

The tone still isn’t as peaceful as it could be; you know it’s a tactic to dodge a fight. You might not be on your best domestic side tomorrow yet. But his question is final and his gaze even stricter.

So you reluctantly sigh, eyes still fiery as you breathe, “Fine.”

But it’s not fine. And the turbulent week ahead, filled with chaos for you and peak comedy to others, might just be about to prove it to you.

Tuesday

You chew on your bites until the taste turns bland.

Still distracted from last night’s exchange, you barely register the tart spicy quality of your dinner; a shame because this restaurant is your favourite place to frequent with friends.

Today, you’re toying with your cutlery, catching a glimpse of your grim reflection in the spoon every now and then. Whenever Jungkook’s elbow touches yours, your heart skips a bit, bleeding as much as your eyes want to water.

With how he’s smiling at your friends, appetite never faltering, you could burst into tears — because somewhere inside, you miss him despite the constant proximity.

Perhaps he does, too.

Because you notice when he drifts closer on purpose, casually putting his hand over yours. Seemingly lost in conversations, he rubs his thumb against the soft back of your hand; but when you look at him, you can’t muster a smile just yet.

It’s your ego, your stubbornness. Pieces of you want to stay pissed. You keep your cool, but try to avert your eyes whenever possible.

And when you, obstinate as last night, pull your hand from under his, you register the defeated sigh.

But instead of starting a new topic, he retracts his fingers, putting his arm on his table as he busies his other digits with his meal. When you dare a glance, the pretty curves of his blooming lips tug upwards, listening to Taehyung’s story.

Either hiding the discomfort between you or not feeling it.

Odd, because he’s your constant centre of attention.

“Yeah, I mean. Every job is stressful, you know? But it’s wholesome, too,” Taehyung narrates. You blink the silent pining away, and focus. “Like, one of my patients is an elderly man, a lot weaker than his wife. And she always comes with him, every single time.”

“She just waits for him the entire time?” Jungkook asks.

Next to Taehyung, Eun nods; she’s probably heard the story before.

“I mean, she entertains us, is more like it,” Taehyung explains. “He’s been getting geriatric physiotherapy to regain some strength, so he needs all the motivation he can get. And those two are such… dorks. They bicker all the time.”

You smile. Reminds you of when Jungkook and you first met. Persistent, pointless rivalry.

Perhaps Eun hasn’t heard all of this after all. Because as she cuts her dinner, she asks before stuffing her mouth with a bite, “How so?”

“Like. She’ll tell him to not be a baby and take that last step during gait training.”

From your right, Jungkook’s laugh reverberates like a melody from above, sickeningly sweet and amused. “Sounds like me and you at the gym, doesn’t it?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, flicking away stray hair with his forefinger, “Yeah, only because you can lift weights that’d break my arms.”

Another chuckle from the side. Even you smile a little.

Your man is strong, alright — and you’ve always admired it, experienced it a couple dozen times.

You’ve yet to see him work out at a proper gym; the home workout sessions barely count.

Ugh. The violent heartbeat beneath your chest picks up on pace again, and you take a deep breath to calm it just a little.

“Anyway,” Taehyung continues, “then she’ll tease him how the neighbour downstairs has much more flexible legs than he does and he’ll argue how she should’ve married him… and then she tells him that she would’ve if she didn’t love his old ass so much.”

When you giggle, covering your chewing mouth behind your hand, he adds, “I swear! It’s the most standard old couple banter if I’ve ever seen one. Thought that stuff only happens on TV.”

Eun, still busy with the remnants of her meal, doesn’t look up but asks, “So they joke around like that? They don’t get mad at each other or anything?”

“They act like they do. Not a sliver of jealousy or anger in them, though. Insane… and adorable. I guess when you’re married long enough, that’s how relationships turn out. And they should, too, you know?”

Hmm…

You side-eye Jungkook for just a moment, but don’t say anything.

You don’t know what’s written in your future. No clue whether he’s a permanent presence in it, a firm part of your fate or not; you strongly hope for an eternity.

You want to picture him and you grey and old. Wrinkled hands, adorned with blue veins holding each other. Weak smiles and crinkles around his eyes, hidden behind glasses, ever-present.

If he’s your future, you hope to laugh about such fights one day. Hope to let people wonder whether you’re actually furious with each other, veiling unbridled affection behind snarky remarks.

Just… right now, you can’t laugh about it just yet. You still feel oddly offended by his words last night, and it doesn’t help when tonight seems to drift towards a similar ending.

Because as you ask for the bill at the end, Jungkook still pays. You don’t think about it too hard, letting him do, staying seated to finish your drinks.

But your exhaustion reaches a new, entirely unnecessary peak when he starts cracking his fingers. On any other day, you’d put a hand over his, reminding him not to and move on.

Today, you’re in a bad mood, and your demands come out accordingly piqued.

“Stop it.”

“Hm?” he voices, looking at you, the warm light of the restaurant reflecting in his dark brown eyes.

“This,” you point to his fingers, “stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because you know it makes me cringe. A bit annoying.”

Eun, still unaware of the tension between him and you, shrugs her shoulders, “I know that irks a lot of people, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Because you do it, too,” Taehyung complains; she mocks him with a sly smirk and a quiet, Yeah, yeah. He adds, “I can’t stand it, either.”

You lift an open palm towards him, nodding, “So you understand.”

“I’ve seen you do it, too,” Eun argues with a light push against his shoulder, “multiple times!”

“But not as often as you. You start and do not stop.”

You immediately agree, “He’s just like that, too!”

To which Jungkook interjects, his voice still calm; but you still hear the growing aggravation in his voice when he starts, “Honestly, I—”

“He actually has a couple habits that are just—”

You blow a raspberry.

Your interruption triggers Jungkook. And your words, admittedly not quite the sweetest, don’t sit well with him, either, because a moment later, he’s leaning forwards again. Looking at you directly before he continues his irritating bone-cracking.

You grit your teeth and repeat, “Stop that.”

“What?” he shoots back. You flinch. “A habit you despise so much, yeah? I don’t get the same intense reaction when I do something nice for you.”

So untrue.

Fucking hell. He’s talking about yesterday again.

You exhale through your nose, possibly resembling a bull ready to attack; Taehyung and Eun shrink in front of you, grimacing at each other. You’d laugh if it wasn’t you trapped in that exasperating back and forth of exchanges.

“Oops,” Eun whispers, yet overshadowed by your words as you defend, “That’s not true.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook says, shrugging a shoulder with an outrageous smirk, “but you never get that angry when I crack them at home.”

“I just don’t say it.”

“Oh? What else do you not say, hm?”

Taehyung dares an attempt, “Guys.”

But you’re too heated, a little stupid, very ridiculous as you spit, “Like, how irritating it is that you smack your lips every other second.”

Jungkook puffs out a breath. Looks to the side, straight into Eun’s direction who sinks a little more. He curls his lower lip in, running his tongue over it, jaw clenched and sharp. If you weren’t so focused on your temper, you’d find it scorching hot.

In a harmless little fight, you’d keep annoying him until he lost it eventually, mounting you and shutting you up in the very tempting Jungkook-esque way he knows.

But not here, not right now.

Instead, he fucks you up further as he sneers, “Right.”

“Or,” you continue, “that you don’t clean up your working space after painting.”

“What?” He furrows his thick eyebrows, ignoring Taehyung’s call of Jungkook’s name. “I mean. You have all your documents scattered on the desk. I might need it, too, y’know?”

“Why don’t you say it then?” you ask, tilting your head with one cocked eyebrow of yours.

“‘Cause I wanna let you work? ‘Cause it’s important for me that you’re able to focus?” He looks away again, tutting; his shoulder moves with his deriding laugh as he mumbles, “The fuck, really.”

Somewhere inside, you feel bad. You know his words are true. But you can’t tell him yet; so you just glare at him.

As silence finally falls upon you, Eun moves towards the table again, glancing between the two of you as she wonders, “What’s wrong with you guys?”

Everything.

“Nothing,” you say.

“…You wanna go?”

You wait. Jungkook doesn’t answer. Looks to the ground. When you don’t respond either, his eyes lift to yours, still big but not as enthusiastic as usual. Intimidating even.

You stay still, so he only voices, “Uh-huh.”

And the couple, enduring your awkward moment, lets you go gladly. You pack up, finishing your drink, and when you leave your table, you notice just how many people were staring at you.

Still are.

You really embarrassed yourself in front of a crowd, huh?

As the daughter of rich parents, owning a huge ass clothing brand, this isn’t something you should’ve done. But you pray and hope that you won’t wake up to a headline, or that journalists won’t interpret your little feud as a reason to break up or some nonsense like that.

Trouble in Heaven, they’d call it. Predictable little cockroaches.

You trudge past the customers with a deep breath in; Jungkook doesn’t seem to care much, because he walks ahead, hands in the pockets of his linen cotton slacks. Doesn’t look around.

Only bids Taehyung and Eun goodbye; tells you to buckle up when the two of you get in your car; curses once or twice when he misses the green light by a second.

And when you’re at home, sighing as the night approaches its end, you shake your head. Unbelievable whatever transpired back at that place. And you thought you were warming up to each other again.

Guess it’s your fault this time.

Which is why you hum when he calls your name, watching you put on your nightwear; bed ready while you still need to take off your makeup.

His question baffles you; more so with the slightly irate tone.

“Will you still give me a good night’s kiss or?”

You roll your eyes. Don’t say anything; grab your skincare products before you get to work.

He sighs once more; you see the shake of his head before you disappear into the bathroom, hear him say, “Whatever.”

But when you come out with a light rosy scent on your skin and jump under your blanket, you still shift towards his slowly drifting body. His arm under his head, eyes closed, lower lip pouting that you target carefully and—

Press the lightest kiss against.

Immediately, you turn around. Imitate his position.

He doesn’t reach out to you as he usually does, pulling you into his arms. But you still feel the petal-soft brush of tender fingers against your arm before the touch retracts again — and eventually, you fall asleep.

WEDNESDAY

The only reason Jungkook accompanied you to the laundromat is because your clothes gathered into a huge mountain. Neglecting your responsibilities at home, you brought two bags, and he insisted on helping you out.

It's late afternoon. Work tired you out, dinner is still pending; you don’t want to be here. And the place is empty; a yawning void. Just you, alone with your tank-top and grey-blue zip up hoodie clad, messy-haired boyfriend.

The retro plastic laundromat seats tired him out, so he’s standing at the far back. His eyes follow the tossing and turning of the clothes in the washing machine, and sometimes, they trail back to you.

And you — you’re sitting in a corner, arms folded, still uncertain whether you should wait for an apology or opt for one yourself.

The distance is childish. You’re way more mature than that.

But your fight is childish, too, and you guess sometimes, even healthy couples fall back into kindergarten routines.

Once the clothes are done and dry, the journey back home approaching, he helps you out. Tramps to you, mutters a little, “Gimme. I’ll take this.”

The bag strap drags his hoodie off his shoulder a little, revealing the flowery tattoo. He doesn’t fix it; lost in thoughts and silent until home. As if he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

In the apartment, he asks, “Dinner or takeout?”

And you, learning and indisputably craving his affection in any shape or form, answer, “We can make dinner.”

“I’ll do it. Get some rest.”

You sigh in relief. There’s solace in your gratitude — today was arduous, much like the preceding days of this week. You bide your time until he’s done, and then help him set the table and clean the kitchen.

The evening passes without any hostility, but ends without many gestures of fondness, too.

THURSDAY

“You don’t need to come, too. I bet you’ve other stuff to do.”

Jungkook adjusts to your steps. He snatched a jacket way too insufficient for the frosty weather, but he won’t hurry if you don’t. Doesn’t stray from your side.

So you walk faster. Then he does, too.

He rubs his nose, shrugs a shoulder and responds, “I’ve nothing much to do today, really.”

“Yeah, but,” you pull at the sleeves of his jacket, urging him to rush through the wind, “you’ll get bored. And I’m a big girl.”

“I know that. But it’ll be fine. Wanna make sure you’re okay, too.”

He nudges your elbow. You can’t pinpoint whether he’s daring an attempt to set things right or is genuinely concerned. Or both. In some way, the tension between you lingers, and you can’t shake off the awkward feeling just yet.

So you only nod, holding off an answer for a moment. Staring ahead, you listen to the soft sounds of the city, blinded by headlights soon passing you by. A bit longer and the first snow will fall.

The consoling feeling of winter days draws closer, feels warm despite the frigid wind. Hot chocolatesque. There’s just something about wool shawls and warm jackets and old, animated Christmas movies.

One thing you miss about living in your parents’ big, fancy house in your very old neighbourhood is the chimney. The soft yellow and orange of the crackling fire, melting the cold over your skin.

Sometimes you’d sit on the fleecy white carpet, protected by a thick, warm turtleneck sweater, watching the dancing flames.

You wonder again — if Jungkook and you are truly written in the stars as one, will you move into a bigger place one day? Save money and expand the comfort of the current apartment, investing in even more soothing walls with a couple little additions.

Not the lush, exaggerated luxury you grew up with. Not necessarily anything snobby.

But casual, domestic things, like a fire side you can sit in front of, drinking tea, slow dancing and giggling in the dark. Lit by the chimney fire; familiarity.

You sigh.

“It’s been long since I went to the dentist, too,” Jungkook then says, and you hum. That’s sudden.

“You should go then.”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes darting from your face to your hands. You unintentionally bury them in the pockets of your jacket the moment he reaches out for you; and when he understands that you didn’t notice, he curls his fingers into fists. “Maybe I can get an appointment now? Do they take walk-ins?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t know.” Then, upon realisation, you laugh a little and say, “I’m not going to the dentist.”

“What?”

“What?” You stare back with eyes as big as his. “Optometrist, Koo.”

His raised eyelids are nothing new. He’s attentive when it comes to you; recognises, notices and remembers every little thing. But you guess he truly has been tired, too.

And you feel bad for not considering it as much as he considered it. The reason he cooked for you in the first place, right?

You press your lips into a line, stare down to a puddle on the ground; an aftermath of the rain.

“Oh,” he makes, “why did I think we were going to— Sorry. My bad.”

In actuality, you did wonder if he knew. He didn’t ask questions when you told him you were leaving; simply announced he was going with. You were pulling socks over your ankles as his rushing form scurried across the room.

You guessed he’d figured it out. But the fact that he was ready to accompany you without a certain clue where you were heading makes you a little giddy.

Clearing your throat, you clarify, “No worries. It’s about that pain in my eyes. Remember?”

You wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t. Preceding your fight by perhaps a couple minutes, you don’t think the tiny statement still holds any relevance to him anymore.

Right?

Wrong.

“Yeah,” he answers, “yeah, of course. You thought it was an infection.”

“Mhm,” you hum, ignoring the butterfly wing slamming against your insides, “I’m so sure it’s an infection.” You click your tongue. “Itch first, and now it gives me migraines.”

“Yeah, you told me… But. It’s nothing serious, I just know.”

You look at his sculpted side profile.

You know him. Jungkook doesn’t actually know, of course — that’s not why he’s saying that he does.

But because hope is better than pure uncertainty; and he likes trying to manifest. He believes in little miracles like this. Knocks on wood a lot, tries not to voice potential disasters in case they might actually roll around.

So you take the reassurance. Walk to the clinic in silence. Attempt more small talk in the waiting room until they drench your corneas in those odd, blinding eye drops, dilating your pupils.

The brief, quick tests follow; the assistant is young and gentle, and you try your best to be a good patient. She seems to enjoy your temporarily formal behaviour, perfected in the years you grew to be a reputable heir.

You drop it once you’re in the waiting room again, awaiting the final consultation and results.

Jungkook is a restless companion. No matter how irritating, you’re used to the constant swaying and the movements of his legs. One might think he is anxious for you, eyes locking on the head doc’s office door every now and then.

Yet, he wonders, “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous?” you repeat, breathing out a tiny, amused laugh. “Nah. He’s really nice. And it’s just some eye stuff.”

“Well, eyes are important.”

The words come out quickly, but the last syllable dies gradually.

You smile.

Jungkook sometimes reminisces about a time when he’d hide from relatives or eat lunch at the back of class back in elementary school. He tires out the term introvertness, and you repeatedly retort with a certain ambivertness.

At times, he’s loud, flirty, annoying and confident — gives you a hard time believing that he ever averted a girl’s gaze or hid behind his cousins.

But then… there are moments when you see it.

Like now.

The puffy cheeks, the youthful pout, the big, big eyes flashing to the ground. Unsure what to say, unsure what you’re thinking of him.

Until he gulps, keeping his voice quiet and low as he continues, “Have you ever had a private optometrist?”

Huh. Not a question you expected. You guess starting the week with a discussion about wealth makes him think of such things these days.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting in your seat. You can still not see him clearly; his features are blurry, and you squint. “When I was younger. Big, bright places and top notch equipment.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I mean… It's not like usually used equipment, like here, is any worse than theirs. Also, same reason as why I went to a public college. Normalcy, I guess.”

“Odd.”

“…Why?”

“Because,” he draws a sharp breath, staring ahead. “Despite all the normalcy, you’re as extraordinary as can get. Money or not.”

A heartbeat passes. Among the sounds of the quiet chatter around you and the ads in the TV at lowest volume, your breath mingles with the hushed noises like a whisper.

His slowly blinking eyes are genuine, your reflection in his dark brown orbs clear. White dots sparkle like constellations in the sky, bright and plenty. It’s nice that they remind you of the sentimentality in his heart after every single serious or dumb, big or small fight.

For a moment, you keep looking. Your fingers twitch, urging to reach out, but as they start moving off your knee, you hear a call of your name.

Jungkook leans back, clearing his throat, smiles at you as you get to your feet and meet the doctor’s stare, kindly gesturing inside the examination room.

A couple more tests, a friendly conversation, more orders from his side before he gives you a diagnosis and a prescription. 

And when you head out, Jungkook’s still sitting right where you left him. One leg restless again, leaning forwards, arms on his thighs and hands intertwined. His head is hanging between his shoulders; even from afar, you see his lashes move, eyes slowly blinking.

You can’t quite explain it, but you love this point of view — when you can see his parted lips, the lower one pillowy, partly hidden behind his button nose. Cheeks round. You truly do love this watching-from-above-angle.

Even though it clearly suggests he’s bored out of his mind. Beyond done with this place, but still here, waiting for you.

You clutch the strap of your bag again, sighing, and then move towards him with light steps. The back of your fingers reaches out then, brushing against his temple a tiny moment before he detects your shoes and looks up.

“Oh. That was fast,” he says; his eyes are drooping. He had a long morning in the attic. “What did he say?”

He gets off the seat, moving his stiff neck and cracking it a little, hand flashing up to his shoulder. You explain, “I need eye drops. Two to three times a day.”

“Ah. Then we could get them right now.”

You nod, allowing a little smile, telling him as you head out, “My eyes are okay, though. Somehow, my vision has improved, too.”

Jungkook’s lips form an excited Oh, but when he sees your expression, he says, “But you seem bummed about it.”

Ah. Well.

You feel ungrateful thinking that way, but…

“In some way?” you admit. “I’d rather have an infection that can be fixed with antibiotics and won’t come back so easily instead of… you know. Having to constantly rely on eye drops. It just sounds so permanent.”

Another deep sigh; you’re exhausted as well. “And I’ll have to remember to use them.”

“Hmm,” he voices, holding the door open for you. He zips his jacket close as you step out; an immediate breath cloud forming when he exhales. “Set an alarm, yeah?”

“Yeah. Just knowing myself…”

“I’ll remind you then.”

The suggestion is immediate, albeit accompanied by a seemingly nonchalant shrug of his shoulder; jacket’s sleeves adorably pulled over his hands.

“Once in the morning. You set an alarm for lunch and then I remind you again when you take your birth control pill at night. Yeah?”

The bitter feeling of the fight vanishes a little; you try to ignore the residual awkwardness, apologies probably still due. But right now, your conversation follows a different path, so you settle on a soft, little, “Thank you, Kook.”

He always does that. Remind you of your meds.

Your vitamins, your pills, that one nose spray hydrating your nose flora to prevent your mucosa from drying out or whatever your ENT doc told you. He did last night, too.

He always does — even if it means forgetting about his own responsibilities.

You blink a couple times, rubbing your eyelids before you admit, “Still hurts. Can barely see… and the streetlamps are so bright?”

“Lemme look.”

He stops in his tracks and you follow; his hand catches your wrist, pulling your fingers away from your eyes, and you turn to him slowly. You’re still attempting to clear your vision, so he orders, “Stop blinking.”

And once you do, he moves in. Takes your face in his already warm hands, staring, squinting, humming. He looks focused, and you raise your eyebrows, waiting for a conclusion until he finally mutters, “Damn.”

“What?”

He seems impressed. Looks a bit longer. You repeat, “What? Are they red? Swollen or something?”

“Nah,” he lets your face go, already stepping back as if dodging your proximity. “But,” he starts; you stare like a puppy, only breaking when he adds, “they’re pretty as fuck.”

Your playful punch rises as if on instinct.

One part of your relationship that never changed was your bicker, starting with annoyance and morphing into frisky, flirty remarks. You consider it the foundation of what makes the two of you a unit.

You grit your teeth, but can’t bite back the smile.

“Dude,” you scold, and he covers his arm instinctively, evading the punch looming over him.

But you don’t deliver it after all, dropping your hand, shaking your head instead. You say, “If you hadn’t helped me survive today, I’d—”

You steer towards him, attempting another scare, and he plays along with a flinch just before he starts laughing again. Hums and nods emphasise his words when he agrees, “You survived like a true champ. A big girl, you said, right?”

“Sure am.”

“Mhm. …My big girl?”

“Gross. Shut up.”

The atmosphere will stay odd for a while. That’s okay, you guess. At least it allows for a bit of amusement, hard to hide as you smile a little, bite your lip.

You lower your head, veiling your beam behind your hair, but you know he sees. Matches your smile — perhaps even a bit brighter than your own.

FRIDAY

The fast approaching weekend usually eases a week’s tension. But considering the mounting workload you tackled today and the endless Saturday you’ll be dealing with very soon, your muscles don’t relax just yet.

Imprisoned behind the bars of work, your thoughts circle around the schedule for tomorrow. In that sense, you come home late and can’t quite bother with the stress that spread throughout the first half of the week.

Jungkook already scarfed down tonight’s dinner, comfortably laying in bed and balancing the laptop on his stomach. From the sound of it, he’s watching videos of various genres.

Sitting on the living room couch and indulging in a short story for just a bit, you hear the enthusiastic voices of chefs rattling down recipes every now and then. It’s a hobby of his, but you can’t help but feel bad.

He studies those YouTube videos to improve his cooking skills, and you, ungratefully, leave the rest of his effort in the goddamn fridge. You sigh.

If you had the energy and will to talk it out, you’d do it now. You couldn’t all day.

He was still asleep when you left, and after work, you went to a brief dinner with a coworker to dash through details for tomorrow. Looking at the plan, you hope for at least a sliver of fun amidst the photoshoot chaos.

When you returned home, Jungkook was gaming right where you’re sitting now. You showered, only to find him back in the bedroom, with his eyes glued to said laptop. And now, as you approach the bed to end the night, he walks past you with falling eyelids.

He rubs them with the back of his tattooed hand, a tired pout on his face contradicting the seemingly badass image that the ink usually gives him. Hard shell, soft core and all.

“Be right ba—,” Jungkook’s hazy voice informs, last syllable broken by a yawn. “Go to bed, okay?”

His palm moves across your upper arm as he passes you by, and you nod, steering towards the inviting, warm mattress. Its surface melts with your body when you drop. God, you’re exhausted; can barely think.

You don’t think it’ll take you particularly long to drift away; and just when your consciousness slips, you feel an arm around you.

A soft hug, enveloping you. He drops his face to yours, lips gently pressing against your cheek for a moment before he adjusts the blanket over the two of you.

A current of warmth courses through your veins, and you draw a deep, long breath of affection when he cuddles into you. He must be thinking you’re asleep but slowly falling out of dreams, because he pulls you in and rubs your arm.

An effective tactic he usually wields to help you fall asleep. 

He puts a leg gently over yours, his body so close to yours that you feel bits of the combustion of your heart.

Because…

Despite your stupid feud, you’re kind of happy that he’s joined you under the thin blanket, pressing more featherlight kisses against your scalp. Sighs against it.

And you can’t withhold the smile when he brushes over your clothed tummy and whispers, “My feisty little girl.” 

SATURDAY

You remember to unclench your jaw.

The stress hardens your muscles. Your limbs are stiff, eyes unblinking until they dry out. Fingers wrapped around your phone, you hold the device firmly, shutting out the telling vibrations of notifications.

This cannot be.

There are a hundred fires burning around you. Erupted chaos causes panic, and in the middle of it are you, clueless and vexed beyond measure.

It’s one thing cancelling a shoot a couple days before it takes place — and another thing to call sick at the very last moment. You didn’t think the model would ditch you like this… but now that he has, you can’t figure out how to replace the missing piece of the shoot.

Your troubled co-workers call out a dozen names, but you don’t say a word, gazing around with a crease between your eyebrows.

This whole thing needs to be out in the open by Friday, and the photographers and editors need time. So, postponing this to Monday and the release of the ads to another weekend won’t work, right?

No.

You’re at the headquarters of this brand. And you’re one of the organisers of this shoot and project. Every single shop will need to postpone if you do.

Unprofessional. Goes against the schedule.

The complaints are still on full blast when you see a calm movement from the corner of your eye. You move your head to the left, peeking through the glass door, and on the other side awaits—

A wide-eyed man, staring inside, observing the tumult like he’s stepped into the jungle. He’s wearing a white shirt, tucked into jeans, long bangs hanging into his eyes and enhancing the sweet gaze so wonderfully.

Pieces of your stress melts — but you still can’t figure out why he’s standing there.

You walk to the door automatically, throwing a tiny smile when he detects you among the staff. A big hand waves in tiny, and you open to let him in.

“Hey,” you greet, pushing back to where you stood before. He follows. “What are you doing here?”

As you come to a stand, he puts a hand on your waist lightly, drawing close to press a kiss to your temple. Then, he responds, “Picking you up?”

“Wh—”

Oh. Shit.

You were going to go out and celebrate the end of the stressful week. He’d suggested it last weekend because he already knew how hectic today would be.

Ughhhh.

You’re terrible.

Jungkook realises your forgetfulness the moment your expression changes into a guilty one. His curious, innocent look drops with his eyebrows, and he sighs when you say, “I’m sorry, Kook.”

When he stares down at his shoes, you feel a wave of shame; the noise around you fades for just a second as he half sullenly, half disappointedly asks, “Really?”

“I swear… It’s not my fault.”

It’s not an excuse; not a lie.

He looks disheartened; knowing him, stupid argument or not, he was probably looking forward to this. Fuck, you feel bad.

Despite his obvious drop in mood, he doesn’t say anything much. Instead, he nods and assures, “It’s fine. What happened?”

You look around again. From afar, you see a coworker approach. She looks hopeful and you take the crumbs, but you still explain, “Everything should be done by now. We got most of the pictures, but… one of the guys bailed on us.”

“Shit, really? What now?”

You shrug your shoulders, once again racking your brain for a solution. People here are counting on you, but it’s not you who brings the very first somewhat reasonable suggestion of today.

Only somewhat reasonable, though.

Because the coworker approaching ogles at Jungkook like a pirate at a treasure, pupils big and wondering as she suddenly says, “Hold. Did you come up with that?”

You blink.

Then ask, “What?”

“You called him here?”

“What?” you repeat, a confused, little parrott.

She rolls her eyes, “He,” she points at Jungkook with a thumb, “is not allowed in here. Usually. So I assumed you called him as a replacement.” She tilts her head. “And he’s freaking perfect!”

Per—

What? No, no, no. That’s absolutely nothing you planned or permitted.

“No?” Instinctively, you take a step to the side, right in front of his broad shoulders as if to protect him from harm. You argue, “He’s not a model. He’s an artist.”

From behind, you hear, “I’m just an artist.”

“Yeah, but,” she throws back, “you’re art, too. I won’t lie.”

Another step back until your back almost touches his chest. His fingertips graze your hip, as a warning before you stumble over his feet. You can imagine the subtle rosy dust on his cheek; he’s fond of compliments.

As everyone is, you suppose. But. 

“Hey, careful,” you tell her, disguising it as a joke, but feeling the lightest burn in your stomach when he laughs at her words.

She raises her pretty lips to a prettier smile, nodding in reassurance as she promises, “Yes, I know he’s taken.”

Another quiet chuckle from behind you, and you cock an eyebrow before he changes the topic and admits, “Seriously, I’m not a model at all and barely know what these things are like…”

To which she waves off his concerns and explains, “Oh, you just need to look good. We’d put some make up and clothes on you, a few pics and we’re done.”

Sounds easy enough. A bit like an insult to actual models, kind of putting those to shame who ran across stages for years to study, internalise and perfect their movements.

But you don’t correct her because you’re desperate, too. And right now, this sounds the easiest.

Still, he murmurs, “I’m not sure.”

“I understand if not,” she says. Her tone changes, fragments of frustration in it. “It’s just that we’re running out of options.”

Once more, you play out the upcoming week mentally. Postponing the last shoot. Postponing the release. Postponing the seasonal launch.

None of this is your fault, but you’d still be the one to get all the wary looks.

As if on cue, Jungkook squeezes your hip, and you look at him with worry painted across your face. You know he sees it immediately, but he still asks, “Is it that bad?”

You nibble at your lip, putting a hand over his as you say, “Yeah. We do need someone.”

“Is that allowed? Can I just replace a guy?”

“I’m technically the boss here, so you’d just need my permission,” you take a breath and then click your tongue, “I mean, usually we’d just reschedule, but we don’t have the time and those shoots already take hours. And in your case, we’d do all the paperwork, contract stuff later.”

“Would it help you?”

He’s considerate. Even in a stressful moment like this, the gentle tone, the deep care makes you weak. The answer’s already clear, but you still tell him, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Again, it… might take up to two hours or so.”

“But it’d help you, babe, wouldn’t it? Unless you don’t want me to. Then I won’t.”

You don’t have a single problem with this; in fact, you’d be happy to put him in front of a camera. His genuine thoughtfulness liquefies you — you’re a puddle at this point.

“Oh, I… Jungko—”

Juri intrudes, “I’m sorry,” carefully, she inches closer, nodding over her shoulder, “Just wanna say that we have a lot of designers in our team. They do logos and make the posters and all. Maybe, if they saw you — because the country already knows you as her artistic man from newspapers — they could teach you some digital art stuff.”

“I…” Jungkook starts. He’s probably thinking the same — which he confirms when he adds, “I’m not sure how me modelling for you might relate to artistic stuff. But I already know a lot about digital art.”

Yeah, exactly. Of course he does; what else did he wade through college for throughout these years?

“But,” she lifts a finger, infinite force in one word already, “have you ever tried expensive equipment and all?”

Oh oh. You feel bad.

Is that the group of society you represent? Maybe you guys are a little pretentious after all, dealing and seducing with money.

But he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t dare to challenge her when he steps next to you and says, “I can do it, but not for that digital art offer.” He puts a hand on your back, rubbing lightly and briefly, “For her.”

You fold your arms under your chest; less to show dominance, but more to press against the butterflies. There’s a type of nausea falling in love elicits, deep in your stomach where everything appears so surreal and beautiful that it makes you oddly sick.

The first time your pupils took on their heart shape was the first moment Jungkook practised that effect on you; made you realise what inevitable emotions he was pulling you into.

That effect has not faltered; your guts still twist.

At least, for a couple minutes.

Because the second your coworker-vultures attack him and drag him to the back room, something changes. Nervousness, you guess. You know the clothes that are awaiting him, but stepping out of makeup and into the spotlight leaves you gasping for air.

From afar, he’s leering at you.

Wearing a snow white shirt, tucked into his pants, priorly tousled hair still messy but styled in curls. Yes, you might know your collection — but you didn’t think it’d fit him like second skin.

Why did you doubt it, though? Jungkook could wear a trash bag and still compete against Adonis.

For a moment, he stands still, entangling his fingers, looking around. Then, he’s smiling in uncertainty, awkwardly putting his hands on his tiny waist, waiting for directions.

Juri tip-toes towards you, as if you’re filming a scene in a drama. She pulls the clipboard to her chest, one digit pointing to your struggling man before she says, “He’s adorable.”

You nod. “I wonder how he’ll do.”

“Well, yeah,” she murmurs, half distracted; but then she averts her eyes from him, looking from your nervous lips up to your furrowed eyebrows before she assures, “Worst case scenario, we’ll postpone. End of story. At least we tried.”

“Hmm… Well, let’s hope it won’t be that case.”

Which, you soon realise, it certainly isn’t.

A couple professional suggestions by the director and Jungkook gets into position. The initial movements of his hands and body are a little strange and awkward, and you can’t help but want to pull him from this chaos and wrap him in a fuzzy blanket.

But the seemingly feigned adorable stance soon shifts into something unexpectedly dangerous when he raises his chin. Thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, he relaxes his body, lips suddenly forming a tempting, slight pout.

He doesn’t usually look like that…

“Wow,” you whisper, faintly registering Juri’s fascinated nod from the side.

This is still a harmless pose, you think; one the director dared him to do. But you’re surprised by the sudden confidence, the way Jungkook doesn’t fumble or stutter or question anything.

Some of his softness shines through the moment the photographer gives a thumbs up, a tattooed hand cracking the fingers of the others. Doe eyes back, he leans forwards as if he could peek at the pictures like that, asking cautiously, “That okay?”

He looks different. Why does he look different?

“That was great! Perfect start. I promise the rest is just as easy,” the team encourages him, asking him to monitor the pictures they just took.

Jungkook walks to the strangers in slow steps, chest behind the tight, white top heaving once. On his way, he looks up to you instinctively, throwing the same thumbs up at you with a questioning gaze.

And you, still baffled, smile.

Watch as he converses with the people, his grin wide when he likes what he sees — an instant confidence boost, though you still see the nervousness in his stance. Where was any of it when they clicked the photos?

As if a demon possessed him for just a minute. Dual and dangerous.

Then again, he’s not very different in your daily life. A celestial soul on some days, catering to your every whim, never letting your feet touch the ground.

And a beast on others, inhaling your sounds like a starving incubus, never heaving your body off the mattress.

The duality doesn’t disappear with this very first outfit.

When some music starts playing and they tell him to move freely, filming the sequences for the ads, your eyeballs nearly fall out of your eyes. And you finally realise why he looks so different now.

Because the moment his thumb touches his lower lip, mimicking a wiping motion (much like he does after kissing you sometimes), you see the silver-plated jewellery glimmering from all the way from the set.

Lip ring.

Whose idea…

“What did you do back there?” you ask, near-panicking, your heart dropping into your panties.

Juri flinches, asking, “What?”

“Is that a lip ring? You gave him a—”

You puff out a breath; it’s immensely difficult to be mad at him like this. He’s been looking…

“Shouldn’t we have?” her tiny voice asks; her body shrinks a little.

“I mean. I just. It wasn’t planned.”

“Yeah, but look how amazing he looks.”

You’re seeing it, alright.

The subtle touches, the light tugging at his shirt. Movements just right. He looks all serious, like a beast, hotter than motherfucking hell. Transports your saliva into your windpipe with each look he sports.

Until you actually feel yourself choking and gagging once he leaves and comes back for the next shoot twenty minutes later.

Because why on Earth did they omit the shirt under the grey blazer?

You’re close to dashing to costume and makeup, confronting them to ask why they chose to toy with your sanity like this. Because… the lip ring is still there. His hair is suddenly slicked back. Fingers adorned with rings.

And he looks so goddamn good.

Maybe it’s your fault. You told them you trusted them, and that they were supposed to do as they pleased. And they are… they so are.

All of him, like a strong magnet, pulls you in, but you keep your feet firmly on your spot, cementing yourself in place. There’s something incredibly attractive about the way he presents himself — new, talented.

You’re fidgety, a sexually frustrated observer when he touches his jacket, pulling it open just a little. The inked hand is veiny; you see it from here, too. The light gesture allows glimpses of his chest.

Small, perked, brown nipples. Lines and ripples of his abs firm. Ending in his V-line, hidden behind the peeking underwear and blue, baggy jeans.

Heavy chains are already menacing when he shuts his eyelids and parts his lips. Worse when he leans forwards, hazy eyes staring into the camera as if he’s about to devour the camerawoman.

Jeon Jungkook is a hazardous danger to society. The world will want him — and he’ll only want you.

Fuck.

You’re drooling. Drowning in your own puddle. Crossing your legs.

And when they tell him to sit, ordering to open the button of his jeans and push it down his hips just a bit, the little yous in your brain wreak havoc.

A fire starts in the organised office of your mind, red sirens blaring, and you look at Juri as you ask, “Why is he naked?! Why’s the blazer off his shoulder?!!”

“Because,” she defends, hiding behind the clipboard; it’s not her fault. That’s what the other model would’ve done, too. “Underwear ads!”

You’re aware. You just didn’t think it’d be Jungkook ending up in this position. Perhaps you didn’t think it through; didn’t know what it’d do to you.

But his effect pools in your lower stomach; so intense, you might cry.

“What the fuck,” you mumble when he takes the jacket off, sitting up and improvising all of a sudden. A hand covers his mouth, the blazer thrown over his shoulder. “What’s the point of holding it? He’s not even wearing it.”

“Because,” she starts again, “we’re focusing on the underwear.” Where’s the focus on the underwear? You can barely see it. Are people plotting against you? “It’s okay.” She pats your shoulder. “No one’s gonna touch him, love.”

You bite your lip. You know.

You aren’t distressed because you’re mad. But because knowing that everybody will crave him and nobody will get him turns you on more.

The fact that you’re the only one he’ll look at with those starry eyes; with the hunger in his gaze. The only one he’ll press into your bed, lips close to your ears, whispering endearments and filthy, little promises.

This man wants you, and you can barely handle that truth.

New thoughts and ideas form in your mind, too wild and desperate to be occurring right in this moment. So you mentally whoosh them away, holding on for the rest of the neverending shoot until a round of genuine applause sounds around the big set.

God. Okay. Hours of torture later, and he’s done.

A shy bow. No. This monster might convince anyone else, but you know he’s not as innocent as he gives himself.

He jogs over to you, says quietly enough for only you to hear, “Don’t tell them, but that was great.” You can imagine. He backs away, looks down to his defined abs, “I need to change. And then we can head home, they said.”

You blink, perplexed and still out of words. Which he struggles to interpret, looking over his shoulder and then back to you. Unsure, he adds, “Unless you need to wrap things up.”

When a random shout echoes through the room, you awake, inhaling deeply before you tell him, “No, I. I mean, yeah, we’ll wrap things up, but that shouldn’t take too long. Should be mostly done when you are.”

He nods. Waves, and then steers towards the others, shaking hands and exchanging smiles. Short convos. Then, to the back room. 

You’re too out of your mind and tired to chat much with staff. You go through the next steps, talk about waiting for the editor to be done with the photos, list the leftover things on your to-do list before the winter launch.

And that’s it. You meet Jungkook at the exit to the hallway, relieved when the end of the day approaches. On your way back home, you converse lightly, though he stops when you yawn one too many times.

He lets you rest as you pass shops and traffic lights, and holds your hand when you get off the vehicle. Drags you up the stairs; the climb is arduous. And then allows you to get ready for your slumber in peace.

The second the back of your head collides with the cold pillow, your eyes drop shut. The world spins behind your tired eyelids, adjusting to the darkness and the silence.

A sigh of relief pushes out of your mouth; a profound sense of tranquillity calms your lit nerves. Jungkook, next to you, seems just as exhausted because the yawn as soon as he slips under the covers is long and tear-inducing.

He’s blinking away the dampness of fatigue when you look over to him; you haven’t talked much since you arrived home, but Jungkook uses the moment to say, “I had a lot more fun than I expected to have.”

You’re so incredibly thankful for his last-minute rescue. But you can’t help but think of the muscles and expressions an hour prior. The seductive gaze, the lip accessory, the ring-clad fingers.

Perhaps it’s because of the time of the month, but you feel vexed by how affected you feel.

You control your tone, though the word still sounds monotone when you say, “Good.”

Catching upon it immediately, he shifts slowly, sniffling and head propping up on his hand before he asks, “Did you not like it?”

“Oh no, I mean,” you start, “you were amazing. I just didn’t know they’d send you out naked for the world to see. Thought the plan was to close a couple buttons.”

“The stylists told me. I think it was a spontaneous change because—”

You glance at him when he hesitates. A sly smile spreads across his features, just a little guilty yet amused as he watches your curiosity grow.

“What?” you ask.

“Nevermind.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“It’s nothing!” he exclaims. “We just thought it’d look cool. I thought you’d like it, too, actually.”

You did. That’s the issue. You liked it enough for it to burn into your mind, and now you can’t shake the image anymore.

No matter how many times you’ve seen him butt naked, buried inside you without a gap between your skin — something about his confidence and eyes stirred an unknown level of desire in you.

But you can’t tell him. Because the thing you want won’t be possible right now. You keep your thoughts veiled.

Instead, you unleash your annoyance because God, you hate him for being so hot.

“Right,” is all you say.

“Hey, don’t worry. Even if they ask, I’m not doing this again.”

“Might make you famous, though,” you mumble.

He snorts, fingers sneaking to your tummy, “So what? That’s not my profession. I didn’t study to become a model. Will work on my actual efforts.”

“Okay.”

The single word forces a sigh out of him, and he shakes his head, tapping his fingers against your stomach as he whispers your name thrice. Like he’s scolding you.

And then, “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you spit without hesitation, “of whom?”

You’re not. And you know that just for the moment, he won’t believe you. Which is fine. You’ll tell him the truth once your period’s over for the month.

“Of people who might see me and like what they see.”

Okay. Jerk.

At this point, he is doing it on purpose. You see it in the cocky smile and the jesting tone and the way his fingertips draw circles over your shirt, itching to sneak underneath the fabric.

You know him.

He’s so annoying.

“No,” you repeat.

“You sure? Huh?” Fuck, not that sulky voice. You close your eyes, but he raises your chin, making your head move. “Look at me, angel.”

“Hmm?”

“You said no, but you do look a little fiery,” he tells you. Yeah, if he knew that the real reason doesn’t lie in envy or whatever the world thinks of him. “What? My girl is jealous of people I won’t even perceive?”

No.

But she does feel the tickling, flattering lust pooling in her lower stomach, Jeon, thank you very much.

“Jungkook,” you start, although breathier when he moves closer, towards your neck. “Don’t be annoying.”

Which triggers a slightly mocking tone; he tuts before he says, “Baby bails on our date today. Will fight me in a restaurant. And then I’m annoying?”

Your answer is immediate and as shameless as can be.

“Yes.”

And it makes him laugh. Hot and sudden against your skin, his breath makes you shiver more than the relentless cold outside ever could.

“Not gonna lie,” he begins, “that brat behaviour isn’t too terrible.”

“Shut the fuck up, you just—”

He just what? You don’t know. Your sentence floats between you when his nose raises your chin, freeing the path to your neck before he’s nuzzling it slowly.

You feel goosebumps at the back of your neck, hair standing up, tingles across your body where you didn’t deem them possible. Under the blanket, your legs shift, and he hurries to move one of his between yours.

Hand still on your shirt, he places a barely-there, soft kiss to your neck; his fine tresses tickle your face and you crumble.

You have long forgotten your unfinished sentence, but he hasn’t. Asks, “What?”

You bury your nails into his arm, intrigued by the little hiss followed by a subtle laugh. Growing in volume when you say, “I kinda hate you right now.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, stretching the second word, “I hate you, too. Absolutely loathe you.”

You silence. Hold onto him when he French kisses between your neck and shoulder. And then breathe, “Then go away.”

“Mhh. Maybe I should.”

“Maybe…”

And then, out of the blue, his teeth dig into your neck like a gentle vampire, stopping immediately when you wince desperately. A hot tongue soothes the bite, a strong hand pushing you down by your shoulder again when your body lifts off the bed just a bit.

He keeps you in place, moving to your jaw. And when you whimper in lust and want, navigating his leg closer to your core, he curses, “Fucking hell, babe.”

Then, he’s inhaling, fingers wandering from your shoulder to your wrist as lips finally clash.

His body moves half onto yours, slowly gauging your reaction to the kiss as if he’s still expecting the burst of cumulated emotions. But when you give into his gesture, granting him your tongue, his face moves further against yours.

Undecided fingers let your wrist go, getting ahold of a patch of your hair. You hold his arms again until you wrap yours around him, fingers on the nape of his neck as you pull him in.

You tilt your heads in unison, deepening the kiss, drinking him up. Let him open your lips with his, keeping them like that, tips of your tongues playing with each other.

His touch drops to your waist and down to your pyjamas, pushing them down a little, grazing your panties. But then, his teasing palm floats up again and settles over one of your tits, squeezing once and drawing a telling moan out of you.

No bra.

He loves your little habits. You live through them casually, never noticing how badly they empty his mind.

Seems your head is blanking just as much at his touches; because you look delirious, lost, breathing in and out heavily. Jungkook basks in the expression, pushing a hand to your neck.

And only when he presses in gently, trapping you in place, do you seem to wake.

Eyes shoot open, and you inhale deeply, as if saved from drowning; remember every bit of today. The lines of his abs. The lip ring. The jewellery on his fingers.

You could ask for him to go on, to wreck you thoroughly. But of all arguments stopping you from doing so, there’s one damn reason that asks to prevent the mess.

Fucking period. Would create a literal bloody chaos. And you’re exhausted.

The thing is — if you asked him, you know he’d give it to you.

He’s reckless and careless. But you can’t risk the state of your sheets and the state of your mind. You have more work to do tomorrow; also, if you continued now, you’d be tired and immobile tomorrow, you know — and you need to be awake for this.

Fully in your senses.

Ugh. Fuck.

And the last damn day of the red waterfall, too. Thinking about it, perhaps that’s the reason for your agitation this week.

In hindsight, you know you’re never bitchy like that — he didn’t give you the nickname of an angel for nothing, right? Fuck PMS. Fuck mood swings.

Your poor boy, enduring the wrath of it.

But maybe you need to act pissed just a bit longer because—

“What?” he asks.

It’s not the time. So you stop him, pushing him away lightly. Shake your head, calling forth a crease between your eyebrows, turning away just a bit.

He falls back, once again keeping his upper body up by his arm. Inquires, “I— are you still mad?”

Truthfully, you answer flatly, “I’m on my period.”

“So?” he answers, laughing until he sees your lips, pressed into a serious line. “I’m not scared of some blood.”

You knew it. He’d give in if you told him to.

But what you want can’t be received during this time of the month. What you want requires unhinged chaos, carelessness, breathlessness. Craze of many minutes, hours.

You want more than a short, cautious session that asks you to peek at the sheets and the towel you’d get every now and then. You want to fucking lose yourself in hi—

“Let’s not,” you answer, your tone nonchalant, “Just. Let’s go to sleep, alright?”

He murmurs your name, trying again; but when you turn on your belly, giving a last sign to end the night, you hear him groan quietly.

You grimace when his head falls onto the pillow with an angry thump, movements under the blanket agitated as he scolds, “My God. Alright. You wanna be pissed for an entire week, then be pissed. I can’t do more than that.”

Oof.

If he only knew. And something in you tells you that he will very soon.

SUNDAY

Too lazy to work through the preparation process in the kitchen, Jungkook and you quietly decide to spend lunch outside.

The café nearby is a place you’ve wanted to visit for quite some time now. And despite the flaky, dry sandwiches they served, you’re glad time passed quickly, the awkward conversations between you coming to an end.

When you return from the bathroom, the sky above looks grey. Desolate. The weather forecast predicted a surprisingly pleasant late fall day, but the approaching rain is obvious. Which, you anticipated more than the weather forecast did, really.

That’s why an umbrella is leaning against the leg of the table, and you grab it as you watch Jungkook fumble with his wallet, stuffing it into his back pocket.

He gulps down the last sip of his Matcha Latte, dimples above the corner of his lips as he smacks the taste away. Then, he gets to his feet, asks, “Ready to go?”

Absent-mindedly, you nod, glancing to the sky and then back to him again. He looks sweet and domestic; but you can’t quite take him seriously. Not necessarily because of the fight anymore.

It’s been far too many days to still dwell.

But because of the damn lip ring, the open jacket, the gelled back hair. His destructive expressions. Like he could devour you whole.

Jungkook doesn’t stay angry for a long time, you’ve noticed. He always tells you how his temper used to be worse as a teenager, but how he’s learned to control himself.

Agonies of childhood, relationships and friendships taught him patience. And you notice. You truly notice.

Because he hands you your purse sweetly, immediately stretching his palm towards you. A slight smile spreads across his face, and you respond with a weak one of yours. Take his hand and let him lead you home.

You’ll walk the short distance; it shouldn’t take longer than seven or eight minutes.

And as you approach home, the hand holding yours mimics the motions of the one gripping the umbrella — he brings both arms into swing, somewhat euphoric but casual when he says, “The food was so dry there.”

It’s odd, talking to him like that after several days again. But you nod slowly, and agree, “I know. But at least we know where not to go anymore.”

“Yeah. But I mean, great beverages.”

“The milkshake, too.”

He tugs you a little closer, elbows soon touching, “I still think you should’ve gotten something warmer. You get a cold fast,” he looks up with squinted eyes, “and it’s already chilly today.”

You squeeze his hand as a thank you; Jungkook cares for you in little, subtle ways, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t think of it every now and then. You answer, “I feel fine, though.”

“Okay. Hope that stays.”

His palm, soft in yours, shifts until he’s intertwining his fingers with yours, attempting a stronger grip. You lift your eyes from the ground to his face for a second, meeting a gentle smile, and feel more pieces of your heart split.

They wander through your body, along your arm and straight into his chest, merging with his own organ. If you could, you’d push him against one of the unlit lamp posts, parted lips opting for his, breathing into his mouth.

He infested your thoughts and stuck with you, no way to escape the moment you first fell for him. And somehow, he managed to keep this effect intact, digging deeper into your mind and making himself home every damn second of the day.

The desire you’ve been feeling doesn’t just stem from lip rings and talent behind the camera. But you also keep realising that you’re truly this man’s, and that this man is truly yours.

A hard truth to fathom when you’re the subject of interest to one unique Jeon Jungkook.

But you want all of him. Want him over you, around you, taking all of what no other guy will ever be allowed to touch. Want him to show you once again where you belong and that you’re in this for as long as his affection is aligned with yours.

Fuck. Home is too far away.

So you look away from him. Which he interprets in an entirely wrong way.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, an inquiry out of nowhere that has your eyebrows kissing.

“No,” you answer.

“You barely talk to me. And,” he halts to wipe away a raindrop. Guess the clouds are gathering. “And I miss you.”

Your ribs might break. He keeps doing this to you.

“I’m not mad, Kook. Was just PMS-ing before,” you try again, adding a nickname for good measure.

“You sure?”

Jungkook is a free-spirited soul, careless to a healthy degree most of the time. There are only a few things that break his composure; familial insecurities, shitty pasts — and then there’s you.

Topping his list of priorities, you’re the only aspect in his current life that pushes him into spirals of overthinking.

And right now, he’s in the middle one, requiring a thousand reassurances. You want to answer. You really do.

But the distraction from above proves too strong the second you open your mouth. In the middle of your walk, the clouds explode, roaring for a moment before a downpour suddenly showers onto you.

The raindrops are thick, the bursting clouds aggressive.

Instinctively, Jungkook opens the umbrella, hastily working on it, and once under it, your steps pick up on pace. You wrap an arm around your body, closing the jacket, hooking your other arm with his and pushing the two of you forward.

“Shit,” you say; you look up, but can barely see anything. Only hear the thunder.

The wind grows colder, grazing the skin of your face incessantly. Despite the umbrella, the merciless rain wets your cheeks, singular drops flying towards you. Jungkook’s hair covers his face, and he shakes them off his eyes.

You gasp when a literal newspaper flies past you.

“Come on,” you encourage, already shivering. “We can talk about it at home, okay?”

But surprisingly, incredibly lost in his own head, he doesn’t give in. He adjusts to your pace, holding the umbrella in a strong grip, sighs and argues, “We can talk about it anytime.”

“Not now.”

“But—”

“Kook, right now’s not the time for this.”

Holy shit.

This man is a phenomenon. And you wish he wasn’t serious, but you know that he is. A full-on simp-y fool, no matter what.

“You’ve avoided me all week,” he yells over the sounds of the rain, sniffling, looking at the storm ahead, “we won’t die. It’s just rain.”

“It’s a thunderstorm, you idiot!” you exclaim back, moving straight forward and past running passengers. You should be home soon. “And in a minute we won’t be able to see shit.”

Jungkook must be made of cement. Broad shoulders, a well-trained body and willpower seem to combat the storm when he suddenly halts in his steps.

Immediately, you grab the umbrella, keeping it from nearly flying away; and when you remain the only presence under it, you ogle back. Watch him stand there in his red-white jacket, getting soaked by Mother Nature.

What the fuck.

You rush back, grabbing his wrist, pulling him forward as much as you can as you reprimand, “What the hell are you doing? Come on.”

“You’ll talk to me if I do?”

“Jungkook, we’ll die here, I—”

You flinch and gasp when another strong wind blows, once and for all ripping the umbrella off your hand and making it fly a couple feet from you. You watch it break through the fog of rain, mouth wide open with a dozen curses on your tongue.

“Fuck,” you exclaim, gritting your teeth, “I will. Just please, okay?!”

He’s so annoying. The way he looks at you, breathing hard, white shirt drenched and sticking to his body. You tug at his arm, forcing him to run when you do.

It takes you two entire minutes, wordless as you wish them to be, to reach his street and apartment. You tremble in the hallways, rushing up the stairs, and eventually take a seconds-long breath when you step into the flat.

It’s cold. So cold — and you had your jacket protecting your shirt. Your jeans and hair are soaked, your socks a sponge, soaked in a couple millilitres of water.

But it’s relieving when you take the jacket and your jeans off, pulling out the oversized, wrinkled shirt from under your pants, covering half your thighs. Jungkook slips out of his boots and rushes for a towel, approaching your heaving form at the door to dry your hair.

You quiver for a couple more minutes, fearing an approaching cold after all. But once settled on the couch, indulging in the comfort of thick joggers and a fresh cotton shirt, you sigh.

The silence still holding on only breaks when you drop your head back on the couch. A warm hand sneaks to your cheek, and when you open your eyes, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Warming up…” You lean into the touch, though still irritated by his behaviour before. “Thought it’d rain, but that was a surprise.”

“Yeah.” A pause. And then, “Was a little romantic, too.”

Unbelievable.

You roll your eyes at him, head tilting, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s joking. The goofy smile suggests that he is.

“Was it, yeah? You just—”

You click your tongue. Think back to him nearly offering his soul to Zeus just a couple minutes ago. Standing in the heavy rain as if he was the lead character in The Notebook.

“Don’t be mad now. I’m kidding,” he says. His voice isn’t as soft anymore; frustrated when he tries again, “Talk to me. What’s the problem?”

“Seriously? I told you there’s nothing.”

“Nah, cut that bullshit. You haven’t talked to me or properly touched me all week. I’m trying my fucking best.”

“I know. This isn’t what it’s about,” you defend, shaking your head, getting to your feet, “but about that insane little stunt out there.”

And the fact that he’s been driving you crazy. The week’s distress mixed with whatever he made you feel yesterday; today’s insanity further adding to it.

When he doesn’t speak, you sigh, waving it off, and opt to walk away. But all in vain.

You make it two steps away from the couch before he flashes up, too; filmesque, you gasp at the strong grip around your elbow, getting a tiny second to process the situation before he’s twirled you around.

He probably didn’t intend it, but you nearly clash against him, stupidly losing your balance and stumbling over his and your own feet. You put a hand to your temples, fearing the worst — what if you fall and clash against the corner of your glass table?

But no. In slow motion, he keeps you in his firm hold, preventing the fall, but still letting you gently drop onto the fluffy, white carpet. Your investment. You’re happy about it now because it caught you the way the wooden floor wouldn’t.

Your movements towards the grounds are slow — or at least that’s what they feel like. But when he appears above you, pinning your wrists to the carpet hard, he’s breathless; and you think that maybe the fall didn’t happen as slowly after all.

“Okay,” he says through gritted teeth. From down here, his jaw looks as sharp as a ship’s deck, the Adam’s apple bobbing when he challenges, “You’re gonna fucking tell me what’s going on.”

Oh. He’s mad.

His eyes are burning, jaw flexed. Defined chest rising in anger.

There’s nothing going on. At least nothing that warrants another fight.

But you don’t tell him that just yet. Instead, all your perplexed mind and tongue manage is, “What?”

“I forgave you. We were both shitty that day, you know? But I still did forgive you, and you’re still being like that.” His knuckles must be paling, because his grip is iron hard. “Why?”

“I—”

“I’ll apologise if that’s what you want. I did, actually. I’m sorry, okay? There. But this is just,” fingers squeeze your wrists, and you hiss, “ridiculous.”

Your following grimace, lips twitching, eyes squinting, go through to him immediately. The hold doesn’t hurt or bother you too much, but the leg between your knees does. Jungkook wouldn’t wound you; he knows his limits.

But perhaps he thinks he’s going overboard when he loosens his fingers, pressing his palms against your skin, rubbing to soothe the missing pain.

He doesn’t quite move away, though, still stubborn when you assure once again, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“So you keep saying.”

“I’m not,” you tell him, heart racing at the proximity. You close your legs around his knee, irritated by the barrier. “I promise.”

He doesn’t give your gesture much attention just yet; doesn’t know that his body over yours is exactly what you’ve been craving. But he does understand the sincerity in your voice. Finally.

When he moves closer, pupils melting to fluid gems, you let out an intentional, teeny tiny moan that you’re sure he confuses for a relieved sigh. He moves his palms onto the carpet, caging you in; you keep your wrists where they are, but dig your nails into your skin.

You want to kiss him so badly. You miss him so much.

“Then tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he demands again, quieter and softer this time.

“I don’t know.”

With the fury evaporating bit by bit, his eyes look bigger and rounder again. The desperation of the week gathers in them and his expression, shooting all the way down to his tongue; and when he whispers to you next, your heart collapses, “Please?”

He’s sweet… so utterly oblivious to your true thoughts.

But you couldn’t feel more embarrassed about the pictures you’ve been painting and the words ghosting in that mind of yours. He’d do all of it, no questions asked. But… fuck.

“This is so dumb,” you answer, fingertips dragging down the carpet and then up to his waist, “like… you’ll laugh.”

The touch encourages him. His arms are shaking now, holding him up in this position for too long, and the wandering fingers along his sides and chest must weaken him like his lines affect you.

“That’s a good thing,” he answers, closer than ever when he balances his weight on his arms now, forearms touching the carpet. “I’d rather laugh than fight.”

But the closeness remains for mere seconds before he pulls back again, sitting up with a groan. Hands on his thighs, he lets himself fall on bended knees. He watches your still helpless body on the floor until you work on getting off the carpet, letting him pull you up when he offers a hand.

You ruffle through your hair, legs folding. Your pout is more directed towards yourself than anyone else; you totally realise you didn’t need to confuse him the way you did. Stupid period.

“Listen, I just…” you start, scraping your scalp.

His knees bump against your legs when he drifts closer; there’s something about the two of you sitting on your living room carpet like this.

“It’s just that I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

And that’s it. That’s literally it.

He halts. His hand was moving up, probably to touch your face, your hair, anything soft to ease the mood. But he cancels the tender gesture, fingers falling back to his knee when he absorbs your words.

Silences with cocked eyebrows. Processes the way you lick your lips and look away, tugging at his wide shirt. And then, once he’s understood, he tsks. Chuckles.

And you, immediately on guard, push lightly against his shoulder, unsurprised when he doesn’t buckle, and defend, “Told you you’d laugh!”

“No, but,” he says, sweet crinkles around his eyes, head tilting and bunny teeth giving way to the prettiest smile in existence, “what are you talking about, hm?”

He knows. If only his feigned innocence was as sweet as his grin, too.

Still, you opt to clarify, “That thing you did yesterday.”

“What thing?”

Ugh.

“The whole modelling thing!” you exclaim, raising your hands. His beam reaches up to his eyes; his occasional giggles are killing you. “Stop. Do you have any clue what you looked like?”

He has the audacity to shrug. “They let me see the pics on their cameras. They’ll come out well.”

“Well? Dude, you looked…”

“What?”

“Dangerous. Like you could eat me up.”

Eat me up might be accurate. It’s the description floating through your little mind since yesterday.

“Ah,” he says, nodding smugly. You know he’s about to tease you. Because— “You specifically, yeah? I was just doing what they told me to.”

“What, is me specifically wrong? Anyone else you’d wanna eat up or—”

“You’re really fixating on that, huh?” Jungkook snickers. His tongue pokes the inside of his right cheek in a brief pause, and then he adds, “You’ve got a point. Didn’t think it’d affect you, though.”

Slowly, but surely, he seems to grasp his own power over you. You think he’s reminiscing about yesterday’s chaos and confidence; maybe even viewing it all from your point of view.

Because his smirk, albeit subtle, is sly when he asks, “What was it like?”

“I…” You click your tongue. “You’ll take me apart if I tell you.”

“Why so?”

“Because.” A beat of silence. You swallow to wet your throat. Then. “I’d ask you to.”

“Ah…” Another understanding nod, as though you’re lecturing him on NASA’s rocket science and he’s finally grasping its meaning. “Yeah?”

“I saw you from afar,” you point into a direction arbitrarily, as if he’s still several feet from you and not mere inches, “and I wanted to,” you inhale when a finger reaches out, straight to a vein in your neck, gentle, exploring, “let you do anything with me that you wanted to.”

“Ohh.” His palm covers your neck, as if he’s coddling you. But you know what that touch will morph into, so you sneak closer to him, lean forwards. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“…Right.”

His thumb moves up and rubs under your jaw, then up your face and to your lower lip. The touch is soft and careful, as though gauging your reaction and searching for permission.

Your shaky, little exhale is nearly unnoticeable, but you know he catches it, and you know he already sees the consent in your eyes. But he still doesn’t lean in. Moves his eyes across your face, to his hand, to your neck and then all the way back to your gaze.

And then, contrasting the loving movements and affectionate gesture, he smiles. Mischief spreads in his stare, and his fingers retreat to the back of your neck, pulling you closer by a miniscule inch.

“So that’s what it was all this time? You’re on your knees for me, is that it?”

“Babe…” You look down, daring a joke. “Quite literally.”

You shuffle in your spot when he laughs quietly, hooking your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. You emphasise, “I mean it. Just… If you must know? I would’ve been okay with handing you all the control, okay? All of it.”

You’re aware you’re acting as though he doesn’t wreck your shit every other time, too. In fact, that’s probably how the two of you started out.

His absolute craze at the frat party, drunk. College nights when you’d confront him about your bullshit — weak excuses to make him press you against his dorm walls. A hand clapped over your mouth, your ass out, dick buried inside until you felt him in your guts—

You’ve always been at his mercy — but you want him to split you in half this time.

“You would’ve?” he repeats. “And now? Still want that?”

You look down again. There’s no shyness in that movement, no averting his beastly eyes — your focus lies elsewhere because you have a theory. Which proves true.

The swelling under his joggers, right there between his legs wasn’t there before.

So you gather your voice, and say, “…Yes.”

“Hmm. Why didn’t you tell me?” His fingernails dig lightly into your skin, and right in the middle of the tension, he pouts for a little moment. “I genuinely thought you were still pissed.”

“I was on my period…” You shrug your shoulders. “It was also late. I was so tired, and—”

He waits.

“I knew that you’d do it if I asked for it.”

“I would’ve.” What’s worse? The confirmation or the tickling breath against your cheek? When did he get so close? “I still would. If you want me to.”

“I just said yes,” you tug at the shirt, eliciting an amused grin as the tips of your noses collide, “you’ll keep asking and,” your heart beats at a million miles a minute, “just not kiss me, is that it?”

Your provocation proves effective just the right amount.

Because he opens his mouth, seemingly snarling — you can’t tell for sure, since his lips clash against yours within half a moment. Determined as his hand immediately flashes to the small of your back, supporting you before you fall backwards on the carpet.

And then he kisses you like a man starved. Like he’s run out of saliva, dehydrated. Seeks your tongue, tastes like earthy Matcha Latte and something you can’t quite define — something that’s so uniquely him.

Your kiss muffles his tiny sound, a mixture of a sigh and a moan, body impatient as he tries to push closer to you, though separated by your clashing knees. You understand — you, too, would let him smother you under his weight if you could.

So you pull your folded legs apart, shifting until they surround him and attempting to straddle him. But he’s plotting something else: his fingers hold your jaw, keeping you in place, and the hot, wet kiss breaks when he pulls away.

You catch a brief glimpse of glistening lips before he moves to trail down your body, leaning in to teeth at your shirt, pushing it off your shoulder and kissing your skin for a fleeting second. And when the shirt shifts back into position, his other hand works on your tits.

Grabs your shirt at its hem, lifting it over your mounds until they’re free, nipples perked, home to him. In a haze, the tip of his tongue touches the right nub, and you shiver.

More so when he whispers, “Am so hard for you, I’ll fucking combust.”

For you.

You’ll repent for how badly you want him in your mouth.

You caress his thigh, sneaking up until you reach the swelling under the fabric. You feel it immediately, firm as a rock, big and fat, so sensitive that he hisses once you touch it.

“No,” he commands, the word barely a breath, “no, no. Don’t or I’ll come like this.”

He says it against your neck. Warm and tickling. You feel goosebumps arise, your reactions slow, but your heart fast. His fingers engulf your wrist, leading your palm to his cheek; you feel the smileless dimple under your thumb when he darts out his tongue to wet his lips.

Then, you close your eyes; the pecks against your neck are exhilarating. The moving touch, down to your tits and then back up to your jaw is one of his favourite games; you move your hips against the carpet, soaked panties sticking against your pussy.

“You’re…” you start, fingers in his fluffy hair as he bites your nipple. You moan, your words shaky, “You’re— more into this today.”

“I mean… after everything you just said to me?” He chuckles, moving up, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth brushes yours.

“And I missed her.” Free hand between your thighs, he taps just over your clit; your lips part. “Too crude to say I can’t wait for her to swallow my cock?”

Well. Fuck.

If it wasn’t him, you’d cringe. But it is him, and the truth is that you’re dying for him to press himself onto you. To wrap himself around you, to wrap yourself around him.

You want him to cut you in half, want to be his little toy until you can barely stand.

“Maybe,” you tell him, “but I promise that she wants it, too.”

That’s it, that’s it.

It’s when teeth meet again, the kiss messy, your arms around his neck. He holds you by your waist, pulling you off the floor a little, readjusting his position, so you can climb onto him.

You tilt your head as far as you can, taking him in, drooling, lips and tongue moving wildly to taste all of him. His digits wander from your back to your ass, pushing between your cheeks and pressing against your clenching hole.

The gesture is short lived, but enough for you to rub against him. The urge to rip your panties and part your folds over his girth is profuse; to dampen his length and empty his balls just like this.

But he clenches his jaw, groaning. Halts your movement with a strong grip before pulling at your hair without breaking the kiss. You move your fingers up and down his arm, and then dash it upwards to bury them in his locks, too.

Only, instead of reaching his mane, your hand hits the glass table on your left; you grunt into the kiss and then move away to exclaim, “Ah, fuck.”

Jungkook must’ve heard the sound because he catches on right away, laughing. Gently, he pushes you off his lap, gets back on his knees and then up. He pulls you with him as he says, “Alright. Get on the couch before you hurt yourself.”

“Couch?”

You’re surprised; not the bed this time, is it?

Then again — Jungkook isn’t necessarily picky when it comes to this; cue flashback to bathroom adventures.

So you still listen. Wobbly legs drag you to the sofa, plumping onto it as you watch him follow. The bulge is huge, hotter than hellfire when he palms it and lets go again.

“Too damn lazy to get to the bedroom,” he declares before dropping back on his knees.

You thought he’d climb over you, push you back across the length of the couch. But instead, he seems satisfied with your helpless position, pushing back the carpet and table some to take a seat right in front of you.

You admire his patience — the outline of his cock presses against its confines. Does it not hurt? His expression doesn’t reveal any discomfort as he adjusts against the hard floor; the carpet barely provides any relief.

But the discomfort doesn’t redirect his focus, his touch heading towards you, urging you to remove your joggers at turtle’s pace. He throws them over his shoulder and onto the table, one leg of them dangling off of it.

Left in your panties, you watch his hands curl under your knees, freeing his way to where you want to ache. Lifts your legs, places them on his shoulders carefully, amused and delighted when your bent limbs drag him closer to your cunt.

His tenacious tongue peeks between his teeth, and he fondles your thighs before he reaches the hem of your panties. They bug him — separate your heat from his mouth; in this moment, a crime to him.

“Help me here real quick,” he whispers, and you raise your ass, letting him drag the underwear off of you.

It sticks to your pussy for a second, obscenely flooded with your gradually building arousal. You think he sees, because he halts for a second, eyes flitting up to you before he says, “I think this’ll be fun.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Well…

You shrug your shoulders, but smile tellingly, eliciting a smirk that decorates his gorgeous face, closing in bit by bit. The cool air evaporates the nearer he draws, replaced by his hot breath.

And then… just to test…

He darts out his tongue, the sharp tip of it tickling your clit. Your reaction, much desired, stirs a new type of appetite in him. Because your chin trembles just once, just for a moment. Lashes flutter, and his heart skips a beat.

As he inhales, but never exhales, you question, “What?”

“Nothing,” he assures, blowing against your sex, “just. So very pretty.”

You look down at him. His shoulders look broader from here. Muscular, hair dark and silky. His lips are colourful, handsome, nose ready to bury in your pelvis. If he thinks you’re pretty, then he’s the definition of true aesthetic.

Slowly, you reach for his hair, brushing through it before you bring his head closer to you, hinting at the obvious, and say, “And you.”

“Not like you, though…”

He waits, allowing the both of you a moment of preparation.

And then… he’s kissing your pussy. Lightly at first, up and down, a hand on your inner thigh that moves closer and closer to your folds.

He sighs once before a digit parts your nether lips sticking together, and then licks a stripe between them. You whine quietly; his eyes close. He’s beautiful like this; in a minute, he’ll look at you again, mouth swollen, and you’ll wish for his touch to last and last and last…

“Please,” you only whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Instead, his sweet kisses turn into something more. Way more wetness, way more tongue. And before you know it, he’s splitting your legs wider, pushing in to start devouring you.

Your moans are intoxicating. They’re sudden, but not surprising, voiced against the ceiling when your head falls back. The heels of your feet dig into his back, pushing him closer when his knees are already touching the couch.

The movements of his mouth are warm, a waterfall. He eats you out until he’s slurping, drenching you further. He’ll slide in effortlessly, you already know. Will bury every single inch of himself inside you, fill you up for the rest of the day.

And your high — it builds up embarrassingly fast. Perhaps because it’s been a while; or maybe because it’s Jeon Jungkook you’re dealing with. Either way, your lower stomach aches, the knot pressing against your guts.

“Kookie,” you murmur, yet again left without an answer.

He knows not to break his focus this time; knows that you’re close, recognises it in your grip around the patch of his hair. Hears it in your desperate whimpers, louder by the second. Words more unintelligible now.

Your thigh is twitching every now and then, quivering, and he takes it as a sign to keep sucking and swirling. Then flicks his wet muscle over your engorged clit, adding to your exclaims when his nimble fingers glide into you swiftly.

Too swiftly. Two of them are barely enough; and he adds a third. Your cheeks heat up, body sliding down — partly because you’re dying inside, partly because he’s pulling you towards him.

Jungkook knows how to navigate your body, how to direct you towards a rationality-breaking explosion. And he does. He does with the plethora of lustful licks, softly circling around your clit. His nose presses against it every time he shifts downwards, tasting you thoroughly.

“I’m almost—” you voice, and he hums, vibrations torture.

It’s a game to him that he’s skilled at; he understands his moves, and he never loses. Neither today as he clamps his hand onto your waist, fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and digging, massaging your favourite spot.

They turn and twist, two fingers of his free hand settling around your clit and raising it for better access.

It takes probably half a minute longer… and then… then…

Your voice grows in pitch, nearly illegal for a Sunday afternoon, but music to his ears. So genuine and sweet. Corners of your eyes glistening. He holds your legs apart as you start begging, but all he truly makes out is the eager repetition of his name.

He wishes your shirt didn’t cover your upper body; wishes he could see the heaving of your chest, the perked nipples, the sweat on your clavicles.

But for now, this is enough.

The way he sees waves of pleasure wash over you, eyes rolled back, not looking at him anymore. Your lips are dry, your tongue probably, too, and he wants to kiss it wet again.

You moan and wince and keen, body restless. The tug of his hair becomes more prominent and palpable, but the sensation makes him smile. You’re probably barely noticing, too.

That is, until your hold and breathing finally calm down. You keep riding the wave, your head turning in odd circle-ish shapes. He kisses your pussy, helping you through it, only stopping when you open your eyes.

“Well, that was…” he says, lips as swollen as you anticipated, shimmering, “a good start.”

“Every single time,” you begin, panting, shaking your head. You watch him as he gets on his feet, moving in to your mouth. “Every single time I think it can’t get better, and then I remember it’s just the fucking beginning.”

He shifts to you slowly, grazing your lips, and declares with a soft smile, “More to come, I promise. Gonna have so much fun with you.”

“Do your worst—”

One more kiss. Shorter this time, but you recognise the familiar, lingering taste immediately. Neutral, not too bad. Fills you with pride, because he never fails to guarantee that he loves it.

But you can’t wallow in it because he retreats quickly, impatient hands freeing his golden body from his clothes. The shirt falls somewhere next to the carpet, his own joggers soon discarded, landing on top of yours and sliding to the ground together.

He’s a menace when he climbs onto the couch, knees digging in and creating a shift on each side of your body. His bulge, still hidden behind his boxers, floats in front of your face; from this close, you see the droplet of precum darken a spot of the light purple cotton.

“Next stage?” he wonders above you, stroking your hair gently, as if he’s not about to explore the back of your throat. “Want or do I rather not?”

“What do you mean with not?” Your breathing is heavy as you lift your palm and engulf the imprint of his dick. He flinches, hips moving back a bit before they come back. “Get this shit off.”

He chuckles. Brings his hand to your cheek, thumb caressing it and voice clear when he says, “You’re so cute. Being demanding and all.”

But he still listens. Gets off the couch, slides his underwear off, leaves you gaping.

Gaping at the hooked and girthy tower. Gaping at how the slit on top of his head glimmers. Gaping at the moles along the stiff length, staring at the thick veins, at the full, firm balls.

“Tongue out,” he orders; you do.

The ink-free hand pushes his dick down to you, tapping it against your tongue as you open up wide. He feels heavy, hot, the skin smooth. Your head moves forward to swallow more, but he pulls back.

Strokes himself for a couple seconds, thumb spreading the precum over his head. You drool. Watch attentively, as though you’re learning — until he eventually guides it back to you and positions it into your still gaping mouth.

Enters it slowly. Slightly salty. Then says, “Breathe. And don’t overthink it too much.”

Huh.

Well. Damn.

Because…

At times, you do worry about your expressions; about your tears when you gag around him, the coughing fits you get in the middle of it all. So that’s a surprise. Attentive. 

But your mind is blank today anyway; so you nod, moving to lick the underside of the tip, and he laughs, mumbling, “Alright. Have it, babe.”

And you do.

Slowly at first, cautious as you twirl your tongue around him. You don’t notice much discomfort just yet, thankful that he’s easing you into this. A third of his length buried inside, you close your lips around him and hollow your cheeks.

Which is probably when the invisible threads holding him back finally break.

“Okay,” he says, “you got this.”

His knees move in, more inches intruding. His fingers drift to the back of your head, and you dig yours in his brawny thighs. He grows harder in your mouth, impossibly bigger the more you drag your lips along his member.

How gratifying. You’ve craved this for hours and days. What was your argument about again?

Your head drops further back when he shoves himself inside, more and more as time passes. You imitate his prior advances — hum and close your eyes. Bring a hand to the base of his cock, pumping all that you won’t be choking around.

When you gaze up at him to analyse his reactions, he leaves your mind vacant. Because his head is raised, like yours, jawline edged and acute. Mouth open until he meets your eyes.

You hope he’s seeing something just as lascivious and mind-numbing from his perspective. Maybe messy hair, laying against the softness of your shirt. Or a cock appearing out of and disappearing behind pretty lips.

Slowly blinking eyes that shut just as slowly again, and a tongue that falls out and licks along a vein whenever your head moves to the side. Allowing you a couple deep breaths.

He must be perceiving it all, too.

Because a moment later, he gnarls, like a wild animal, and states, “This won’t do—”

—Before putting both hands under your ears, holding your head and…

Ramming his cock into your mouth.

You gasp around him, taken aback and delighted at once. Feel the effect between your legs, hoping to not defile the couch too much.

Head still thrown back, falling further, you already feel the ache in the back of your neck. Your attempts of holding onto the couch prove futile because there is nothing to hold onto, armrests too far away; so you return to his thighs.

But he keeps your body steady, held at the spot between his legs. Your head is a different story: it bounces back and forth, the exhales through your nose frantic as he pounds into your throat before he slows down again.

“Good, gooood,” he drags out, observing the glistening veins as he draws back to his tip and then moves in again. “Doing very, very well. Looks so gorgeous, baby.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about — about you, his cock, the position. Everything? 

He keeps up the gentler pace, allowing you a break. Allowing himself the pleasure of this very image. Pretty lips surrounding a pretty dick.

And perhaps your desperate, little moans, accompanied by rapid blinking, set a fuse loose in his brain.

Because a moment later, Jungkook dares a step further — cock already stuffing your entire mouth, he pushes in more. The fat monstrosity reaches far, your gag reflex not as much at bay anymore as before.

The view seems to spur him on, though, and you can imagine why. If you were him, you’d probably enjoy the drooling mess under him, too. Salivating all over his dick, you feel the gross drop of your spit land on your clavicle, throat constricting as he thrusts in.

And just when you’re about to tap his thighs — very reluctantly, too — to catch your breath, he pulls back, fingers immediately digging into your cheeks to straighten your neck and head. You cough, eyes teary, your breathing quick and uncontrolled.

Like a toy, he moves your head to the left, to the right, a sly smirk playing around his lips until he moves down to you, back arched. Amidst your panting, he presses a brief kiss to your mouth, slippery against the dampness.

And then he says, as casually as he shouldn’t, “You’d look so beautiful in leashes.”

“…What?”

But he ignores your mumbled inquiry, instead thumbing at your lower lip. His dark eyes flit from one facial feature to another, pink lip caught between his teeth. The firm chest rises dangerously when he breathes in.

“Should I come in your mouth?” he asks as if you’d ever say no; as if you don’t know that he’s asking because he won’t. “Huh? Shoot it all the way down your throat?”

“Do it, fucking coward.”

…And just like that, he moves back.

tumblr is cruel and the 1k block limit in the new editor won't let me post the entire thing at once lol so here's the rest in a reblog!!! <3

[yandere-sins]

A Camgirl's Happiness

a/n: To be fair, I know very little about actually streaming or cammodeling, and it's not as easy to read up on, so take my descriptions with a grain of salt. Also, I know that most people doing that job are really into it and I'm very happy for them, but I needed the drama for the story, hope you can understand! I hope you guys enjoy it regardless, it was fun to write!

Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Reader is a camgirl, mentioning of stripping, fulfilling sexual favors for viewers), Fem!Reader, Life struggles (Debts, Mental health problems), Mention of stalking, Obsessive Behavior

You knew exactly what you were doing, pulling your legs up on your chair, squeezing your breasts just a bit more prominently towards the camera.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

"Hi SweetsMaster! Longtime no read! We're just talking today, but I'm so glad you made it to the stream!"

Ding! Ding!

Smiling, you watched the crushing waves of messages, your fanbase as active as ever as they flooded you with their adoration. Even when you had an image to uphold, you couldn't help but be pampered by their compliments, giggling and telling them to stop calling you adorable and their "dream girl".

Still, you played along to their fantasies, hid your face behind your palm coyly, and kept them believing that you were this cute internet star they loved so much. Life was hard, but getting an end to your means barely needed more than an hour or two talking about all the cute things you'd do if you had one of these lonely, unhappy people behind the screen as your partner. You didn't complain that they invested their savings into spending time with you instead of therapy.

Not like you ever considered going to therapy yourself, too ashamed of the truths you'd have to share.

You sighed inwardly, forcing yourself to smile a bit more convincingly at the camera as you took a sip of water, letting some drops fall into your cleavage. "Oopsie!" you giggled, forced to appear bashful, hoping no one clipped that. But what were you thinking? Of course, they did.

"Stop that, guys! How embarrassing! People will think I can't even drink!"

Sometimes you didn't recognize your own voice as you put on a show. The pitch was too high, your words made you cringe. As if you were in a sketch, rather than a life performance. You quickly wiped away the droplets sitting on top of your skin, threatening to run down the curve of your breasts as many of your viewers hoped before continuing to chat with the rapidly growing crowd. Being a camgirl had been fun once—unforced.

When you started doing it, you enjoyed the time with every new follower you got. Some were creeps, but some were genuinely nice people who paid you to do things you enjoyed. You didn't feel strange being yourself back then; people supported you just as you were. Taking off your clothes and doing favors was a fun little side hustle to get you through college. You didn't plan on doing this forever.

But even with your degree, your real job, and all the possibilities you had now, you couldn't stop streaming. You tried countless of times! But every time you said goodbye for good, your life was thrown into chaos, your bills left unpaid. You lost your job, lost your home, lost all the friends that couldn't watch your life being ruined.

And now, you were tired. So, so tired.

You got back on your feet, thanks to streaming. You found a new job, a new home. More and more people joined your shows; they bought you gifts and sent you money. Even if there was no one to share your earnings with, at least you didn't have to worry about your debts anymore. You'd stream after work, on the weekends, vacations. You organized photoshoots and sold your pictures and merch on the side, even though no one ever wanted to get hired by you to help with all the packaging and work it took.

> you're nothing like you were when you first started

Someone typed in chat, and your fake voice began to crack as you read it out loud. Quickly, you composed yourself, but it stung.

"Yeah, well, aren't we all someone different than, let's say, three years ago? I've grown a lot as a person since I first started! And thanks to you guys, I was able to afford better equipment, too!"

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

You laughed at the incoming donations, forming a heart with your hands as you thanked your patrons. "That's going to be a new mic soon!"

> that's not what i meant

The same person from before wrote into the chat, their name—DarlingLover—highlighted in baby pink, revealing they were a superfan. You couldn't ignore them, even though you wished nothing more than for this conversation to end.

> you looked much happier back then

"That's not true!" you chimed up, using all your strength to press down the tears you felt shooting into your eyes. It was bittersweet to be seen in this industry. To not be objectified and idolized, but to have someone truly notice the person behind the on-camera persona.

"I love hanging out with you guys! I made so many new friends, and I'm grateful for all the support and love you guys have shown me! I would never have had the chance otherwise!"

Blowing some kisses towards the camera, your donations went wild, reassuring you that your cover hadn't been blown. You had to keep yourself together, you couldn't risk one perceptive fan to showcase how miserable you were. But perhaps you had to take it as a sign. A sign that it was enough for today. You needed to eat something, and the clock on your monitor—10:47 pm—reminded you that you skipped dinner long enough. And once you had some substance, you'd need the five hours of sleep before you'd have to drag yourself out of bed and to your real work.

"Okay, guys, that's it for tonight! Thank you all for joining our talking stream! I hope you had as much fun as I did!"

Slipping your hand beneath the spaghetti strap of your tank, you pushed it off your shoulder teasingly. "And just as a little reminder," you mumbled seductively, winking at your audience. "Join us tomorrow for a very fun night!"

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

You grinned cheekily, waving at the people and blowing them a few more kisses while the donations kept pinging in. Just two more clicks and you had closed the stream, watching it on your second monitor to see if your 'stream ended' notice got displayed properly. The animation had been damn expensive, and you wanted to use it to its fullest until it would be too outdated that you needed a new one.

Watching it for a while, you noticed that amongst the countless messages notifying you that someone left the stream, a few people still had a very eager conversation even after it ended. Immediately, the baby pink name of the superfan who had chatted with you before stood out, the user vehemently defending their standpoint against some newer fans. You clicked their names and checked them out, seeing the varying times from a few months to a few days of subscription to you, as well as the very sparse donation they made.

> i've been here longer, i'd know if she was truly happy

DarlingLover wrote, and you gulped, feeling the anxiety brewing inside your stomach. You couldn't believe they'd go out of their way to try and pull others on their side. Were they trying to ruin your career on purpose?

>> what an idiot lol >> srsly she wouldn't do it if she didn't want to >> yeah what the hell lol

A sigh of relief escaped you, seeing how the others didn't believe DarlingLover. Once again, your reputation was upheld even if it might cost you this superfan. It was expected in this industry to lose and gain followers. Some could withstand changes with their devotion, and others couldn't. You watched as the number of current visitors to your stream continued to drop relentlessly, the sight calming your mind.

You should have gotten up and made dinner, hit the hay before you could pity yourself any more than you had all evening. Your mood was already down the drain, but you were too exhausted to get up, thinking of just dropping into bed and sleeping until morning instead of doing anything else. You couldn't afford to not care for yourself, but it all felt so meaningless.

> Darling, you there?

A stray message popping up in chat caught your attention. You had three more visitors. Two must have just left it open on the side, but the third one was still chatting. With who? you wondered, waiting for someone to respond. But no one answered, DarlingLover, and a whole minute passed by.

> if you read this, can you message me privately? i want to book a private session

You inhaled deeply.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," you groaned, letting your head fall back against the gaming chair you had bought for your desktop setup. Pink and cute and so expensive. Private Sessions were the only reason you could afford a 500$ chair in the first place. But you really, really didn't want to. Really didn't want to entertain someone who had ruined your evening enough.

Click.

< Hi! :) You wanted a private session? Thank you so much, I look forward to it! Do you have a date in mind? I'll check with my bookings, but I'm sure we can find some time this week!

Yes, you hated yourself. But this user was a superfan, and you never let anyone down before. For the right price, you could do anything—or so you told yourself repeatedly. Trying to make yourself believe you could do it, burned out and exhausted as you were. It was just one more private session; you'd get through it, just like you always had.

> i've noticed how unhappy you are lately. you don't smile like you used to, don't tell us about what is happening in your life. you're like a pretty doll that sits and entertains us out of habit. i hate it. i want the real you back

That again. You scowled at the screen, your stomach grumbling in agreement (and hunger). "What do you even say to that?" you mumbled into the silence surrounding you. It was pitiful that you still lived in the same two-room flat since college, all your money going into debt and equipment rather than buying nice things for yourself. It made the dark, quiet loneliness so much more derisive. It was your life, but even so you could do nothing but entertain others to live in a way you didn't want to. You were so lost, your whole life purpose seemingly meaningless as the streams and viewers demanded more and more from you.

< I'm sorry you feel that way! :( I'm always trying my best to be myself and kind. I hope it didn't seem like I'm just faking it for the others! Please give me a chance to prove that I'm still me, and I'll do my best to meet your expectations!

Tears stung in your eyes as you typed out the words. You didn't want to grovel or apologize for how the world had ruined you. You couldn't push the blame on everyone else forever, but you truly felt wronged by your own life. Apologizing for being forced into a role you didn't want to have was way worse than when you made an actual mistake, but if you wanted to keep up the image, it was what you had to do.

> it's okay. i know you work so hard, i'm so proud of you for that

Your supporter's sudden shift in attitude made you lean back in your chair, your breath escaping you as you felt the tension being lifted. Perhaps he wasn't as weird as you assumed by his insistence on ruining the little composure you had in your stream. Maybe he was truly just concerned for you.

> that's why i'm going to help you!

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn't help but cringe. Nothing good ever came from someone saying they would "help" you. They were merely justifying themselves for wanting something unhinged from you, mostly something you weren't comfortable with. You relented to them in the past, but did you really have to put up with it still?

< Thank you so much for giving me a chance! ♥ Have you decided on a day then for our session?

> tomorrow night, 8pm, hotel loveline. i'll book the room, just mention my name to the receptionist, and they'll give you a key

You felt all goodwill shatter into a million pieces as you read the line. Bringing your hands to your face, you rubbed over the wrinkles and tension you held in the grimace of an expression you were making, wishing you could just drop the conversation and go to bed. It wasn't the first time someone asked to meet up personally. You had never done it before and wouldn't break your boundary for that guy now.

< I'm so sorry, but I don't do personal meet-ups! If you want a private cam session, please let me know, and I will arrange it! :)

"Please, god, let him get the hint," you prayed under your breath, but you should have known better. He was a persistent one.

> i'll make sure you gain thrice the followers than you do in one month just from our collaboration. surely people will send lots of donations, too. the only thing i want is you, natural, real. mine for the night

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mister," you grumbled, slowly getting angry at this guy. Why did he lie through his teeth? How in the world would someone get you thrice the subscribers from a private session? Why make big promises that were impossible to keep? And he was paying for it, so there would be no donations for you. But even so, with your teeth grinding in frustration, you typed out the nicest rejection you possibly could.

< Sorry, but I'm really not comfortable with personal meet-ups! And charging you for a whole night also makes me feel bad; my rates aren't cheap, after all. It wouldn't be fair to you. Let me know if you are still interested in a cam session, I'll give you a discount since you've been a fan for so long! :) ♥

There was an eery silence in the chatroom, and you glimpsed towards the bathroom, wondering if you had time to get ready for bed until he replied. Ultimately, you decided to wait it out, just to be polite, while you scolded yourself for offering a discount. This interaction alone should have warranted an extra charge on top of your regular rates.

> you like your current day job, don't you?

This statement caught you off-guard. You hadn't spoken much about your new employment on stream, not wanting to bore your viewers with such trivial things when they were there to be entertained.

> wouldn't you be sad if you were fired again?

"What do you mean?" you typed back, the confusion growing.

> i take good care of my darling, and you'll enjoy what i have prepared for you. if you can no longer pretend to be happy, i will help you find that happiness again, help you choose the right path

< you scare me

You typed the words before thinking them through. This was the real you, not the persona he knew and wanted to see, and she just messed up big time.

< I'm sorry, I meant to say your comments can be interpreted weirdly, and it's a little scary to read them right now. I'd still be up for the cam session if you're interested, though?

Anything, you thought, anything to stop him from saying more weird shit.

Does he... does he know you? You pondered the thought for a while. Trying to find a weird interaction you might have had before in your real life. One where someone spoke to you like he did. But you couldn't recall it. How did you know about your job though? Was he perhaps a colleague? But even they knew very little of you, and definitely not about your other job.

"Do I know you?" you asked when he didn't reply anytime quick.

Immediately, you regretted showing vulnerability in front of this stranger. From the moment he joined your stream, DarlingLover had seen through your charades, the online persona you had kept up so carefully. They were laying you bare in an uncomfortable, personal way. You've always been so careful with information about your personal life, keeping all your stories vague and unidentifiable, never naming brands of the stores you visited, or talking about the companies you were part of. How did he know where you lived and about your work?

You wished he'd just stop and disappear to where he came from.

> not yet :)   > but you will get to know me—all of me—when we see each other tomorrow. i'll make you smile again, i'll make you happy. you'll be my darling star again, just like before! my reason to live, my beloved. i can't wait for tomorrow, see you soon!

DarlingLover left the chat.

You stared at the message for a while, perplexed and dumbfounded as you tried to make sense of it. You replayed the interaction over and over but could find no logic or reason behind it. You didn't know this guy, he didn't know you. At least, not personally. But he did know more about you than any of your subscribers should.

Part of you hated him, but the rest of you was scared. Scared of what would happen if you scorned him, the havoc he'd unleash on your life. You were scared of the embarrassment he could cause you if he revealed your secret sidehustle to your work, feared how the opinion of you would change now that you finally found work that you liked and coworkers that you could have fun with. You were finally one leg into having a normal life, only for some stranger on the internet to come and ruin it again. It made you mad and drove you downright crazy.

Clicking his username over and over, it stated he was offline. You couldn't open a new chat again, couldn't scream at him how you weren't going to do that! How you wouldn't meet him for real because he could very well be a psycho or murderer! Surely, he'd not give you back the time you lost streaming, the friends you pushed away to earn money, or your happiness in exchange for success!

"What do I do?" you sighed, rubbing your face once more. You were so tired, you had to go to bed. Soon, you'd have to get up, get to work, and decide whether you wanted to attend the meet-up.

Wait.

Why was that even a decision?

Of course, you wouldn't go! He couldn't force you! He couldn't—

Did you really have a choice?

Flopping into your bed, you groaned. In a fit of anger, you punched your fists into the mattress a few times before the strength left you. Of course, it was your choice. You had started over before. If the worst came to fruition, you'd just do it again. Nothing was lost. You could do it! You could refuse the offer and live a happy life away from streaming and the judgment of other people! It would be hard. So very hard. But you could do it!

Sleep overtook you before you could prepare yourself for bed. You didn't hear the ping of a chat message. All your body had left in it was to sleep away the exhaustion, even if it meant knocking you out for good and without having an alarm set for the next morning. Big decisions would have to be made the next day, but you were asleep, unaware of the weight resting on your shoulders.

And you didn't notice the red light on your webcam, saying it was still on even though your screen had long closed down.

< sleep well, darling :) ♥

His lips curled into a wicked, lovestruck grin as he moved the window with the video live feed of your bedroom to the second monitor. Finally. Finally, he'd get to meet you. His idol, his darling, his beloved streamer. He adored and worshipped you since the day you started. Watched every one of your streams since the day you joined his life.

Without you, his channel wouldn't exist. People wouldn't adore him, wouldn't watch him. The masses of fans enjoying his lengthy cock-stroking sessions, buying his ASMR audios to masturbate to—they all wouldn't exist without you. Even when he was down when he just started, seeing you smile and do your best for the few followers you had was what made him continue working hard for you.

And now that he had long surpassed you, it was time he gave back the gratitude he felt towards you.

The thought alone of meeting you was getting his cock rock hard, ready to burst. He wasn't even sure if he could look into your eyes without cumming instantly like a pathetic loser. But he wouldn't mind being a loser again if it meant he got to meet you.

"I love her streams," he hummed blissfully, closing the connection to your stream as he palmed himself over his sweatpants. Thanks to your lovely end of stream announcement, showing all your best moments, no one even noticed he'd be off chatting with you. "She's my favorite streamer ever."

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Donations went off as he pulled down the waistband, revealing the girthy mass that his followers loved so much. He'd been so ashamed as a teenager for having this monster of a cock, but on the internet, he found solace. People loved imagining riding him, giving him BJs, the whole nine yards, but he saved himself. For you. You'd be the first, and if he did his job well, you'd be his last.

"Before we get to the main part of tonight," he teased, gripping his length in his hand, squeezing and caressing it for the whole community to see. Head rolling back, he imagined your warmth spread around him, his cock pulsing eagerly as he wished to know what it would feel like to pop the tip into your tight pussy.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

He grinned. They loved him so much. Everyone loved the former loser now turned into a hot, sexy internet sensation. And you would, too. Very soon.

"I want to announce that we're going to have the collaboration of the year right here, on this channel, tomorrow. Starting at 8:30pm! Make sure you're here to witness it, Darling."

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

[webshood]

Duke Thomas is actually the Wayne's family pretty boy.

He's a genius of his own, one of the smartest people in the family, his meta powers are like no other and despite being the one who does the day shift he's handling vigilantism, school and his newfound modeling career in stride.

Duke started modeling, because the Wayne family doesn't actually have a public nepobaby. Dick is a cop, Jason is legally still dead by his own request, Cass is not the biggest fan of the media, Steph is technically not a part of the family and Tim is already their corporate nepobaby, Damian is still a kid, so Duke had to take in the reins and assume the role of "famous person who only got that far, due to his family".

He was hesitant about it at first not sure if he could pull it off, but slowly with Bruce as backing and the Wayne Enterprises public relations department on call, he's been recognized as a nepobaby. He's doing every type of publicity, fashion photoshoots, he was Coca-Cola's face for six months, he's the one with a Samsung exclusivity partnership, he's always attending the met gala, going on movie premieres.

People are tired of seeing his face everywhere, when he got cast on the role of a originally white character, the internet was in shambles they were throwing tantrums and screaming about accuracies, but all of that got overshadowed by him appearing on Forbes with Bruce on a father and son photoshoot, where Bruce called him "the son who takes after me the most, he has an aura that attracts every camera on the room, he's like a beam of light."

People got even more pissed with it, after all Bruce isn't even his real dad what does he mean with "who takes after me the most"??? Is he that stupid? Dear god, how can these people have this much money and act like that

[imaginaryf1shots]

Falling | Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x photographer!reader

WC: 2.1K

Warnings: none

AN: Could’ve made it more angst but I was in the mood for fluff. I don’t think it’s my best work but I love it. I’m a bit tired and I wanted to post this so excuse the any mistakes.

REQUESTED

I hope you like it.

Masterlist

Charles Masterlist

Charles walked into the paddock in his team’s kit, he was so out of it today for some reason. His manager was walking with him telling him everything he’ll be doing for the day, he was half listening half lost in his own thoughts. So it made perfect sense why he wouldnt see you, you were crouched down taking pictures of Lando who was posing for you.

Charles all but fell on top of you, you had just enough sense in you to move your expensive camera away from the ground. Letting a soft curse escape your lips at the impact. Charles manages to catch himself just in time not to crush you. You were on your side and Charles was on his hands and knees beside you. Lando? He was on the floor laughing, laughing at your wide and shocked eyes.

Sitting up you looked at the Ferrari driver, who was on his knees dusting his hands, making you both now sitting next to each other. It was then that Charles saw you for the first time. Your hat was on backwards so he had full access to see your face. His eyes moved all over your face taking you in, he never saw you before he’s sure of it, there's noway he’d seen you before and forgotten, your face isn’t the type to be forgotten.

“Are you okay?… You didn't hit your head did you.” It took Charles a moment to realise you were talking to him, he blinked a couple of times, and cleared his throat, Lando watched amused(He’ll be proud later on to be there when you first met). You had a smile on your face.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright, are you okay?” Charles checked you for any injuries, he got up and offered you his hand, which you gave him, your soft hand in contrast to his calloused one.

“As long as my baby is okay, I’m okay.” You said waving the camera in indication. “You know you could’ve asked for pictures if you wanted, didn’t have to run me over.”

“I uh, I’m sorry I wasn’t focused.” Charles apologised realising he never apologised.

“It’s alright.” You gave him a smile.

“Charles.” Charles braved and put his hand out for you to shake, you placed your hand back in his telling him your name, before anything else could be exchanged he was pulled away and you went back to the mini photoshoot you were doing to a still amused Lando.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Let’s say this wasn’t the last time you saw Charles, in fact he became one of the drivers who always posed for you and let you take pictures of him, and the fans had more pictures of Charles to rate in their weekly outfit rating when it came to the drivers.

“Come on, why won’t you take pictures of me?” Charles asked following you around the paddock, you were looking through the pictures you already took of him, and there were quite the few that were perfect, in your opinion.

“Charles I literally took over 50 of you just now, I’m not a Ferrari photographer you know.” You told the monegasque driver and stopped in your tracks suddenly he almost crashed into you, again. “Look at this one, you look so good here.”

“I always look good.” He said with a scoff, you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t admit that he’s right, it’s hard to take a bad picture of him. Charles looked at the picture over your shoulder, he was standing so close to you, you felt his body heat.

“I seriously have to go.” You told the driver, after a moment, looking at your watch. stepping away from the Ferrari driver you turned to face him. “Once I’m done with Ethan I can take more pictures of you.”

“You’re going to take some of Ethan, now?” Charles frowned, his upbeat mode gone, but you didn’t really realise too focused on what you had to do.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later Charles.” Charles clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes before he left for Ferrari’s motorhome.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

you were at Ferrari’s motorhome, you were getting food from there that day, Ethan your cousin was in a meeting so you weren’t at Williams’ cafeteria. Taking your food you found the two Ferrari drivers sitting at a table, you smiled to yourself as you watched Charles talk animatedly with Carlos.

“Care if I join you?” You asked the two.

“Yeah, sit down.” Carlos said and Charles groaned with a teasing smile. You glared at the male but sat down next to him.

“It’s great to know that Ferrari has such a welcoming atmosphere.” You said to Carlos ignoring Charles.

“Yeah, this welcome is only for you.” Carlos said and gave Charles a look, the Monegasque kicked his leg under the table. Carlos smirked and shook his head. It didn’t take long before Charles started nicking food from your plate, unlike the duo you weren’t on a strict diet, your plate looked more appetising than his.

“Why are you so annoying, go get your own food.” You said after the fifth fry was stolen from your plate.

“Because annoying you is what I’m best at.” Charles smirked and stole another fry.

“Come on mate, she needs all the food she gets, running around the paddock all day.” Carlos has found himself always amused watching the both of you. Him and Lando have a standing bet on when Charles will confess, the former teammates are waiting for him to get the courage, since you seemed oblivious of Charles’ raging crush on you.

“Honestly Carlos you’re becoming my favourite Ferrari driver.” You said and quickly pulled your plate away from Charles’ attack, your eyes met in a challenge narrowing slightly. Your plate kept moving left and right as Charles’ fork kept coming back.

“How come someone so tiny can be so annoying?” Charles asked giving up on eating from your plate.

“Well I never thought an F1 driver could be stupid but here you are.” Carlos burst out laughing, you bit back a laugh as Charles blinked and stunted.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Charles heard your laughter before he saw you, he couldn’t help but smile. When he rounded the corner his shoulders deflated and the smile on his face fell away. There you are again taking pictures of Ethan and joking around with the rookie. You’re 80% of the time just taking pictures of him, you both looked close and very comfortable with each other. You had your head thrown back in laughter as you both stood so close looking at the pictures on your camera. There’s nothing that the rookie could do that's this funny, in Charles’ opinion anyway.

“Why won’t you ask her out?” Pierre asked coming up behind his friend, he followed his sight and it fell on the female photographer. The female is well known now in the paddock and she took some crazy good photos of him and Kika last week.

“What are you talking about?” Charles acted confused and turned to walk the way he came from, Pierre followed him, determined to make his friend see reason and admit his feelings. Plus the bet money just doubled as more people also placed their bets.

“Come on now, just because she’s blind doesn’t mean the rest of us are.” Pierre said and rolled his eyes. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Charles stopped and looked around, seeing where he was and where he’s going. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know how, okay?”

“You don’t know how…” Pierre was confused.

“I-I’ve never asked a girl out before, they’ve-they’ve always been the ones to approach me first.” Charles mumbled and Pierre couldn’t help but laugh, Charles cursed his friend and went to turn away when Pierre stopped him.

“WAit, wait, just tell her you like her and want to take her out for dinner or something, it’s simple.” Pierre said getting over his laughter when he saw Charles was serious and really didn’t know how to ask you out. “Isn’t she supposed to have a mini photoshoot with you today?” ‘yeah’ “Ask her then.”

“I don’t know.” Charles mumbled.

“Think about it.” Pierre patted his back in encouragement.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Charles thought about it, he did, but every time he got the courage and told himself to just ask you out, he remembered all the times he’s found you with Ethan, the hugs he’s seen you share after races, the hundreds upon hundreds of pictures you have of him, your professional instagram is filled with the Williams driver. It irked him how the rookie could get you, he hated it, he really did. so he decided to sulk in his driver’s room.

Charles was brought out of his thoughts when he heard a knock on the door. He was laying back on his bed. ‘come in.’

he didn’t expect you to come in, he sat up on the bed. You timidly closed the door behind you but didn’t move further in the room, it’s your first time in a driver’s room that wasn’t your cousin’s.

“I was looking for you, a-are we having the shoot?” For some reason you found yourself nervous, Charles and your relationship has always been light and easy going so the heavy air around you both didn’t make any sense at the moment. “Are you not feeling up to it?”

“I thought you’d take photos of Ethan.” Charles said bitterly, you frowned at his words, he clearly didn’t like your cousin by the way he spat his name.

“No, I finished with him today… Do you not like him or something? Did he do something?” You asked and for those who know that you’re related to Ethan can tell that you’re asking for a place of an older sister, but to Charles it didn’t sound like that.

“No.”

“You can tell me, I’ll tell his mum.” You tried to joke but Charles didn’t react to your words at all, sighing you moved closer to him, he was still on his bed looking up at you. “What has my cousin done now?”

A long moment of silence and recognition flickered over Charles face.

“Cousin?”

“Yeah?” yYou were confused at his confusion now. “What did Ethan do?”

“I- I didn't know he was your cousin.” Charles muttered, you raised an eyebrow with a small smile.

“If not a cousin or a brother then, there’s no way I’d spend that much time taking pictures of a single person if I wasn’t under the threat of family.” You joked and sat on the very edge of the bed besides Charles.

“it - it makes sense.” Charles was talking to himself at the moment he connected the dots, it looked like he was debating something with himself while rethinking all his life decisions. He looked from his fingers up to meet your eyes, your breath hitched in your throat and in this moment you understood why you felt nervous. This is the first time you’ve been completely alone with the Ferrari driver. “Do you want to go out to dinner?”

“W-what?” Your eyes went wide, this came out of nowhere.

“Can I take you out on a date?” Charles has no idea where this courage came out from but the more she took to answer he started to doubt himself.

“A date?” It seemed like the only thing you can get yourself to say is to repeat what he was saying.

“I thought I was stupid.” Charles raised an eyebrow, you jokingly hit his shoulder and glared at him, but as he held your gaze.

“I would like to go on a date with you.” Both your cheeks flushed with colour and suddenly you aren’t able to keep eye contact. “I didn’t know you liked me like that.”

“We’ll, you trapped me the first time we met.” Charles joked remembering the first time you met.

“Me? You literally fell down the first time you saw me.” You replied straight away. “Some would say you fell right in love with me.”

“I don’t know about love, but I really like you.” Again you were left speechless, cheeks pink, you hid your face away from him by leaning your forehead on his shoulder. Charles couldn’t stop himself from hugging you and kissing the side of your head, unknowingly making it worse for you. Taking a deep breath you pulled back and pushed your hair back. “Do you want to take pictures now?”

“I don’t know, you did miss your appointment.”

“You should feel honoured to take pictures of me.”

“I feel sick.”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Lando will definitely be telling everyone how he was there when Charles fell in love with you.

Carlos and Pierre won the bet.

username here's some of my favourite @/y/ntwt photos of @/charles_leclerc this year

username yn really has been working hard 👏 🤧

username no because what did she say to have him smiling like this!! ART 🙌

username forget what she said, look at how he looks at her (the 2nd pic isn't by her but he's looking at her) 👀👀

username we should all say thank you yn! 🥰🥰

[kopilot-pop]

[Sofa] 18+

- Karina x G!P Reader

Request: can we get some karina fluffxsmut.. 🫣 where g!p reader just wants to make her feel good after weeks of being busy.. haha ive had red velvet’s underwater on repeat and something abt the song just makes me want to snuggle w her but at the same time go ham on her 😥

Warnings: MDNI, g!p, praise kink, soft sex, overstimulation, creampie, size kink (if you squint), etc.

A/N: I am feral after writing dis. This is fluffy and filthy at the same time so read at your own risk <3

Word Count: 1,080

———————————————————————

“Jimin?”

It’s been seven days since you’ve last seen your girlfriend face-to-face. With her recent comeback, she was all over the country - sometimes even abroad. From stages to fashion shows, her schedule barely even gave her time to even text you.

That’s why after finishing the final stage for her comeback and the photoshoot for some magazine you forgot the name of, Jimin decided to crash at your apartment rather than her group’s house.

It was 3 a.m. when you jolt awake from your couch, hearing the doorlock beep.

Karina, no, Jimin stands there in a short black skirt, with your varsity jacket covering most of her body….

‘I should ask for that magazine’s name later.’

Before you could even greet Karina, you didn’t even get to meet her eyes when she immediately crashed into your arms.

“Woah-!”

“Hey baby…” She mumbled out.

Her long arms wrapped around you in a loose embrace, her tired body immediately starting to melt the moment she feels your warm body against her. After a few second of the embrace, you feel her legs slightly wobble and decide to move from the cold front door to the couch you were passed out on a few minutes ago.

“Here we go…”

With a huff you pick her up (she’s always light as a feather) and naturally Jimin wrap her legs around your waist.

You carried your tired girlfriend towards the couch and the moment you sit down, she snuggles into you deeper.

“Stooop..”

Jimin whines as you struggle to help take off the heavy jacket. Apparently, she doesn’t like it when her girlfriend pushes her away to help her be comfortable.

“Okay, okay you big baby..”

She’s still sitting on your lap when you finally push the large coat off her shoulders. And you finally get to meet her beautiful eyes after a long 168 hours.

Jimin has a prominent pout on her face, definitely not enjoying the fact that she wasn’t able to cuddle up into your body again.

‘God, she’s adorable.’

You’re unable to contain your smile when she manages to push your body back with her remaining strength.

“Stop moving.. I need you…”

At the same time, her whole body ‘unintentionally’ grinds into you.

‘Shit.’

Holding onto her hips - totally trying to keep her still, without any other intentions - you let out an awkward cough as Jimin’s chest touches yours.

‘WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU Y/N- Your girlfriend just came back from a full day of schedules. You can’t possibly get hard right n-’

“Hnngh..”

You let out a soft groan when Jimin slightly fidgets in your arms, letting out a moan.

“A..are you sleeping…?”

Karina lets out a incoherent mumble proving that she was awake, just barely.

“Alright.. How about we move to the bedroom? I’ll wake you up in the morn- ugh..”

Jimin - this time 100% intentionally - grinds her crotch into the (now prominent) bulge in your sweatpants.

“….what if I don’t wanna sleep?”

She slightly tilts her head from your shoulder to meet your eyes. Her soft gaze claws at your brain, making your cock stand up even more.

“W..well… I’m sure you’re tired.. a..and..”

“I missed you..”

Jimin tiredly straightens her back, pushing you slightly down the couch with her fingertips. You’re practically merged into the back cushions, only able to watch as she hooks her finger onto the hem of your boxers.

She pulls your garments down just enough to have you cock spring out. Before she could do anything, you push your hand up to pull her underwear down, leaving only the skirt to cover her dripping pussy.

You sit up, watching as she grabs onto your shoulders and slowly push herself down onto you.

“Mmf..”

She barely makes it pass the tip when she halts. Jimin once again pushes her body against you, shoving her face into your t-shirt.

“Does it feel good?”

With your hands still under her skirt, you grab her thighs and gently pull her down to fully take your cock. She always struggled to take your size, so you knew you had to be gentle.

When she finally managed to take you fully, she let out a loud groan. You pull her into a kiss as she grips onto your arms for support.

“C’mon, you’re such a good girl… You’re so fucking tight… Fuck…”

Jimin lets out another whine at your praise. You lick her bruised lower lip and she starts to lightly bounces up and down, loving the feeling of your hands guiding her.

“I- hngh-! I love you…”

As the younger girl bounces on your cock, you shove your hands up her sweater, pushing both the garment and her bra up - letting them rest right on top of her breasts. You gently lick her right peak, enjoying how she clenches down on you with every flick.

“I…I’m gonna come… Please let me come…!”

Her bounces become more frantic when you start biting and leaving marks all over her. You keep eye contact as you latch onto her left nipple, watching as tears start to form.

When Jimin feels your teeth lightly bite onto it, she comes undone.

She frantically pushes into your body again, gripping tightly onto your shirt as her pussy clenches around your throbbing member. Loud squelching sounds embarrassingly echo around the living room, as Jimin whimpers into your shoulder.

“Good girl…. You did so well baby.. Can you give me one more?”

“Wha.. wait..!”

Without listening to her answer, you jolt your hips up into her - this time a bit more roughly.

You don’t let your girlfriend control the pace as you tightly grip onto her waist - sure to leave bruises - and continuously slam her onto your cock.

“Ah-! I can’t!! Please- ugh-”

Jimin grabs onto your back, holding on for dear life as she helps you chase your orgasm. You grunt as you feel the younger girl spasm around your dick, feeling more liquid splatter onto your stomach.

“Y/nnn…!! I came- ah! Please…’”

“I’m almost there.. Fuck! I’m cumming..!”

With a final pump, Jimin smashes your lips together as she feels your cum completely fill her womb.

You can feel the mixture of you and Jimin drip onto her thighs, completely soaking the front of her skirt and your pants.

When she finally pulls aways her lips with a pop, you finally get a look of her tearful face.

“Mmf… I.. told you to… give me.. a second….”

“Sorry baby, didn’t hear ya..”

Jimin loudly smacks your shoulder.

———————————————————————

[oizysian]

Heyy bestie

Can I request a Mommy!Lizzie x fem!reader where we make plans with her for lunch but her work schedule makes her miss it, then reader gets really sad and pouty and spams her phone but Lizzie doesn’t answer. And when she finally comes home she comes back with flowers and then makes it up to us with the strap and js some lovely sex🙂‍↕️

I’ve js been in my feels lately and want mommy to make it better 🙈

Tonight | Elizabeth Olsen

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: strap use, dirty talk

Word count: 1.2k

AN: I’m sorry you’ve been in your feels. I hope this makes you feel better. (I also want mommy Lizzie to make things better.)

I looked at my phone for what felt like the hundredth time, checking to see if my girlfriend messaged me back. She was twenty minutes late already. I knew she was busy with work, but she could at least text me, right?

I sighed softly, placing my phone down on the table and finishing my drink. This wasn’t the first time I’d been stood up by her and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

I couldn’t be too angry with her though, she got worked like a dog and I’m sure it wasn’t her fault that she had no time to herself. If she wasn’t on set, she was giving an interview and if she wasn’t giving an interview, she was doing a photoshoot - there was literally just not enough time in the day for her to do it all and be with me.

I stood up from my chair and began cleaning up the unused dishes from our lunch. I didn’t know why I thought today would be different. I sighed sadly, pushing back tears as I placed my wine glass in the sink, placing the plates back in the cupboard and the forks and knives in the drawer. Hopefully she’d be home for dinner.

I picked up my phone from the table and messaged her again, hoping I’d get a text back before long. Or a phone call.

But I heard nothing. Throughout the rest of the day, I occasionally sent her a message, telling her I missed her and loved her and that I hoped she was having a good day and not working herself too hard.

Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for her to come home. I was woken up by the sound of keys jingling in the door and I rubbed my tired eyes, looking towards the front door where Lizzie was coming in from. She entered and closed the door behind her quietly, trying her best to not be too loud. What time was it?

“Hi, baby,” she greeted me softly, kneeling down next to me on the couch. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you.”

She handed me a beautiful bouquet of flowers and I teared up looking at them.

“They’re beautiful.” I sat up and took them from her. “Thank you.”

“You deserve them. I’ve been a horrible girlfriend, but I’m gonna make it up to you.”

I smiled at her, sniffling softly at her words.

“You don’t have to. Just being here with you is enough.”

“It’s not.” She said, resting her hand on my thigh. “We need to spend some time together and I’m hoping you’ll let me make it up to you.”

Her hand trailed up my thigh, soft, lingering touches just barely reaching my core. My breath hitched and I took my bottom lip between my teeth, a pink hue coloring my cheeks. It had been so long since we’d been intimate, I almost forgot what her touch felt like.

She leaned in towards me, slowly, barely touching my lips with her own, as if she was nervous to be kissing me. I kissed her back, letting her know it was okay. She smiled against me and her thumb rubbed against my mound gently, just barely touching me.

“Lizzie,” I whispered, looking up into her beautiful green eyes. “I missed you.”

“I know, dove. But, I'm here now. I’m gonna take care of you.”

She stood from her crouching position and I followed her, standing up from the couch and taking her hand, placing the flowers on the couch before letting her lead me to the bedroom.

She wasted no time in undressing us, her eager lips still capturing my own in heated kisses. Her hands caressed my hips, pulling me close as she removed our clothing. When we were both naked, she stopped to admire me, making me blush a fierce red.

“You’re so beautiful.” She whispered and I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her neck softly.

“Let me taste you.” I kissed and nipped at her, her groans egging me on further.

“Not yet.” She said as she ran her hands over the swell of my ass, grabbing at me greedily. “I wanna be inside you.”

Heat rushed down between my legs, and I could feel my slick coating my inner thighs.

She smiled down at me and led me to the bed. I climbed onto it and got comfortable while she dug through our sex toys drawer, searching for just the right strap.

She pulled out a nice, girthy pink cock, one of my favorites, and slipped it on. She stroked it a few times and I licked my lips in anticipation. She got on the bed and spread my legs, settling between them. I raised myself up on my elbows to watch her as she slapped the cock against my slit, sliding it between my folds and letting it get wet.

“I can’t wait to be inside you.” She murmured to herself, thrusting the cock up against me.

I bit my lip and moaned as she continuously hit my clit, my hips rising slightly to meet her thrusts.

When she was satisfied, she slipped the tip into my aching cunt and let out a soft groan.

“Look at that greedy pussy. You take me so well, baby.” She said under her breath, sliding into me inch by delicious inch.

“Ah, Lizzie.” I whined, my brow furrowing as I watched her.

She kept her eyes on my pussy, watching as I took her hungrily. I fell back on the pillows and grabbed the sheets underneath me, my eyes rolling back as she finally bottomed out. I felt so full of her, so deliciously full, as she slowly fucked me.

“That’s right, baby. Take mommy’s cock.”

“Unh, m-mommy,” I let out a soft whimper and she groaned, pumping in and out of me. “Harder, mommy.”

She leaned over me, kissing me roughly as her hips moved against mine rapidly. She swallowed my moans, sucking my tongue into her mouth and biting down on it gently.

She pressed her forehead against mine, gasping for air as she fucked me roughly. She couldn’t get deep enough inside me and I couldn’t get enough of her trying to reach my deepest spot.

“I love you.” She moaned softly, looking into my eyes and I nearly cried at the sound of her voice. She sounded so sincere, so passionate.

“I love you.” I said back to her, kissing her fiercely.

I bit down on her lower lip as my orgasm quickly approached. Just being close to her was getting me off. The base of the strap rubbed against my clit and pushed me over the edge.

I moaned into her mouth, wrapping my legs around her and pulling her close as I came. She didn’t even have to touch me for me to cum.

“Already, baby?” She whispered against my lips and I nodded sheepishly.

She let out a soft chuckle, slowing her thrusts as I came down from my high.

“Can I taste you now?” I asked softly, wanting so desperately to please her.

“Tonight is about you.” She kissed me again and my heart swelled with love. “I’m gonna take care of you all night.”

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Corn Maze Date

My headcanons of the lads men taking you on a corn maze date A/N: I don’t know how other states do their corn mazes, but in mine they have food trucks and games, sweets & treats and pumpkin patches along with the corn maze [Requested by: Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

you mentioned wanting to go to a corn maze once and he planned his entire schedule around taking you to one

shows up outside your door telling you to get dressed

detours to try all the sweets “Zayne we need to get to the maze before it gets dark”

doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time even when you start stress squeezing it “If you hold my hand any tighter you’ll fracture it”

could easily find his way out but lets you lead

“are your feet getting tired?” carries you if you start getting tired

keeps you calm when you start to get nervous about being lost

takes over halfway through so he can go get more sweets after you said you’re kind of hungry

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

hides in the cornfield to scare you

whines and wants to be babied when you accidentally slap him for jumping out at you “I’m sorry it was a reflex” “kiss it and make it better”

lets you lead and follows close behind either holding your hand or the hem of your shirt/jacket

mini photoshoot in the maze and in the pumpkin patch

critiques the cornfield “this looks dry” “you’re a fish not a farmer don’t judge something you know nothing about”

tries to turn the corn into popcorn

uses his fire evol to light the way for you if/when it gets dark

gets bored and starts playing with your butt to entertain himself “can you stop that” “it’s so jiggly”

runs around the pumpkin patch bringing you the biggest pumpkins he can find “we can paint them when we get home!” “Why not carve them?” “and have fruit flies all over my porch? I think not”

drags you to play every activity they have before even glancing at the corn maze

teases you in the maze “maybe we should have gone right instead of left like I said”

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

picks the corn “Xavier stop you can’t take that” “the farmer won’t miss a few”

gets sleepy halfway through “we should take a nap here” “Get up”

prefers the pumpkin patch because he can lay on the hay bales

finds a tiny pumpkin and tells you it reminded him of you because it’s adorable

want to have a bite of every snack/food you get

shares all of his food with you “just open your mouth and say ahh”

holds your hand tightly while taking the lead (he’ll always be your Grandis Knight through and through)

creates fireflies to light the way when it starts getting dark while you’re in the maze

drags you into the cornfield to make out “we can’t stay hidden forever” “Just one more kiss”

somehow loses you at one point in the maze so he creates a bright ass light so you can find him

carries you on his back the rest of the way through so he won't lose you

lets you direct him while you’re being carried

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

“Anywhere is fine as long as I’m with you” happily accompanies you to a corn maze

brings the twins along because you said so

Luke & Kieran take off running in the maze (competing on who can get to the end first)

Sylus takes a bite of any food/snack you press to his lips

has a hand around your waist or holds your hand the whole day

watches with a smile as you and the twins scour the pumpkin patch for the biggest pumpkins

follows close behind while you lead the way through the maze

encourages you when you start overthinking and psyching yourself out

still teases you in the maze “oh look another dead end” “you could be more helpful you know”

lets you use Mephisto as your eyes in the sky when you get too frustrated

rubs your tummy when you eat too much

carries you to the car when you wear yourself out from running around with the twins

takes candid photos of you all day without you noticing

prints them out and keeps them in an album