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fruitcoops · 8 months

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In the Beginning

Going back to my roots this year with some pre-Coops PT fluff :) This is definitely going to turn into a short series (with exceptions for Leo's birthday, of course) and I'm really excited about it! Hoping for some more time to create this spring <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW canon injury (Sirius' ankle)

“Sirius.” Despite the whiteboard with his name scrawled next to 11:00, Remus still managed to sound pleasantly surprised. “Hi, how are you?”

“Fine.”

God, he sounded like an asshole. Remus’ smile didn’t falter. “Glad to hear it. Come on in, take a seat wherever.”

Was this it? The first test? Sirius glanced between the chair by Remus’ desk and the exam table. Hell, maybe he was supposed to sit on the stool. Was he? Was that a ‘Remus spot’ everyone else was smart enough to not even consider?

He picked the chair. Lowered himself gingerly to the cushioned seat, crutches propped on the armrest next to him. A spot on his ankle itched under the Velcro of his stiff boot.

“Thanks for making the time today,” Remus continued, as if Sirius had been any sort of friendly or welcoming. “I really appreciate it. This’ll be quick and easy—just a check-in, figuring out what’s going on and where we want to be. Sound okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Sick.” Remus dug around behind his desk for a moment; Sirius could hear papers riffling. Remus’ brow furrowed for a second before relaxing with satisfaction as he pulled a sheet free. “Alright. Sirius Black, meet your new best friend.”

Sirius blinked. “You?”

“Ha! No, I think Pots still has me beat,” Remus laughed, sliding a clipboard across the desk. He pulled his own chair around as well, even though Sirius could see him fold his knees out of the way of the desk. It couldn’t be comfortable. “I don’t like sitting back there when you guys are in here,” Remus said, as if he could read Sirius’ mind. The side of his nose scrunched. “Feels…bossy? I dunno. Can’t really write upside-down, either.”

“Ah. Ouais.”

“But that’s—” Remus waved a vague hand and picked a pen from the broken-handled mug tucked by his computer. “It’s not important. This, on the other hand, is your two-week chart. Decorate it, marry it, I don’t care. As long as you know it’s yours and can find it in that—” He pointed to a wire bin by the door. “—box. Capische?”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder and readjusted his ankle under the table. “Sure.”

“Shweet. There are some forms under the top sheet, if you can fill those out for me real quick.”

Remus stood as Sirius bent his head to write; he puttered in Sirius’ periphery, collecting tape and bandages and a handful of other things from the drawers lining the walls before moving to the exam table behind him. Something spritzed, filling the air with the faint scent of lemon. When he glanced back, Remus was wiping down the exam table with a washcloth.

The table. Of course. He should’ve known. “Do you want me to move?”

“You can if you like.” A lopsided smile found him over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m just cleaning, though. Take your time.”

Feels like I’m taking nothing but time, he thought with no small amount of bitterness. At least Remus meant well. Arthur kept telling him he could have all the recovery time he needed, but Sirius could tell he was getting impatient. He hadn’t even been allowed to think about physical therapy before the six-week mark was up. On some teams, that was long enough to justify rumors of a trade.

Ink smeared under the side of his hand. Sirius cursed under his breath and licked his thumb to smudge it off, but only succeeded in blurring it more. He gave up and scribbled it out, leaving the check mark next to the box instead. Remus’ handwriting was at the top of the page. Sirius Black, printed with a gentle slant to the right. Numbers looped, their tails snagging into one another. Sirius had never met someone who wrote their ‘2’s that way.

“Done?”

He jumped.

“Ope, sorry,” Remus half-laughed as he rolled behind his desk again. The wheels of his chair squeaked. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re fine. And ouais, here.”

“Thanks.” Remus flipped through the clipboard with easy neutrality. Sirius had expected him to take this a little more…well, seriously. “Looks good. Like I said before, today is just getting the boring stuff out of the way. Forms, building your exercise plan, making sure you don’t run screaming from the room.”

Sirius frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Hopefully, you won’t.” Remus gave him a look—a joke, he realized a second too late.

“Oh—yes, no, not at all.” Great recovery. It took everything he had not to roll his eyes at himself.

Again, Remus seemed unaffected by his awkwardness. Did he just not see it? Did he think Sirius was playing along? But Remus was always like that, with every one of them. Unflappable and infallible. The world was smooth and calm for him, like a lake on a windless day in the dead of summer. He was wearing a shirt of the same blue-gray as the pond in the park by Sirius’ house.

“How’s your ankle feeling today?”

Get out of your head. “It’s…fine.”

The side of Remus’ mouth pulled up. “Gotta give me something to work with here, Cap.”

“A little sore?”

The light caught his sandy hair as he tipped his head back and forth. “Sore how?”

“Just…” Sirius shrugged. “Sore. Like normal.”

“Stabby? Dull? Lightning-y? Can you feel your heartbeat in it?”

“Um.” The cool air of the PT room siphoned into the small gaps of his boot when he wiggled his toes. “Mostly dull. Sharper when I take the cast off.”

Remus nodded. “You haven’t been putting weight on it?”

“Non.”

“Good. That sounds about right for this point of recovery. Is it an ‘all the time’ kind of pain, or just when you do certain things?”

This was a lot more talking than Sirius had anticipated. He had assumed Remus would sit him on the exam table, poke around, and then send him off with some ice packs and stretches. More time, he said when Sirius had imagined it. You just have to give it another week or two, and you’ll be fine. A hopeful part of him figured they’d let him back on the ice as soon as the bone was healed.

“It’s sore a lot,” Sirius admitted. “The dull kind. It gets worse when I move around, I guess.”

“Even with crutches?”

“Ouais.”

“Do you sleep with it on?”

“…my crutches?”

“The boot,” Remus snorted, though it wasn’t mean. He was rocking slightly in his chair, back and forth. Sirius could see the armrests turn with each light push of his foot behind the desk. The tense thing in his belly eased. If Remus was this casual, maybe he was allowed to take some deeper breaths.

“They gave me a different one for the night,” he said. “It’s softer.”

“Are you more of a back sleeper, side sleeper…?” Remus trailed off, gaze darting across Sirius’ face, and gave a sheepish grin. “That sounds super invasive, wow, sorry. I promise I’m just trying to figure out if you’re sleeping on it weird.”

Sirius tried to school his expression. He didn’t want to know what face he had been making at Remus’ question—they knew each other well enough to not fix him with a media glare. “Uh, my back,” he answered. “Usually. The doctors said to put it up on a pillow until it healed.”

“Cool, cool, sounds good.” Remus nodded again, then drummed his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Those are all the questions I have. Any on your end? Concerns, preferences…?”

How fast can you get me out there? Something told him Remus wouldn’t have an answer he’d like. “No, I’m good.”

Remus had a dimple on his left cheek. It made a divot with his small smile. “Great. Ready to hop on the table so I can take a look?”

It took a moment for Sirius to get to his feet; he reached for his crutches, only to find Remus already holding them steady for him. He hobble-hopped the five or so feet from the desk to the exam table; six and a half weeks in, and the crutches still did their best to stymie him at every turn. Horrible fucking things. His underarms were rubbed raw after fifteen minutes. Clunky and awkward and—

“Hold on.”

Sirius paused.

Remus was frowning at his leg. “Those don’t look right.”

“Quoi?”

“You’re…what, six-three?”

“About.”

“Sit, sit.” Remus ushered him to the edge of the table, but took the crutches as soon as Sirius perched himself on the cushions. He pressed a small button near the base; aluminum squeaked as the foot shortened by a few notches. “That’s better,” Remus muttered, almost to himself. “These pads are all worn out, too. Did they give you towels?”

What the fuck? “Uh, no?”

A disgruntled exhale made Remus’ nostrils flare. He leaned the crutches against the wall with a similarly irritated tilt to his mouth. “Remind me to give you some before you go, or the tops are going to wear the hell out of your armpits. I reset the height, too. They were two inches too tall.”

“Oh,” Sirius said helpfully.

“It’s not, like, a huge deal or anything, but it’s uncomfortable.” Remus cocked his head. He regarding Sirius with a critical, but not harsh, eye. “Has your back been hurting?”

Sirius shifted in his seat. “…yes.”

“That’s probably from the height issue.” Remus’ nose twitched with clear displeasure. A pen turned between his fingers, glimmering in the pale light. Sirius hadn’t noticed the bandaid on his knuckle before. The pen stilled with a sigh, then vanished into Remus’ pocket. “Sorry, I just—Moody and I have been trying to get the guys to come in here sooner, because of shit like this. Crutches at the wrong height, no towels, not knowing you’re allowed to wash braces. You’re already uncomfortable, you know? No need to make it worse.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, god, it’s not your fault,” Remus said immediately, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm. “Just sucks that we have to ask permission. It’s not like we’re going to do anything stupid while bones are still healing.”

Sirius swung his legs up on the table while Remus rolled a stool across the speckled linoleum; his ankle twinged, but he managed to keep his wince light.

It was no use. “What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“Face.” Remus pointed at him, arching a brow. “You’re in my rink now, bud. You made a face. You can either lie about it, or get out of here on time.”

Perhaps Sirius had been a bit overconfident in how well he could hide pain. “Just sore when I lift it.”

“Where?”

“Uh. My ankle.”

“Right, I—” Remus broke off with a short laugh. “Sorry. Is there pain in other places when you lift it?”

He let Remus wave him further onto the table before answering. “I can feel it in my calf and foot. A little into my knee.”

The plastic was sticky from cleaning solution, but the cushions were perfectly firm on his lower back. He let his head rest back against the wall with a slow breath and wiggled his toes again. It was nice, being able to do that without lancing pain. Remus tapped his thumb against the edge of the table a few times before moving to stand by Sirius’ feet. “Can I take your shoe off, or do you want to?”

“Oh. Um…” He sat up further, but his fingers just barely brushed the hem of his pants. With a grind of his back teeth and a quick flash of pain, he bent his opposite knee and pulled the shoelace free. His ankle began throbbing faintly as he nudged the shoe off—sock too, thanks—and a puff of air slipped out when he finally leaned back.

Remus was watching him with a sad sort of wariness. “Can I make a request?”

You could ask me to do literally anything. “Yeah, sure.”

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

If he didn’t look so sympathetic, Sirius would have bristled. “What?”

“That—” Remus gestured at him. “Looked painful as fuck. This is an anti-pain establishment. If you think something’s going to hurt, we’ll work around it. No judgement.”

The thing was, Sirius hadn’t actually done this before. He knew where the ice packs were kept, and that the big steel container in the corner held heat pads in boiling water. He knew where the support bandages were, where Remus kept extra stick tape, and that the set of small drawers next to the desk would each be labeled with the name of a teammate so they could find specific gear. Remus had given him stretches for his sore back and arms and legs and whatever, but this—the shoes, the touching, the gentleness—there was no rulebook. No captain’s log to rattle through when he needed guidance.

“Okay,” he finally said. “That’s cool.”

“Cool.” Remus gave him that half-smile again. “Can I take your boot off?”

“Ouais.”

Remus was a lot nicer to the Velcro than he was. The rip was quieter than Sirius thought it could be, peeled off by practiced hands. He felt the pressure on his skin release immediately and took a breath at the tender feeling. Not pain, but something close. It made his heart spike every time. “Hurting?”

“Non.”

“You sure?”

“Just—makes me nervous.”

“Makes sense,” Remus agreed. “You’ve had it all wrapped up. Feels safer in there, right?”

Right. Exactly right. Something tightened in the center of his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

Remus nodded. “Is it okay if I take it the rest of the way off? I can do most of the exam like this if that’s better.”

“You’re asking me a lot of questions.” He tried to sound wry. He wasn’t sure it came out that way.

“Lot of people don’t like touching,” Remus answered easily. He hadn’t moved to touch the boot again, hands flat to the maroon plastic covering the table. “I’d rather you tell me to step off now than make something hurt more.” He gave Sirius an apologetic sort of grin. “Plus, you’re probably sick of people grabbing at you. Don’t really want to be one of them.”

Sirius was sick of it. Hands and fingers and grasping through slivers in plexiglass while he was trying to move, goddamnit, when he just wanted to go back down the tunnel and finally be able to catch his breath. People grabbing him on the ice, pushing. Snape’s body against his own—a shoulder in his sternum. Fingers digging into his skin. A tight grip on the back of his neck.

“You can take it off.”

Remus had a crooked canine tooth. Had he noticed that before? “Thanks.”

Sirius’ fists clenched at the touch of warm hands on his heel and calf. It was…fucking strange, but not painful. Not unpleasant, either. Remus had calluses in the bends of his knuckles and on his palm when he carefully transferred Sirius’ foot to one hand and set the boot up by his hip.

“I’m sweaty,” he blurted. “Sorry.”

Embarrassment flooded him before Remus laughed. “Dude, you have no idea how nasty your boys are when they roll up here. Did you know I had to send a reminder to shower before seeing me? And to wear clean clothes?”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”

“They don’t cut their toenails, either.” Remus’ eyes flicked up to his face, bright and teasing. “I’m not telling you who, but if you can throw a little captain-y weight around…”

“I’ll try.” It almost came out a laugh. Surprise tingled in his lungs. “But seriously, you don’t need me. They listen to you like gospel.”

“Oh, please.”

“They do,” he insisted. Remus rolled his eyes. “Non, non, I’m serious—”

“Yes, I know.”

“—fuck off—you could tell them to brush their teeth four times a day and they’d be at it. They listen to you more than me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Remus informed him. “And I also think you’re healing really well.”

“I—what?” Sirius looked down; his ankle was back on the cushion, cradled lightly between Remus’ palms. It jolted something in him. Had his skin always been that pale? He could see the line where the boot ended halfway up his calf. His foot looked ghostly in the light and everything else looked…thin. Skin and muscle, even bone.

He propped himself up on the heels of his hands. The angry, puckered scar from surgery had faded to a narrow line. When had that happened? Surely not overnight. It had looked so ugly in the shower yesterday, which was exactly why he tended to avoid looking at it. He glanced up at Remus’ patient face. Was he grossed out? That wasn’t how Sirius’ ankle was supposed to look. The knobbly bones on either side were practically gray in comparison; they stuck out, as if someone had stuck two marbles under his skin. His stomach turned.

“Sirius?”

He hummed.

“You okay?”

The joking tone had gone from Remus’ voice. The pit of Sirius’ stomach was heavy. His ankle looked weak; his calf, skinny all the way to the weird lump of his knee. “Mhm.”

“We can be done.” Slight movement caught his attention as Remus ducked to catch his eye. There was the solemnity he had expected. It was odd to see it now. “Any time. Just say the word.”

“The exam?”

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Firmness had never sounded so kind. “These first steps are visual, anyway.”

Am I done? Sirius looked back at his foot, the strangeness of it, the sickly mirror of his healthy one. “Keep going.”

“Are you—”

“I’m okay.” He mustered a deep breath. “I’m good. Keep going.”

“Okay,” Remus said quietly.

They sat in relative silence, but it wasn’t bad. Sirius was glad for a break. It was easier to watch Remus work than hold a conversation. The tenderness faded somewhat under the gentle touches of Remus’ fingertips—a tap here and there, faint pressure in the soft spots. Murmurs of feeling alright? and tell me if this hurts filled the buzzing static in Sirius’ ears.

“Ow.”

“Here?” Remus’ first two fingers hovered at the arch of his foot. Sirius nodded. “Cool, thanks. Your swelling isn’t too bad. I think I’m going to hold off on big exercises until Monday, okay?”

Disappointment, bitter and tacky as molasses. “Yeah.” He couldn’t keep the sigh out of his voice.

“We’ll get there.” When he remained silent, Remus poked the peak of his kneecap. “Hey. We’ll get there, I promise. I want you to work on the rest of your flexibility this week. Keep the boot on, but stretch out your legs and back. Your other muscles have been compensating for this and I don’t want anything to get strained.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on the ice.” Sirius could hear the but in his voice before he even finished speaking. “But I won’t rush through this and throw you out there just to get hurt again.”

Hurt again. Pain, cold and consuming, flashed in his memory. “Okay.”

“If anyone gives you shit, I want you to throw me under the bus, alright?” The last strap of Velcro fell into place. Remus was even careful with that part. The pressure on his skin was familiar and welcome. He felt a light pat to the table. “Tell them it’s all my fault. That I’m being overcautious and mean and keeping you here, whatever. If the coaches have a problem with your care, they can talk to me and Moody about it. Not you.”

“Okay.”

Remus let him get up unhindered. That was nice. Sirius was pretty sure he’d lose his mind at one more helping hand. He waddled back to the desk chair at an incline of Remus’ chin and was once again relegated to watching while Remus taped some small, folded towels to the tops of his crutches before joining him by the desk.

“You did great.”

Wasn’t that a thing to imagine. Could barely get my shoe off, but alright. “Merci.”

“It’s hard to get people to come in here and actually want to get better.” Remus scribbled a few things on the chart. His forehead crinkled in the middle with concentration. “Lotta guys think they’re fine as soon as the doctors’ visits end. But this is the part that’ll make a difference in the long run.”

The chart slid across the table, followed by a smaller, far more sparkly sheet. A smile pulled at Sirius’ mouth in spite of himself. “Gold stars?”

“Very serious stamps of completion, actually.” The corners of Remus’ mouth were tight with restrained amusement. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes. “You can pick a different theme if you want. Talkie’s got Lisa Frank, which was kind of a power move.”

Sirius snorted—it was over from there. It took a minute for them to collect themselves, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did feel better after peeling a star from the sheet and sticking it in the first box. “Regarde,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Success.”

“Perfect.” Laughter still lingered in Remus’ voice. It was a nice sound. It was nicer when he looked up and smiled, like Sirius had put one of those heating pads right in the valley of his ribs. “Alright, well, that’s all I need. We can do the same time tomorrow, or you can check out the schedule. We technically have office hours, but you can shoot me a text if we need to find a different one. Number’s on the board. Make sure you give your name in the first message.”

“Okay.” Those ‘2’s again, in green marker this time. That weird feeling in his chest was softening. “Yeah, okay. I think tomorrow works for me.”

“Awesome, see you then.”

“Awesome.” Why can’t I talk? Sirius stood and took his crutches back with a slight stumble. He hoped it passed off as broken-ankle unsteadiness, not—whatever else was going on. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when the tops didn’t immediately begin to chafe his inner arms. “Oh, wow, thanks. This is great.”

“Yeah?” He could hear Remus’ smile before he even turned. He looked pleased, fiddling with the edge of Sirius’ chart. “I’m glad. Sucks to not have what you need, and not even know it.”

“Lucky we’ve got you then, eh?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed. It was rather warm in the room. “Nah. I’m the lucky one. Best job in the world.”

“Got you beat, there.”

Another laugh made Sirius’ chest squeeze pleasantly. It was good to see Remus happy, with all he did for them. “Guess you do,” Remus admitted, then shooed at him with the chart. “Get outta here, your boys are waiting. And check the box by the door for this when you come in tomorrow, got it?”

“Très bien, Loops.”

Maybe it was the adjustments to his crutches, or the promise of something like progress on the horizon, but Sirius didn’t feel quite so awful as he made his way down the hall. He almost felt good, actually. Almost hopeful.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #pre-coops #pt room #fluff #sweater weather #my fic #fanfic #lumosinlove

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softspace-fics · 25 days

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Homework

Masterlist - all my work!

A/N - Hi everyone! First off I'm sorry for not posting for a few days, I haven't been feeling well and schools been alot especially now that I have a job. I also want to say thank you so much for the reblogs and follows recently, I couldn't be more greatful that you guys are enjoying my fics! Please enjoy this next one as well.

Warnings ⚠️: invoulintarily regression, reader has anxiety/panic attack, Stucky helps reader to get through the attack.

Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x GN!little reader

_______________

You slam your pencil onto the desk before throwing your head back in frustration as the homework sits there heavy on your desk. You'd been staring at it for hours and every time you attempted to do it, everything would just blur and your regression would began to spiral further and further.

It had been a extremely long day with starting a new job, and college exams coming up soon, which means you were stressed beyond belief and nothing was helping. You had music going through your headphones, it only did so much to help you focus.

Your caregivers weren't here as they were on a mission for the last month and youve been completely isolated due to college and your job and everything else inbetween.

You shakily pick up your pencil again as silent tears fall from your eyes and you feel sick trying to get these stupid notes done. You get through a few sentences before you feel the pencil taken from you and your headphones carefully taken off of your ears and your chair spun around.

You freak and almost smack whoever is touching you until you see Bucks face and every emotion you've kept inside breaks and you fall into his arms balling.

Bucky carefully but quickly picks you up, shushing you and repeatedly reminding you, your safe and loved. Gentle kisses were placed all over your head and your tears were wiped as you continued to sob into him.

Steve is next to you guys, rubbing your back, trying not to cry himself. Bucky and him came into the apartment and with your headphones being on, they could hear your tiny sniffles the moment the door was open. They immediately took off their shoes and put their bags down, before practically running down the hallway to find you.

When they saw the homework scattered all around the desk and your sitting form almost crumpled in, they knew you weren't doing okay, and swooped in to help.

They walked around with you crying for about a hour, ranting about everything, the exhaustion of how you feel starting to feel lighter after having the two people that mean the most to you back with you.

Steve and bucky help get you into more comfortable clothes, sliding a pacifier into your lips as your tears die down and you begin to completely regress invoulintarily. You mumble around your pacifier about the homework, and bucky just gently shushes you and tells you they’ll help you do it tomorrow.

Homework was the worst and there was times where everything feels like it's crushing around you but at least you had your caregivers to help crack down the walls you make and to help you out into the open.

Steve takes you out to the living room while bucky gets some food made for you three, and holds you close as your tucked safely under his chin, watching cartoons.

After the duo made sure you were fed well and had your bottle, you all eventually fell asleep on the couch, your favorite movie on and in the safedy of the two people who knew you best and loved you even more.

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cookie-crumblr · 30 days

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F!Reader x Therapist Yan OC Sheila~

Tigers in the Garden🐅✨

Her Info: 📋❤️‍🔥

Was a Drabble i swear… Part 1~

Next Part—>

!MINORS DNI!

CW: F!Reader, Reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, use of strap on reader, fxf, strap in readers v, reader SH(Before it starts, not described, just mentioned and implied in convo), sub and slightly bratty reader, reader is a stoner, reader wears makeup, imbalanced power, DUB-CON(coercion and blackmail), reader has hair(not described), nipple play(a little), choking, not proofread, rough sex, rough with reader in general, spanking, lemme no if i missed any! :3 names for reader(brat, slut, whore),smut with barely any plot in this part, power imbalance

“Okay,” You shrug. “Whatever, i guess” The ‘good’ people in white coats guide you down a sea-green, sterile-smelling corridor.

Youre finally being let out of your mandatory three day stay at a mental health facility(more like prison). They’re letting you out on the condition you see the therapist they’ve set you up with.

Sheila Reichsgraf.

You’ve got nothing but the clothes you came in with in a plastic baggie with your phone, wallet, and keys. They gave you clothes that don’t quite fit or look good on you, and a piece of paper saying where you are to go tomorrow. For tonight? some well earned weed and munchies to go with. Maybe some masturbating too, you’ll see where the night takes you.

Now sitting in front of this woman(more like tigress), you slouch down into your seat. Her gaze is unreadable but scrutinizing.

“I’ve, of course, been informed of your admittance to Fir’s Rest. Would you like to talk about it?” She asks, while typing on her computer.

“Nope.” You sag further into the black velvet chaise lounge.

“I’d like you to talk about it.” She slides her keyboard out of her way, and folds her hands in front of herself.

“I’d like you to kindly shut it about that actually.” You snap.

“Take off your clothes.” Her voice is stern, but no louder than before.

“Ex-fucking-Scuse you!?” you exclaim, what the fuck is she on!? like sure you think she’s way too hot for this plane of existence but like ???

“Take off your clothes.” she interrupts your thoughts, repeating the same thing over again in the same tone. “Unless…” She continues before you can pipe back, “You’d rather go back to the facility.” she takes something out of a black leather padfolio before closing it, and sighing heavily.

You roll your eyes. “What, so you’re like, coercing me now? what’s next ?? threaten to tell my mother?” that would be terrible cause after all you’ve been through for that woman you at the very least want your share of the inheritance.

“Exactly that, darling~” As she walks toward you, you watch her in shock, or disbelief. She extends perfectly manicured, dark skin hands toward you, with a fan of polaroid photos of you in a mental hospital, butt hanging out of your polka dot gown, grippy socks and a trailing IV and all.

“Are you fucking serious right now? You’re sick! You’re a lunatic! If you even think that i’ll—” your voice is completely halted when she roughly grabs you by the cheeks and squeezes your lips into a fish mouth. You scowl up at her deeply. You think about spitting on her, but think better of it. thankfully.

“Listen to you, a brat like you needs to be put in her place.” A smile spreads across her cheeks, dimples pop out near the angled tips of it going into her cheeks.

She really is hot.

You swallow.

She roughly lets go of your face as you pull away. your hair muses and gets in your eyes but you don’t blink and lose eye contact for a second.

Sheila grips your arms to pull you up out of your chair, and throws you hands first into her desk.

Stunned by how fast this all happened, you remain there long enough for her to wrap herself around you.

You let out a cute little whimper as she pinches your nipple through the fabric. You weren’t expecting it, and the shock that got sent directly to your clit.

“Such a good whore under there, already whimpering for me~?” You hear the smile in her voice, as her head buries into the crook of your neck. It tickles and you jump, your ass slamming back into her body. she clings onto you tighter, to hold you still. Somehow you feel like she completely envelops you.

Your core is already hot as she quickly and roughly removes your clothes, feeling up your skin and grabbing everywhere she can as soon as it’s bare. From your hips, to your belly, down and even back up to your ribs, down your arms. Everywhere on you that enters the light, she roams. Her mouth isn’t far behind, kissing and biting you, devouring you fully.

Sheila spreads your legs, one at a time, and puts your hands back on her desk so that your leaning forward. You’re too out of breath and dumb right now to even think of moving. Your back is arched and your ass wiggles slightly on its own, beckoning her and her throbbing clit. She’s equally out of breath, dripping just like you are, her heels click on the wood as she removes her clothes, staring at your swaying backside all the while.

“You’re going to take all of this, aren’t you slut?” Her big beautiful strap on flings out to attention. Your head falls to one shoulder so that you can glimpse it… You swallow harder than before, your brows peaking as you start to imagine the stretch around that thing. You nod.

You don’t have to imagine for long before she’s grabbing your neck to pull your body up against hers. Hard nipples poke your back and you shiver. Delicious, you want those in your mouth, don’t you? “I won’t go easy.” She coos menacingly, and squeezes your throat gently until you see stars.

She rubs her cock against your entrance, prodding, and poking, slowly diving into your needy, wet hole. You’re already stretching around just her head and feeling so good at the same time, whining and whimpering until, she plunges it inside you. All at once and you bite your lip, unable to breathe anymore.

“FUCK!” You puff out the last of your air with one word.

“Soon you’ll be screaming Doctor…” She whispers into your ear before pulling away as far back as her arm will allow, so that she has a better vantage point. Watching your ass as she pulls her strap out, that looks like it’s as far in as your tail bone or further, her clit sends ripples of pleasure throughout her body.

She licks her lips and slams into you this time. She’ll have to savor watching it slowly get swallowed up by your tight pussy later. This time she pulls out faster and pushes back in just as fast. She sets a pace that’s both brutal and blissful to you, as the pain lessens the pleasure grows, and it grows exponentially.

Her nails dig into your throat and her other comes around to tweak your clit, it makes you start to shake and twitch, your arms wobble trying to keep you upright.. Her own orgasm building as the strap rubs her back with every thrust, she moans behind you, you tighten around her, and open yourself up more to take her better.

“D-Doctor!” You practically beg, not knowing what for; more, less, faster, slower! But she was right, and you yell, “Doctor!!” again. She gets faster and faster, your butt is hot from the force of her slamming into you. the slapping of skin against wet skin, combined with stuffed groans and more hoarse “Doctor”’s fill the office.

Blackened tears streak down your face as you cum around her cock you shake and convulse barley able to hold yourself up against the low desk, even with the help of her hand still wrapped around your throat. She keeps pounding you. Ruthlessly. Through your orgasm and straight into your crashing next two. “Who would have thought you’d be such a good girl under that attitude.”

Suddenly she pushes in deeper than ever before, stealing even more air from the depths of your soul. You swear you can feel her hitting there too. “Take all of me,” her hand runs down your hair and back. Then she slowly pulls out, letting you really feel the thick vein that twists around her length. You shudder around her, and whimpers keep falling freely from your open, puffy lips, you’re spent.

She plays with your hair gently, before spanking your already warm ass. You jump, “Wha-!” Your too dumb to even form one little word. Her hand rounds where she just slapped and you think she’ll slap you in the same spot when she pulls away, you brace for impact. You yelp! when she slaps your raw pussy instead.

The phone rings…

You don’t see her look at the caller ID, but you hear her sigh.

“This session is over. Come back next week.” She completely pulls away leaving you cold on the outside but still burning for her on the inside.

“What about—?” You start, before she interrupts.

“Session’s over.” she says while buttoning her shirt, then pats down her skirt, before turning back to you, and winks, “Like I said, come back next week” Your heart pounds. Can you even wait a week?

What are you even thinking right now!?

…

You glance back at her. She licks her lips.

She’s on the edge of her desk and watching you get dressed, you walk out the door with a slight limp and her eyes, practically ticklish on your back.

You have to catch your breath outside the thick wood doors.

Sheila groans before picking up the receiver.

“Hello, mommy dearest…” She makes her voice higher pitched and ready to please.

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rin-vana · 1 year

Text

⠀⠀⠀⠀───◌┈┈─── ♡ 𝇄 𝇃 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 ┋ 𝐅𝐓. 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐇𝐔

⎯⎯ ( 𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 ) : Baizhu x Reader

⎯⎯ ( 𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎 ) : Baizhu insists on working before giving his wife what she want, so instead of putting up a fight, she motivates him in her own way.

⎯⎯ ( 𝘾.𝙒. ) : Established relationship, oral (male receiving), cum swapping, Baizhu is a little stubborn, reader is pushy but in a loving way, messy blowjob, humilitation on Baizhu's end, subby Baizhu elements, use of nicknames: love, darling, my everything, as always black reader, a drabble

⎯⎯ ( 𝙒.𝘾. ) : 1,764

⎯⎯ ( 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎 ) : I fr drop fics n disappear. Lol this was supposed to be posted when his banner came out but I didn't really sit down n write it but here yall go

”Just a moment my love, almost done with this remedy. Then you'll have my attention, I promise.”

You've heard that multiple times by now. Repeating over and over from Baizhu's mouth who tirelessly continues to work at his desk, writing off whatever it was on multiple scrolls and papers. It concerned you none, in fact you could care less about its importance. Baizhu had a habit of pushing himself beyond his limits, even though his illness was so evident after doing so. You pained for him.

”Hon, you've been sitting here all day. Get up, give yourself a breather.”

Your tone had been assertive, standing right beside his chair with a hand placed on your hip. And yet he didn't budge at all, hardly sparing you a glance as his eyes frantically shifted, following his hands that never stopped writing. ”Please, love. I'll finish this last paper.”

Baizhu himself sounded more agitated with your pleading of getting him to stop, but no matter how annoyed your husband got, you knew what was better for him and his sickness, and that was taking a much needed break. Hell, even the sun has departed from its responsibilities of keeping Teyvat lit for the day.

All you could do was scoff at him. Truly you loved how devoted he was to his craft, and helping Liyue in any way he can, but it was irritating how you hardly spoke to your own lover. Placing your hand on his shoulder, you try to soothe the tension building up in his muscles from sitting up-right, and to further convince him in your own way.

”Baizhu, darling, get up and come to bed with me.”

The sage haired male felt compelled to sigh, finally placing the pen down onto the wooden surface. Your satisfaction began to grow when he finally turned to you, albeit still sitting, and wrapped an arm around your waist. His other hand trailed to the one placed onto his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before he brought your hand to his lips. He placed the most delicate of kisses upon your soft skin, yet his eyes looked ever so regretful.

”I'm sorry, my love.. but allow me to finish this last prescription, please?”

A long winded sigh was drawn from your lips, not knowing just how stubborn your lover could be up until now. All you did was mutter out a small "fine," detaching yourself from his arms and walking away from where he sat. Baizhu may have looked regretful, but he still had responsibilities to complete, and then he'd give you all the time in the world afterwards.

But you, you had another idea in mind. A much more convincing way to pull him out of his work trance. Wordlessly you got on your knees, pushing past Baizhu's right leg to successfully get yourself under his desk. This certainly did grab his attention, for he pushed back from the wooden surface to get a better look at you, eyebrow raised and all. ”My love, what.. are you doing?”

”Just go back to working.”

Still confused, he followed your order and scooted himself closer to his desk yet again, his legs being directly in front of you. You began sliding your hands up his legs until you reached his knees, pushing them apart. It elicited quite the surprised yelp from your lover.

” [ Name ]—!” He dropped his pen as he called out your name, leaning back in his chair to get a better look at you, but you still refused to reply to him. All you did was grant him a single glance through your lashes, your hands rising higher until you reached the hem of his pants. It was there that Baizhu grabbed your wrist in an attempt to stop you, lips fumbling to get any sort of words out.

”My love, m–my everything, I told you I'd—”

”No no, you need to finish your work. I get it. So, let me motivate you a little, 'kay?”

It took him a few seconds until he nodded, giving into whatever you had in store for him. It wasn't necessarily out of the ordinary for you to act like this when it came to him and his work, but you were demanding in a way that had him feel a throb in between his legs.

You continued with your endeavors seeing him, hesitantly, continue writing. Tugging down the fabric you see a small tent beginning to form in your lover's briefs. Of course you pulled that away as well, the two articles of clothing bunched and pooling at his ankles. Baizhu hissed at his cock hitting the chilled air, setting down his pen with one hand whilst the other covered his mouth.

You raised your brow hearing the scratching of pen against paper stop, looking at him once more. ”Darling, keep working.”

”I can't exactly… do that. Not when you're like this.”

Keeping your eyes locked, you gently took hold of his pretty dick, watching it twitch in your hand. Your body pressed closer into the space between his legs, tilting your head to the side in a form of mockery almost. ”Don't you need to keep working Baizhu?”

You and your games. He couldn't deny what you said, because he's proclaimed the notion over and over again that he just had to finish this prescription. In a way this is his fault, getting you worked up so much that you felt the need to torture him. But at the same time, he is so grateful he did. He couldn't even give you a proper answer, ripping his gaze from yours in a mix of realization and partial humiliation.

Without letting another second pass by, you kiss the tip of his blushed head, lazily stroking the base before taking a few inches in your mouth. Baizhu muffled his sounds with the hand still covering his mouth, trying to finish writing the last few sentences of the night. But your mouth felt so warm and inviting, it made his head all foggy.

It isn't long before you start bobbing your head, feeling his cock poke at your cheek each time with the way you angled yourself. It was Baizhu's favorite way of watching you fuck your own throat, so the fact that he had to choose between writing some meaningless transcripts or using your throat drove him insane. It was evident you didn't care though, a second hand of yours coming to stroke the remaining inches of him you couldn't take in your mouth. It sent your lover over the edge as he tilted his head backwards, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose as his noises picked up.

He sounded so desperate, damn near whiny. He moved his hand away from his face to find purchase by grabbing the edge of his desk, drool slipping from his lips as he tried so poorly to hold himself back, to not give in and prove your point. But fuck were you good at making him crumble. Your spit coated his cock and created a disgusting slobbering sound that only made Baizhu's thighs shake around your head. ”My love.. slow– slow down..”

He couldn't take it, not with how your pace made heat build up in his lower abdomen. Not with how messy you were being. All Baizhu could do was allow his sighs and pleas echo off the walls, moaning pathetically about archons knows what. Looking up to the view of your husband, you find his hazy eyed stare at the ceiling so cute. It was easy to make Baizhu come undone with your mouth alone, especially since he was so in love with you.

Involuntarily his hips jerked forward, his dick hitting the back of your throat with ease thanks to its impressive length. By then he took his glasses off completely, prescription long forgotten as his hands now held the sides of your head, thumbs caressing your hollowed cheeks.

”I hope you'll allow me-” he started, sounding ever so breathless. ”-To use your throat.”

As much as objecting and torturing him further sounded so pleasing, his dazed expression and deprived sounding voice made you give in. You couldn't let your husband suffer for too long, after all he was working tirelessly to aid Liyue without expecting much in return. So you hummed around him in response, feeling his legs shudder around you yet again as the vibrations nearly made his eyes roll back.

It's sudden when your nose meets the skin of his pelvis, your throat clenching around Baizhu who ended up halfway down the cavern. He lets out a deliciously euphoric moan, lips parting while his eyes become much more lidded at the feeling alone. ”Your throat.. always so warm, so good,” he mumbles under his breath, amber eyes staring into your teary ones as he begins to retract his hips and snap them forward.

As much as he wanted to be gentle with you, you had ways of making him act otherwise. His hips met your face in a brutal way, the head of his cock forcefully making its way down your throat with ease each time he brought himself forward. His moans continued to rise in volume, shades of pink dusting across his face due to his high creeping up on him. Your hands squeezed his bare thighs and it's all it took for him to paint your mouth white, hurriedly pulling his dick out your mouth inch by inch so every part of it was coated in him.

You opened your mouth while looking at him, your mouth and lips having the salty liquid stick to it, and the sight had Baizhu never wanting to look away. With his hands on your face he pulled you upwards, meeting you halfway in the sloppiness kiss you've ever shared, your arms frantically wrapping around his neck. Your fingers reached his hair, and his pressed against the back of your head to seemingly push you further in the vehement kiss. Your tongues tangled and danced, sharing his essence until you pulled away for air.

You and Baizhu looked at each other, breathless and so full of pure need. The sage haired male can't help but to let out a chuckle, slender hands making their way to your waist to have you sit on his lap. It was evident that finishing work can be tomorrow's duty because having you in his arms and your mouth serving him was more fulfilling.

”Let's.. finish this in our bedroom, my love.”

#baizhu #baizhu x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact #genshin baizhu #genshin imagines #baizhu smut #baizhu x y/n #baizhu imagine

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age-of-play-i-say · 2 years

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Puppy Fever, pt. 1

I just have a cold, but I woke up aching and foggy, barely able to manage texting Daddy for help. Daddy appeared quickly, with a warm milk drink for me to wake up with. He coos as I take my medicine, and cannot stand my eyes watering as he breaks the news that he has to return to work while I languish in bed. He’d prefer I stay comfortable in my cozy bed, but I can’t bear to have him out of my sight when I’m like this.

He holds a finger up in the doorway and says “Give me 5 minutes, little one, and then Dada won’t leave your sight again” and I can hear him in every room, shuffling around with purpose. I doze unhappily, drinking my sippy cup and hugging my teddy bear stuffie.

Daddy reappears in the doorway and strides for my bed, sliding his arms underneath my body before bracing himself to scoop me up, blankets and all.

I moan, sore and miserable, and snuffle into Daddy's neck.

He does his best not to jostle me, walking slowly. As he does he whispers "I was saving this for your birthday, but today seems like the right time for a treat."

We round the corner to his office and I peer around his neck to see something new - a large plush doggie bed designed to fit under his desk, with grooves for his legs and feet to fit too. I cling to him and kick my feet happily before groaning from the exertion.

He bounces me lovingly before setting me down to explore my new spot. He adjusts my blanket to wrap around my shoulders and gives my bare bottom a pat.

"Go on, sweetie, there are other goodies in your little baby corner. I'll be right here the whole time, and this way you don't have to go anywhere for my Zoom meeting later on."

I drop to my knees and crawl in. Out of sight, there's a small space heater, a DVD player with my comfort movies queued, starting with Lilo and Stitch. My favorite stuffies are all in attendance.

He also set up a small breakfast tray of different drinkies, snacks, and cold meds. As a final touch, the cold meds have a sticky note slapped on top that says 'grown ups only, Daddy will take care of it'

I coo happily, feeling warm all over for the first time since this cold hit me hard. I peek my face out and mean to thank Daddy, but no words come out. Instead my eyes get watery and I fling myself forward, hugging one of his legs.

He relaxes and settles into his chair, petting my upper back and hair before murmuring, "Sick as a dog, so I figured you might want to be my puppy for today." I whimper and hug his leg tighter, my bare bottom pressing on his socked foot. I'm turning pinker than my fever flush, not sure why I'm so blushy.

I look up at Daddy curiously.

"Puppy?" I ask. He nods.

"Puppies don't have to speak, they get pets, tummy rubs, snacks." I nod, laying my head back on his knee before he says, "and any accidents or humpies without permission aren't naughty when you're a puppy." My head swivels to meet his gaze.

He was waiting for me. He leans down and pats the bottom of my puppy pen. It crinkles. He grins and leans back up.

"Lined with puppy pads and the base cushion is washable, so my sweet pup doesn't have to think about anything at all if they don't want to."

My lil winkie pulses against his leg without any movement from me, giving away my thoughts. He chuckles before continuing,

"You can also make humpies if you're up to it, or you can ask Daddy for help. No limits on anything that makes my baby feel good today, okay?"

I nod, still fever-flushed but so aroused by his love and care. I don't look up at him and instead start rolling my hips against his leg.

He chuffs happily and focuses back in on his laptop, ignoring his puppy-baby churning their growing winkie on his bare ankle.

I squeal a few seconds later when my orgasm hits unexpectedly, leaving me gasping and shaking. I've been feeling so awful that getting off felt like a chore, and now Daddy has put me deep in headspace, caring for me more deeply than I've ever known.

No wonder I'm sensitive.

I sigh contentedly and give my sore hips one final waggle before lifting off, grabbing a drinkie from the tray and two stuffies and settling back between Daddy's legs, safe and sound.

#maple writes #maple speaks #uhhhh #puppy pl4y #agepl4y omo #dd/nb #dd/lb

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meraki24601 · 1 year

Text

Not Sick: Part 3

Whumptober day 4! I chose the quote again: "You in there?"

Part 1, Part 2

-----------*-***-*-----------

“Whumpee! Kitten, are you in there? Are you home, Whumpee?” The cheerful voice echoes through the window, filling the room. Deep cold grips Whumpee’s heart at the sound. All strength disappeared from their body, and their reaching arm fell to the bed next to them. They could never forget that voice. Never forget the pain it brought.

Whumper had found them.

“Kitten! Come out and play!” The voice was closer now. Fighting was out of the question. Whumpee couldn’t even sit up. When they found them, there would be nothing to stop Whumper from doing anything they wanted. Not even Caretaker could hold them back.

Oh, Caretaker. What’s to stop Whumper from hurting Caretaker?

Caretaker’s only hope was if Whumper didn’t find them. The window was open, and it was too late to close it. Whumper would notice. The lights were off in the room in favor of the natural light, so if Whumpee could hide, maybe Whumper would think the apartment was empty. Based on the way they kept calling for them, it seemed Whumper didn’t know which apartment they were in.

It was their best bet. Whumpee had to act as they heard the bottom ladder for the fire escape slide into place. Whumper whistled a cheerful tune as Whumpee bit their hand to stifle a moan as they threw their body halfway off the bed. They couldn’t stand or make too much noise. Whumpee’s arms shook as they lowered themselves the rest of the way to the floor. They could barely breathe, but they were out of sight for the moment.

Under the bed, there was a little space just large enough for Whumpee to fit. Despite having not eaten for probably days, Whumpee’s stomach churned, threatening punishment for moving so much. They ignored it, dragging their body backward into the dark hiding spot.

“Whumpee?” Whumper called. “Are you home?”

They were close. So close. Whumpee pulled their sweaty shirt over their mouth to quiet the noise of their labored breathing. Their lungs rattled and threatened to cough.

All breathing stopped when they heard the bed groan under a new weight. “Kitten, are you there? Don’t hide from me, I miss you!” Whumper’s feet appear over the edge of the bed. They continue humming, waiting. “I’ve missed you so much, Kitten. You shouldn’t have run away from me. I’ve been so lonely. So bored.”

Whumper bounced off the bed. They didn’t seem to be looking for Whumpee, just taking in the room. For a moment, they paused in front of Whumpee’s desk. “Oh, my poor Kitten. Are you sick?” Their footsteps grew closer, and a small notepad dipped down into Whumpee’s view. It was the notepad Caretaker had been using to note their fever. “Someone has been taking care of you. Is that who I hear out there?”

“Leave them alone!” Whumpee’s voice rips from their chest. It burns their dry throat, making their eyes water with tears threatening to fall.

Strong hands grab Whumpee and rip them from their hiding spot. It was over now. Maybe if they didn’t fight them, they would take Whumpee and leave. They could disappear, and Caretaker would never know how close they were to death. Whumpee groaned as Whumper slammed their chest into the floor, “I won’t fight. Leave them, and I’ll go with you.”

“Kitten, you don’t have a choice.” Whumper giggled. They looked up as frantic footsteps drew closer. They’d made too much noise. Caretaker was coming.

Part 4

#whumptober 2023 #no.4 #quote #you in there?#oc #writing #whump fic #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #sickfic #hiding #exhaustion

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ofstoriesandstardust · 2 years

Text

for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish (b.r.b.)

a/n: eh what the hell, i’m indulging myself. kylie has to get her wisdom teeth out and she doesn’t wanna! this is small but self indulgent

summary: Bradley goes with Sunshine to the dentist.

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist | flight risk masterlist | flight risk timeline

warnings: dentists, wisdom tooth infections, antibiotics, swearing, food mentions, brief mention of insecurities and doubt of self-worth at the end

"You’re going.”

You huff, looking up at the brunette who towers over you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “I don’t wanna.” The words come out in a more of a whine than you originally mean them to and you cringe.

“Are you 3?” He asks, a hint of laughter in his voice. “I don’t know you to be a petulant child Sunshine.” He pauses, frowning as you continue to stare back at him. “C’mon, the only thing not going will do for you is make your pain worse.”

You sigh, sliding further into the couch. “Yeah, I know, but-” You cut yourself off, feeling suddenly really silly.

“But-?” He prompts, raising his eyebrow.

“But like- what if I have to get emergency wisdom tooth removal? I talked to my Dad, they’ll probably have to put me under and that’s literally terrifying-”

“Sunshine.” He says, firmly, cutting you off. “Then we’ll figure it out, okay?”

“I can’t afford emergency wisdom tooth surgery.” You mutter.

He sighs. “As of Friday, that won’t matter okay? And we will figure it out. I promise. In sickness and in health, right?”

Part of you wants argue that he’s too nice to you, another part wanting to argue that the two of you really shouldn’t be getting married on Friday.

The overwhelming part that wins is the part that doesn’t want to be in pain anymore.

You sigh, pushing yourself up from the couch. “Fine. Fine.”

Bradley flashes you a bright smile, pulling your front door open. “After you m’lady.”

The door jingles above you as you open the door to the office. The lady sitting at the front desk offers you a smile. “Hi, how may I help you?”

You take a deep breath as Bradley follows you into the office. “Hi, I’m here for an appointment?”

The lady asks for your name as you see Bradley moves towards the fish tank in your peripheral. “Sunshine look, it’s Nemo.” He says, bending down to look into the tank.

The lady laughs softly as she hands you your paperwork. “If you want to just have a seat, someone will be out to take you back in a little.”

“Thank you.” You say, moving to sit down on the bench. Bradley follows your lead and squishes himself in between the two of you. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“We’re sitting together.” He says simply.

“We don’t both fit.”

He shrugs at your words, tapping the clipboard. “Fill out your paperwork.”

You shake your head, bringing your gaze down to the pages in front of you.

As you fill out your insurance information, you feel your legs become uncrossed, your foot falling to bounce on the floor. It’s almost unconscious as you chew on your lip, filling out the paperwork in front of you.

Suddenly, Bradley’s hand comes out to your knee, holding it still. “You’re gonna be fine Sunshine.” His eyes don’t move from the fish tank.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’re holding, nodding as tears prick your eyes.

The two of you sit there for a little while longer before one of the dental assistants comes out, calling you by name. You take a deep breath as you stand up, the woman taking your paperwork from you.

“Good luck Sunshine.” Bradley says, giving you a goofy grin and two thumbs up. “I’ll watch your purse.”

You let out a little laugh, shaking your head, as you follow the woman further into the office.

“You and your boyfriend are very cute.” She says, offering you a smile.

“Oh, we’re not-” You pause, swallowing.

If you were getting married, you couldn’t really keep denying that, could you?

You nod. “Yeah, he’s wonderful.”

“So?” He asks raising an eyebrow as you emerge from the back, holding two pieces of paper in your hand.

“Antibiotics for a week and super ibuprofen for the pain.”

He stands up from the bench as you say goodbye to the woman at the front desk. Moving to the door of the office, the bell jingles again as the two of you leave.

“Don’t forget you need to eat yogurt or something with your antibiotics.”

“I fucking hate yogurt. I don’t even have yogurt.”

He chuckles, following on to the steps of the building. “Sounds like we’ll be making a trip to the grocery store and the pharmacy then.”

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling bad and self-conscious at all the kind things he’s done for you even just over the span of the last week since the party.

You turn as he pulls his keys out, the Bronco clicking unlocked. “You don’t have to. I mean you drove me to my appointment-”

He shakes his head, pulling the front door open. “In sickness and in health Sunshine!”

You stand at the pharmacy counter, waiting for them to fill your prescription when a sharp pain erupts in your side. You turn, realizing Bradley has nudged you with the cart, giving you a guilty smile. “Ow.”

“Sorry Sunshine.”

“You are literally a pain in my ass.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, but you can’t hate me because I’m buying you cake. And it’s even your favorite flavor!”

You sigh. “Bradshaw, I’m perfectly capable of buying my own groceries. And affording them.”

He sighs, leaning up against the cart. “For richer, for poor, remember?”

“We aren’t even married yet.”

“Details. How much longer?” He says through a feigned yawn, waving a hand in the air.

You squint at him, moving closer to him as your voice drop downs to a whisper. “I didn’t realize doing this for the benefits meant buying all my groceries. I can pay my own bills.”

“Sunshine, do you ever let anybody do anything nice for you?”

“I-”

“Sunshine, you’re in pain. You have a wisdom tooth infection. I know you haven’t been eating and I know surgery isn’t going to be cheap. Let me buy you fucking yogurt and dino nuggies.”

You frown, eyeing him. Before you can say anything though, the pharmacist comes back to the counter with your prescription in hand.

“Rawr.”

You look up, seeing Bradley setting on of his t-rexs on your plate. “What are you doing?”

He gives you a nervous smile. “My dinosaur is saying hi.”

Your hand reaches up to rub your temple. “Why are you playing with your food? Are you a toddler or a grown-ass adult? Because I’m not sure.”

He shrugs, taking the piece of meat back. “I just wanted to make you smile. Now, eat your food. You can’t take super ibuprofen on an empty stomach.”

You sigh. “But my tooth hurts.”

He chuckles, dipping the dinosaur in ketchup. “Sunshine, it’s not gonna stop hurting until you take super ibuprofen and you have to eat to do that.”

You groan, sliding down in your chair. “Bradley, we gotta talk about this.”

His gaze flickers up to you as he chomps down on a pterodactyl, biting it’s head off. “Talk ‘bout what?”

“Getting married?” You say, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. Like it hasn’t been haunting you since you and Bradley had set down in a diner near campus and agreed to actually do the damn thing.

“I thought we already talked about it.”

“When are we telling our friends?”

He shrugs. “Whenever you give me the go-ahead Sunshine. You might want to tell Bailey before we tell Eli though, because her head’s gonna explode.”

You shrug, reaching out to move one of the dino nuggets around the plate. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna tell her.”

He pauses mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “What? Why?”

“I just don’t... I just don’t think she’ll care all that much.”

He snorts. “She’ll care, trust me. Stop playing with your food.”

You swallow, sitting up in your chair as your hand slide under your legs to keep from peeling at the skin around your nails. You want to tell him that you don’t think they want to hear from you, that they were really only your friends because they felt bad for you, but another part of is terrified that he might agree.

“You’re a good person, you know that right, Bradley?”

Your voice is quiet, the only sound in the room becoming the TV of the two of you left on for background noise. He hums, tilting his head. “Okay, what’s up Sunshine?” He holds up a finger as you open your mouth to protest. “And don’t fucking bullshit me, Sunshine. You’ve been acting strange for a while now.”

“I don’t- I don’t know.” You mumble. “I haven’t felt like myself in months. I’m graduating in a few months, I have no idea what I’m doing with my life, I’ve got so much shit to do between now and May, I spend all my energy playing mediator between my parents- I’m just- I’m just-”

You force yourself to stop, taking a shuddering breath as hot tears prick your eyes. The last thing you want to do is cry in front of him again.

“You’re tired?”

“Exhausted.” You mutter, looking down to your plate as the first tear rolls down your cheek, hot against your skin. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He sighs, the sound of his chair moving echoing through the living room as he moves to sit down next to you. He pulls you into his chest and against your better judgment, you wrap your arms around him, returning his hug. He rubs your shoulder sympathetically, making the tears fall harder. “It’s gonna be okay, Sunshine. We’ll figure it out together, I promise. You’re not in this on your own.”

As your tears bubble over, creating a wet patch on Bradley’s shirt, you can’t help but think about how you wound up with someone as incredible as him in it.

He’s so kind.

And you don’t deserve it.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fics #flight risk

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nyx-greenwood99 · 6 months

Text

Fear of pains

Severus and myself discussing pregnancy. This is my take on how I feel it would go down. Forgive me, it's been a long time since I've written, I hope you like it.

Forewarning: arguing and angst

I awoke that morning feeling off, my private quarters dimly lit by the rising sun. I groan and rush to the bathroom, throwing up, my throat burning and my mind reeling.

What could I have eaten to make myself so sick?

I sigh, showering and dressing, knowing I can find some nausea potion in Severus supply.

I wander down to the dungeons, wondering if my secret lover was awake yet. We'd been courting for almost two years, McGonagall and a few close friends being the only ones aware of us together. Teaching defense had been a wonderful career choice but I'd had no idea that the job would come with a stoic man who ended up becoming something so much more.

I quietly enter his office, looking about the organized room recognizing the soft glow of candlelight coming from under the door to his room. I make my way over but the door opens before I reach it, Severus standing calmly albeit a bit sleepy in his crisp white button up and slacks, his hair tousled from sleep and a shadow upon his cheek, him not having yet shaved.

"did I wake you?" I murmur softly as I step closer to him

"Hardly, I was dressing" he lowly rasps, his voice sleepy.

He takes my hand, pulling me into his room. I follow and he takes me into his adjoining restroom, gently hoisting me onto the counter, giving me a tender glance before he turns on the sink. I quietly watch as he preps his skin, brushing on shaving cream and running the blade over his five o'clock shadow.

I'd always enjoyed the precision he did everything with, his hands dexterous and I blatantly stare, admiring his sharp features and piercing eyes. I'd always mentioned how cute he looked with his hair tied back yet he refused to ever wear it that way unless he was brewing or shaving.

"What brings you so early this morning?" He rumbles stirring me out of my reverie.

"I was hoping you'd have nausea cure" I murmur

He shoots me a curious and mildly concerned look, setting his razor down and wiping his face clean with a towel. He turns and rummages in his cabinet, plucking the vial out and reading the label before turning to face me.

"this only works if you are ill, do you have any inkling why you're sick?" He asks with a furrowed brow.

"I'm not sure, I woke up feeling nauseated and threw up shortly after...I still feel nauseous but it's lesser" I reply

His face pales as he looks me over, quickly turning and grabbing a different vial

"drink" he roughly demands, his face furrowed and dark with concern.

I comply, trusting him yet also confused why. I immediately feel ill, sliding off the counter and doubling over the toilet as I expel the contents of my stomach. He immediately sinks down behind me, gathering my hair back and sliding his knuckles soothingly over the back of my neck.

He waits patiently, quietly waiting for me to finish.

I sit back, him snagging a towel, handing it to me so I can clean my lips. I stand and rinse my mouth in the sink, feeling a bit better but embarrassed.

"you're.....pregnant" he breathes, his face pale and his eyes devoid of emotion.

"there's no way, we've played it safe, I don't...there's no..." I stammer, my stomach sinking as it hits me.

He walks out of the bathroom, walking to his desk and sinking into his chair, his head in his hands.

"Severus?" I ask quietly, my voice shaking

"out, I need to think" he bites out, making me wince and step back in hurt and shock.

"servers, we should tal-"

"Out Green, get out" he snarls, still hiding his face

My shoulders tense, my eyes filling with tears as I turn to leave, knowing he's in no state to talk, continuing will result in argument.

I nod, leaving his room, slamming the door behind me in my confusion and anger.

(part 2????)

#pro severus snape #severus snape #pro severus #severus fanfiction

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sadboyeddie · 2 years

Note

Can I request something smutty please??? Dealers choice ;) xx

YES!! — okay admittedly this got a little out of control and realllllly dirty.

Summary: You lend Eddie a pencil and he gives it back ;)

Warnings: (Minors DNI 18+ Only) smut, exhibition, voyeurism, mentions of free use, allusions to potentially hooking up with Chrissy

2.4k

Masterlist

-x-

Class had officially started ten minutes ago and like always Eddie was late.

He promised he’d buckle down this year so he could graduate with you but so far you’re not noticing much of a change in the man.

You let out a quiet sigh of disappointment just seconds before the door swings open and loudly crashes against the wall and all eyes snap to the front.

“Mr Munson, it’s one thing that you’re late but to be so disruptive is another thing entirely,” your Math teacher scolds your boyfriend, “see me after school at the end of the day.”

Eddie does a theatric bow before happily making his way over to the empty seat besides you in the back corner of the room.

He sits down with a huff before leaning over and giving you a loud wet kiss to your cheek, you slide down in your chair in embarrassment as kids glare or snicker in your directions.

“What’d I miss?” Eddie asks as he pulls out his notebook, at least he’s prepared, “you have a pencil I can borrow, babe?”

Maybe not.

You silently open up your pencil case to retrieve your last spare pencil and hold it out to him but before he grabs it you pull it away.

“I need this one back, Eddie,” your voice is firm and he rolls his eyes playfully, “I mean it, I don’t know how you continue to lose my pencils but I’m sick of it.”

You hold the pencil out to him again which he gladly snatches from your grip before scribbling some notes down off the board.

The class goes relatively fast after Eddie arrives and your previous annoyance at the metalhead quickly dissipates when he gives you a warm smile and places his hand casually on your thigh.

Unfortunately you didn’t see Eddie much throughout the day, you only have two classes with each other today and you had other engagements that you couldn’t get out of to see him at lunch.

Finally when the final period arrives you eagerly make it to the classroom and bite back a look of surprise when you see your boyfriend already waiting for you in your usual spot at the back of the class.

He gives you a shit eating grin as you make your way over to him and he dramatically gestures a hand to his cheek.

You lean in with a giggle and press a soft kiss to face before leaning in to give him another but the man has other plans as he quickly turns his face and his lips collide with yours.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Missed you too,” you smile against his.

When the class starts you’re shocked to find that Eddie still has your pencil, you assumed he would’ve left it in the drama room or on the table in the woods like he usually does.

The class starts to drag and Eddie’s ADHD starts to act up as he gets distracted drawing pictures in the back of his notebook, not that you can blame him half the kids are either in deep conversation with each other or dead asleep on their desks, meanwhile the teacher hasn’t even noticed as he drones on about something and writes on the board.

Eddie leans over and whispers into your ear, “class is almost over, do you want your pencil back now?”

You ignore his smirk and look at the clock, “we still have ten minutes, Eddie.”

“So?” He shrugs, “what have you written down in the last half hour?” He gestures to your book.

He’s got you there, this class was usually a blow off anyway, luckily the subject was fairly easy that you didn’t need to rely on the teacher.

“Okay, fine,” you move to grab your pencil case out of your bag but Eddie places his hand on your forearm to stop you.

You tilt your head in confusion but he just smirks while quickly glancing around the room. He moves his seat closer to yours before trailing his hand under the table and onto your thigh, you suck in a breath as his fingers move closer to your heat.

“Shh, baby,” he chides, “as much as there’s a small part of me that wants to fuck you in front of a crowd, I don’t think school is the place for it,” he chuckles and you gasp at his admission as arousal floods your panties.

With his left hand he moves the fabric of your underwear to the side and slides his hand against your folds, a slight hum leaving his chest at the slickness of your pussy. He immediately spreads your lower lips and runs his middle finger along your opening, spreading your wetness around before massaging some into your neglected clit.

Your hands remain on the desk, one tightly gripping your pencil so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t snapped and the other holding on to the edge of the table for dear life.

You bite your lip and breathe in harshly through your nose hoping that works to stop your whimpers from slipping out but as Eddie dips the tips of his fingers teasingly in your hole you let out a louder whine which you quickly cover with a cough.

Eddie’s eyes shoot around the room as do yours to see if you’ve been caught but your classmates all seem wrapped up in their own affairs thankfully.

“Be careful, princess,” Eddie playfully scolds, “you’re already dating the freak, do you want to be known as his little slut too?”

“Yes,” you breathlessly answer without missing a beat and Eddie can’t help but lean in and give you a quick kiss at your reply.

Sometimes with his insecurities it’s easy to overlook how much you actually love him. Even when he has his fingers in your panties.

“Take them off,” he nods to your lap and you look at him with wide eyes, “do it or I will.”

A fresh wave of wetness drips down your thighs and is caught in the fabric, but without that barrier you’re going to make a mess on the seat.

You look around the room before shoving the fabric down your legs and quickly reach down to grab them, before you can pocket the material Eddie snatches them from your hands and stuffs them in his pocket.

He places his left hand back on your thigh and uses it to spread your legs a little wider and if anyone in the row in front dropped something and leant down to pick it up they’d get a wide view of your dripping pussy.

Eddie massages the flesh of your thigh and you place your hand on top of his and try to move it back to where you need it most but the stubborn man grips your thigh in a painful hold which causes you to whimper and let go.

“Good girl,” he whispers fully in control of this situation.

He removes his hand from you all together and for a split second you believe you’ve fucked up and he’s gonna punish you but he snatches the pencil from the desk and places his hand in it’s precious position between your legs.

He runs the end of the pencil, eraser and all, through your folds and you let out a quiet mewl at the cold stiff feeling.

He ignores your clit completely as he continues to wet the wood, keeping his movements slow and steady. You start to slowly gyrate your hips forward and Eddie leans in and rests his elbow from his other hand on the desk and puts his chin in his palm, to cover his grin.

He turns his head down slightly so he has a view of his actions but to the outside view it looks like his reading from his notebook.

He suddenly flips the wood over and grazes the sharp tip of the pencil over your neglected and sensitive nub. Your hips move forward on reflex and it lightly drags the chair across the linoleum floor causing a slight squeak.

No one seems to have even looked up at the noise.

Eddie holds the pencil vertically on the chair, the eraser part on the seat as he slides the shaft between your folds like he’s done with his cock — and several other inanimate objects — before and he encourages you to grind against the thin piece of wood.

You gladly begin to grind your pussy forward as you seek out your climax. Juices have started to drip down your thighs and puddle on the seat causing you to stick uncomfortably to the plastic but everytime your clit rubs against the stiff wood you find yourself moving faster.

Eddie repositions the pencil so it now points directly to your opening, as you grind forward the wooden shaft penetrates your hole and your movements stutter at the strange feeling.

The weird ridges of the pencil feel good against your sensitive walls and the harsh rubber stings as it beats against your insides but the pain brings with it pleasure.

Your coherent thoughts have long since gone and now all you can manage to think about is cumming.

The strong urge to cum replaces all rational parts of your brain and you throw caution to the wind and reach down with your left hand and start rubbing your throbbing nub.

“Good, baby,” Eddie praises, “you’ll let just about anything in this filthy pussy won’t you?”

“Ye-es,” you pant and pinch your clit.

“You’d let anyone fuck you if I asked, huh?” His voice has a playful edge that usually leads to him saying some questionably dirty and dark things but that’s one of the things you love about him.

“Yes, Eddie,” you nod.

“What about Chrissy?” At the mention of her name your eyes snap over to her figure, she’s deep in conversation with her shitass boyfriend, “would you let Chrissy fuck your pink little pussy?”

You nod your head eagerly without answering, admittedly this isn’t the first time she’s come up when you’ve been teasing each other.

“Love to watch her suck my cum from your pussy,” his face is much closer to yours and your eyes snap to him on instinct, “No, watch her, baby,” Eddie demands, “watch her while I fuck you.”

Your gaze returns to the preppy cheerleader, her smile wide as she laughs at something one of her friends said.

“Maybe I’ll get one of those double ended dildos so you can fuck each other,” you let out a small whimper, needing to cum badly but knowing if Eddie doesn’t give you permission he won’t let you cum for a few days as punishment.

Eddie pushes the pencil further inside your pussy and you let out a grunt at it nudges thatspot inside you and he quickens the pace.

“Maybe I’ll just make her sit and watch as I fuck your ass,” you bite your lip and snap your eyes shut as he continues, “I’ve always wanted to fuck you in front of people, sometimes I think of taking you to a club in the city and slipping my cock into in the middle of the dance floor as everyone moves around us oblivious.”

His admissions have you forcing back your orgasm as his words torture you.

“But I’ve always wanted to take you to a small bar, out of the way — a dingy shithole filled with creeps and bikers — and fuck you over a bar stool or on the pool table as they watch and leer at you.”

“Eddie,” your breathing comes out harder at his words but he ignores your desperation.

“Maybe I’d let them take turns?” His question is rhetorical but you nod with an almost silent ‘yes’, “Maybe I’d let them fuck you with beer bottles or pool cues, would you like that, princess? Being a dirty cock sleeve for disgusting drunks?”

“Yes,” you quietly whine, “yes Eddie, please.”

“What do you need, princess?” His voice is soft and you know he’s only giving in because the bell is about to signal.

“Need t’cum,” you gasp as your pussy practically sucks the pencil back in with each thrust.

“So cum,” Eddie says simply but picks up in both speed and harshness as he begins to fuck the pencil so hard into your pussy you’re worried it will snap.

You’re eyes have remained closed since Eddie started talking about Chrissy but if they were opened you would have noticed the aforementioned cheerleader watching as your face contorts in pleasure as your chest heaves hard against your shirt she’s worried the buttons will fly off.

She watches as you cover your mouth to silence your moans as your boyfriend makes you cum, amazed that no one has noticed. She squeezes her thighs together and continues to stare as Eddie pulls the pencil from under the desk, the shaft wet and glistening under the fluorescent lights and her eyes bulge open in shock.

Jason grabs her attention telling her the bell has rung and everyone is already leaving the room.

You and Eddie leave before she has a chance to fully pack away her things, your face is red as you lean your weight into your boyfriend and she finds her self longing for that, for you both.

As she places her notebook in her book bag she misses as Eddie places something on her table but when she see the wet pencil on her desk her cheeks grow warm as she snatches it up and shoves it in her bag.

-x-

“C’mon, stop complaining!” Eddie laughs as you place your books into your locker, “it’s funny!”

“The seat had a noticeable puddle, Eddie!” You whine, “he’s gonna know we were doing stuff.”

“Maybe he’ll think you just pissed yourself,” he cackles as you slap his chest, you wanted to use your panties to clean the seat so the teacher wouldn’t catch on but Eddie wouldn’t relinquish his trophy.

You roll your eyes and lace your fingers with his as you exit the school, Eddie pulling you a little faster as he catches the silhouette of the math teacher from this morning.

“Where’s my pencil?” Your cheeks heat up as you ask him.

“What pencil?” He feigns ignorance.

“Eddie!” You playfully scold, “don’t tell me you left it on the table?”

“Don’t worry!” He smiles mysteriously, “it’s in good hands.”

-x-

Later that night Chrissy throws her head back as her moans echo around her room, your pencil reaching deep inside her tight hole as she fucks herself, pussy tingling with the knowledge that your slick is dried against the shaft, mixing with hers.

#stranger things #eddie munson #joseph quinn #my writing #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #chrissy cunningham

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denjirv · 3 years

Text

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

Synopsis: Yoshida uses his devil ability to have some fun with you during the test Genere: Smut Contains: Tentacles, public sex, Dom!Yoshida, Sub!Reader, Edging

A/N: I need to make my own banner for these fics good lord- Yoshida was a tease, so much so it became a part of your relationship. But you didn't think he’d actually do it though. He always messed with you about touching you during class and while he did it, it wasn't what you expected it to be. As everyone put their things away to start the test you sat beside Yoshida from the far back, it was near the window and no one really paid attention to that corner. It was so quiet, so boring but as soon as the teacher said “start-” the sound of pencils writing down filled the room. You had to be focused, this was worth your grade and who cares if your boyfriend was just looking at you with that smile he always has. You didn’t know why but you felt a sense of dread feeling his eyes on you. You didn’t realize it but you felt something warm and wet on your thigh, you looked down only to cover your mouth seeing the tentacle that was laying on your thigh. You can feel how wet your thigh was and how it kept brushing up against your pussy. Yoshida smiled more hearing the subtle whimper coming from you as he stared down at his test, writing away as if he wasn’t assaulting you with his devil abilities An inappropriate use for a devil, granted Yoshida was never one to take things so seriously. He enjoyed seeing you squirm in your seat while you grip onto your pencil, he wanted to see more though. He leans into you as he whispers. “Don’t make too much noise now, or else we’ll get caught~” His voice was always so soothing to hear, he had a bit of a deep pitch to it that all the girls at the school loved hearing. And here you are with your boyfriend touching you indirectly during a test in a quiet room. You barely finished the front side of the paper as you tried speeding through it, you were getting frustrated. Sexually or in general? Who knows but then Yoshida eyes down your legs getting touched by the tentacle as he came up with a sick idea Suddenly a pair of tentacles wrap your legs before making them spread just enough for the third one to tease your clit. You gasp quietly before closing your eyes shut, you try closing your legs but the grip from the devil was strong. It was getting hard for you to even write as you dropped your pencil that rolled from the table and landed on the floor. Yoshida leans down before giving it to you with an innocent look on his face. “You dropped this” He mutters but seeing how your face got red and how much you trying not to let a single noise escape excited him. The way you kept squirming in your seat as moans threaten to leave your clips he looks down at his paper before continuing to write, already flipping it to the other side you needed to finish before the bell rings.

And so with your shaky hands you grab the pencil and continue working. He could just watch you all day seeing you in such a desperate state, he especially loved seeing the horror in your eyes when the tentacles moved your panties to the side as it teases your wet entrance. You look over at him with pleading eyes that silently begged for him to not let him use it. He lets out a confused hums before he would slide in the tentacle that stretched your pussy out. You hit your leg against the desk almost from how good it felt, if you could cry from the pleasure you would have as it thrust in and out of you so painfully slowly but yet it felt so good. Touching you in places where fingers couldn't reach You felt yourself going insane from how good it was getting as you panted under your breath. Yoshida was already popping a boner in class hearing the quiet squelching noises coming from your pussy getting fucked during class you barely had enough energy to read the questions. But like the tease he was he makes them go faster inside you, praying to god no one was looking around most of them were distracted by their work as you felt your legs shake with that familiar knotting feeling in your stomach grow. You couldn’t focus any longer, barely writing anything on the backside you quietly begged for him to let you cum. It was getting intense and you were close to cumming in class because of him, but as soon as you felt your pussy tighten around it the bell rang as the teacher told everyone to turn in their work and to enjoy their weekend, you felt the tentacle pull out before disappearing. Yoshida looked at you dripping pussy and shaky thighs with a small chuckle. “Don’t looks so good, is everything alright?” He asked curiously, you just roll your eyes before adjusting your panties as you try to quickly clean up the mess. You were seriously gonna get back at him one day for causing you this much trouble

#chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man smut #chainsaw man x you #yoshida x reader #hirofumi yoshida x reader #yoshida hirofumi smut #yoshida hirofumi #csm yoshida

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ihatebnha · 3 years

Text

bakugo + asking for a baby

I’ve always had this weird image in my head of asking sugar daddy bakugo for a baby… so this is that but the sugar daddy part is like……………… implied. Idk. I’m sick of working on it. I’m also sick of having my free time usurped.

(warning: sfw + gender is never mentioned I THINK but talk about having babies…??? One use of daddy but mostly nonsexually… ooc)

There is silence in the room when you enter.

Not silence.

There is the sound of a clock when you enter, the buzz of lights that are embedded in the cream painted walls. There is a low, static shuffle of soft ground, and the creak of even and steady breath.

There are bookshelves lining the wall, of dark oak and picture frames, trophies made from gleaming gold that sit upon the shelves, and merchandise, stacked up like children’s toys, surrounding you in equally sugar-coated bliss and familiarity.

The carpet is soft under your feet, soft as the door glides over curled silk and wool, and soft as you peek into the study. It’s easy, like things were when you were a kid and the places you were sneaking were places you wouldn’t be caught.

Here… not so much, despite how you still find in it the comfort and richness of home.

Of Katsuki.

He sits at his desk, imposing as usual despite his relaxed posture and the pen that he twirls between his fingers.

He is everything he should be, all scars and sinew and safety, yet, there is a gentleness to him that grows the closer you creep forward, or rather, when he notices your movement and turns to you; instantly.

Slumped shoulders, his face is stern under his glasses, his body obviously tired and worn. Still, he still accepts you into his lap with open arms and a breathless, “hello,” as you mold yourself into him as though you are one.

You pluck your lips to his, the movement feather light and gentle.

“I’ve been thinking…” you rub a thumb under one of his eyes, the crinkled skin soft with end-of-day exhaustion.

He hums, hands moving to your waist. “‘Bout what?”

“Something I want.”

He stares at you, the silence building and then collapsing.

“First, you wanted a car,” he says, “and what did I get you?’

You trace your fingers over his lips, ignoring the spark of intrigue and knowing in the garnet of his eyes. Your hand moves down his from chin to his neck in quick and gentle slide, and then from his neck to it his shoulder in an even swifter tickle. The gust of his breath on your mouth is warm, the heat in his voice unusually soft.

“A car,” you reply. “The BMW.”

He nods.

“And then you wanted a pet,” he continues, ignoring the soothing motion of your fingers rubbing back and forth on his shoulder. “So what did I give you?

You smile, the image of brown and white furs coming to mind, the little water bowl you picked out, the blue collar.

“A pet.”

“That’s right,” he nods, his expression stern. “And now you want more?”

It’s so easy to nod without hesitance, to sink into the warmth that is Bakugo’s lap, your hands on his chest, his hands just barely skimming over the curve of your back, a delicate dance meant just for the both of you.

You imagine a castle, though you practically already live in one, with the comfortable high ceilings and sleek, wooden floorings. Still, you imagine the long halls you would have, the sweeping dresses in perfect colors… and you imagine a wedding, and a crown.

“Tell me,” he says, the pause in between pregnant. “What do you want?”

The words don’t rip you from your daydream, and you bite your lip.

“A baby,” you say. “A girl.”

His eyebrows go up.

“A baby,” he repeats, pulling his lip upward humorously in confirmation. Tipping your head back, steadied by your grip around his neck, you nod despite the extreme taut of his lip. Anyone who saw him would think he was mocking you with the way he pushes his glasses up to his head, but you know better. You know him better. “Who’s she look like?”

You go back to grinning as you think about it.

“Me. With your hair. Little blonde curls,” you say, dragging a hand up to gently thread your hand through the hair on the back of his neck. There is no hesitance to the words, and his chest rumbles in slight laughter.

“Like a cherub, then?”

You nod, curling around him. “An angel.”

Bakugo doesn’t move except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. He continues to stare, fingers slowly creeping from your back to just barely cup your ass. He leans forward.

“If I give you this,” his voice is deep and low, “will you stop asking me for every fuckin’ thing?

You laugh, quietly, tugging on his hair ever so slightly. His eyes narrow, while your eyebrows raise.

“I’m not sure. What if baby needs a new pair of shoes?”

He lifts you up, then, suddenly; thighs steady despite the plush flooring of which he stands on, grip secure regardless of how he uses one hand to rip off his glasses. Over his shoulder, with his lips moving to press to your ear in a slight kiss, you once again admire his books, his trophies, and his merchandise.

It’s home.

“Then baby,” he replies, hefting you up to make sure your legs are properly secure around him, your arms looped around his back, “can ask daddy her damn self.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugo #I’m not happy with the beginning of this but whatever #I literally haven’t been allowed to be alone these past two days and I’m so mad bc of it #I wanted this to be about asking for ANOTHER baby #but I thought that was too nuanced #caitie post #kids tw #babies tw

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aidemint · 3 years

Text

Sunday Nights Are For Dreamers | Viktor

word count: 4.7k+

pairing: Viktor/Reader, Viktor x Reader

warnings: sick Viktor :(

notes: arcane has me in a chokehold rn also!!! sorry for not posing in so long ToT hope you enjoy though :) this is also cross-posted on AO3!

for my friend @crsjunkyard ! welcome to tumblr :)

It’s still dark outside when you wake up.

A midnight background drapes across the sky of Piltover, thick, ceaseless shadows consuming the atmosphere and suffocating the breeze—a still, unfamiliar evening.

Stars outside shine through half-open curtains, silvery light spilling through the divide and onto the floor, pooling in blurred patterns on the carpet. Mercury, you think, or perhaps a more conventional sterling silver. An acknowledging hum comes from your throat, breaking in the middle, early morning spells draining life from the velvety tone.

Minutes pass, the scene holding nothing but lackluster existence, until you deem the time fit enough to try to rise. As far as you're concerned, it should be an easy process.

But when you blink away the bleariness in your eyes and awaken enough to form coherent thoughts, you realize that the conditions you went to sleep under unfortunately serve as the setting you wake up in. You’re alone, cold, body only half-covered by the wool blanket you’d bought for nights like these (a night in which, perhaps, it would be best to share with a loved one).

Disappointment is quick to replace ample content.

He’s still alone, working, wearing himself down.

The absence of Viktor leaves your mind wandering and your heart longing—a certain sense of grief that overtakes your senses as you drift away to think of him.

It’s torture to picture him still sat at his desk in the laboratory, pulling plugs and examining fissures, focused on the one thing that’s kept him captivated for so long. You didn’t blame him. The look of it was a piece of work in itself—deep purple with a seemingly infinite combination of ancient ruins, strong light in the center illuminating the ornate patterns with a kind of majesty unfound in both Piltover and Zaun—forget what purpose it served.

But he’s killing himself.

You bite your tongue at the thought, wincing yet still acknowledging the truth within the statement. He is, with every day that passes, every test gone wrong, every loss and unbearable suffering.

Well, then again, you doubt that metal is so easily destroyable with the passage of time (or, at the very least, you hope—what would you do without it).

Faith keeps the thought at bay for a little while, softened silk waves running across a plane of darkness, bending every hardened corner of shadow into familiar comfort. But after a while, when your subconscious abandons its dormant state, you begin to see it in the motions of the night.

A crimson handkerchief, toppled chair spilling fibrous cotton onto the floor, research papers a blur, chaotically scattered and drifting across the ground with every radioactive pulse of the lavender Hexcore. Electrifyingly, your view pans to grey fingers, cold and unmoving, bloodied with cracked fingernails and freckles on the backs of the digits.

Your vision slides up, up, up, up, up to a shoulder—slim, rounded, familiar—to a neck—thin and shriveled and red —then to—

You smash a hand against your forehead, cutting the reel short through brute force and you groan. Continuously, you knock tightened fists against your skull in desperation, fear, every emotion that spurs your blindness you hit yourself with. Despite the pounding ache building in your head, you remain, praying that this nightmare might stay away, pass, leave and grant you mercy for this one night.

It reduces your serene state to a blankness, almost emptiness as you simply stare at the wall with no direction to go, effort directed towards suppressing the fear creeping up your throat.

A creak suddenly hauls you, blinking rapidly, into the present. It's the bedroom door swinging wide for uneven steps; it quietly sheds its solitude as it approaches and fills into the reedy, gentle silhouette you know and love.

Hope. There it is again.

It blooms in your heart and you untense at the warmth, finding that the shadows no longer seem haunting—just peace and quiet in darkness.

You find the strength to stop your struggling and pretend to be asleep when he quietly slips underneath the sheets with you, careful not to disrupt your falsified bliss. A smile curls the edges of your lips upon witnessing his delicacy.

You’re used to the feel of his legs tangled with yours, the gentleness of one arm or two splayed across your body when the two of you sleep together, but there are always moments when he gets close—near enough to feel your heartbeat against his own—and you feel like falling for him all over again.

His lips brush across your cheekbone, and that’s enough to make you gasp (how long have you two been together, yet you still act like a child who’s met love for the first time). He draws back upon hearing the breath, cautiously peering at you for signs of conscious life. You stir, to his slight discontentment, but he sets his hands on your waist to welcome you into reality, his mouth pressed on the tip of your shoulder.

“Виктор?” you call, the echo of your voice muted by the walls of your bedroom, “Are you alright?” He responds with a “mhm” before proceeding.

“I’m fine, my love,” he says slowly, chest rumbling as he speaks against your skin, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No. I was already awake.”

“Waiting for me?” Guilt is woven in thick threads through his voice, to which you sigh. “I hope you weren’t staying up too late.”

“I think I should be the one concerned for you,” you whisper, finding his hand underneath the blanket and giving it a squeeze, “At the rate you’re working you’ll—”

Your chiding splinters off into jagged fragments of concern wearing away at the air when Viktor starts to convulse, coughs, expressions too big for his body, wracking his frame, fate’s cruel hand violently shearing away the inside of his lungs. The stilted half-gasping, half-choked wheezing that pushes its way into your ears doesn’t listen to Viktor’s strangled plea for it to remain a crimson secret spat into the last-minute, soiled tissue he has by his side.

You close your eyes, heart twisting with each retch that you know wrings his body bone-dry. His frame shudders behind you—fully, completely—and you can do nothing but witness the scene unveil with bated breath.

Wincing as he pushes off of you to curl into a fetal position, meek, afraid, you wait, reassuring yourself that the nightmare would be over soon. Saliva pools in your mouth when he gags, biting back a strangled cough—you feel weak, but swallow the rising bile in your throat.

Whenever his jaw unhinges it sounds like death.

It’s different from the calls of crows near your childhood home, the wailing of victims in the mean streets of the undercity, the screams of the unfortunate (but wasn’t that just everyone in the underworld).

The sound that comes from Viktor is whole, unbroken, unrelenting—the noise of Piltover, but reminiscent of Zaun. He produces shallow coughs, mostly, but the moment he breathes deeply and lets go, you feel like you’ve been run over by a freight train.

It reverberates in your chest, rings in your ears, shouts at you from all directions—even some you didn’t know were present.

It’s supposed to be muddled, it’s supposed to sound weak, wet, pathetic, like a puddle against a boot or some cold shower.

But it doesn’t.

Do you contemplate death, he once asked you, What does it feel like?

And that scares you.

When Viktor finishes, discarding the bloodied napkin with a simple toss to your nightstand, he returns to his place behind you. Melting into him again is surprisingly easier than expected.

Your waist, you think, felt oddly bare without his hands loving it.

“Do you need me to get a towel?” There’s no judgement in your voice—only a slight, concerned lilt when considering the amount of blood laying within the crumpled tissue only a few feet away. You feel him smile against your skin.

“No, but thank you.” A pause filled with uncertainty follows, but you’re quick to catch on, making sure that it doesn’t last for long—too long.

“Okay,” you reply simply, turning over to face him, “Then let’s hope that I don’t taste blood.”

You both could use a distraction right about now.

Viktor’s cheeks flush a light pink when you kiss him, slipping your hand to cup his face, palm resting on his jaw. His cheeks are warm, undeniably rose-colored and perhaps the same hue as the shells of his ears (maybe even darker than that).

A tingle shoots through your core when he presses back, eyes fluttering shut and arm wrapped around your waist, pads of his fingers pushing on the small of your back. Your fingers curl and you begin to grow breathless as he starts to explore, hands slowly traversing the entirety of your torso.

You tug on his hair, tufts of chocolate locks clenched in between greedy fists, and he groans, giving the edges of your lips one last kiss before moving down.

“Viktor—” you whine, guiding his head to the base of your neck, “Vik— Mmnh—” His hands brush the sides of your arms and you feel like you might explode, oh how sensitive you are.

“Do you want to stop, маленький котенок?”

“I don’t but—” You take a sharp breath when a sudden sense of responsibility crashes into you headfirst as he laps at your collarbone. “You have to sleep.”

“I can’t, not now, солнышко,” he murmurs.

“Why?” The question comes out as a gasp as Viktor snakes a slender hand down your side, cold fingers dancing along the warmth of your bodice. “Viktor, you have to— sleep—!”

He doesn’t give a response, only sucking harder on your skin, busying himself with something as an excuse to ignore your question. You’re quick to fade back into bliss again, clasping a hand over your mouth to stifle a sudden gasp when he tightly grips your hip.

“Блядь!” He finishes when you cry out, strings of saliva connecting the bruise on your collarbone to his thin lips. Staring vacantly at the mark for a second, he bites the inside of his cheek then buries his face in the crook of your neck, seemingly seeking comfort. You promptly cradle his head, patting his back as you calm down from your high.

“Is something bothering you, Vik?” you ask after minutes pass. It’s a stupid question, but you know that he won’t admit the issue unless asked. He keeps silent regardless, and you sigh.

You want to examine more, peer into that bright mind of his and fish out the turmoil that plagues its waters. It’s a bitingly cold sensation, the realization—perhaps he thought that he should have to endure it alone—that sends chills down your spine, goosebumps rising from the neck down.

However, you give him time to admit his own truth, and he eventually comes around.

“I'm afraid so,” is what he says with hesitancy in his voice, timid and unletting, “But I’ve just been thinking, that is all. Thinking a lot about many things.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” It’s a gentle prod, nothing too forceful, lest you wish to scare him away.

“I… don’t,” he confesses, “But I think that if I let problems fester, they’ll become something even worse.”

“We’ll take it slow,” you say, rubbing your hand against his forearm, “Sit up and do it face-to-face. Turn on the light so we can see each other. How ‘bout it?” You feel him nod and you help yourself up before assisting him, only needing a soft tug to lift half of him up.

He starts to cough the moment he’s upright, hacking blood into his elbow as you hold him steady, trying to remain calm when he doubles over with both arms seemingly bound to his chest. His shoulders come up and his spine curves into a wishbone, torso crumpled in on itself as if to break himself in (the larger piece connected to the split he would take, then somehow things would be alright again). He fumbles for his tissue, choking into the red-stained white.

Viktor speaks in haggard gasps, drunken wheezes, and torment—he says don’t worry, everything will be fine, have faith.

By God, by anyone that’s out there, do you have faith.

“I’ll turn the light on.” It’s all you say—it’s all you can say.

You just wonder if it’s ever enough.

Viktor stops convulsing a few minutes later and you pat his back, relieved. You don’t speak until he wipes his fingers and mouth clean with a fresh tissue.

“If you need to cough on the bed, it’s ok. I can clean the blanket in the morning.” He hums in gratitude, spitting the last of the blood into the napkin with a grimace.

“Thank you, солнышко.” You smile and kiss his cheek before leaning over him to turn on the light.

With a flick of the wrist and a downwards pull, a soft, yellow-orange hue floods the room, a stark contrast to the blackness you’ve been living in for the past few hours. It takes a few blinks to get adjusted to the brightness, but you quickly recover, retreating back to your position beside Viktor and turning to get a good look at him.

Butterflies begin to flutter at the bottom of your stomach once you do as you realize that you really don’t see him as often as you should be.

His eyelashes are short, subtle, but defined with the dark coloration of his hair and warm light shining from his left. Your vision runs all over his face—to his defined cheekbones, thick brows, thin lips, slender jaw, and the two beauty marks in his most kissable places.

And those eyes.

God , and those eyes.

Honeyed amber with sharpened edges—a dark, defining brown encasing an inescapable pool of liquid gold. A solar eclipse on a clear night, pupils eclipsing a forever-burning star, rays of Midas peeking out from underneath the humble black dot. His eyes are bright, expressive, everything that you could get lost in and more.

The way he looks at you is enough to take your breath away—so much adoration in the deepest of amber eyes, how they glow in the dim lamplight. Amongst the curiosity, passion, fear, awareness, there lies love.

Hope, even.

“Солнышко? Солнышко, are you alright?”

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your own head and you stare at him with a surprised look about your features. He tilts his head and purses his lips as he picks apart your expression.

“Is something odd?” he asks carefully, raising an eyebrow, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! Uh—” You swallow a mouthful of saliva, chuckling nervously at the sudden speed the butterflies in your stomach have taken off at. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He stays still for a moment, looking at you and nothing else. You can take it, staring into his irises and listening to your inner voice scream at you for a variety of Viktor-related reasons. It made you feel like you were still attending the academy, a naive graduate student that never learned the basis of love under the prioritization of science, but you could handle that feeling (for you’ve known it all too well).

But of course, what comes after doesn’t help your poor heart all that much either.

“I always forget how beautiful you are in this light.” You feel a heat creep up your face and you laugh, swatting playfully at his shoulder. He grins, still gazing at the joy in your expression: the crinkle of your undereyes, your wide smile, the way you furrow your brows and squeeze your eyes shut—everything.

In the midst of it all, your ample delight and his usual charm, it didn’t feel like he was stalling. It felt like real love, the moments shared during bleak hours such as these in the middle of some worn night.

But you notice fear flash across his features when you calm down, subtly lingering in the form of a downturned mouth and furrowed brows; you notice the way he darts his eyes away from you and bites back a protest with a clench of his jaw; you notice his index finger rub the top of his thumb nail, flicking the digit like a mousetrap in his lap—a habit of worry.

You never, in the present, question his genuity, but you notice, and slip your hand into his.

“Do you want to tell me what’s been bothering you?”

The question cuts through the air like a knife to hot butter and Viktor flinches, averting his gaze and tensing his shoulders. His palm almost leaves yours, but you just hold him tighter in response.

“You can take your time, mилый. I’m not here to hurt you.” His reply is immediate, distressed, disturbed; he looks at you in a panic.

“That’s not what I’m—” The brunette stifles a cough in the middle of his objection, pushing a closed fist to the front of his mouth and wincing at the dryness in his throat. “I’m worried— about.”

“Then what are you worried about?” You’re gentle, patient, kind—with relaxed eyes and a hopeful grip around him, willingly curled around his heart, promising to never let go. He likes seeing you like this, with a small smile on your lips and a look of understanding you’ve never failed to give him, but he’s scared.

I’m worried about you, he wants to say, If your light fades when I tell you. Now that I see your face, I’m not sure if I can make the sacrifice.

“My condition is worsening.” Viktor screws his eyes shut, silently cursing at himself when he feels your grip around his hand loosen, but he continues weakly. “The doctor gave me the diagnosis after I collapsed—”

A lump forms in his throat when you fully pull your hand out of his grip.

“Hold on, what?” Disbelief floods your features and you can feel your heartbeat quicken while your limbs freeze up. “Viktor, you collapsed? Wha— J— Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I was worried that—” he starts, finding it hard to string words together underneath the pressure, “That you would worry.”

“But— Oh God— But I would worry regardless, Viktor!” Incredulity bubbles in your core and you’re not sure if you can take much more of the feeling. “You— Oh my God… Why didn’t you tell me earlier? ”

“I was thinking about it.”

“Why? Why did you even have to think? Weighing consequences against each other—this is madness, Viktor, don’t you understand?” The brunette curls his lip in a look of disdain.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I am a scientist, just as you are. How could I not—”

“Because I have a solution,” he snaps, tone unnaturally sharp. You go silent for a moment, puzzled.

“I thought that Hextech wasn’t refined enough to be used to alter mankind,” you say after you’ve thought the possibilities through. "Heimerdinger said it would take—" Viktor grimaces and your shoulders slump at the expression.

“It’s not…” He speaks with hesitancy, a meekness about his stature—reducing the inventor to no more than a little boy in the dim light. “It’s not Hextech.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s foreign.” You frown, exasperated.

“I asked you what it was, not where it was from.”

Viktor doesn’t say anything this time—though his mouth moves, the words are lodged in his throat, scraping the insides of his lumen. You sigh at the sight, a sensation of guilt creeping up your spine. It’s uncomfortable—makes you squeamish—and electrifyingly powerful when paired with the tenderness of your heart.

Softening your gaze and clasping his hand in both of yours, you lower your voice to speak.

“May I see it?” you ask quietly, “Your… unnamed solution.” You manage a chuckle, but Viktor has yet to break out of his stony expression. He takes one look at you, your hands and features, then changes directions, turning his head away to keep you in only the corner of his view.

Despite the unmaintained eye contact, there's something about his irises that scream the question “will you still love me” directly at you.

His midsummer eyes grow more despondent with every passing minute, clementine thread weaving oscillations through the dull roundness, unassisted by the lamplight that sits at his side. You squeeze his hand three times for assurance, then wait with bated breath as he continues to blankly stare at the bedsheets.

After what seems like an eon of silence, Viktor swallows, then opens his mouth to speak.

“It’s called Shimmer.” He reaches for his cane and opens up a secret compartment with the press of a button. From out of the hollowed inside, he takes out a small vial of iridescent, liquid glitter, then returns to his place on the bed.

When he hands you the violet beaker, your brows furrow, eyes transfixed on the way it… shimmers (hence the name, you guess).

Patterns of gentle purple mix in with an almost chaotic darkness, swirling inside the vial. Its aura has something sinister about it, you’re sure—a certain corruption radiating from the potion, only thin glass and a cork keeping it from spilling out and running rampant.

“What does it do?” you mumble, still observing the substance, “Are you supposed to ingest it?”

“It will help.”

You don’t like how certain he sounds. It’s worrying—and scary, so you can only pray that he leaves it at that.

“But—” Your nerves freeze over at the conjunction, a little voice screaming bloody murder at the back of your head. “—it has its dangers.”

What is science without the presence of risk?

“What dangers?” Viktor makes a face, considering his options in what to say.

The preservation of the study itself requires academics to throw many cautions to the wind.

“I don’t know what will become of my humanity if I pursue this path.”

So what yield can a divergence bring?

“Are you sure about this?”

Nothing. The answer is nothing.

“More than I’ve ever been for anything.”

Somehow, you believe him despite it all. His sincerity pushes past the fear, disappointment, misery, even hope at the forefronts of your mind and simply stays—stays and waits for a reaction to drive it away.

“Oh.” You blink away a few blurry spots in your vision. “Alright.”

You feel unlike yourself—uncomfortable and uneasy with the current circumstances laid out in front of you. Perhaps you don't know how to react, or you simply don't want to. Part of you wants to shut it out and hope for the best, part of you wants to take it in and make it better.

It’s only when you look back at your reflection in the vial of Shimmer do you realize that you’ve begun to cry. You try to suppress the feeling that washes over you when you see your stressed features in the murky violet, but it inevitably comes—a strong ocean’s wave sweeping over a polyp of coral. Emotion swells in your chest and you find that the tide gets stronger with every passing minute.

Resist, resist, resist, your soul chants, You should understand. You should understand.

But no matter how hard you try, you can’t.

You can only sit there with your shaking shoulders, trembling limbs, and quivering bottom lip when you finally let go, hot streams of crystal misery rapidly descending the sides of your face and shattering against the bedsheets when they drip down from your chin. Drawing your legs closer to you, you hug them to your chest for some sort of comfort, something to latch onto.

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry Viktor but I'm afraid— I’m afraid that—” You bite your lip as tears continue to cascade down your cheeks, falling into your lap. “Maybe one day I'll find you in your lab and— You're just gonna be— You won't be— Again— I— I'm sorry, Vik, I just— Oh God, this is just so much to process.”

“I know.” He says it like it’s something so simple, so easily understood. And perhaps to him, a man who thinks too much, it may as well have been. “I know, солнышко.”

“Viktor, what if it doesn’t work and you die? I don’t know what I’ll do.” You bury your face in your hands and take a deep, shuddering breath. “ Любимый, что с тобой будет? I'm not ready to— to lose you yet, Viktor. It's so selfish of me but please just stay a little longer .”

By now, you’ve begun to spiral.

“Что я буду делать? О боже, что будет? Иногда мне кажется, что я настолько глуп из-за того, что так много волнуюсь… Я просто хочу, чтобы с тобой все было в порядке, Виктор.” Viktor can only watch on as you weep, taking in every expression of desolation with furrowed brows and a conflicted gaze. “Не думаю, что когда-либо любил кого-то так сильно, как люблю тебя. Мне страшно, Виктор.”

You whimper when you feel his arms come around you, engulfing your figure in a tight embrace that you return gratefully.

“I’m sorry, солнышко.” His fingers curl around your shoulder, bringing you closer. “But love and legacy are the sacrifices we make for progress. I understand if you choose to despise me.” You sniff, wiping away a few stray tears with the back of your hand before replying.

“I don’t despise you, Viktor. Even if I don’t know what the future will hold,” you stress, feeling the tension seep out of him at your words, “I’m just… I’m just worried for you.

“I'm not asking you to stop. I'm not asking you to quit for me because I know how much this means to you. I just want you to be safe. Safe and happy and— And mine. And I know that it’s so selfish of me but I just want you , Viktor.”

“If the experiment goes well, you will still have—”

You can feel his chest shake when he begins to cough seconds after the break in the sentence, limbs trembling and frame quaking underneath the might of his ailment. As he gasps for air in between thunderous hacks, you hold him steady as best as you can, the amount of force pushing against you strangely vigorous for such a frail man.

“Don’t worry about me.” It comes as a whisper once the fit subsides, leaving the sheets behind you bloodied—ruined—and Viktor shivering. “Just focus on the experiment.” He nods, a low, weak hum reverberating through his being.

“You’ll get through this.” Your grip around the inventor tightens, and you find that you’re trying to root yourself somewhere once again. “You will get through this.”

"I will get through this," he recites through a sore throat, screwing his eyes shut, "I will, I will, I will."

A brief silence overtakes the two of you after the reassurance.

"It's getting late," you say after what you feel like is long enough, "We should sleep. 'S going to be a new day tomorrow." You move the blankets and tuck yourself in, Viktor acting in silent agreement, doing the same on the other side, but first clicking off the lamp light. The warmth of the room disappears with the brightness and a sudden chill runs through your body.

"Goodnight, солнышко." Once settled down, you can't bring yourself to smile at the term of endearment, but force out a response in an attempt to at least end the night normally for Viktor.

"Goodnight, моя любовь."

For a while, you can only stare at the ceiling in shallow thought, subconscious painting low tide on the canvas of the world, sending you floating into an endless push and pull of the ocean. It's peaceful, unrelenting, but peaceful nevertheless. You're reminded of your home in Zaun—the good memories.

When you finally succumb to slumber, thickened water seems to wash over your senses, your lungs coming undone into peals of ribbon and twine—strangely serene, but you're breathless all the same.

The shadow of a greyed hand graces your vision before you submit to the tide.

It is a dreamless night.

#arcane #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor/reader #viktor/you #viktor imagine #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #fluff #angst #russian #league of legends #arcane league of legends

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jungwonenthusiast · 3 years

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nonvirgin!jay and inoccent virgin!femreader just making out while reader is sitting on jay's lap and they end up getting horny and they end up doing it. you can add more things if you want, I trust you

A/N: I’m kind of a sucker for the “taking the readers virginity” concept so forgive me if i get carried away lol (also forgive me if i played too much into the “innocent” concept, ik that its unrealistic but its just for funzies lol)

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), fingering (f recieving), slight corruption kink, pretty vanilla i think

Word count: 1.8 k

You watch Jay type away on his laptop at his desk. You notice the muscles shifting under his shirt every time he reaches for a sip of water.

You guys never went further than making out and for a while you were fine and happy with that, but these days you’re finding it harder and harder not to tug his shirt off and push him onto the bed.

“Hi baby,” Jay says as you sit sideways on his lap. “What’s up.”

“Are you done yet?” you ask.

“Almost,” he kisses your cheek. He’s studying for an exam he has next week. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” you groan.

He chuckles. “We can hang out for a bit but then I have to go back to working, okay?”

You smile and peck him on the lips. Then again, and again, and again until your mouths are parting and his tongue is against yours. He adjusts you so that you’re straddling him in his desk chair. His hands warm and comfortable on your waist. He’s never touched you anywhere other than ur head, arms, legs, and waist, and right now you want something more. You take his hand and trail it up to your chest. He smiles into the kiss.

You can tell that he’s surprised and nervous judging from how gentle his hand is on you. But after a few minutes he begins to indulge in this new privilege and softly massaging you as you let out small moans.

You pull away from him. “Do you wanna- go to the bed?” you ask.

“Of course.” he chuckles and carries you to the mattress.

He lays you down gently before climbing on top of you.

You pull him in for another kiss.

He nudges his knee between your thighs and you can’t help but rock your hips against him. He notices and it gives him an instant hard on.

“Jay,” you exhale.

“Mhm?” he asks, peppering kisses down your throat.

“I wanna uhm- do it?” you say unsurely, giggling.

“Really?” he looks at you, wide eyed and you nod. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” you say sheepishly, not making eye contact.

He smirks and goes back to kissing your neck, now with tongue. You feel his hands travel up your sweatshirt (his sweatshirt actually) and you take a deep breath, trying not to whimper from his gentle touch.

His hands move to grope your chest and he pinches your sensitive nipples lightly. You whine and squirm underneath him.

“Do you need something?” he asks and you feel blood rush to your cheeks.

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

“What is it sweetheart?” he kisses your forehead. “Don’t be shy.”

“Touch me please.” you say into his neck, not able to look at him.

“Good girl,” he says before slowly sliding his fingers down down down into your underwear.

You twitch right away.

“Have you never..?” he asks and you blush.

“I have, but I’ve never...finished.” you say sheepishly.

He nods. "Let's change that shall we?"

He kisses your jaw before gently circling your clit. You grip at his forearm and he smirks.

“You’re doing so good.” he coos before kissing you softly.

He pushes your hoodie up and wastes no time to get to kissing your chest, running his tongue over your nipples.

You whimper and grind your hips against his fingers. “More.”

Soon all of your clothes are on his bedroom floor. He pulls away to admire your figure but you can’t help you try to cover up. He doesn’t try to pull your arms away though he just comes up to you and says: “You know how beautiful you are right?”

You turn your head away from him, blushing. “Shut up.”

He chuckles and kisses your shoulder. “Really though, you’re hot as fuck.”

Your eyes widen. No one has ever called you that before. You usually get “cute” or “pretty”, never hot.

He plants kisses from your shoulder to your lower stomach, stopping every now and then to give you a hickey. You’re already gripping at the duvet by the time he gets to your hips. You writhe, not being able to stand the burning between your legs.

“Patience baby,” he kisses your inner thigh. “It’ll feel better if you wait.”

He sucks hickies on your soft flesh and you can literally feel yourself dripping.

“Please,” you beg. “I need it.”

He smirks before opening his mouth, getting nearly all of your cunt on his tongue. Your knees instantly snap around his head but he’s quick to push them back open, keeping you spread and pretty for him.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, your fingers lacing through his black hair. It’s new; not being able to control your pleasure, but at the same time, that’s what made it so good.

He pushes his tongue into you before circling it around your clit. “Fuck, you taste good.” he growls.

Your hips twitch as he works his tongue against you and you whimper.

He pulls away to slowly push a finger into you. You whine and grip at his forearm.

“You okay?” he asks before kissing you, letting you taste yourself. You nod, getting used to the foreign feeling.

“One more.” you say and he graciously obeys.

Your head falls back as he stretches you out.

“So wet.” he whispers while massaging your chest with his free hand. “You’re taking my fingers so well.” he purrs while pushing up on your sweet spot.

He rests the base of his palm against your clit, letting you grind against him.

You start to feel a strange sensation in your stomach. “Fuck,” you moan. “I can’t I can’t.”

“It’s okay baby,” he kisses your cheek. “Just feel it.”

Your grip on his arm tightens as you start to get closer and closer.

“You can do it,” he whispers. “Be good.”

Your legs begin to tremble and before you know it, your orgasm crashes over you like a big, cold, wave. Your eyes close shut and your mouth parts as you whimper softly.

He kisses your cheeks while slowly pumping his fingers into you.

“You did so good,” he says. “How was it?”

“Really good,” you exhale with a giggle. You shut your legs. “I’m embarrassed now~”

“Why?” he chuckles.

You cover your face with your hands. “You just saw me do that.”

“So? I wanted to,” he kisses you softly. “And it was really hot.”

He pulls his fingers out of you and slips them into his mouth. Your eyes widen. He smirks. “You taste too good.”

Good god he’s hot, you think. You kiss him hard. “Fuck me please.”

It only takes seconds for his jeans to be unzipped and his shirt to be on the floor.

He teases your clit with his tip before slowly pushing into you, stopping every couple of seconds to help you adjust.

You don’t struggle much considering how wet and worked up you are.

He kisses your jaw. “Ready?”

“Mhm,” you nod with excitement.

He gives you a sweet kiss before thrusting into you, hitting your g spot every time.

You cling onto his back, overwhelmed by the pleasure.

“You’re so wet,” he growls. “I never knew that my sweet girl would want to be ruined like this.”

You shy away from him but he holds your face.

“Don’t be shy sweetheart.”

You nuzzle into his neck. “Harder.”

He smirks before grabbing the headboard and pounding into you. You let out a loud whine and it’s music to his ears.

“Look how good you take it.” he caresses your hair. “My precious baby.”

“You feel so good.” you whimper. “How does it feel so good?”

He chuckles lightly, amused by your confusion.

“Maybe it’s because we’re meant for eachother.” he says and you giggle.

You wonder if anyone else knows how sweet he is. His heart must be made of honey.

You mewl under him, grabbing onto everything you can reach out of desperation.

“Touch yourself.” he says and your eyes go wide. “You heard me, I wanna watch you.”

You shyly trail your fingers down to your clit. He places his hand on top of yours for a moment to get it moving.

You moan as the feeling of his cock inside of you and your fingers on your clit begin to combine.

“Oh my god don’t stop,” you beg as he grinds his hips into yours.

He wouldn’t even dream of stopping. The way your eyebrows are furrowing, your mouth is parting, and your smooth skin under his hands is enough to drive him insane. He’s basically drunk on you. He could do this all day.

“I love you.” you whisper and he kisses your jaw.

“I love you too sweetheart.”

He continues to ruthlessly snap his hips against yours.

“Such good pussy,” he says to himself.

“Jay,” you whisper, barely being able to speak. Your legs are trembling and your hips are starting to twist.

“Cum for me baby,” he encourages you. “Make me proud.”

He watches as you come undone. Your eyes rolling back, your back arching, all of it. It’s enough to send him over the edge.

He groans into your neck as your cunt pulses around him. You hold onto him tight, still in shock from the orgasm he gave you.

He kisses your collarbone and rubs your waist. “Good girl.” he says before kissing your forehead.

He pulls out and quickly rushes to get a towel to clean you up.

Comfortable silence wafts by as he does so.

“What am I supposed to say now?” you joke and he laughs.

“Usually you just say ‘you were so good’ or something like that.”

You frown. “I don’t wanna be reminded that you’ve had sex with other people before.”

“Why? Does it make you jealous?” he teases.

“A little.” you roll your eyes.

“Okay this will be my first time from now on.” he says and you giggle.

“We just lost our virginities dude.”

“Sick right?” he plops down beside you and gives you a fist bump.

#enhypen smut #jay enhypen smut #Kpop smut

1K notes · View notes

ppersonna · 4 years

Text

my only wish - knj | m

“ santa can you hear me? i have been so good this year. and all i want is one thing. please tell me my true love is here ” - my only wish (this year), britney spears

✹ summary- There are few things you hate most in this world. Hornets, unnecessary fruit pieces in otherwise perfectly good jello, certain shades of orange… But nothing takes the cake more than two simple things. Christmas. And Kim Namjoon. So why did you agree to pretend to be Kim Namjoon’s girlfriend at his family Christmas party? Bah-Humbug.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- kim namjoon x reader

✹ word count- 15.1k OOF

✹ genre- smut, fluff, tiny tiny angst if you squint, enemies to lovers, fake dating au, idiots to lovers, brief mention of YoonMin

✹ warnings- penetrative sex, unprotected sex (dont do it), daddy kink lolol, namjoon has a big dick, oral sex (m/f receiving), cum swallowing, light cum play, dirty talk, light degradation (very light tbh), praise kink, lots of mentions of joon being a beefy boy, masturbation,

✹ a/n- its here!! finally! my contribution to rockin around the christmas tropes. big big big shout out to @ladyartemesia @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen @underthejoon @yeojaa @snackhobi for being my co collaborators. and a warm shout out to @wwilloww and @hobi-gif for being some very lovely betas. thank you thank you! i hope you enjoy!

There are few things you hate most in this world.

Hornets, unnecessary fruit pieces in otherwise perfectly good jello, certain shades of orange…

But nothing takes the cake more than two simple things:

Christmas.

And Kim Namjoon.

Christmas, in your opinion, is nothing more than a consumerist holiday, anchored on ensuring you’re guilted enough from November 1st to the 25th of December to spend your hard earned money on shit your friends and loved ones won’t even use. It’s a time for people to pretend they love giving and caring, while shoving you out of lines in stores, buying up all the groceries as if it’s the end times, and forcing party after mindless party for “celebration” that ends in seeing your boss drunk and pants-less by the punchbowl.

And don’t even start on Kim Namjoon.

On paper, he’s your colleague, to put the terms friendly. In reality, he’s your opponent, your adversary. He’s annoying, rude, stuck up, and not to mention a douchebag heartbreaker. He’s everything you hate wrapped in one disgustingly handsome face.

The man never misses a chance to steal a case from underneath your nose, rub the praise he receives from your bosses in your face, and look ridiculously delectable in his tight suits that he insists he wears around the office. He absolutely infuriates you.

And now, as you sit in the company-wide meeting, your heart sinks as you realize the worst thing about Namjoon—he’s about to get the promotion you’ve been vying for your entire career.

That position was as good as yours—at least, you had thought.

That was until lead counsel, Seokjin, stands in front of all the attorneys present and calls out Namjoon’s name, commending him on winning his latest case—the case that you had done the bulk of the work for. Seokjin even tells the rest of the lawyers in the room that Namjoon is “someone to watch” with a glint of pride in his eyes.

The smug smile Namjoon sends in your direction as he teasingly nibbles on a pen with his sultry mouth is enough to make you want to tear his eyes out and use them as olives in the martini you sorely needed.

Namjoon smirks as he walks past you once the meeting ends.

“Make sure you watch me, baby,” he whispers into your ear.

His hand rests on your lower back and you hate how much he aggravates you, and hate even more so that he frustrates you sexually as much as he does intellectually.

Unfortunately, your body can’t keep up with your mind’s distaste for the elder lawyer. His presence around you makes your blood vessels tighten and your head feel light—nipples prickling against your bra when he winks at you.

“Asshole,” you whisper under your breath as you pack up your notebook.

“Oh, ___!” Seokjin calls out just as you’re about to leave the all-glass meeting room.

Your head suddenly screeches to a very frustrated, sexual halt when you turn to face the lead counsel of your company.

“Yes, Mr. Kim?”

“I’ve got a case for you.”

The smile on his face makes you relax. Maybe he sees your potential. Maybe he’s testing you just as much as he’s testing Namjoon. Maybe you’ll be the “one to watch” and you can rub that right in Namjoon’s perfect, stunning face.

A thick manila folder slides across the oak table towards you from Seokjin’s hands. The impressive volume of the dossier makes you giddy with anticipation.

“I know you won’t let me down.”

You nod, nibbling at your lips, before bowing to your superior and dashing out of the room as fast as your Louboutins can handle.

It’s not until you sit at your desk, a cramped little cubicle next to Park Jimin, your best friend and paralegal assistant, that you open the folder.

Your heart sinks as your eyes hurriedly rush over the title page.

Personal Injury Suit.

A dejected sigh leaves you as you throw the folder onto your desk and slouch back in your ergonomic office chair.

“What’s up, pussycat?” Jimin smiles as he rolls his chair over to your side of the cubicle. “Namjoon got you worked up again?”

You groan as you take off your reading glasses, setting them aside to rub at the burgeoning headache building at your temples. You had momentarily forgotten all about Namjoon in the hurried hope that you’d land a case of significance, something you could finally use to prove yourself.

Instead, you gained yet another in-and-out, settle outside of court case. Likely some elderly geriatric suing a corporation for too-slippery floors.

“Another fucking personal injury suit,” you whine as you thrust the folder into the lithe paralegal’s hands.

He looks over the documents and sucks his teeth.

“Man, Seokjin really has it out for you.”

You level a look at your best friend, before nodding and holding your head in your hands.

“Namjoon is getting all the good cases! He gets the media attention, the litigation deals, everything! It’s like I’m not even given a chance to show what kind of lawyer I can be when I’m stuck with all the nursing home and car accident suits!”

Jimin bows dutifully, nodding his head as you express your woes.

“I can do more than just personal injury litigation… and Seokjin knows that! It’s just that Namjoon keeps getting all the air-time!”

“I know, babe. I know.”

With one last sigh of disbelief, you take the folder out of Jimin’s hands and sit upright at your desk.

“Well, I guess if I’m going to be a personal injury lawyer, I’m going to be the best fucking one yet. Let’s get to work.”

“Yeah! Fighting!” Jimin cheers.

Namjoon sighs as he listens to his mother blabber on and on through his phone. He leans back in his chair and surveys the wide expanse of his corner office.

Seokjin gave him this space, an upgrade from the desolate cubicles when he won his last big case, Kim Taehyung, artist v. the city of New York. He can’t help but smirk as he glimpses you from his window, pouring over a case file. He notes the curve of your back in the silk blouse you’re wearing and the way it tucks into your pencil skirt. He wishes he could see the outline of your ass and watch as it sways back and forth when you walk.

“I just don’t understand why you can’t ever bring anyone home for the holidays!”

His mother breaks him from his silent reverie of detailing every aspect of your backside.

“You know your grandmother will not be alive much longer! And all she wants is her only grandson to be happy and in love! And a few grandchildren won’t hurt!”

“I am her grandchild, Mom.”

She’s silent for a moment.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind some grandchildren either.”

He groans again and presses his fingers to his forehead, a headache bubbling up behind his eyes.

“Don’t you act like that, young man! You have a big empty house, big car, big life, and no one to share it with. I just want you to be happy.”

She continues on and Namjoon can’t help but let her words sink in.

He has it all. Expensive luxury apartment, enormous bed, gorgeous kitchen, money to spend on traveling and enjoying life. Yet he spends most of his time here, stuck in his office. He’s utterly alone, regardless of how many social guests he tries to entertain, horrid dates he attempts to go on. He’s always left alone, and he feels it deep at the very bottom of his heart—the loneliness and desire for a companion.

“Mom! Mom!” He interrupts her diatribe on the futility of his adult life. “Stop!”

“Namjoon, I’m just conce-”

“I’ll bring home my girlfriend for the holidays, okay?”

There’s a stunned silence on the other end.

“A girlfriend?” she asks, tentatively. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, wincing already at the lie he’s spoon-feeding his poor mother—all in the name of getting her off his back. “She’s kind of shy, so I didn’t want to tell you about her yet, but now seems like the best time. I’m... I’m even thinking of proposing.”

The words come out of Namjoon’s mouth before he can stop them. His mom bursts into screams of delight, and he can tell she’s running to his beloved grandmother to tell her the news.

“Oh, Namjoon! This is all we’ve ever wanted for you. I’m so proud of you! I can’t wait to meet her! Oh, goodness, I can’t want to tell your father. Goodbye, son! I’ll see you two soon!”

She hangs up before Namjoon has a chance to even breathe.

“Fuck.”

He drops his phone to his wooden desk and grimaces.

How the hell is he going to find a fiance in the next 3 days before the holiday break?

There’s Jennie, his ex.

He thinks about it for a moment, before quickly dismissing it. No, much too clingy and possessive. She’d take it to be real, and he’d be stuck with her.

His last hookup, Jihoo?

No, too aloof. His mom would never buy that they were a love-sick couple on the brink of engagement.

A crash outside his office startles Namjoon, making him stand and exit the large corner suite.

The commotion is coming from your cubicle, where he can see you’re struggling to use the decrepit computer. The crash must have been from you slamming the keyboard to the desk, causing the individual keys to pop off the board.

“Shit! Jimin, help me put this keyboard back together!”

You shimmy out of your chair and onto your knees, an excellent sight for Namjoon if he wasn’t so concerned about your well-being.

The paralegal is standing above you, watching as you kneel to gather the pieces of the obliterated keyboard.

“Oh no, honey. It’s against my personal constitution to be on my knees unless it’s for a handsome man.”

“God, Jimin, come on.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you hulk-smashed the life out of that poor keyboard.”

Namjoon smirks, turning back into his office and sliding into his desk. He easily opens his MacBook and emails Yoongi in IT, requesting a brand new computer for your desk—no holds barred. He wants the top of the line for you.

He suddenly has just the person in mind to be his fake fiancée.

A brand new, gorgeous computer is at your desk the next day you arrive. You nearly spill your hot peppermint mocha when you see the sleek machine atop your old plastic desk instead of the broken clunker that was there the day before.

“What the hell?” You ask Jimin as you set your coffee down gently as if any movement might scare the new computer away. “Did you order this?”

“I love you, but I would never order you something this nice.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes as you sit down to marvel at the modern machinery. At least Jimin is honest.

“Maybe I’ll call Yoongi and ask him where it came from,” you wonder aloud, hand hovering over your phone.

“YOONGI?” Jimin screeches, eyes suddenly wide and crazed.

“Yeah? The IT guy?”

“I know who Yoongi is, you dumbass! Here, let me call him! I’m your assistant!”

He scrambles to grab the phone out of your hand.

“You literally refuse to do anything I ask.”

Jimin smiles cherubically, completely ignoring your confusion. He’s suddenly the picture of a model employee.

“Don’t you worry! I’ll be right on it!”

He hops from your desk with your cell phone gripped tight, and saunters away to a secluded area out of your eyesight.

“What the fuck is going on today?” You ask out loud, settling into your chair and unloading your bag of files.

“How's the new computer?”

The sudden intruder makes you jump, nearly spilling your coffee, yet again.

“Fuck!” You shriek as you attempt to right yourself and the dangerously hot liquid sloshing in the paper cup. “You scared me!”

The chuckle that comes from behind you makes your stomach flip. You know that laugh. You could recognize that laugh a hundred miles away, in a hurricane, with headphones on.

That laugh is the sultry demon himself, Kim Namjoon.

“I—How did you know about my computer?”

Namjoon takes a knee, bringing his face to your level in your chair. He’s close to you, so dangerously close. You can smell the Giorgio Armani cologne applied to his pressure points—the heat of his skin warming the scent and mingling with his own subtleties. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head. He smells so comforting—like a home you never knew you were missing until he arrived.

“I saw it when I walked in this morning.”

He breaks you from your daydreaming of warm, firm hands caressing your body and you’re thrown headfirst back into reality—the reality where you can’t stand the man mere inches from you.

You push back from where you are and stand, eager to get away from Namjoon’s sudden interest in close proximity. He smirks and rises from his spot, pocketing his hands in his tight cream suit.

“Care to join me in my office for some coffee?” He asks.

His office. The one he scored after he won the Kim Taehyung case. The bitter betrayal still lingers in your mouth.

For the longest time, you had been equal in every sense; both living in the dingy cubicles with the computers long-destined for retirement. Then, Seokjin awarded him with the corner office, the one with the view of the entire city. You’d never forgiven either of them.

“I have my own coffee.”

Namjoon smirks as he eyes your paper cup, clearly a quick grab from the 7-Eleven around the corner.

“Looks fancy.”

You purse your lips and clutch your coffee even closer.

“Please,” he asks again. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Namjoon’s face loses its snark, and you’re curious about what could cause the man to become so serious.

“Fine.”

You motion with your arm towards his office, encouraging him to walk ahead. He smirks again, ah—there’s that smirk, before he turns and heads into the gorgeous corner room.

He lingers by the door as you enter, waiting until you’ve crossed the threshold to close the door behind you. It surprises you. Something about being in a closed room with Namjoon sets you on edge. You can nearly imagine the man bending you over that fine oak desk, hiking your skirt up and spanking your ass until it’s red.

“Coffee?” He asks as he moves towards the in-office espresso machine.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You have a Nespresso in your office?”

All desperate and wanton thoughts of Namjoon sliding into you leave once you see the stainless steel contraption in the room's corner. Of course he has a $500 coffee machine in his office. He has everything you want.

“You like it?” His question is cocky. He already knows the answer.

“Fuck off.”

Namjoon grins and turns the machine on, pulling out two mugs while you sip your now lukewarm coffee. It suddenly tastes disgusting.

“So, what’s the deal, Namjoon?” You ask as he rests against the wall and waits for the coffee to brew. “You said it was important.”

Namjoon nods, a more reserved look taking the place of his usual cocky grin on his face. His gaze turns down to his shiny dress shoes.

“I need a favor.”

“No.” Your answer is quick.

Namjoon looks up at you in surprise.

“You haven’t even heard it yet!”

“Yeah, well…,” you huff. “I’m not interested in helping you.”

Namjoon leaves his post by his elaborate coffee maker, forgetting about the piping-hot liquid drizzling into white mugs, as he stands in front of you. There’s that fucking cologne again. Why does he have to smell so good?

“You’ve got to help me. Please.”

His sudden closeness to you sets your brain off—your steely resolve begins to crumble.

“Fine, I’ll bite. What is it?”

His face lights up again. God, he has such a handsome mouth.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for my family Christmas party.”

If you hadn’t had such a good grip on the convenience store cup of coffee, it’d surely drop from your clutch and splatter on the expensive carpet of Namjoon’s office.

Your eyes widen, and your mouth falls agape.

“You—You what?!”

Namjoon sighs and lowers his voice.

“Look, I…” he struggles. “I told my mom I have a girlfriend, so she’d get off my back about it.”

“And why am I suddenly your best option for that?!”

You step away from the man, determined to clear your mind as the scenario weaves its way through your head.

Namjoon’s girlfriend. He wants you to be his girlfriend.

Well, his fake girlfriend.

He would hold your hand. He would kiss you. He would touch your body in ways you convince yourself you don’t think of often.

“You’re the only girl I know who’s got a good enough poker face to go along with it. And honestly… you’re the only girl I really know well enough.”

His last admission shocks you. Namjoon seems like the womanizing type—one to bring a different girl home every night.

“That doesn’t explain why the fuck I would want to help you.”

Namjoon steps back and moves towards the coffee machine again.

“If you help me, I’ll take all your shitty cases that Jin is giving you.”

Your eyes narrow at the tall man. It seems too good to be true.

“How d'you know about them?”

Namjoon shrugs and grabs a mug full of freshly brewed expensive coffee.

“I can hear you complain to Jimin about it every day.”

You grumble under your breath, sucking on your teeth as you try to process the terms of Namjoon’s deal.

“So you want me to be your fake girlfriend for your family…” you muse.

“Yes,” he agrees. “And I’ll do all your worst cases for the next 2 months. I’ll even give you my next big one. I know you want that.”

God, he’s right. That’s all you want. A chance to prove yourself to Seokjin, to the company.

With an aggravated sigh, you relent.

“Fine! But it better be a good fucking case. And, I’m using your coffee maker every morning.”

Namjoon can’t help but chuckle, loving the fire in your voice.

“Deal?” He murmurs.

He holds out his hand to shake on it, and it takes you by surprise how warm and soft his large hands are once you slide your own into his grip.

“Deal.”

Jimin is not going to let you live this one down.

Jimin doesn’t let you live it down.

He’s sitting on your couch, legs crossed underneath him as he hoists his wine glass filled to the brim. He holds it away from his body as he shakes with laughter.

“You’re telling me,” he wheezes. “That you agreed to be Namjoon’s fake Christmas girlfriend? You hate that man!”

Flopping into the couch beside him, you sigh.

“Yeah, well, it was my only option. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“Okay, Godfather,” Jimin snickers. “Lord knows you still want to bone that man, anyway.”

“Jimin!” You admonish. “I do not! And that wasn’t the deal!”

He sips at his red wine with an impish smile. You hate it when Jimin looks at you like that, like he can see behind the lie you’ve so carefully crafted of your hatred for Namjoon.

“Then tell me, what was the deal?”

You fiddle with the stem of your own wine glass, sighing.

“He’s offered to take all our shitty personal injury suits for the next two months. And he’s giving me his next big case.”

Jimin actually looks surprised—as if he didn’t expect Namjoon to provide a deal so worth the cost.

“Wow,” he breathes.

You nod in reply, taking a large gulp of the pinot grigio in your glass.

“You’re still going to fuck him though, I know it,” Jimin adds.

You splutter your wine from your mouth, hand reaching over to gently slap Jimin on his taut abdomen.

“Shut up!” You cry.

Jimin looks proud of himself, sipping his red wine gleefully while he settles further into your couch. Wine nights with Jimin is the highlight of your weeks. Together, you bitch over cases, coworkers, dating struggles, and eat too much cheese and cured meats and nurse a hangover the following day with brunch.

“Hey,” you say to Jimin as you set your wine down on the coffee table. “Did you ever talk to Yoongi?”

Jimin’s cheeks immediately turn a shade of rouge.

“Yoongi? Yoongi who?”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “Yoongi from IT. You stole my phone to call him today? To ask about my new computer?”

Jimin swallows a large swig of his wine.

“Oh. Yes, I did.”

“And?” You encourage the blonde to answer further.

“And he’s doing well,” Jimin replies demurely.

“Jimin!” You huff. “The computer?!”

Jimin makes an ‘O’ shape with his mouth and bites his lip.

“I… might have forgotten to ask.”

Your mouth drops open.

“You literally stole my phone out of my hands to call him! What did you talk about?!”

There’s his blush again. The shade of pink on Jimin’s cheeks would be adorable if you weren’t so flabbergasted by his answers.

“I have a date tomorrow night.” He takes another sip as you let the reply sink in.

“Oh. My. God.” You gasp, a smile now overtaking your features. “You have a crush on Min Yoongi!”

Jimin sets his wine glass down next to yours and turns to you.

“I had no idea if he was into me! But when I called, I totally forgot why I was calling him and we sort of just… started talking and next thing I know, he’s asking me out to dinner tomorrow night.”

You playfully slap at Jimin’s thigh.

“You little slut—using my phone to get yourself a date. On company time!”

Jimin sticks his tongue out at you, before grabbing a pillow and slapping you with the overstuffed cushion.

“At least I didn’t agree to be his fake girlfriend!”

It’s the sound of your phone ringing at 7:32 am that wakes you from your spot on the couch, wine glass still clutched in your hand.

“What the fuck?” You grumble, eyes blearily seeking the offending object disturbing your sleep.

Jimin grumbles next to you, kicking at your foot as if it will stop the phone from ringing.

“Stop,” he whines and cuddles into his fetal position. “Turn it ooooff.”

You locate your cell phone and groan as you recognize the name on the caller ID. Namjoon. What the fuck could he possibly be calling for? And why did he have to call at seven in the goddamn morning?

“What do you want?” You snap as you hold the phone to your cheek and throw yourself back onto the couch.

“Well, good morning to you, sunshine.”

Namjoon’s voice, as sexy and sultry as it sounds, still aggravates you.

“Why are you calling me? It’s Saturday. Its seven am.”

Namjoon chuckles and you fight the shiver that works through your spine at the sound.

“I tend to keep human hours on the weekend.”

You can’t hold back the sarcastic guffaw that escapes you.

“Okay, Mr. Perfect,” you sigh. “That doesn’t explain calling me.”

Jimin kicks at your foot again.

“Stop talking,” he grumbles.

God, Jimin is such a diva when he’s hungover.

“Meet me at the cafe on First Street,” Namjoon says casually. “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

“Right now?!” You ask, incredulous.

“I’m literally already here. Hurry before your coffee gets cold.”

You let out a whine that could rival a 5-year-old’s temper tantrum.

“Fuck you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

There’s no care about your phone when you end the call and throw it to the floor. Jimin grumbles and rubs at his eyes.

“Why the fuck are you having phone sex with Namjoon so early in the morning?” He asks.

“Jimin, I swear to God.”

He wraps himself in the throw blanket and buries his face back into the couch while you stand and retreat to your bedroom to throw on some semblance of appropriate clothing for the occasion.

“Fucking Namjoon,” you grumble under your breath as you change into jeans and a sweater. “Fuck him and his stupid, sexy face. And his unbelievable ass. And his stupid, probably enormous penis. Man, I hate him.”

As you’re re-entering the living room and grabbing your important items (keys, wallet, lip gloss just in-case), Jimin pops his head out of his blanket cave.

“Where are you going?” He asks, suddenly less annoyed and more pathetic. “You’re leaving me?”

“I have to go meet Namjoon for coffee. I don’t know why, so don’t ask.”

“You’re really going to let me suffer here? Alone? With no coffee?”

You spin around to face your best friend, who’s giving you an absolutely soul-crushing pout and puppy eyes.

“Yes. Call Yoongi.”

His precious pout is wiped away, and a devious smirk takes its place.

“Great idea!” He says as he digs around for his phone. “Be careful out there! It’s icy! Wouldn’t want you to slip and fall on Namjoon’s dick.”

Your only reply is one singular middle finger in Jimin’s direction as you exit your apartment.

Namjoon can’t help but smile as he sips his warm coffee. The cafe is warm and bright, despite the chill outside.

Things feel peaceful. Tender flakes of snow trickle down outside and frost up the shop’s window. There’s something about this time of year that strikes him down to the core. Something cozy, something warm.

It’s odd to think this will be his first year not celebrating the holiday alone.

Even if it is... well, fake.

The bell over the door chimes an arrival, and Namjoon can tell by the grumbles and grunts and stomps of snowy boots that it’s you.

“Over here!” He calls, raising a hand and turning to face you.

Wow, he thinks. You look gorgeous, even without trying.

You hurry your way over to the booth and plop yourself on the opposite side, immediately lunging for the obvious mug of coffee waiting for you on the table. You don’t waste a minute gulping the liquid down your throat, then spluttering when you realize it’s still hot.

“I thought you said it was getting cold!” You cry, airing out your burnt tongue. Namjoon can’t help but imagine that tongue sliding up and down his cock.

Not now. Wrong time and place to get a boner.

Namjoon smiles as he sips his cappuccino.

“I got you a fresh one.”

You make a face, but your features soften. As if you’re pleased with the idea that Namjoon cared to freshen up your cup.

“Oh, well--”, you manage. “Thank you.”

Namjoon doesn’t reply, but merely tips his head. The silence is thick enough to cut with a knife. Normally, you’re both normally so wound up in aggravating the other that a moment of calm is strange, but not unwelcome.

“So, why the early morning wake up?” You finally ask, fiddling with the handle of the mug.

Namjoon settles his cup down.

“We need to get to know each other. Deep shit, you know. The shit that lovers would know about each other.”

He notices you, watches as you nibble at your lip. You try hard to hide it behind the mug you lift to your lips, but Namjoon notices.

“I’m hoping maybe we could spend the day together,” he adds. “I need to get some Christmas gifts for my family and… well, it’s rather lonely doing it on my own.”

There’s a slight smile at the ends of your lips.

“And you needed me at seven thirty in the morning to do that?”

He stifles a laugh.

“Like I said, I operate at regular human hours. Even on weekends,” he replies.

With a dramatic sigh, you agree.

“Fine,” you say. “I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”

He watches as you settle into the seat of the booth, hands gripping the warm mug like it’s a personal heater. He notices you’re only wearing jeans and a sweater--no properly warm clothing for the snow storm ahead. He’ll have to fix that, and soon.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” He asks.

You level a look.

“Spending it pretending to be in love with you.”

Namjoon can’t help but snort a laugh.

“I meant after that.”

You shrug as you settle back into the seat.

“I don’t like Christmas. I don’t do much other than force Jimin to kiss me under the mistletoe and watch shitty movies with a gallon of boxed wine.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “You’re sort of a Grinch.”

A scowl comes over your face.

“I am not! I just don’t buy into this whole ‘prove how much you love me by buying me things’ shit. It’s a big scheme, I tell you! Capitalist propaganda! They encourage you to spend all your money, and if you don’t, they shame and guilt you by telling you you don’t love your family enough.”

Namjoon can’t help but laugh as you rant. It’s what makes you such a talented lawyer—your ability to feel a passion so deep within you you’re able to convince a stone-faced jury of your side.

“Don’t laugh at me!” You cry. “I’m serious! My family doesn’t celebrate, I don’t celebrate. I’d rather just buy gifts for my loved ones when I see something they’d like. Why do we have to put a time of year on it?”

He shrugs and scooches his mug around the carbonate table.

“I suppose that makes sense,” he muses. “But you’re still a Grinch. And a Scrooge. You’ll definitely get visited by some Ghosts at midnight.”

“Ha ha,” you snark sarcastically. “Hilarious, Namjoon. Don’t tell me you’re a big festive guy.”

“Somewhat. It’s my Mom’s favorite holiday. It’s why she’s so bent out of shape about me having a girlfriend. Something about family and love and shit.”

You nod, understanding him completely. Your own mother, despite her reservations towards the holiday, still makes a fuss over your single status. There must be some Mom code to obsess over your children’s woeful dating life.

“Well, I say let’s get on with it then. Ready to hit the shops?” He asks.

You’re mid-sip of your finally cooled coffee and you send a desperate look to the man in front of you.

“Already?!”

“We’re burning daylight, baby.”

Namjoon stands and you can’t help but feel a roar of flames in your belly at the pet-name. Your cheeks are surely flaming up and you admonish yourself for getting so peaked about such a trivial name.

“Please don’t tell me we’re walking,” you murmur as you sneak a peek outside.

The snow is falling down harder now, and you’re dreadfully underdressed for the weather.

Namjoon tsks at your lack of outerwear, but then shakes his head.

“No, we’ll take my Range Rover.”

You roll your eyes and grimace.

“Of course. You have a fucking Nespresso machine and a Range Rover. Asshole.”

Namjoon doesn’t even think about it as he grabs your hand and laces his fingers in between yours. If anyone asked, he’d say it’s practice—to familiarize himself with the way your fingers slot between his own so it’s not such a foreign concept when he does it in front of his family.

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole now, princess.”

Christmas shopping with Namjoon is mostly painless.

Normally, you dread the lines and the crowds and the confusion and the expense.

But with Namjoon, you relax and banter away with the tall lawyer. You’re completely at ease as you walk through crowded aisles and sort through racks of cashmere sweaters and stacks of fuzzy blankets.

“Mom will love this, don’t you think?” Namjoon asks, holding up a thick, exquisite looking blanket.

You’re about to answer with an affirmative when you catch yourself. You don’t even know his mom. You’ve never met the woman. Why does it feel as if Namjoon is someone you’ve known your entire life?

Why do things feel so easy with him?

“Sure, Namjoon,” you reply. “Seems like something most mother’s would be into.”

He smiles at you. It’s a genuine smile too, one that nearly knocks you on your ass. Your body is sent into overdrive constantly. He holds your hand, he places his hand at the small of your back to guide you through a thick crowd. He calls you baby and princess and doll.

It’s confusing.

It’s amazing.

You can’t tell if you love it or hate it.

Namjoon pushes the shopping cart and walks beside you, chatting easily about his various aunts and uncles names that you likely must remember at some point but you just can’t think about anything but Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon.

You hate him. He stole that corner office from you. He’s going to take the promotion you want from right under your nose. He has a goddamn Nespresso in his office and a Range Rover.

And yet, you can’t help but fall in place next to him and listen to him tell stories of his childhood, weaving tales of uncles who snuck him his first sips of alcohol and aunts who spoil him rotten. He’s easy to listen to, a natural story-teller. Your body feels warm, as if you’re sitting on a large hearth by a roaring fire. He’s comforting.

It’s infuriating and wonderful all at once.

“And that’s when my cousin Jungkook got caught smoking cigarettes. My grandma beat our ass so bad I couldn’t sit for a day.”

Namjoon finishes his story and turns to look at you. You’ve been staring at the man for nearly a minute straight now.

“Hey,” his voice is soft. “You listening?”

You shake out of the trance Namjoon’s deep voice sends you into.

“Yeah!” You reply with a smirk. “Sounds like this Jungkook is a guy I’d like to meet.”

Namjoon sucks his teeth and nudges you.

“Hey, you’re my girlfriend, remember.”

You stick your tongue out at him playfully.

“Fake girlfriend. I’m still a single, desirable lady at the end of the day.”

Namjoon hesitates before answering. He wants to reply something snarky, something sarcastic and witty. But he takes a moment to pause, allows himself to fully immerse himself in you. Even hungover, in yesterday’s jeans and an old sweater, you’re still an absolute catch. You’re the definition of desirable and Namjoon can’t help but allow himself to desire.

“Hmm, is that what you call it?” He asks, now allowing the sarcasm to permeate his words. “I was thinking you’re more of the spinster, cat-lady type.”

“Hey!” You pout as you slap at his arm. “I’m allergic to cats!”

“But you don’t deny being a spinster.”

“Fuck you, Namjoon.”

He grins and pushes the carts towards the candle aisle, a sure-fire gift for his aunties.

“In due time, my love.”

By the time Christmas Eve arrives, you’ve spent nearly every day with Namjoon. At work, he brings you fresh coffee from his Nespresso and buys you lunch. You’ve even landed his big case, an incredibly complex lawsuit that will showcase your skills. Namjoon gives you pointers and space to talk through the case with him.

Namjoon is, in fact, simply being kind. And it unsettles you.

Your heart and brain are at war with each other constantly. You should hate him, loathe him. He’s going to nail that promotion regardless of what you prove to Seokjin.

But your heart tells you he deserves it. He’s an incredible attorney and has earned every ounce of respect. You want Namjoon to get that promotion just to see that smile on his face. He’d do incredible things as Seokjin’s protege to take over the firm.

You hate to admit it, but Namjoon has melted the ice around your heart. And you’re dreading the day after all this is over, because it will be the day Namjoon stops holding you close and pressing soft kisses to your temple. It will be the day he stops pretending this is all real.

It’s Christmas Eve and you’re sitting in Namjoon’s expensive Range Rover, plush leather seat toasty from the built-in seat warmer. You can’t help but marvel at the way the oncoming headlights brighten up Namjoon’s features as he drives you down a snowy mountain lane. They always hold the Kim family holiday party at Namjoon’s late grandfather’s cabin in the mountains, a quiet getaway for the family to gather and spend the night together to wake up on Christmas morning and gather around for presents and food.

Which means waking up to Kim Namjoon.

It’s something you’ve dreamt of often, but denied yourself any actual possibility of it. Namjoon was always out of reach, and it was easier to hate him for his success he rightfully deserved than it was to admit the feelings that were always inside.

And now, although it’s artificial, you can’t bear to think of not spending your time with Namjoon anymore.

You steal a glance again at him, and smile as you hear his faint humming. He loves Christmas music. You learned that early in the week during another early morning coffee and ‘get to know you’ before work. Namjoon couldn’t stop singing Mariah Carey’s classic pop song under his breath as it played over the speakers in the cafe.

“It’s so pretty up here,” you muse as you force your vision away from Namjoon’s gorgeous face to the snowy scenery outside.

The snow is falling gently, not enough to cause a blizzard but enough to make it seem like you’re trapped in a picturesque snow-globe. Leaving the city and entering the magical forest stirs an emotion inside you you hadn’t felt in some time.

It’s Christmas Eve and there’s just something magical.

Ugh. Unbelievable.

Namjoon has even made you actually enjoy Christmas.

He nods. “Yeah, it’s my favorite place in the world, I think.”

“I can see why,” you sigh. “It looks like a painting.”

Namjoon glances over at you peering through the window. His heart hammers in his chest hard as your glittering eyes bounce around from tree to tree, a pretty smile on your face. The diamond ring in his pocket feels like it weighs a literal ton and he nibbles at his lip.

He bought it for the showmanship of it all, initially. It was his first purchase he made when he set up this whole rouse.

But now, it feels real. It feels like he’s really about to get on one knee and ask you, the girl he’s absolutely head over heels for, to marry him.

And then it will be over.

He’ll make up some story to tell his mom about how it didn’t work out and you’ll go back to being his coworker, and nothing more.

Namjoon can’t fight the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Nothing more.

He pulls into the driveway before you even have time to realize you’re there. He puts the car in park and smiles over at you.

He looks so cute in his puffy winter coat, hair pushed to the side and a smile that’s all dimples and cheeks.

Fuck.

“We’re here,” he whispers. “You ready?”

Suddenly, the nerves of meeting your fake boyfriend’s entire family slap you right in the face. You hope that you’re a good enough actress to get Namjoon through the night and into the morning.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He nods and squeezes your hand, an unspoken comforting ‘I got you’.

Namjoon gathers his wrapped gifts and stacks them all in his arms, ignoring your pleas and giggles to help carry them in.

“No, no,” he assures. “I have to make sure my mom sees me being manly and helpful.”

As if on cue, the front door opens and Mrs. Kim is bursting out into the snowy night.

“Namjoon!” She shrieks, completely overjoyed. The rest of the family is standing by the door, eyeing you carefully with smiles and whispers. You pray to whatever Christmas God that’s listening that you can do this.

Namjoon sets the pile of gifts down just in time to wrap his delicate and tiny mother in his arms, hugging her tightly while she gleefully buries her face into her tall son’s chest.

“Oh, my son, I’ve missed you.”

Namjoon kisses the crown of her head and smiles.

“Missed you too, eomma.”

The scene has you misty-eyed and you swipe at your eyes to stop the tears. There’s no way you’re ruining the fantastic makeup you did for the occasion, but the reunion of Namjoon and his mother is heart-warming. He clearly cares for his mother more than he would outwardly admit.

Namjoon and his mother unwrap from each other and Namjoon turns towards you.

“Everyone, this is ____,” he breathes. “My girlfriend.”

His mother’s gleeful squeals now turn to you, and within an instant she’s gathering you up in just as tight of a hug as she did to her son.

“Oh, darling, we are so happy to meet you,” she beams.

The excitement in her voice makes you feel bad—like you’re conning an old woman out of her retirement. You’re instilling a sense of hope in the kind woman, and you can’t help but send Namjoon a look as you wrap your arms around her and return the embrace. His eyes sparkle with something you can’t read.

“I’m happy to meet you too,” you smile as you pull apart. “Thank you for letting me come.”

“No thanks necessary,” she admonishes with a wink. “We had to beg Namjoon to bring you. It seems he wants to keep you all to himself.”

“Eomma!” Namjoon snaps. “Be appropriate!”

She nudges you with her elbow knowingly, which makes your cheeks flame hot, before she leads the way back into the house.

“Come in, come in! Let’s get out of this snow.”

Namjoon encourages you to step inside with a gentle hand at the small of your back—a touch that makes your body light up brighter than a Christmas tree.

“Thank you,” he whispers in your ear from behind. You can feel the warmth of his lips and your body reacts.

How is it that any simple act makes you desperately horny for the man? You pray for some respite from your sexual frustration over the next day. How are you going to last over 24 hours?

Namjoon deposits his massive haul of gifts under the tree and returns to your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to bring you close. He introduces you to uncles and aunts and cousins. He even introduces you to his infamous cousin, Jungkook, who smirks at you in a way that makes Namjoon pull you in closer to his body.

“Are you doing okay?” Namjoon finally asks after the rush of relatives greeting you dies down. He turns you towards him, to face him directly with his hands on either of your shoulders. “You’re killing it.”

You can’t help but smile. Namjoon’s family is all incredibly kind and funny. They welcome you into the family with ease and it chips away a little more each time at your heart.

Because this is all fake.

One day, Namjoon really will have a girlfriend to bring to Christmas and to show off to his relatives and it won’t be you. You’ll be back at your apartment, watching shitty TV re-runs and binging on Chinese takeout, as you do every year. It’s a jab at your heart each time the bitter truth rears its ugly head.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m great.”

“Look!” Jungkook shouts. “They’re standing under the mistletoe!”

Namjoon blushes a shade of red that likely matches a blush on your own cheeks. Sure enough, the green branches of the mistletoe taunt you from above.

You’ve never kissed Namjoon before. In all the skinship and closeness of the last week, you’ve still yet to close the gap to kissing the man.

“Oh, come on Kook, that’s a stupid tradition,” Namjoon murmurs awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Jungkook smirks as he steps up next to you.

“Well, if you’re not going to do it, I’d be more than happy to take your place.”

Jungkook wraps a loose arm around you and gives you a charming smile. He must be very popular with the ladies, you think. That’s a charming smile.

“Hey!” Namjoon grabs for your hand and tugs you out of Jungkook’s predatory gaze. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Namjoon looks at you for a moment, assessing your comfort level with everything about to take place. His lips look so inviting, so plush and warm. Now that you’re thinking about kissing him, you can’t help but focus on the way his lips pucker so gently and naturally.

And then it happens. Namjoon lowers his face towards you and it feels as if the world is in slow-motion. It’s happening.

The first press of his lips is soft and conservative. You take a split second to register, but instinctively you press against his lips with determination and wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

He groans softly as you trail your tongue out to seek purchase in his mouth, and he opens for you without hesitation. His hands grip at your waist and bring your body flush against his. You can feel his cock twitching and rising from the kiss that’s gone from innocent and playful to passionate and deep. It feels like the world around you has stopped and the only thing that matters is Namjoon, his mouth, his body against your own. He tastes like hot chocolate and peppermint, and you want more, more.

“Oh my god, stop,” Jungkook’s voice shatters your illusion of being all alone with Namjoon. “Now you’re just showing off.”

Namjoon pulls away from you, eyes dazed as he tries to right himself.

“You two are just so perfect for each other,” Namjoon’s mother says, who’s suddenly appeared in Jungkook’s place. “Let me show you your bedroom.”

“Oh, we’re sharing?” You ask without thought. It’s a large house, with ample bedrooms surely for you to have your own space.

Namjoon nudges you in the ribs gently, eyes widening and mouthing a ‘what the fuck do you mean?’

“Of course dear, don’t be silly,” his mother replies with an eyebrow waggle and a chuckle. “I remember when your father and I were dating. He would sneak into my room after my parents went to bed and keep me up all night long. Your grandfather would ask me if I had terrible dreams that night, because I looked so tired.”

Namjoon makes a face. “Eomma, please,” he begs. “Please don’t talk about my parents like that.”

As his mother guides you down a long hallway, your mind is whirring with too many thoughts of Namjoon, of sharing a bedroom with Namjoon, of seeing his sleeping face and waking up next to him. It’s all too much, too overwhelming. You pray there’s a couch in the room you could sleep on, because you’re far too weak and you’d rather fight the desperation in your body than face the fact that you want nothing more than to curl right into Namjoon’s strong arms and let him hold you all night to sleep.

Fuck.

“Here we are!”

His mother opens the door with grace, and flicks on the light. The room is beautiful in its simplicity. A king sized bed, a fireplace, and a balcony with a view of the sprawling snowy scene outside. It’s cozy and warm and decorated with its own Christmas tree.

“Wow,” is all you can muster.

“Aish, Mom,” Namjoon sighs as he drops his bags. “You didn’t need to do all of this for us.”

Mrs. Kim holds his hand in both of hers. “Well, I know how special this Christmas is going to be,” she winks. “I want you to enjoy your time here. Now, I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. Dinner is in an hour, so ‘freshen up’!”

Another wink, and Namjoon makes another face. She definitely wants grandchildren, that much is for certain.

She closes the door behind her and you’re left standing in the room, overnight bag in hand.

“This is—Wow, this is amazing.”

You’ve never experienced Christmas like this—with decorations and warmth and family. It’s as if the love of the Kim family permeates the very walls of the expansive cabin, like it’s built into the foundation itself. For a moment, you allow yourself to soak it all in. This is all yours. It’s your Christmas and you finally understand why so many make such a fuss over it. The results are nothing short of remarkable.

“Yeah, she really does the most,” Namjoon laughs.

He takes the bag from your hand without your notice and you step towards the balcony to peer into the night. The landscape looks as if everything has been covered in soft marshmallow. The snow is untouched—picture perfect.

“I’ve never had anything like this before.”

Namjoon settles your bag and his on the bed, watching as you soak in your own wonder. The smile on your face is not one he sees often, one of pure joy. Namjoon swallows hard as he realizes he wants to be the one to always put that smile on your face.

“Not such a Scrooge after all, eh?”

You turn from the still-life view outside and back to Namjoon, where he stands at the foot of the bed. He looks so different outside the office. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a flannel shirt, his puffy jacket hanging by the door. No cream suit, no slicked back hair or shoes shiny enough to see your reflection. Just simply Namjoon.

He’s no longer the man who steals the limelight in the office. He’s no longer the man you see as your adversary or your rival.

He’s the man who’s showing you the magic of Christmas, the spirit of love and kindness that embodies the season.

He’s the man you’ve fallen in love with.

And yet, he’s the man who will leave once this is over and return to his proper life, and you to yours. He’ll return to sleeping with models and movie starlets, and you’ll return to binge watching Great British Bake-Off with Jimin and a carton of Chicken Tikka Masala.

And Christmas will never feel as special as it does now.

So, you’re determined to soak in it for a little longer. It’s going to hurt regardless, so why not push that hurt off until tomorrow and allow yourself to pretend you live the lie you’re spinning for Namjoon’s family?

“I think I’ll just freshen up and change into my dinner outfit, then?” You ask out loud, grabbing for your overnight bag and heading towards the ensuite.

Namjoon, who expected a witty retort, takes a moment to reply.

“Oh,” he coughs. “Yeah, sure. I’ll err—, I’ll just get ready out here.”

You quickly escape into the bathroom, closing the door and resting on it as you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

The tension in the bedroom with Namjoon was too thick, too powerful, especially after the kiss you just shared. His cock had been there, straining in his jeans as you licked into his mouth. The kiss felt so natural, as if you had always kissed Namjoon like that. Your heart beats loud and hard in your chest just from the thought of it.

You really needed to get a handle over yourself. You still have dinner to get through, and an entire night in a bedroom with Namjoon. A bed with Namjoon.

No, you won’t allow yourself to go that far. You can pretend you’re his girlfriend, but all thoughts of his delectable body doing scintillating things to yours is strictly off-limits. You shake all thoughts of a thick, heavy cock sliding into your mouth and warm hands spreading you open, and set about fixing your makeup and changing into the gorgeous cocktail dress you purchased for the occasion. It wasn’t often you got to get dressed up. The emerald green velvet dress clings to your body and highlights your curves. It’s a sexy dress, definitely, but also appropriate for a formal evening with your boyfriend’s parents.

Well, your fake boyfriend. Right.

After fixing your hair and buckling your heels, you take one last glimpse in the mirror for good luck and exit the room.

Your breath is nearly knocked out of your lungs as you see Namjoon.

You’ve seen him dressed up for court and for TV appearances millions of times, but you’ve never seen him like this.

He wears a blood red button up without a tie, a few buttons open to emphasize the casual look, tucked into the tightest and sexiest slacks you’ve ever seen. They hug his thighs and sit at a spot on his waist that you just know is rippling with cut lines from his work in the gym. His hair is tucked back with a bit of hairspray, and he’s fixing the sleeves of his shirt when he sees you.

His eyes widen and his hands fall to his sides as he soaks in your appearance.

An absolute vision.

He can see the gentle valley between your breasts and the way your dress pushes up your cleavage and displays your collar. The dress follows the delicate curve of your waist and hips and ends at your knee, but teases him with a glimpse of thigh that has him wiping his mouth in case he’s drooling.

“You look incredible,” Namjoon murmurs as you step closer.

“So do you.”

You swallow hard as he continues closer to you, breathing harshly as he stands right in front of you. You could reach out and unbuckle his expensive slacks and fist his cock right there. You’d fall on your knees for him, if he asked.

There’s a moment of silence as Namjoon’s face inches closer and closer to your own, each unable to verbalize just how desperate either of you feel for the other.

“Namjoon, I—,” you start. You want to tell him. You want to tell him everything—that you don’t want this to be fake, that you want this to be real, and you want to be his and his forever.

“Yes?”

You swallow hard, shaken by just how close his lips are to yours. He’s inches away and all you can focus on is the way his plush lips look and how well they fit against your own under the mistletoe.

“I just—, I really um, I’m just very…”

You’re not making sense. Comprehension of language is quickly soaring out the window because the only words you know are ‘Please, for the love of God, kiss me and make me yours’, but you can’t bring yourself to speak them out loud.

Namjoon’s hand cups your cheek, as if he can tell what you’re trying to say.

“Yeah,” he breathes. The inches between you turn to centimeters, to bare millimeters. Your eyes flutter close as you feel his breath dance over your lips and your heart beats so loud you’re sure the entire household can hear it. He’s right there and moves in to close the distance—

“Knock Knock!!”

The forceful, cheery voice of cousin Jungkook forces both of you to jump away from each other as if you’ve touched a burning stove. Your head feels light, like you’ve forgotten to breathe for the last ten minutes and you’ve suddenly taken in too much air.

The wooden door squeaks open and Jungkook pokes his head in, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Auntie sent me to get you. It’s dinnertime!”

Namjoon rubs his face frustratedly. “Yes, thank you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook doesn’t leave, however. He smiles at you and winks.

“Would you like an escort to dinner, madame? You look tastier than the roast beef downstairs.”

A blush creeps over your cheeks as Namjoon storms to the door where his cousin laughs.

“That’s enough, Kook. We’ll be down in a minute.”

He sends you one more grin, then retreats from the door and closes it behind him.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologizes. You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for—Jungkook, or the moment before.

“It’s alright. Let’s go?”

Namjoon nods and holds out his hand with a smile.

“Let’s go, girlfriend.”

Dinner with the Kim family is as delightful as every other interaction with them has been. They’re polite and funny and ask questions about your life and your family.

They ask how you met Namjoon (at work), what your favorite quality about him is (his smile and his ass), and what your first date together was (coffee at seven in the morning).

You tell stories of Namjoon in the office, of your best friend Park Jimin who’s secretly trying to date the IT manager, of your parents and Christmases past.

By the time dessert is served, Namjoon’s mother looks at you as if you’ve put the very stars in the sky.

Namjoon doesn’t miss that look either. He can see the way his family is falling in love with you and somewhere deep in his stomach, he feels the guilt rising. All of this is a lie. Not only is he going to break his own heart, but every heart of his family member’s too.

“We’re all just so overjoyed that Namjoon has found someone to share his life with,” his mom speaks softly. It’s the first time she’s been thoughtful and quiet. She’s a woman who’s larger than life, you’ve found, so the softness in her tone strikes a chord. “You’re absolutely perfect for him. I’ve never seen him happier.”

Fuck.

“Thank you,” you murmur sincerely to his mother. “I’ve never been happier.”

Namjoon peers up from where he’s been pushing around his uncle’s famous chocolate cake on his plate to watch as you speak.

“Truthfully, I never cared much for Christmas. I thought it was a rubbish holiday and spent it alone every year with a bottle of wine and some takeout. Namjoon really changed that for me,” you smile at the man and place your hand in his lap to hold his free hand. “He showed me more about Christmas in one week than I’ve felt in my entire life.”

Namjoon’s mom wipes away an errant tear and he squeezes your hand under the table.

“I guess the Grinch’s heart has grown 3 sizes, after all.”

Namjoon’s joke lightens the soft mood, and suddenly there’s chatter around as the family members move about to wash dishes and clean up the mess of dinner. Everyone leaves the table except for you and Namjoon.

“That was some good acting,” he whispers with a sad smile.

“Right,” you whisper back, nibbling your lip anxiously. “Acting, of course.”

You should have thought through the bedroom sharing thing more.

Because sharing a bedroom is one thing.

And sharing a bed is another.

And of course, the only pajamas you thought to bring tonight is a very sexy long shirt that says “no coffee, no talking” with a bedazzled pair of shushing lips. That’s it. Just a single shirt. Not even a pair of shorts or pajama pants.

You slip into the bed first, as far onto one side of it as possible. It’s a king sized bed, and it still feels too intimate, too close.

Namjoon exits the bathroom after his shower, rubbing at his wet hair with a towel. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of flannel pajamas, leaving his bare chest on display.

Sweet lord in heaven, you nearly cry out loud. He’s absolutely ripped, pecs defined and droplets of water from his hair streaming down. You want to chase each drop with your tongue and circle back again. You shut your eyes tight and clench your teeth. Why, oh why, does he have to look so fucking sexy at a time like this?

Namjoon sees you at the edge of the bed, shutting your eyes closed like you’re a shy schoolgirl afraid to see a naked man’s body. He feels guilty for making you be here. He knows you’ve likely got better things to do than spend time with a man you openly hate.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes for nothing in particular.

You ignore it. Instead, you’re trying to think of every un-sexy thing in the world you can possibly imagine. Taxes, a bunch of bees, old people, shark attacks.

There’s absolutely nothing that can stop the image of Namjoon’s perfectly sculpted body from bursting into your mind. You’re nearly pleading with yourself to just go to sleep and contemplate how hard you’d need to hit your head to knock yourself out as fast as possible.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says as he grabs a small throw blanket from the closet and throws it to the ground by the fire.

It snaps you from your musings of how best to forget how badly you want to suck Namjoon’s cock through his pajama pants.

“What?” You sit up in the posh bed and finally make eye-contact. “Why? It’s freezing. There’s a literal snowstorm outside.” You motion to the window of the balcony. What was once a gentle snowfall is now a full-on winter storm.

“There’s a fire. I’ll be fine, I sleep hot anyway.” Namjoon’s voice is low and without energy. He almost sounds sad.

God, is being with you that hard for him? You know you’re just the artificial replacement until he has the real thing, but you’d actually hoped Namjoon had found it as comforting and warm as you had.

“Namjoon,” you sigh. “This is a king-sized bed. You don’t need to be waking up with back pain because you gallantly slept on the floor.”

To emphasize your point, you tug back the blankets on the other side, beckoning him to join.

He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s weighing the pro’s and con’s and sliding into bed next to you in his mind, then stands and pads his way on the plush carpet towards the bed and slips in.

There’s an entire football field of distance between you two in the bed, but it feels like he’s right beside you. You imagine sliding in right next to him, wrapping your arms around his taut chest and pressing soft kisses to his stomach.

You squeeze your eyes closed again. Stop it, you horny slut.

“Thank you, again.” Namjoon breaks the silence. “I really appreciate you helping me out.”

“Yeah,” you swallow hard. “Of course. What else was I going to do? Jimin’s probably sucking Yoongi’s dick right now, so I’d be watching baking shows alone.”

Namjoon laughs for a moment, then quiets.

“You know, I don’t even really want that promotion at work.”

You’re surprised by the sudden change in topic, but you turn over to face Namjoon.

“What?! Really?”

Namjoon nods and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t think I’m that good of an attorney to get it, anyway.”

His statement makes you sit up in bed again, staring at the man in disbelief.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Namjoon? You’re the best lawyer in the firm.”

Namjoon says nothing, just turns to stare at you curiously as you continue.

“You’re like… literally better than Seokjin, too. The way you handled the Taehyung case was nothing short of historical. Like, that was an impossible case, and you nailed it. That was your ‘OJ’ case, you know?”

Namjoon barks a laugh.

“My what?”

“Your OJ case!” You use your hands to emphasize the importance of what you’re saying. “Like, they’ll write about you and how impossible the odds were of winning that case. And you won it! Not even Seokjin could have won that case.”

He’s silent again, watching as you speak directly from your heart with all the fire and passion you feel about the things you care about. It’s what makes you such an incredible lawyer, too.

“Wow,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

You settle back down from your excitement, suddenly bashful at how fanatical you became.

“You’re welcome,” you murmur. “You deserve that promotion. And the office.”

Namjoon smirks.

“And the Nespresso?”

Your eyes narrow and send a glare to him he can see even with the faintest of light in the room.

“No, no one deserves the Nespresso, except for me.”

He chuckles and settles down into his pillows.

“Goodnight,” he whispers.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

There’s a beat of silence and your eyes flutter shut easily. It’s quiet, and all you can hear is the crackle of the log in the fireplace and the wind blowing past the balcony windows as the storm outside rages.

“Oh,” Namjoon whispers again. “And, Merry Christmas.”

You can’t fight the smile that creeps onto your face.

“Merry Christmas, Joonie.”

“Happy Christmas!” A voice bellows through your bedroom at approximately seven fifteen am.

You groan, immediately grimacing and burying your face into your firm, warm pillow.

“Nooooo,” you whine, trying to hide from the offending noise.

Namjoon shakes awake, and notices Jungkook standing at the bedroom door once again.

“It’s time for presents!” He giddily explains. “And, they gave me the job of waking you two up.”

“Of course,” Namjoon yawns.

“You look a little wrapped up,” Jungkook smirks, eyeing your sleeping body. “I’ll give you two a minute. Don’t get distracted.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and watches as the door closes, before he turns his attention towards you.

Somehow, in the middle of the night, you’ve scooched yourself to his side of the bed and draped your body around his. Your face is buried in his chest and your legs are haphazardly intertwined in his own.

He bites his lip. His cock is rock solid, not just from his usual morning wood, but from the way he can feel your tits through your shirt, and from the sight of your pink panties. Namjoon wants to take them off with his teeth and bury his face in your delicious cunt, and his cock is nearly screaming at him to get on with it.

“Hey,” he whispers to you, actively ignoring the demon that is his turgid length. “Wake up.”

This causes you to cling harder to his chest, rubbing your sleepy face on him.

“What is it with you and early mornings?” You ask, blearily raising your head to peer at him judgementally.

Namjoon bites his lip, curious about your reaction to the tight embrace you’ve got on him. He doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to break the spell. Frankly, he wants to push your sleep shirt up and stuff you full of his cum.

“Merry Christmas?” He offers shyly.

You take a full minute to recognize what’s happening.

You’re no longer on your edge of the bed. You’re wrapped around the man like a koala, legs strewn over him without care and clinging to him like he’s a lifeline.

“Oh!” You gasp as you jerk out of his grasp.

In your movement, your leg brushes over an obvious tent in Namjoon’s pants, making him groan softly. You shut your eyes, embarrassed at how disgustingly horny you are for the man who’s not even interested in you sexually.

“Christ, I’m so sorry,” your cheeks flame bright red and you scoot further from him.

“No, no, don’t be,” Namjoon wheezes as he tries to fix himself. “It’s fine. It’s more than fine. It’s great. It happens. Don’t worry.”

He continues to stammer out reassurances as he leaves the bed and bolts into the bathroom to fix his unruly tented pants, leaving you sitting atop the bed washed with shame.

“Fucking hell,” you whisper to yourself as you rub at your cheeks. “Get a grip of yourself.”

Inside the bathroom, it only takes Namjoon a few fisted jerks of his cock and the mental image of you beneath him, begging for him, until he’s silently cumming on an expensive towel. He bites his free hand to stifle the moans he makes as his cock pulses.

By the time he arrives back in the bedroom, you’ve changed into a hoodie and yoga leggings that accentuate your ass so delectably that Namjoon thinks about turning right back into the bathroom for a second round.

“I’m sorry!” You nearly shout when he walks into the room. “About the bed. You were warm and I was cold. That’s all.”

Nmajoon simply nods, doesn’t want to have to explain how he wishes he could wake up like that every day. Doesn’t want to describe in vivid detail how he’d wake you up with his tongue buried deep in your cunt.

“Let me grab a shirt and we’ll head out, yeah?”

Your eyes dance over the defined ridges of his body, a little crest-fallen at the idea that this might be the last time you see him shirtless, but you nod anyway.

“Yeah.”

The ring box sits in a deceptively large box beneath the tree. Namjoon wrapped it last night and hide it at the very back. His heartbeat hammers in his ears as his family passes around gifts and opens each with squeals of delight.

His mother gave him new ties for the office, ones that Namjoon prefers. She’s even gifted you with jewelry, which makes your eyes water at the sentiment.

It all begins to be too much. It’s harder and harder to hold back the tears as each of Namjoon’s family members gives you gifts. It doesn’t matter the value, not at all. The fact that they specifically set out to include you in their gift-unwrapping makes your heart snap in two.

This is all too much, it’s too real.

It’s everything you never dreamed you could have. A loving partner who lets you sit in the space of his legs and rubs your arms soothingly. A family who goes out of their way to include you in the abundance of love and company. A cabin so warm and cozy.

The tears don’t stop.

It’s at the end of the gift exchange that you finally allow yourself to breathe.

“There’s one more,” Namjoon whispers as he moves from behind you and fetches a large box from behind the tree. “It’s for you, princess.”

Curiously, and suspiciously, you eye him as he sets the enormous gift in your lap. You had done nearly all his Christmas shopping with him, and can’t remember a single thing he would have gotten for you.

“I hope it’s the Nespresso from your office,” you snark with a smile. His family members all laugh and exchange knowing looks to each other.

Namjoon doesn’t think he can breathe. He watches as you begin to carefully unwrap the large box, which reveals another box, slightly smaller. He can’t help but grin as you continue to unwrap the nesting-doll style gift until you’re down to the smallest one, the one that holds the ring box.

With one last tear of paper, your eyes widen as you recognize the velvet box.

“Oh--,” you breathe as you delicately pry open the gift.

Inside sits a dazzling and gorgeous diamond ring. It catches the light from the fire and sparkles like a firecracker.

“Oh my god,” you whimper as the tears flow again.

He’s proposing.

Namjoon settles himself onto one knee and tucks an errant piece of hair behind your ears.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I knew from day one that you were always the girl I wanted to marry,”

Namjoon’s speech sends daggers to your heart. He’s so convincing for something so counterfeit.

“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, much longer than we’ve been together. You’re who I want to come home to every night, and who I want to wake up with every morning.”

It hurts. It hurts so badly that you’re crying even harder as he continues to speak. His family must think you’re simply overcome with emotion and love that the crying doesn’t give it away, but inside you’re absolutely dying.

There’s no way you can recover from this.

Tomorrow, Namjoon will take the ring back to where he got it from and return to what he had before. He’ll leave you behind, broken and hopelessly in love with a man who faked a relationship so well that you fell for it, hard.

“____, will you marry me?”

You take several large, gulping gasps to reply. You can’t shatter the illusion. Namjoon’s parents are weeping with joy, while his relatives record the moment on their phones and wipe away errant tears. Even Jungkook looks soft, proud of his cousin for taking the next step in his life.

Oh, how you wish this were all real.

“Yes,” you lie with a smile. “Yes, Namjoon, of course!”

Namjoon grins and pulls you to standing, gathering you in his arms as he hugs you tight. His family cheers and hollers in the background, and you sob into his shoulder as you cling to him.

He easily slides the diamond ring out of the box and onto your finger, where it sits and taunts you. The weight is heavy, and you whimper at the realization that this will never be for you. It will sit atop a pretty model’s finger sometime soon, when Namjoon resumes his regular life.

“Oh, my darlings, I am so happy for you!” Namjoon’s mother appears and wraps you both in a hug, weeping and kissing cheeks. “We must discuss planning!”

It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The tears and weeping turn to wracking sobs, which quiets the family as they watch you hold your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize through your grief. “I—I just need a moment.”

Without another word, you turn from the scene and bolt back towards the bedroom.

It’s silent and Namjoon’s heart sinks.

This must be too much for you, too much for you to pretend to love him. He knew it was too much and he should have discussed it with you beforehand.

“She’s just a little err--,” Namjoon tries. “Easily emotional. I’ll go check on her.”

His family understands as Namjoon hurries towards the bedroom and gently opens the door.

You’re sitting over your overnight bag, trying to shove any clothing into it you can, while you sob openly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have told you. I sort of... told my mom I’d be proposing to my girlfriend.”

There’s pain in your eyes as you snap your head up to look at him. It nearly destroys him.

“You should have warned me!” You gasp. “Namjoon, I can’t do this.”

Namjoon lowers his head and shoves his hands into his pockets of his pajama pants.

“I get it. I know you want to go back to your regular life. I can take you home now.”

You’re silent for a moment, standing and moving towards the man.

“Don’t you get it, Namjoon?”

He raises his head to look at you curiously, brow knitted together with confusion.

“I’m in love with you, you asshole!” You cry, pushing at his chest. “I can’t continue to pretend this is real anymore. I love you, I absolutely love you and I can’t go on watching you pretend you love me too. It’s too much for me to handle.”

Namjoon’s world freezes in time as he watches you slide the ring off your finger. He grasps your hand to stop you, his eyes boring into your own.

“I never had to pretend.”

Before you can speak, Namjoon cups your cheek and pulls you in close, mouth sealing over your own in a desperate kiss.

You don’t fight it, not at all. You sink into his grasp and kiss him back with fervor, with all the pent-up emotions you’ve held back all this time.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispers as he pulls away from the kiss. “I meant every single word I said.”

More tears stream down your cheeks, and Namjoon is quick to wipe them away with his thumb.

“I know it’s maybe too soon for us to really be engaged, but I—I want that, with you,” he adds. “I want you to be my girlfriend… for real.”

“Are you being serious right now?” You ask as your hands cling to Namjoon’s waist.

He can’t help but to laugh, nodding in reassurance as he leans down to press his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

“Never been more serious in my life.”

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Joon murmurs into the nape of your neck.

You were supposed to be driving home to your apartment now, back to real life, but the snowstorm raged on and Namjoon decided it might be best to spend yet another night in the cabin. Together. As a couple. A real couple.

You didn’t put up much of a fight.

He’s pressing soft kisses into your tender skin as he closes the door to the bedroom.

“All mine, all mine.” He chants it like a mantra.

You’re trying to maneuver your way into the dark bedroom, only guided by the light from the fireplace. Namjoon stops you and pulls away from your neck, eyes soaking in every inch of you.

“You have no idea what I’ve been dying to do to you,” he speaks after a moment of appreciating your beauty.

“Hmm, I think I have some idea,” you say, a finger at Namjoon’s chest, directing him towards the bed. “I’ve been dying to suck your cock, Joon,” you whisper in his ear as he makes his way backwards. “Will you let me?”

Namjoon nods in a daze as he sits on the edge of the bed and watches as you kneel. Your eyes are full of hope, full of lust. It makes his cock harden further.

“Please do,” he breathes. “I’ve wondered what you’d look like with your mouth full of my dick.”

You smile as you tug at his flannel pajama pants, pulling them down thick thighs and calves until they’re completely off. Your mouth waters at the sight before you. Namjoon’s cock is thick, head weeping with pre-cum and straining hard against his taut chest. He’s been working out more, you can tell. His arms are full and strong, and his chest is so firm and defined.

He’s an entire three-course meal.

Before you move closer to his cock, Namjoon stops you.

“Take your shirt off.”

You comply easily, already settling well into an obedient role. He discards the shirt to the side and marvels at your breasts. He can’t wait to mark them up, suck them until you’re crying.

“Perfect,” he sighs. “You’re fucking perfect.”

He allows you to resume your work, eyeing the length of his cock before wrapping a hand around it and gently pumping.

“Shit,” he breathes as his head falls back. “I’ve dreamt about how it’d feel having my cock in your hands.”

“What else have you dreamed about?” You ask with a teasing smile, bringing your lips to the tip to paint tiny stripes. He tastes salty, somewhat earthy, and the pre-cum that’s gathered at the top gets swept up by your tongue.

Namjoon can’t believe how lucky he is. Can’t believe how incredible it feels to have you here, licking at his cock like a lollipop. He’s enchanted by the way your delicate tongue swirls around his head, testing and teasing.

“You look so good, princess,” he whispers as he tucks stray hair behind your ears.

You’re encouraged by his sweet-talk and soon descend to take his cock fully in as far as you can go. You’re definitely out of practice, but you steel yourself up to take him completely to the back of your throat. Namjoon’s desperate moans and cursing only encourages you further.

Soon enough, you’ve started a rhythm of bobbing your head and swirling your tongue and pumping your hand down his thick length. The noises leaving your mouth are sinful—slurping and sucking and whining around him. Namjoon’s got a hand on the back of your head, holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail and coaxing your bouncing head further down his cock.

“Oh, shit, baby,” he grits through a tight jaw. “I’m gonna cum baby girl, fuuuuckkk—oh god, yes baby, just like that.”

You slurp and swallow around his cock as much as you can, head bobbing at a frantic pace while you cast your eyes upwards to the man to watch him come apart. He meets your eye contact and loses it at the fire burning in your beautiful eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps as his cock pulses. “Cumming, baby—ohhhh, shit, take it all, baby.”

After slowing your pace completely, you sweetly moan around his length as his salty cum splatters on your tongue. Bringing Namjoon to climax with your mouth is already one of your favorite hobbies, and you’re desperate to do it again.

When he’s completely spent in your mouth, you pop off carefully and present your tongue to your boyfriend, who smiles.

“You gonna swallow my cum, baby girl?” He asks, cupping your cheek sweetly.

You nod in reply, and he groans as he watches you close your mouth and visibly swallow his load.

“Fuck, that was so hot. Fucking kiss me already,” he demands, pulling you up gently by the hand and pressing his mouth to yours. He doesn’t care if he can taste himself still lingering in your mouth. In fact, he thinks your mouth should always taste like him.

Namjoon holds you close as he kisses you, tongue diving around and seeking purchase in your mouth. His hands are roaming your body, cupping your breasts and caressing your curves. He can’t get enough. He doesn’t think there will come a time in his life when he won’t love touching you.

His hand smoothes over the satin of your panties and he smirks into the kiss as he feels how wet they are.

“Oh my,” he tuts as he rubs at your clothed slit. “All this from sucking my cock, princess?”

It’s too late to be ashamed of it. You simply nod and whimper as his thick fingers rub at your core. You’re dying to feel those fingers inside you, scissoring you open to prepare you for his massive cock.

“P-please,” you gasp, needing more of him. “Please, Joon.”

He lets out a breath of contentment, loving the way his name sounds in your breathy moans. In one quick swoop, he flings your panties off and onto the floor and slides down to his knees where you knelt moments before.

“I want to see this pretty pussy up close,” he murmurs as he lays you out at the edge and spreads open your thighs as wide as he can.

You’re gorgeous, absolutely mouth-watering. He licks his lips as he watches your folds drip with arousal and takes a delicate finger to trace the slit gently.

“Fuck,” you gasp as he swirls his finger around your sensitive clit. It’s been so long since someone else has made you orgasm, you’re sure you won’t last a second with the man of your sexual dreams face-first in your cunt.

“This is my pussy now,” he states as he leans in close and licks a fat stripe from your hole to your clit. “I’m going to make you cum every fucking night, baby. Gonna claim this cunt as my own.”

You’re trembling from his words and his actions as he soon buries his face into your pussy and eats as if he’s a man starved. His tongue swirls around your hole before swiping up to your clit, making your back arch and keen off the bed. His lips wrap around your throbbing clit and sucks gently, lewd noises echoing off the walls of the bedroom.

“Namjoon!” You squeal as he slides two of his fingers inside you and slowly pumps. They’re thick and perfect, and they’re better than you could have ever dreamed.

“Cum for me, baby,” he coaxes as he licks at your clit. “I know you want to.”

He’s right. You’re desperate for it and the string inside your belly that tightens with each thrust of his solid fingers has it nearing a snapping point.

Namjoon speeds up, adds a third finger and fucks into you like a man on a mission. He watches your face pinch in agonized delight and is hypnotized by the way your tits bounce with each thrust up. His cock is rock solid again, aching to bury itself deep inside your womb and coat you with his cum.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he breathes as he watches your body quiver. “Cum on my fingers, let daddy see you fall apart.”

He presses his lips to your clit one last time and sucks, and it sends you reeling over the edge into bliss. Namjoon moans as he feels your cunt convulse and squeeze his fingers as if they’re his cock, and he nearly whines at how good it’s going to feel when he’s balls deep inside of you.

“Fuck!” You cry as your back lifts off the bed and your legs shake. “Oh, my god!”

Namjoon kitten licks at your pussy as you come down, cleaning up the juices that coat his fingers. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he does it, sucking up your essence like it’s an expensive wine he won’t waste a drop of.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says as you try to catch your breath. “I can’t wait to fuck you in my office.”

The smile on your face turns lustful as you spread your legs open once again and present yourself to him.

“Why don’t we practice right now?”

Namjoon grips the base of his cock and gives himself a few pumps as he stares at your gorgeous body—laid out and ready for him.

“Merry Christmas to me,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your lips and lines himself up.

In one swift motion, he slips inside your juicy channel and buries himself to the hilt. You’re so wet and warm and tight that Namjoon falters and groans out loud.

“Holy shit,” he cries. “Sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt in my life.”

Namjoon filling you up to the brim is something you’ve only ever dreamt of, and now that it’s happening you feel intoxicated. He’s so thick inside you, stretching you past what you thought you could handle, and the burn is so sweet.

“Fuck me, Joon,” you beg as he continues to still inside you. “Please, fuck me, daddy.”

It’s the magic word for Namjoon and instantly he’s snapped back to feral, ready to claim you as his own. He grips your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, delighted by the squelching juicy sounds of your cunt as he takes you.

“That’s right, baby girl, I’m your fucking daddy,” he grunts. “Take this fat cock for daddy.”

Your legs quiver with each thrust and Namjoon sucks a nipple into his mouth, nibbling gently on the bud which makes your body thrum with electricity. He’s marking you, claiming you inside and out, you realize. You whine and keen for him to continue, and Namjoon growls as he doubles his pace.

He thrusts into you without abandon, desperately seeking his release that will have him spilling his cum anywhere he possibly can.

“Mmm, look at my pretty princess,” he groans as he stares at your blissed-out face. “Taking daddy’s cock so good, being a perfect little slut.”

His words make your eyes roll back into your head. You’d never had someone speak so nasty to you while being so kind and praise-worthy that you don’t think you can now ever live without it.

“G-gonna cum, daddy!” you cry as you feel your body nearing the edge. “Please let me cum!”

Namjoon gasps for air and drops a thumb to your clit to rub circles on the sensitive bundle.

“Yes, baby girl, cum for daddy. Cum on my cock, princess.”

Namjoon’s unrelenting pace and thumb handily stroking your clit brings you to the end, sending you screaming into orgasmic delight.

Namjoon nearly weeps at how good your cunt feels convulsing around his cock, walls coaxing him and gripping him tight as if your pussy is begging for his own release.

“Cum inside me daddy, please,” you beg as you try to catch your breath.

Namjoon needs no more permission. He gasps as your channel tightens around him impossibly and sends him into his own release. He whimpers as his cock pulses with ferocity, loads of cum splattering your walls.

He doesn’t pull out. Instead, he rests his sweaty forehead on yours as you both try to catch your breath.

“Holy shit,” you gasp as you feel yourself returning to Earth.

Namjoon laughs and presses a kiss to your lips, before nodding.

“Yeah,” is all he can manage.

After a few shuddering breaths, you wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s naked body and hold him close, as close as you can.

“If this is what Christmas is all about, sign me up.”

Namjoon buries his face into your neck and kisses you sweetly, before lifting and giving you a playful smile.

“I guess all Scrooge needed was a good fuck. Dickens got that part all wrong.”

Returning to work after the New Year was easier this year than it had ever been in your career.

Namjoon was given the promotion. He told Seokjin he wanted to keep his corner office near you because he “likes the view”, and that he would give all his top cases to the best lawyer in the office—you.

Jimin won’t stop screaming when he sees the diamond ring on your finger. You haven’t wanted to take it off since the moment you put it on. Maybe it’s not an engagement ring quite yet, maybe it’s just more of a promise. Either way, Jimin is ecstatic and confused as he shakes you down for answers.

He walks with you to your desk, chattering away about his week with Yoongi, while you sip your convenience store coffee.

“What the fuck?” Jimin asks as he notices something on your desk. “What is that?”

As you round the corner, your eyes catch sight of a gleaming silver contraption on your desk, right next to your brand new computer.

A Nespresso.

A smile crosses your lips as you approach the expensive machine and notice a folded up card on top.

Inside, the card is simple.

“To the only girl in the world who deserves a Nespresso. Love, Namjoon.”

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#bts smut #bts fanfic #kim namjoon smut #rm smut #namjoon smut #ficswithluv #rockin around the christmas tropes #bts imagines #bts reactions #kim namjoon imagines

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