#so that you can push me and I can push you?????
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Toji hasn't been able to kiss you in ages, and it's not far fetched to say he's starting to go insane.
"So," you began, taking a seat on the armrest of the sofa where your boyfriend sat, "how's your day goingâso far? How are you feeling?"
"Homicidal."
You laugh, and ask if there's a reason for that, but you already know why.
"Your sonâ"
"Our son, Toji."
"Doesn't feel like he's my kid when he's bein' the worst fucking cockblocker of the century." Toji snapped his head to the side to meet your eyes, and his scowl deepened ever so slightly at the sight of youâthe can of soda in his hand got crushed within seconds.
"C'mon, honey, he's just a baby. And you know how babies are."
"Yeah, I do. Whiny little assholes that can't be alone for a second before they start cryin' for their mothers. I know you pushed him out of your vagina . . . or something, but he needs to know I had to push him out of my balls before any of that was even possible."
"Toji!" you scream-laugh, before clasping a hand over your mouth, wary of the fact that a baby was sleeping just down the hall.
"Okay, okay, that was a joke. But still," Toji murmured, "I can't really say I haven't missed you these past few days, because I have."
"Awh, Toji, baby," you began, rubbing his shoulder, "I've missed you, too! We should totally call Shiuâlet him know his babysitting services are needed." You squealed, "You are such a cutie, Toji. You missed me?!"
"Uh huh, I've missed you," mumbled Toji, before he began to quietly add, under his breath: "and so have my balls, which have been real freakin' heavy recently."
#here's a drabble while i work on a /superrrr duperrrr/ long fic#sorry babiesâi promise im writing#toji x reader#toji x you#jjk x reader#jjk x you#toji fluff#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro fluff#toji x y/n#em writes ËËË
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â.Ëâź rapper!chris loves watching singer!reader struggle to keep quiet on his private jet
a slightly loud whine leaves your lips, a low grunt coming from chris above you. he pushes your thighs farther against your chest, his fingers digging into your flesh.
"fuck did i say?" he mumbles, his voice gruff with pleasure as he stares at your face twisted in ecstasy below him.
"m-m'sorry," you breathe out, biting your lip in attempts to keep your noises quiet.
"y'want my whole team out there hearin' us? lookin' at us weird when we land?" chris grunts, staring down at you with dark, hungry eyes.
"n-n...no," you whisper, barely coherent as he pounds into your tight warmth harder.
you're completely lost in the sensation. chris has you in a squished position, your thighs pressed up against your chest, calves resting on his shoulders as he slams into you repeatedly.
it's only been about ten minutes since chris tugged you down the aisles of his luxurious jet toward his suite, but you can already feel yourself growing close to the edge.
"c-chris...mmph," is all you manage to get out, your words a jumbled whine that you attempt to keep quiet, but fail miserably.
chris groans quietly above you, and suddenly he shifts his position. he presses his knee against the underside of your thigh to keep you in place, moving his hand to shove two fingers deep inside your wet mouth.
"shut up," he growls above you, his face inches away from yours as he pants against your face. you let out a gargled whimper around his fingers, opening your eyes that are filling with tears of euphoria.
"gotta be quiet ma, be my good girl 'n listen t'me, yeah?" chris grumbles, pumping into you faster as you nod, swirling your tongue around his fingers as you feel the familiar knot tightening in your belly.
your walls involuntarily squeeze around his hard length, making him hiss in pleasure, "yeah, y'gonna cum f'me?" he mumbles down at you, baby hairs sticking to his forehead.
all you can do is whine and moan quietly around his fingers, nodding in response while your fingers claw into his back.
chris chuckles darkly above you, moving his face to the crook of your neck, "yeah, can feel y'squeezin' me so tight. c'mon baby, let it alll out f'me, wanna see you droolin' all over my fingers when i make y'cum."
thank you for reading! <3
@chrissturnsfav âą
#⧠â rapper!chris x singer!reader#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#fresh love#sturniolo smut#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo triplets#writing#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#youtube#sturniolo x you#sturniolo fanfic#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#nick sturniolo smut#nicolas sturniolo
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Obedient Slave
(Hong Eunchae x Male Reader) (Anal, Creampie, Degrading)
(thanks for my 2k followers, this is little gift from me)
The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow through the tall windows of my study. I had been expecting Eunchae for some time now, and the anticipation was almost palpable. My slave, a petite Korean woman with soft, almond-shaped eyes and raven hair that cascaded down her slender back, had become a fixture in my life, a silent shadow that attended to my every need. Today, however, had been different. I had commanded her to wait for me in my chamber, naked and ready, and the thought of her obediently complying sent a shiver down my spine.
As I entered the room, the scent of her perfume enveloped me, a heady mix of jasmine and vanilla that was uniquely her. There she was, standing by the window, her body bathed in the soft light, her eyes cast down, her hands clasped behind her back. She was exquisite, her skin a delicate shade of cream, her small, pert breasts tipped with dark nipples, and her silken hair framing her face like a dark halo.
"Eunchae," I said, my voice low and commanding. She turned to face me, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before fluttering downwards again. "You are even more beautiful than I imagined."
She said nothing, her silence a testament to her training. I approached her, my steps slow and deliberate, my eyes never leaving hers. I reached out and cupped her chin, tilting her head up so I could look into her eyes. "You have been a good girl, haven't you?" I asked, my thumb tracing her lower lip.
"Yes, Master," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I smiled, my fingers trailing down her neck, her collarbone, her ribcage, until they reached the swell of her breast. I circled her nipple, watching as it hardened beneath my touch. "And today," I said, my voice a low rumble, "today you will please me in ways you have never pleased me before."
Her breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly. I could see the fear in them, the apprehension, but also the desire, the need to please. It was a heady combination, one that sent a surge of heat through my veins.
I took her hand and led her to the bed, pushing her gently until she was seated on the edge. I knelt before her, my hands on her thighs, my eyes locked onto hers. "I want to taste you, Eunchae," I murmured, my fingers spreading her legs, my thumbs tracing the insides of her thighs.
She shivered, her eyes fluttering closed. I leaned in, my tongue finding her clit, teasing it, tasting it. She whimpered, her hands fisting the sheets, her hips bucking slightly. I smiled against her, my tongue delving deeper, my fingers joining in, stroking, probing, until she was a writhing mass of need beneath me.
I stood up, my cock throbbing, my breath ragged. I wanted her, all of her, her mouth, her pussy, her ass. I wanted to fuck her until she screamed, until she begged for more. I undressed quickly, my eyes never leaving hers, my cock jutting out, hard and ready.
"Stand up," I commanded, my voice harsh. She complied, her body trembling slightly. I turned her around, my hands on her hips, my cock pressing against her ass. "I want you to suck me first," I whispered, my voice a low growl.
She hesitated for a moment, her breath ragged, her hands clenched into fists. I could see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty, but also the desire, the need to please. I smiled, my hands gripping her hips tighter. "You can do it, Eunchae," I whispered, my voice a low rumble. "You can please me."
She sank to her knees, her hands tentative as they reached for my cock. I groaned as her fingers wrapped around me, her touch tentative but sure. She looked up at me, her eyes meeting mine, her lips parting slightly. I watched as she leaned in, her tongue licking the tip of my cock, her lips wrapping around it, her head bobbing up and down.
I groaned, my hands fisting in her hair, guiding her, controlling her. She took me deeper, her lips tight, her tongue swirling around me. I could feel the pleasure building, the heat coursing through my veins. I wanted to come, wanted to fill her mouth with my cum, but I held back, wanting to savor the moment, wanting to make it last.
I pulled her to her feet, my hands on her shoulders. I turned her around, my cock pressing against her ass. I could see the anticipation in her eyes, the fear, the desire. I smiled, my hands gripping her hips, my cock probing her entrance.
"Mmhh master, fuck my ass" Eunchae groan and I slap her ass
Relax," I whispered, my voice a low rumble. I could feel her muscles tense, could see the apprehension in her eyes. I leaned in, my lips against her ear, my breath hot. "You can do this, Eunchae," I whispered. "You can take me."
I felt her relax, her muscles loosening, her body opening up to me. I pushed in slowly, my cock stretching her, filling her. She gasped, her hands clenching the sheets, her body tensing again. I stilled, my hands on her hips, my breath ragged. "Breathe," I whispered, my voice a low rumble. "Breathe and relax."
She did, her body loosening, her muscles relaxing. I pushed in deeper, my cock filling her completely. She whimpered, her body tensing again, but I could see the pleasure in her eyes, the desire, the need. I began to move, my hips thrusting slowly, my cock sliding in and out of her.
"Yes master, don't stop to fuck my ass, I am your little slut" I pound her ass really hard and pull her hair as her moan hard
She moaned, her head falling forward, her hands gripping the sheets tighter. I could feel her body opening up to me, could feel her relaxing, could feel her pleasure building. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit, stroking it, teasing it, until she was writhing beneath me, her body bucking against mine, her moans becoming louder, more insistent.
I reached down, my fingers finding her pussy, wet and ready. I pushed two fingers inside her, my thumb finding her clit, stroking it, teasing it. She moaned, her body tensing, her breath coming in short gasps. I could feel her orgasm building, could feel her body tightening, her muscles clenching around me.
"Cum for me, Eunchae," I growled, my voice harsh. "Cum all over my cock."
She did, her body convulsing, her muscles clenching around me, her screams of pleasure filling the room. I could feel her orgasm, could feel her pleasure, could feel her body milking my cock. I thrust harder, my hips moving faster, my cock sliding in and out of her, until I could feel my own orgasm building, until I could feel the pleasure coursing through my veins, until I could feel the heat, the need, the desire.
I pulled out, my cock throbbing, my breath ragged. I turned her around, my hands on her hips, my cock pressing against her pussy. She looked up at me, her eyes glazed, her body still trembling from her orgasm. I smiled, my hands gripping her hips tighter. "I'm going to fuck you now, Eunchae," I whispered, my voice a low rumble. "I'm going to fuck you until you scream."
I thrust into her, my cock filling her completely. She gasped, her hands gripping my shoulders, her body arching against mine. I began to move, my hips thrusting, my cock sliding in and out of her, my hands gripping her hips tighter, my body pressing against hers.
She moaned, her body moving with mine, her hips bucking against me, her breath coming in short gasps. I could feel her body opening up to me, could feel her pleasure building, could feel her desire, her need. I reached down, my fingers finding her clit, stroking it, teasing it, until she was writhing beneath me, her body bucking against mine, her moans becoming louder, more insistent.
I could feel my own orgasm building, could feel the pleasure coursing through my veins, could feel the heat, the need, the desire. I thrust harder, my hips moving faster, my cock sliding in and out of her, until I could feel my own orgasm building, until I could feel the pleasure coursing through my veins, until I could feel the heat, the need, the desire.
I pulled her to me, my body pressing against hers, my cock filling her completely. I could feel her body convulsing, could feel her muscles clenching around me, could feel her screams of pleasure filling the room. I came, my body shuddering, my cock throbbing, my breath ragged. I could feel my cum filling her, could feel my pleasure, could feel my desire, my need.
"Master mmhhh" Eunchae face get redden as i fuck her on all her hole
I collapsed on top of her, my body slick with sweat, my breath ragged. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, could feel her heart racing, could feel her body relaxing, her muscles loosening. I rolled off her, my body spent, my mind reeling. I looked at her, her body sprawled on the bed, her eyes glazed, her body still trembling from her orgasm. I smiled, my hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. "You pleased me, Eunchae," I whispered, my voice a low rumble. "You pleased me very much."
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Concerned (LN)
lando norris x neighbor!reader
Another late night working and you were exhausted. Youâd been on PTO the week before, so now you were playing catch-up and drowning. Trudging back to you apartment, you rounded the corner and ran right into someone else.
âFuck, Iâm sorry,â your neighbor said at the same time you started to apologize. You had met him a couple of times, but he was gone a lot, so it was a pretty standard friendly neighbor relationship.
âYou look horrible.â The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, and a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His face was haggard, dark circles under his eyes and a weary expression that spoke of sleepless nights. The lines on his forehead deepened as he tried to hide his fatigue, but you couldn't help but notice how drained he looked.
âIâve had trouble sleeping,â he admitted, and you tilted your head, looking for more, but he didnât say anything else.
âOkay, come on,â you said, heading towards your apartment. With a moment's hesitation, he followed behind you into your apartment. The first thing that caught his eye was the unique decor - the walls adorned with scattered pieces of art, each telling its own story. The colors and textures clashed and complemented each other in a chaotic symphony, creating an atmosphere that felt both whimsical and intimate. He couldn't help but feel drawn in, wanting to explore every inch of this quirky space that was a reflection of you.
You sat him down on a barstool in the kitchen before opening a cabinet filled with various powders and ingredients. He watched as you contemplated a bit before picking a couple down and placing them on the counter. Filling the kettle and putting it on the stove, you turned back to him and tried to figure him out.
âYou have a lot of ingredients for tea,â he said, not knowing what to say.
âYeah, I read this book earlier this year about a woman who owned a tea shop and then became fixated on making perfect tea,â you said and he smiled. He felt himself starting to relax around you, appreciative that you hadnât pushed on why he looked so tired even though he knew you probably had a good idea.
The comfortable silence lasted a couple of more minutes before being interrupted by the high scream of the kettle, and you carefully poured it into a cup that would turn it into your favorite tea invention.
âLet it cool for a couple of minutes,â you told him, and he nodded, picked it up, and moved to the couch. You unpacked your bag from work, looking up occasionally to see him sipping and staring out of your grand windows. Deciding he was probably fine by himself, you went to take a shower and change into your pajamas.
As you emerged from the bedroom 20 minutes later, you spotted the familiar mug sitting on the coffee table, and him sprawled out, fast asleep on the couch. A small smile tugged at your lips as you quietly made your way over to him, careful not to wake him. The soft light filtering through the window cast a gentle glow on his sleeping face. You reached for a nearby blanket and draped it over his body, making sure he was warm and comfortable before retreating back to your room.
The next morning you slept in a little later before coming back out into the kitchen. Lando was still snoring softly on the couch and you kept quiet as you made coffee and pulled out eggs for breakfast. You heard him stir and looked over your shoulder to see him sitting up, yawning. He slipped off the couch and made his way towards you.
âI owe you one,â he said and you waved him off. âYou are my favorite neighbor.â
âWhat an honor,â you joked and he smiled.
âWhat can I do to repay you?â
You stood thinking for a second before smirking, âWell Iâd love it if you could get me Carlosâ autograph; heâs my favorite driver.â
He scrunched his eyebrows together disapprovingly, causing deep lines to form on his forehead. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh at his reaction before turning back to the skillet of sizzling eggs.
âIâm going to head out now, but again, thank you for last night. I really needed it,â he said, and you turned, surprising him as you hugged him. His embrace was tight but not suffocating, and his arms felt strong and sturdy around you. When he pulled back, you could feel the weight of his exhaustion in the way his body slumped slightly.
âYou need to take care of yourself,â you said.
âItâs hard,â he replied and you pulled back to see his sad eyes looking back at you. Giving him one last smile, he left you to make breakfast, retreating back to his own place.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
The rest of your weekend went by quickly and you enjoyed the relaxation of not having to think about work. Sunday afternoon, you were deep cleaning your apartment, casually paying attention to the football games you had in the background. After scrubbing your kitchen, you took a break, pulling out your phone and scrolling through Twitter.
Now, you werenât a big F1 fan; you just tuned in every once in a while mainly because you thought it was cool that you knew a driver, but youâd see tweets on your timeline every once in a while. One caught your attention, and you opened the thread to see some account commenting on a recent stream that Lando had been on with his friends. You watched the video of his friends making fun of him for eating expired food and giggled as they ragged on him.
Thinking back to the other night, you started to actually be concerned about him eating expired food. First of all, it was gross as fuck. Secondly, it could easily make him sick. Having an idea, you grabbed your keys before heading off to the grocery store.
A couple of hours later you were outside Landoâs door, having just knocked on it. He was surprised to see you standing there when he swung open the door.
âI have something for you,â you said, and his eyes flickered down to the bag in your hand before letting you in. Setting it down on the counter, you began pulling out all the Tupperware filled with several different things.
âThis should last you until you have to leave again to race,â you said nonchalantly, turning to look at you. He looked at you wide-eyed, taking in what you did for him.
âYou made me food?â He asked slowly and you nodded.
âI heard that you were eating expired food, which is disgusting,â you said, and a small smile crossed his face. âThat could also kill you, and it would be really irritating to have a bunch of police and noise here to deal with it.â
âMmmhmm,â he said smirking. âSo you did it because you didnât want to be inconvenienced if I poisoned myself?â
âExactly,â you told him. âIf you were my favorite driver, I would say I was doing it because I care about you and want to make sure you are okay.â
âBut Iâm not your favorite,â he said and you nodded. âCorrect.â
He smiled to himself as you bid him goodbye before heading back.
Later that night he hopped on to stream with Max who instantly asked him what he had for dinner.
âA burrito bowl,â he replied and Max perked up.
âDid you order it?â He asked and Lando shook his head.
âNo, my neighbor heard that I was eating expired food so she made me a bunch of meal prepped things to last a couple of weeks.â
âWas it your hot neighbor?â Max asked with a smirk and Lando blushed.
âYes,â he mumbled.
âJust so everyone in the chat knows, Lando has been simping over one of his neighbors for almost a year now, and instead of just talking to her like a normal person, he just stalks her on social media and turns into a lovesick school boy anytime he sees her.â
âThatâs not true,â he complained and Max laughed.
"Remember when you saw her at the little coffee shop by your place? She chatted with you for what, five minutes? You couldn't stop talking about it for weeks," he teased, savoring the memory of his friend's flustered excitement.
âShut up mate,â Lando muttered with a slight grin. Little did he know that you had been tuned into the stream, listening to all of this.
pt 2
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ᥣđ©àŸàœČàŸàœČâ âčcw include: plug!geto, drug usage (weed), pussyjob, some sloppy kissing, geto cums on her pussy <3
âspread em.â
you took a hit of the blunt you were holding, blowing the smoke in suguruâs face as you slowly spread your legs. suguru let out a deep exhale through his nose, his nostrils flaring when he saw the outline of your pussy over your panties. his dick twitched in his sweats when you pulled your panties to the side, strings of wetness clinging to the cotton fabric as you did so.
âsheâs so pretty,â he hummed, his low, red eyes practically forming hearts at just how breath taking your cunt really was. you mumbled out a quiet âthank youâ, your thighs closing together the tiniest bit in shyness. suguru chuckled, now pulling his sweats down his thighs until his dick sprung free, the angry red tip leaking translucent pearls of pre.
you let out a tiny gasp when your felt him begin to slap the tip against your clit, a dewy wet sound echoing throughout the room. suguru nibbled on his bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut when he finally slipped his dick between the oh so soft, stickiness of your folds. each time his tip bumped against your clit you let out a tiny âah!â which only made him lose his composure even more. âmmph youâre so soft babyâfuck, and so wet. you hear that?â
you were in a trance, teeth latched onto your bottom lip as you took in the man before you. it wasnât until you heard suguru whimper that you were snapped out of you trance like state. ây-you can slip it in if you want sugu,â you set the blunt aside, your hand now reaching down to help geto put his dick in but my mans was very quick to stop you. ânah nah donâtâthis shit feels so fuckinâ good, you feel good baby?â you didnât even have time to answer, suguruâs tongue invading your mouth the second your lips parted.
maybe it was the two and a half blunts you both smoked back to back but sugu just couldnât fathom that you were real. so perfect in every way it made his head spin and his chest tight. âsâgood sugu,â you sighed dreamily against his lips, your manicured fingers touching every inch of his toned body. suguruâs abs clenched when he felt your nails trail down his thighsâhis thighs were always so sensitive.
sugu pulled your panties to the side, a glob of spit falling from his lips, right onto your sensitive clit. he circled the tip around your clit, giving it a few more taps before enveloping himself once more in the sweet warmth that was you. âmâgonna cum already f-fuck, pull em to the side for me one more time baby,â you wasted no time yanking your panties to the side, allowing suguru to cover your pussy in his milky white essence.
his breathing was heavy as he examined his work, his dick already getting hard at the sight of your ruined panties. suguruâs tongue swiped against his bottom lip as he scooped some of his cum on his fingers, quickly bringing the digits to your mouth for you to suck on. you parted your lips, a moan bubbling in your throat as you sucked on getoâs fingers.
it happened so suddenlyâone minute you were happily drooling over suguruâs fingers, the next your breath was practically knocked out of your lungs as geto fully sheathed himself inside your pussy, a drawn out moan slipping past his swollen lips. âthat was fun,â he grunted, tatted hands gripping onto the backs of your thighs to push them damn near to your ears. he pressed his forehead against yours, his large body pushing impossibly close against yours.
âbut nothingâand i mean nothing will compare to this. ainât that right princess?â his hips slowly rolled into yours, his pelvis now rubbing deliciously against your clit. you didnât respond, well, more like couldnât respond but the fucked out look in your bloodshot eyes was more than enough for your sugu.
#I NEED HIMMMMMMMMMMMMMM#geto smut#suguru smut#geto suguru smut#geto x black reader#geto suguru x black reader#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x you#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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candles & flames: downpour | jjk (m)
bonus chapter II: downpour
Summary: One knock at your door â thatâs all it takes for the clouds to burst. Because when it rains, it pours.
âł pairing: Jungkook x reader âł rating: 18+ âł genre: established relationship, royal!au; angst!!, fluff, smut âł warnings: ok ok â rain metaphors, mention of a traumatic past, daddy issues?, illegitimate child plot, backstories, mention of mentally abusive relationship, cheating (not between jk and oc), jk kinda a homewrecker, lies, tears, breakdowns, panic, fears, abandonment issues, craving/pining sigh, arguments and fighting, very sweet kids, dad!jk <3; explicit sexual content: oral (m. receiving, super brief f.), fingering, teasing, kissing/making out, manhandling, biting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, soft/hard sex, unprotected sex (shhh, they're married), he spills on her ass, cmnf for a bit, some aftercare; hm⊠the ending. âł wc: 31.8k âł a/n: alright. i courageously fought through the pain; not sure how this will go for you. we've waited quite a while for this, and all your support for this series really pushed me to no end <3 i hope this is all you guys expected it to be. take it easy with this one; love y'all sm and as always, let me know what you think đ€ âł a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3 and the collaborative playlist here!
SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs
Itâs fall.
Orange-red, beloved, drizzling fall.
And everything falls with its emergence. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth.
Youâre bummed, experiencing the prior season coming to an end again; the colours are fading and the flowers disappearing. The trees are empty; pretty but a little eerie, too.
Hana insisted on a stroll since the sun still graced you this noon; by now, itâs gone again, hidden behind grey, monochrome clouds. It looks much later than it already is; great call to march outside since you were still able to pick leftover flowers in the garden with her.
In the middle of the drawing room, Hana leafs through the basket. Jungkook is largely free today, but heâs still busying himself with papers of some guest heâs expecting tomorrow. The man wishes to open a bar in the village and asked for an appointment with the townâs royal to discuss the profitability of the idea.
Jungkook is lost in thoughts, thick eyebrows furrowed, but your eyes are scurrying across the room, settling on your daughter. Sheâs carefully inspecting each flower, remaining on her favourites a little longer; kneeling with pursed lips.
She resembles her father down to each smileless dimple. Sheâs staring down, the same shape and arch of her lips, eyes big. Whenever she finds a particularly good flower, she jumps to her little feet, walking up to Jungkook to present her choices for him to admire.
Once she reaches her last favourite, she holds it up to him with a tongue sticking out, proud and childishly joyous as she says, âThis is for you.â
âFor me?â he drops the papers to the table, mouth open; cautiously takes the daisy between his fingers. âGorgeous. I thought I was not allowed to have one?â
âYou can have this,â she mumbles, lisping here and now, âI have many.â
âRight. Letâs see.â He lays it onto the documents he inspected, stretching out his palms for her. Obliging, she lets him pick her up and place her on his lap, immediately pumped when he asks, âWhere did you find it? Want to tell me about it?â
And she does, with sheer enthusiasm so, explaining the spot and the colours vaguely. You know Jungkook still isnât any smarter, probably not quite remembering where the daisies grow. He prefers the field in the distance over the garden.
Concluding her story, she soon tells him, âCan you keep this? Until I am big like you?â
âOhâŠâ You tilt your head. Your cheeks are hot like the summer that passed, watching him blush, melting with her in his arms. âOf course! Do you want to tell me why I am getting this one?â
âItâs pretty.â
âAh. Like you then. Youâre pretty.â
And Hana, aware and oh-so-humble, responds with her eyes on her fingers, nodding, âYes.â
They do this sometimes. Exchange pretty things. She enjoys sharing her food or her collections with him, stuff she loves. Sheâs learned to show affection like this; makes him and you a part of herself this way. Itâs a slightly different dynamic with the others in the room, though.
Because the moment her tremendous eyes look up, they darken a shade, displeased with the little body crawling to her basket, close to reaching in. Hana wriggles and jumps off Jungkookâs lap, her voice high-pitched when she starts whining, âNooo! Not you!â
Right. Thereâs that, too.
The miniscule hand almost knocking over the basket, the same eyes as his sisterâs, but the expressions a lot closer to yours. The surprise in his gaze is similar to the one you see right behind him, belonging to the partner in crime.
You rush to lift the near-accomplice before Hana can reprimand them both. And he looks just like you when he stares at you in shock, not minding the warmth, hands close to his body before they settle right on your clavicles.
He averts his gaze, following the drama on the ground. And the other twin, the one heâd been hurrying to, looks like your occasionally whining self, too, when Hana reaches him.
Jungkook might have enjoyed a copy of himself in her for years now, but you got two boys with your features instead. They clutch at you at all times, much as Hana sticks to her father.
Jaehoon, clever and thoughtful, secure in your arms, and then Jaehyuk, usually radiant, on the floor. Only right now, he isnât as cheerful anymore.
Rather devastated, startled as Hana opens the small fist crushing a flower. He ogles around with wide eyes, already breathing towards crying, and then, finally â juts out his lower lip. Seeks your attention; and when he catches your tilted, worried look, he starts weeping.
As if your presence permitted his breakdown. You sigh.
His fist is closed tight, but when Hana sharply orders again, âLet go!â, he does, scrabbling away from her. She collects her possessions with a grunt; you inch closer to her the same moment Jungkook rises from his seat on the diwan.
Lifting the crying Jaehyuk in his arms, he plants a soft kiss onto the childâs temple, shushing him with a gentle, âIt is alright. Look, nothing happened.â
But Jaehyuk still buries his face in Jungkookâs chest, crying harder, actual tears this time around. Jungkook squats down to Hana with a scolding look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked as he explains, âSuhana, it is good to share.â
She doesnât quite look at him; throws the remainders of the demolished flower into the basket, grazing the petals. Sulking, she defends, âBut he destroyed them.â
âHe is little. You did this as well when you were small.â
Hana shakes her head, convinced, âI do not think that I did.â
âAh⊠really?â
âI donât destroy pretty things!â
Jungkook mimics your sigh, kneeling down, and you shift your eyes for just a moment to check on the baby in your arms. Heâs the calmest in the room, observing the rest of his family with curiosity. You smile a little; heâs beautiful, so innocent, so clueless.
So empathetic.
Worried when he sees his brother still crying, not imitating his sobs, but pointing to his other half before he looks at you as if you understood. Awaiting your answer.
You did understand, actually; you often do. So you nod, telling him, âI know. Jaehyuk is a little sad.â
Jaehoon points again, and then suddenly leans forwards. You hold him tight, walking closer to the rest, and he relaxes. Happy you obliged, a finger in his mouth. You set him on the ground when Jungkook does the same with Jaehyuk, listening in as your husband tries againâ
âLook. You gave me a nice flower, so give him one, too. Heâs your brother, right?â
Hana hesitates. Then, âYes.â
âDonât you love him, too?â You hum at his words, enforcing the message. âYou should give nice things to people you love.â
âYes. But he is annoyingâŠâ
She grants her siblings a look, a little calmer when Jaehyuk sniffles. Jaehoon shifts closer to his disheartened brother, touching his hand, knees close. They can finally sit on their own now, and they use the ability to keep themselves glued to the other.
A second passes before Hana adds, âAlright, he should have one. He is too small to get his own.â
You agree, âThatâs right.â
Holding two different flowers towards the now far calmer Jaehyuk â Jaehoonâs presence seems to help â she inquires, âGood, which one do you like better?â
Her voice is authoritative, the classic older sister. It affects the twins for just a moment as they blink at her; but then, Jaehyuk regards the choices presented to him â though his eyes settle on the marigold quickly.
Opting to grab it, he hits the void when Hana pulls back, shaking her head. Youâre about to nag again, seated on the ground next to Jungkook, much like royals should as your sister would jest, but then hold back when Hana speaks again.
âNo. Grab it from here, yes?â She hands him the stem, and he listens, takes it as carefully as a baby can. âYes, like this.â
And then heâs raising it to his cheek, fascinated by it, touching the petals after all. Jaehoon watches quietly before his beseeching eyes drift to his sister. His plea is soundless, but she understands; says, âYou can have this, Jaehoonie.â
The daisy he receives is from the same spot she plucked Jungkookâs from. Pretty things for her pretty brother. Heâs not sure what to do with it, though, but he imitates the way Jaehyuk plays with it so tenderly, more than happy to accept.
You catch the smile spreading on Hanaâs countenance, balanced out by her sassy little, âBut you have to work for more. These are mine.â
You laugh, content, âThis is good enough.â You reach out to her cheek, caressing for a moment. âBe nice to each other. They love you a lot.â
She only nods, yet baffled when Jaehoon suddenly opts for her, climbing half onto her lap. She gives in, though she can barely properly hold them yet; so she reshifts him as well as she can, placing him in front of her, between her legs.
Like this, they look through the basket; heâs kind and soft, so he doesnât do much anyway. Just stares while Jaehyuk busies himself with the flower until he gets bored and targets the toy he abandoned minutes ago.
Theyâre cooing and conversing, Hana speaking, Jaehoon incoherently babbling. Youâve heard this is good, talking to your kids; apparently, theyâre vocal much more later on.
But the room is filled with noises and a stack of papers, so you turn to Jungkook and suggest, âI can take them somewhere else. Youâre working, so I reckonedâŠâ
âItâs alright,â he, however, assures, âI am already done. This is rewarding, actually.â
âIsnât it tiring?â You regard the scattered children, full of love for them, but brimming with fatigue, too. âI am so⊠exhausted.â
âI know. I understand that you are,â he says, grasping your hand, knuckles to his lips, âwhich is probably why I should stay, too.â
He gets it. You know he truly does, never just says it.
Ever since the birth of your twins, stress, anxiety and restless nights came together to an undesired mix. Barely sleeping makes you prone to headaches and mood swings; one child was already difficult to manage, but threeâŠ
You havenât rested in years. Your skin and your eyes have changed. More tired, more sensitive, your heart a little more feeble.
And the birth wasnât easy, either. You lost a ton of blood again, another source of Jungkookâs resurfaced panic; but this time because there were two kids at once. You feel grateful, you do â but the days and weeks after they were born were hell on Earth.
You didnât quite feel like yourself for so long.
But their warmth and Jungkook helped. Honestly, you canât anyhow fabricate a world without him and his support even just in theory. And beware, such love isnât given; youâve seen friends and relatives wade through terrible experiences.
Jungkook is a man they donât place in every corner of the world, so youâre thankful beyond imagination.
Because you survived due to him. You live because of the humble personalities in this brightly lit room, dimmed only by the grey afternoon sky. Itâs a cruel world at times; some pasts are an accumulation of everything bad. Jungkookâs more than anyoneâs you know.
Looking at him now, you can hardly believe he was once the sad boy stranded in the rain.
That crying, sobbing mess, freezing, seeking peace when he was inundated by misery. ButâŠ
Things came together well, right? The world is less terrifying like this.
You guess the warmth might fall outside all the time, but it never does in these rooms.
âAnd?â
The answer echoes less than it did a moment ago. The peeking head is retracting just slowly, still frozen between the open door and its frame. You donât think his eyes are spying much of concern, and he confirms it when he shakes his head, respondsâ
âNothing.â
âThis should be good enough then.â
âHm, yes. I donât know. It took hours last time, as well.â
Without a piece of context, itâs a hilarious picture. Somehow, it even is with context; so you canât help the quiet chuckle, silencing quickly to avoid waking up the tiny bundle slumbering in your arms.
You reprimand your husband, âBut you canât keep standing there for hours.â
The sigh you receive is deep and long. You understand his worries.
It hasnât been long anyway â the night transpired just a while ago. Still in the back of your mind since Hana waddled to your room, knocking with the might that her fist could possibly conjure; you barely heard it, but you did.
You have been a light sleeper since she was born, so you were shaken awake rather fast. You welcomed her in with softness, veiling the horror in your voice. You were devastated when you saw her feet bare, standing in the dark hallway.
Luckily, the moment turned out not quite frightening â she couldnât sleep. That was it. So you pulled her into your arms and off the ground, stroking her back and her head, planting kisses in her hair.
It took a while to lull her to sleep; to be certain, you kept her right next to you for the remainder of the nightly hours, even though her room was next door. Sheâd mumbled something about a poor bird, and youâd understand only minutes after her silence that she had seen a dead pigeon in the garden that day.
The nightmare this scene called forth prevented her from sleeping comfortably in her chamber for some days to come.
Jungkook had come to bed late that time, so he was long knocked out when Hana came. The regret doubled the next morning when you told him about the occurrence, and Jungkook blamed himself for the coming hours â only, the guilt extended. Still prominent.
Because heâs still glancing out, fearing sheâll come and knock again; fearing it might go unnoticed once more.
âI would hear it,â you reassure, âI always will.â
âWhat if you donât?â
âI will,â you try again; you keep your voice low, soft, understanding his string of thoughts. But you miss him next to you, and you want the door to close. You insist, âI will, love. Donât blame yourself for not hearing it, yes? You were tired.â
Jaehoon moves in your arms, a small fist loosening. Heâs fast asleep, but you still wait before you speak again, assuring that he wonât wake up again. Jungkook must be thinking the same, because only once you sigh a breath of relief, he says, âYou are tired, too. Donât undermine your importance hereââ
âJust come to bed, darling.â
Interrupted, his lips morph into a pout, round eyes regarding you for a moment. But it seems you render him at least a little delicate, aware of your effect on him, tilting your head by a few degrees. Your smile must be jarring; because the second you flash it, he gives in.
The door shuts behind him, and he offers an upward twitch of his mouth in response before he asks, âWould you reckon sheâs too young to have her own room?â
âPerhaps⊠I donât always feel very comfortable with her absence at night either. We have gotten too used to her, havenât we?â You shake your head as he steps towards your side of the bed. âBut she wanted this so bad.â
âHmm⊠good thing she spends half of all her nights here anyway.â
âTrue. She got too used to us, as well,â you say before sitting up, eliciting a brief groan as you prepare yourself to put Jaehoon back in his crib. You can barely stand up; your body is exhausted, begs to stay in the resting state for now. âAlright thenâŠâ
But by then Jungkookâs helping hands are already reaching out, his back arching, bowing forwards. Carefully, sweetly, he mutters a little, âNo, let meââ before heâs sheltering his son in his hold, slow and gentle as he tackles the task for you.
For a minute, he remains there, standing over the crib, gazing at the babies so peacefully dreaming away. He does this sometimes â lose himself in the sight. This is a fairytale for him. When he read all those books on parenting years ago, he didnât think itâd come this easily to him.
Not that parenting has ever been particularly easy. Tears and arguments were frequent at points in time, but so were sacrifices and compromises. You knew what such a change did to a vulnerable heart and mind, so you fought through the difficulties with courage.
And it was worth it every single time. All in all, you donât regret a thing; youâd repeat it all if you could. Jungkook is your dream; this life is your dream.
Never ceased to be.
Even now, as he returns to the bed and jumps under the blanket, you register an odd, sparkly feeling in your tummy. It always existed underneath, never diminished or decreased. Ever-so-present, you still cherish its intensity, even after all these years. Or perhaps because of the time that has passed.
Such passion isnât a matter of fact. You know it isnât.
Triggered by the funny, pleasant feeling in your body, your smile grows a little. Softer and more loving when he kisses your shoulder as if to greet you. Proceeds to place his head on your chest as his arms snake around your body, settling in his very own safe space.
âAre you feeling well?â his drowsy voice questions, just a little muffled as the lips graze your gownâs cotton.
âI am. You?â
âJust cold. I need a bit more of this,â he cuddles in, kissing underneath your breasts, right above your ribs. âIt has been raining so much.â
âIt has been indeed.â
âBut,â he shifts, closer to you, âIâve learned to appreciate it now.â
You chuckle. Time steadily passes, but some memories stay right at their assigned spots, like an immovable anchor. Youâre proud, having replaced his terrifying images of natureâs showers with fond ones. And ever since, the rain has felt closer to you, too.
âThat is something, then,â you say, âIâm just sad for the kids⊠they canât stay out too long without feeling under the weather. If I could, Iâd show them the sky all the time, too.â
âAnd how weâre connected to it?â
You laugh again; you wonder if heâs feeling warmer now. Youâre inundated with the heat, at least. âYes, this.â
His grip tightens just a little, a fragile attempt to draw you deeper into him. This is all the laws of physics allow â no gap left for him to close. Yet, he tries. His kiss wanders up as he raises his head, lips missing your clavicles by a bit; thumb stroking the side of your mounds.
âLove,â he calls quietly; when your eyes move to his, you see a change in them. Theyâre fog-shrouded and somehow questioning. âDo you feel tired?â
Youâre surprised; you expected something else. The question doesnât match his expression.
For a moment, you assume that your answer might serve a bigger purpose, so you weigh it back and forth before you decide on a straightforward, âLess than usual. Itâs been so long since we fell asleep together.â
Maybe thatâs whatâs keeping you awake. Maybe thatâs what he wants to hear.
Because he nods fervently against your breasts, cheek pressing against them, and agrees, âIt has been. Yet, do you know it has been only three days in reality?â
Oh. Dang. You guess there is no true limit to your mutual obsession. You shrug, âFeels much longer.â
âWell, in that senseâŠâ Warm digits touch your arm, circling your elbow and then travelling up your skin. âThere is one good thing about Hana sleeping in the other room, yes? Weâre alone for once.â
âUnless she once again catches us in the middle ofââ
âDonât remind me.â
You giggle, but the sound dies when he pushes his palm under your short gown sleeve, caressing your shoulder and then the lower part of your neck. Angling your head, you close your eyes, somehow spitting, âAre you planning something, Sir?â
His leg moves further over your own; thereâs a growing firmness between them that you canât ignore. He teases, âSir? Now, that is new.â
âMmh, do you like it?â
âAdmittedly, it is somewhat odd, but⊠itâs still something.â
âThen, what is going on now?â
âWell, itâs⊠very boring to talk about it. Lemme justââ
The palm covering your tits is sudden, but the mouth exploring them isnât. You felt the touch from miles away, satisfied and alight when his teeth graze over your perked nipple. His hand, restless, works on pushing down your nightgown to bare one side, and heâsâŠ
Impatient, as youâve known.
His tongue is hot and soft, the tip of it merely teasingly brushing over the freed nipple as his hand pushes your tit up, further into his face and towards his mouth. You sigh. He sets fire to your nerves; you feel each of the licks affecting your body.
Then, amidst the comfortable, sweet journey, he suddenly bites.
You gasp, followed by a tiny exclaim of an, âOuch,â and work on playfully escaping his advances â to no avail. He laughs against your bud, his hands stronger than your dishonest attempt as they pin your arms to the mattress.
His eyes are evil, an eyebrow cocked, lips parted as he breathes, âWhat?â
âYouâre about to lose it again. I can see it!â
âAh⊠do youâ do you not want me to?â Heâs still in a daze, his words mumbled. He moves back just a little, wondering if youâre not quite where he is tonight. But you shake your head the moment he suggests, âIâll hold myself back if I need tââ
âOh, can you?â
Youâre smiling, so heâs quickly encouraged to offer a grin of his own; honestly admits, âNo⊠but I will for you.â
âYou will for me?â The everlasting beam on your face is inevitable; how could you keep your cool, pretend youâre not thoroughly warmed when he says things like these? âWhile I appreciate how thoughtful you are⊠Iâm not a fool.â
Not a fool. I wonât decline.
âThen⊠May I kiss you?â
âYouâre asking so politely, how could Iââ
Thereâs no time to reject, even if you wanted to. His kiss is abrupt and hard, though his lips still refrain from any aggression just yet. He lifts his hands from next to your head to above it, dragging your captive arms with them.
As his head tilts, deeper in the kiss, his tongue mingles with yours with a tempting hum so unique to his voice â as if heâs tasting a delicatesse. Your mouths are in main action, but both your bodies are reacting in their entirety, too.
In constant motion, winding, closing in.
His upper body urges you down until youâre flat on your back; the nightgown settles back over your tits again as you move, but he grabs your flesh above the clothing, kneading. Clumsily, with his eyes still shut, he attempts to unlace the front of your gown.
You wait for his intention to manifest into reality, readily letting his palm brush over your hot skin, your neck, your jaw. But once he opts to undress you fully, your patience dwindles, and you let him know, âI donât want to wait this time.â
âAh, alright, alright⊠This is how weâre doing things tonight?â
Your poor dress will be wrinkled up by the morning; you know by the way heâs hiking it up your leg this time, stopping at your waist, force of habit. Thereâs a satisfying, delighted smile on his face, mixing with a pleased sound when he discovers youâre bare underneath the gownâ
And it seems it motivates him more rapidly to tug at his own trousers. You nod as if to encourage him further, hands seeking out the hem of his pyjamas. But youâre as useless from this angle as can be.
So he sits upright, slipping out of it, pushing it down his thighs until itâs wrapped around his knees. Heâs no better, really; just as naked, just as uncovered underneath the trousers, as if the two of you planned this, or hoped for this.
Kneeling, he pushes your legs apart, spreading until your flexibility stops. He settles between them properly, leaning down, and uses the position to kick off the rest of his disruptive trousers. The length of his cock, as unbelievable as ever and quickly hardening, presses against your damp cunt â bliss for the moment, but torture for the next.
The way his cock dips between your folds and rubs along your pussyâs growing dampness feels almost deliberate. As if heâs tormenting you, demonstrating his power over you, stiff past your hole and up your tiny clit without ever diving in.
But you wonât lie â you could probably come from this alone. Itâs embarrassing, being so weak in his presence. And the filthy sounds, wet and inappropriate, donât help a bit.
So youâre not sure whether youâre relieved or agitated when the touch finally vanishes but his mischievous smile doesnât. Itâs somewhat weak, hindered by the lust clouding his brain, but itâs insane and misbehaved either way.
Heâll kill you one day; or you might kill him. You donât know who might end up asserting the more hazardous dominance.
For now, itâs you whoâs surrendering. How could you not, considering heâs conjuring his own battle plan right above you, hand reaching between his and your legs and underneath the blanket toâ
Damn the tip of the digits against your clenching cunt. Heâs not even inside, but you react immediately. Know to bite your lower lip when he circles your clit a little, the position and the spread legs keeping you from shutting your thighs.
Your head falls to the side; Jungkook considers it an opportunity. He plays around your nub further, testing the waters, and when you moan out, he closes the gap between the two of you, latching onto your neck to suck and kiss and bite.
âFuck,â you curse, incessantly hoping the kids are deeply asleep and wonât have to witness their motherâs foul language this early on. âFuck, start alreadyââ
He knows you arenât talking about his fingers; theyâre already in action, tapping your clit, drawing over it. Then moving down, slipping along your wetness, already drenched when he decides to ram a finger in.
Yet, he understands youâre still referring to the member standing tall, anticipating and urging for you but holding back either way. No, instead he chooses to drive you crazy first, using a free hand to grab your chin and turn your head back to him, going for another messy kiss.
And you canât do more than give yourself to him so willingly, wincing and whimpering as he finger-fucks you as well as the position allows. Itâs not ideal like this, and to your chagrin, he canât use his skills fully, but the fact that he can turn your thoughts this incoherent speaks volumes already.
You canât wait⊠canât wait for him to bury himself in you.
Half hovering over you, he soon loses the strength to keep himself afloat, dipping and retracting his fingers to lead his cock there instead; still, once again, without fucking you dumb yet. Youâre drifting, but still too sane for your liking.
Your wetness helps him toy with you some more; he keeps pumping with his hand as he humps you once, twice, and you mutter his name and a couple mumbled pleas â but he remains as wicked as ever.
But when the dam breaks and your mind explodes, you exclaim his name again in pure desperation, half your brain gone when he pushes just his tip inside you and continues jerking off to make himself as hard as he can.
Eventually, you demand, âPut it in!â
The shake of his head is vile. Your eyebrows furrow at the man, and you try to grind up into him â he doesnât let you. Only the head remains inside you, and he keeps doing his thing, not leading it in or out, just drenching himself.
You reprimand, âYouâre being impossible tonight.â
âArenât I?â he responds, like a naughty child whoâs caught and proud of its sins. He presses another peck to your lips, his words breathy when he reveals his true thoughts, âNo, sweetheart, it is just thatâ you arenât ready. Thatâs it.â
You arenât ready? You feel like youâre overflowing. But you understand; thereâs no room for impatience after all. Itâs happened before â him pushing in, only to realise it was too early, that it pained you instead of pleasuring you.
âWellâŠâ you start, dumbfounded. He noticed and you didnât â the ultimate proof that he knows you inside out. âYou couldâve said this earlier. Put it in my mouth then.â
âHuh?â
âRight now. This will help, too.â
âOh⊠yes? Iâ I wonât reject the offer.â
Of course he wonât. In fact, he climbs up the bed quickly, lifting, caging your body between his knees. The sight is incredible; thighs as wide as your face, muscular. You hold onto them, bask in the sight of the dangling package, harder by the moment.
With effort, he says, âJust for a second.â The tip taps against your mouth, hot as he pushes it inside. Thick and heavy on your tongue, his cock twitches, affected by the swirl of the wet muscle and the hollowing of your cheeks. âYes⊠not long, noââ
He must be talking to himself. Keeping himself from thrusting and fucking your mouth all the way to the end. And when you bop your head up and down, lightly touching his balls and the parts of the length you canât swallow, he restates, âI really do not want to wait.â
You let go for a moment with a slurping sound, agreeing, âFine by me,â before you come back to go in harder. Giving him all you can, crossing your legs, seeking reprieve.
And you think youâd quickly overflow, by virtue of his enticing reactions, if the moment wasnât so short lived.
Because it seems he reaches a limit when your drool starts flowing down the side of your face, nasty and warm, your throat still working full time on not gagging. On staying quiet. Itâs become a task by now.
And for the first time tonight, Jungkook doesnât serve the devil, but pulls back.
While itâs a pity â why didnât he finish in your mouth? â you wonât deny your selfish part. The one that craves and awaits, glad when his body disappears beneath the sheets again, his head with it.
Whatâ
Wonât he start? You didnât expect him to fall out of your sight entirely. And thereâs not much guessing needed until you understand that heâs aiming for his favourite spot, his tongue lapping up your juices a moment later.
He kisses your cunt just once, slides a stripe between your folds, and youâre certain his goal is much more profound. Normally, youâd be fully down for this, but youâve reached a limit you canât bear anymore.
So you whisper, âYou donât need to.â
He doesnât register it right away, spitting and feasting further; more kisses, more tongue, untamed until you grip his hair and raise his head off of you. He obliges surprisingly easily when you pull him back to your lips, reiterating, âI donât want to fucking wait. JustâŠâ
âI know,â he says, peck after peck, in between each word, âI know. I have had enough, too, I haveââ
His arm steals your breath when he twines it around your body like a vine, arching your back, lifting you by mere inches. Both his hands are busy; caressing your sides or your face; heâs confident about the touch, about the eagerness the two of you harbour for each other.
Which is why he doesnât even guide his length towards your pleading heat anymore, gliding up and down; hard enough to stand tall against it, poking as if knocking. The thought makes you laugh for only a moment before your lungs suddenly emptyâ
Part of his cock slips in effortlessly; thereâs no resistance, no struggle, no need to glance down and complicate matters. You welcome him easily; match his smirk, proud and unsurprised about your keen craze when he says, âWasnât supposed to happen already. I wanted another moment toââ
You vigorously shake your head. âToo late. Too damn lateââ
The last word comes out strained as your body comes in motion, moving against him. And he matches your pace and fervour, shoving himself in harder. Unable to resist anymore, all the teasing vanishes along with his patience.
Instead, he bottoms out at once, and you yelp, an unintentional volume that he immediately shuts with a hand over your mouth and a chuckle. Jungkook enjoys playing the beast when heâs with you like this, but he canât suppress his amusement when he shushes you.
âAre y-you trying to wake the mansion, huh?â
But his words are nothing but a breath, airy and quiet. Such a whistling whisper that it, much as your noise, might just be enough to wake everybody, too. The irony is comical.
You shake your head and his hand with it, relying on your nose to breathe the oxygen still left in the room. Your neck feels hot, your face and body burning up. Not quite sure whether itâs the way heâs handling you or whether your leg is actually trembling like this.
His strokes, slowly starting, shake up your body at least. The friction drives you insane; his length, reaching a mind-boggling depth, renders you so stupid each time. Thick against your walls, leaving no gap, no spot untouched.Â
Youâre boiling under his hand, somehow glad about the muffled sound. Because if he didnât silence you like this, youâd be wreaking havoc right here, an unbridled mess wrapped in your husbandâs body.
They say love and passion fade sometimes; that affection lessens when you get used to it, bored of it. But the two of you havenât reached that stage yet â you doubt you ever will.
Because the flames that have surrounded you ever since you fell into these depths for the other⊠they donât ever seem to dim. Who wouldâve thought that a candle could turn into an inferno?
No, your body signals more than enough; this isnât boredom. This isnât a reduction in adoration. You feel the devouring and the worship in each thrust and touch and kiss and gaze.
In each curse and movement, how he shifts you and you wind. Dancing in the sheets and shivering under the goosebumps as he hears your stifled moans drowned out by his palm. If he could, heâd listen all day; if the circumstances allowedâŠ
He rams into you hard but slowly and only raises the pace gradually; once heâs gotten used to the effect, however, and seeks to possess you more, he sends your body up the sheets. Each time, over and over again, restraint thrown overboard.
You mewl with a raised head and tightly shut eyes; his hand drops just a little, and you, in your misty moment, dig your teeth into the finger still covering your lower lip. The sound he lets out suggests pain here, but then again⊠lust there.
His voice is feathery, mellow; as if heâs softly charmed, seduced rather than achingly bitten.
Lips apart and eyes hooded, he relocates his hand just a little, twisting it until the thumb grazes your chin, hand laying on your cheek as the forefinger dips into your mouth. Itâs difficult to focus; what does he look at?
The way his digit is gently trapped between your teeth, the tip of it teased by your tongue? The arch of your mouth and how his finger presses against the lower lip? Or the heat that grows under his palm, the rise of your chin, the eyes rolling back before shutting?
A feral urge expands in him, growing like a well-watered seed; he doesnât know how you do it, but you encapsulate all his beginnings and ends in a moment, now and always.
Your hair is a mess by the time he removes his other hand from it, not quite sure when he grabbed a patch at all. He pins one of your legs to the side, angling it, and you breathe unsteadily, mumbling a tiny, âOhâ Kookââ
âYes.â
Itâs not quite a dialogue, but neither of you cares for it. There isnât much to say at all. And neither any calls of his or your name, nor his quiet, âI love you so much,â do the emotion bubbling in his stomach justice.
In all honesty, he could explode just looking at you. Youâre a wonder of nature, arenât you? You pump relief and craze and comfort and insanity into him, one after another and all at once.
âBaby,â you call out the moment his teeth drag your damn gown down your tits again, kissing them, nibbling at your nipple. âI think I might alreadyâ soonâŠâ
You donât know whether itâs because itâs been so long, or because Jungkook knows just well how to fuck you right, but youâre nearly bursting. Or is it the mental picture of the movements heâs granting you?
Elegant yet beastly thrusts, hips and ass and upper body swaying up and down steadily; slow, then fast, then soft, then hard⊠rhythmic and then stutteringâ
He wipes the hair off your forehead, and then whispers warm and close to your ear, âHey, do you⊠know how obsessed I am with you?â A peck to your earlobe, and you wind, ticklish and pleased. He shifts to your lips, the kiss an inch away. âYouâyouâre all Iâll ever need.â
You canât serve as much of a smooth and rational answer as him, but you still tell him all lost, âThenâ be with me⊠me, always, yes?â
He chuckles; youâre not sure why. Perhaps this is such a matter-of-fact for him that he doesnât need it spelled out. âYes⊠yes. What else? Where else would I go?â
Away from you â even for a moment, even just a bit. Right now, you canât bear the thought of a hint of a distance between the two of you. You want him close, closer, part of your heart, thawing with you in cool falls and cold winters.
âYouâre pretty,â he then proceeds, tugging at your lip, âdonât know where to touch you. So pretty.â
âEverywhere. Just donât stopâ touching me,â you begin, every now and then interrupted by an exhausted kiss, âat all.â
âRight.â And still, he backs away out of the blue, all touch gone except the gentle rub along your hip, and you stare up at him with big eyes, body so empty before he orders, âTurn around.â Heâs acting tough, but you see the madness in his eyes the moment he says it. âQuickly.â
Quickly.
You know what heâs thinking without him vocalising any of it. Know what heâll do before he does it.
With quivering limbs, you oblige, helped by his hands as he hauls the gown easily over your body, crumpling it up and placing it next to the pillow. Within a moment, youâre bare, head to toe.
He keeps you on your knees, reluctant to wait a second before he enters you again. His hand lands on your ass, pulling apart to see better, and once all in, he starts moving again.
You donât need to glance back to know that the muscles of his back and his ass are flexing, tanned and golden. The veins of his arms are probably protruding, his abs and chest damp, latter heaving. You know he probably resembles some textbook God, and maybe thatâs what topples you over the edge.
That and⊠the hand on your clit.
Softly circling, the nub immensely sensitive, limbs buckling and weak. You require all your might to not fall and close your legs and sob.
But the tears are inescapable; one or two tip over your waterline when you finally come to an end. His prior teasing and the anticipation already drove you too close to the peak, and it seems that now youâre surrendering eventually.
You shake, your arms more so than the rest of your body. Wobbly, you try to keep yourself upright, but as the blur covers your vision and the waves crash over your pelvis and stomach, you let your cheek fall to the pillow. Hands clutch the sheets.
The tremor is out of control.
And youâre still riding out that high, aided by his continuing shoves and hammering. Heâs generous when he pushes you all the way down, a hand on the small of your back as he says, âTake your timeâ Iâm almost there, fuââ
Take your time with what? You donât know; the chances are high he doesnât either. Or is he talking to himself again?
To no avail, though, because heâs manic, uncurbed. Your cheek digs into the pillow, the bed moving more than it has during these moments lately. Heâs chasing ecstasy, calling your name and little words, such as, âLove, sweetheart, darling,â over and over again like itâs his sole vocabulary.
His lips move over your shoulder and to your back, featherlight as opposed to how heâs fucking you. The care with which he kisses your skin leaves you gasping, affects you whole, and you feel the shiver down your spine, along your arms.
You want to stay awake all night. Want this to keep going.
Funny, how this very thought is followed by a question you neither expect nor grasp, âHave I⊠kissed you too much already? Are you sick of it?â
You think your eyebrows furrow, or perhaps you imagine it, because there is no way your facial muscles still have that much energy left. But he must be out of his mind, daring such questions. Is there such a thing as getting sick of him?
âWhyââ
This man never lets you finish. There is an art to interrupting without irritating, and heâs mastered it â because you can barely complain when his hand wraps around your neck, cautiously lifting and turning your head to make out with you again.
The tongue sneaks into your mouth right away; the kiss is barely a kiss, too filthy and chaotic to be called such. Rather, youâre eating each other up, mixing your moans, crazed by his drilling until his breaths turn laboured and his sounds hoarse.
They come straight out of his throat, sweet in your ears. And before you know it, heâs getting to his knees and rapidly pulling out; you feel vulnerable and tender, thoroughly worn out. The heat is blistering and your mind gone â but you still notice the ropes landing on your ass.
Sticky and hot and plenty. Scattered over your flesh; you contribute some, too, moving your ass left and right just a little, and it seems heâs enjoying it. Groans as he pumps on; when you look back at him, eyes halfway closed, you give him the rest.
And a couple seconds later, tongue poking the corner of his lips, heâs done.
Panting, whispering something you canât understand, weak⊠but done. Close to falling onto you until he realises he probably shouldnât.
Instead, he lays down next to you. Your eyes are closed, but you immediately feel a loving brush over your cheek, ridding it of the strands sticking to your face.
You shake your head â or at least, you think you do. Itâs probably more of an attempt, just a slight movement before you playfully scold, âGreat⊠what do we do about this now?â
Jungkook swallows, calming down as he responds, âOver thereâ thereâs a jug of water on the table still.â
ââŠAnd?â
âI will go and find a cloth?â
The careful question in his tone is so sweet. Youâre not sure if he intended to stain your skin like this before the lust took over him. What a fool for you. Enough to barely ever think of the consequences, be they big or small.
In this sense, you could say that falling for you happened without a single thought for him, too, didnât it?
He was chasing a different plan. Didnât fathom that he was losing himself in you. And when he did, he didnât consider the aftereffects and the risks of what his uncle had come up with; Jungkook didnât care much about anything at all but being with you.
Heâs told you many times.
Back when you hid in that room, or touched in the carriage â in those fleeting moments, the future didnât consist of what his relatives needed, but of what he could give to you. Who he could be to you.
In hindsight, he was so in love with you. Looking at your relationship, you canât compare the affection you started out with for each other with the overload of passion now, but⊠goddamn, he was so in love with you. You know.
And the truth is that no matter what obstacles life may place on your road ahead, neither of you will love the other less than the minute before.
You laugh when you meet his big, brown eyes, asking, âIs there any cloth in this room?â
âI⊠I think I brought one before. Should be on the tableâŠâ
âMight be good enough.â
âOr I can get one from the kitchen.â
You scoff. âYou want to sneak around the mansion now? Really?â You lift your upper body, balancing it on your arms, catching him as he licks his lips at the sight of your bouncing tits. You nod towards the table. âThat will do. Go and free me from your stuff.â
âTsk. Good.â
You were right; his idea sufficed. And the kids are still asleep â a double win for you. In theory, youâre ready to crash for the night, succumbing to fatigue. But the truth is that only your body feels spent; your brain doesnât just yet.
So as Jungkook wipes over the flesh of your ass, you confess, âIâm still not tired enough.â
âMmmh, me neither.â
ââŠSo what now?â
He falls back to his side with another grunt, throwing the dirty cloth to the floor. You reach out, grazing his chest, playing with the cotton heâs still sporting. He probably knows what youâre hinting at, despite being already battered, but he ignores your advances just toâ
âMh-mh,â he rejects, âI want to talk. I just⊠I need to hear your voice for a bit.â He stops the finger on his chest, raising your hand to his lips, and kisses each knuckle. Dramatically, he adds, âWhat would I do without your voice?â
You ponder. Then jest, âStill hear it in your mind somewhere.â
âYes, very true. I still always do in the office.â
You laugh, so gripped by the emotions stuck to your heart. âSo, what would you like me to say?â He shrugs, an indicator for, âAnything.â So you ask, âWould you like me to tell you a story?â
âYes⊠story. Yes, tell me one.â
âI can think of one right away. Sort of a lullaby.â
âSo itâs got to be a good one,â he says as he covers you with the thick blanket. An arm over you pulls you closer to him. âRight?â
Your eyes drift to the window. Youâre lucky, sleeping in a bedroom with a view. Jungkookâs office has one, too, but Hanaâs room, while next door, doesnât. Youâre at the far end of the corridor and this mansionâs wing, risking much, so exposed.
Perhaps youâll move your room to a safer place in the mansion soon. But for now, youâre grateful for the sky, the stars, the moon. The pouring cloudburst.
Jungkook might have caught your distraction; because he wraps one of your hair strands around his finger, inquiring, âMay I guess?⊠Is it a story about the fall and the rain?â
Your lips twitch upward to a smile. Flooded by past pictures, you refuse to end the night, preparing for a concluding tale as you sayâ
âHow did you know?â
When it knocks at your chamber door the next sunrise, you could swear you havenât slept more than a handful of hours. The exhaustion weighs on your eyes and muscles, body limp as you stir awake. Your voice is still hoarse.
So youâre startled.
Not just because itâs early or because of the interrupted, peaceful slumber; and not just because thereâs a knock at the grand, adorned door, either. In reality, it occurs regularly â for Jungkook and his work, or to remind you of your childrenâs riding and violin lessons, or to inform you of the arrival of guests.
This time itâs the latter. Yet, youâre alarmed, not even because of the guest, but because itâs Sunday, and you donât usually expect a visitor on Sundays â unless, perhaps, something is transpiring down in the village that needs your urgent assistance.
But â these things are rare. People here regard it as their rest day, too. Itâs why you wake up drowsy and confused, ready to sleep the fatigue off and hoping itâs nothing too grave. Squinting an eye shut, you glance at the longcase clock in the corner of your room.
Seven in the morning.
You register a mumble of a voice next to you, low and gravelly, welcoming the staff inside who, a second later, informs, âVisitor for you, Lord Jeon.â
Jungkook sighs. A hand emerges from under the heavy, floral blanket, rubbing his tired, puffy eyes. He hums in gratitude, telling the informant heâd be downstairs in a minute; and when the young man has stepped away, Jungkook half turns to you.
His voice is still husky and half asleep when he gently wipes a strand behind your ear and says, âGo back to sleep. Might be Byun for the boxing ring. I should be back in a little.â
You only nod, moving his cradling hand with it. You can barely speak, fighting the urge to yawn. Frankly, you wouldnât know what youâd be uttering anyway, though your mind is still present enough to understand that heâs kissing your knuckles and then leaving his side empty.
Falling back into the mattress, you once again hope for a speedy get-together on the floor down below; but when you awake again, the clock indicates the passing of over a full hour. The bed is still half vacant.
You wonder whatâs going on, gradually cracking your eyes open to the ceiling until your brain fathoms well enough that a meeting this early shouldnât take so long, and that anyway, thereâs no reason for a business visitor to come by this soon into the day.
So you clear your throat, sitting up at the edge of the bed. You wrap yourself in your gown and your silk coat, arms folded as if to protect yourself. Itâs just cold; a chill autumn day.
And as you walk down the staircase, you hear faint chattering from the main hall, like a tiny whisper from here. Thereâs only some staff in the welcoming hallway, but theyâre guarding the parlour. Thatâs where the voices are coming from.
Nobody hinders you from entering the room when you do. Of course not; thereâs no reason to.
But the atmosphere is still oddly charged when you step in, meeting Jungkookâs pale face from afar. You blame it on the sleepless night, just as much as the somewhat dark circles under his eyes.
Still, it gets weirder as you near; because heâs looking at somebody who has their back turned to you. A woman with long black hair, gazing down; and when Jungkook detects you, he looks terrified.
Uprighting himself, blinking, drawing a breath too deep to not worry.
You automatically assume the worst; bad news from the city? Some issues in the village? Or a girl trying her charm on your husband? Wouldnât be the first time.
You round the chair she made herself comfortable on; and your surprise increases, skyrocketing when you notice that she didnât come alone. Thereâs a child next to her. Proper and sweet, certainly older than Hana.
His hands are neatly folded in his lap, hair combed back. Heâs just listening, it seems, to whatever they spoke about. And his face⊠his face looks familiar somehow; as does the girlâs, yet in an entirely different way.
âGood morning,â you greet the woman and she responds with a nod. âIs everything alright?â you finally ask, turning to Jungkook, a hand on his shoulder. âYou didnât come back.â
But Jungkook doesnât answer. Your heart grows a little more wary. Because, why is he so speechless? Why does he look scared, eyes wide, chest risen, as if heâs holding his breath? Blinking faster.
The woman is back to staring at her legs, shifting her hand to grip the little one next to her; and the boy looks like he doesnât want to be here at all. At the same time, however, he starts to admire the fancy interior of your mansion.
The lustre, the floor, the table, the chairs. Everything youâve grown used to.
âWhat is wrong?â you try again. Panic watered by Jungkookâs lack of response, you gulp, but still steady yourself and remain polite. âMay I ask⊠who are you?â
Youâre looking at the woman again. She glances up to you. Sheâs gorgeous â full and curved lips, light brown eyes, pitch black hair. Looks young; about your age. She doesnât answer, but Jungkookâs quivering voice does.
âThis is Jihyo, darling.â
Well, alright. Doesnât tell you much. Youâve seen her, maybe even heard the name, you think. Is she from your town? But you canât assign her any significanceâŠ
âWhat does this mean?â you inquire.
âShe⊠She wanted to talk to me,â he explains, âshe came all the way from a village close to our hometown.â
âAh. To say what, exactly?â
You donât want to sound agitated; but the suspense is growing unnecessarily, and you want whatever truth out. And honestlyâ
The tension forms a little something in your head. Not enough time has passed for him to properly answer, but you still repeat, âTo say what?!â
You feel like you have a hunch⊠youâre starting to come up with theories. And the worst of them dizzy you, make you want to yell and throw up, tempting you to smash a nearby vase.
Did he⊠could he do this to youâŠ
No.Â
âJihyo and I knew each other⊠way before you and I got married. Way before.â
He echoes the last two words as if to reassure you; like the verbal equivalent of a soft hand on your back, rubbing you in comfort. But⊠the tactic doesnât quite bear fruits. Your chest tightens more; the fatigue of the morning eventually fades.
âAnd?â you prompt, regarding her. âWhy arenât you saying anything then?â
âI have⊠to him. IâI do not quite know if it is my place toââ
âNo, it is not,â you interrupt, âmaybe youâre right. My husband should explain, no?â
But heâs stuttering as much as her. You donât lose your patience often with him, or with people for that matter. Youâre a cheerful person, fuelled by the miracles of the world. ButâŠ
This is pulling out your worst self.
âIââ he starts.
Terrified. What the hell is going on? You wait â wait more as he swallows. And then, when he drops the explanation, your heart falls with it. Bursts, plummeting from such a height.
âJihyo and I met for a while and⊠she just came and told me that this⊠heâsââ
You understand.
You understand immediately because your guts warned you the moment you saw his expression. You look back and forth between him, her and the child, realising the similarities once and for all, well aware from experience why similarities are a thing in a family andâŠ
You can barely hear yourself emit the words once they tumble out; like your voice isnât your voice, and your thoughts arenât your thoughts, âThis⊠is your son?â
Like youâre living somebody elseâs day whoâs about to trudge through a life-changing, agonising event. Because this canât be happening to you. Actually, itâs not sinking in at all; youâre fantasising, and you refuse to believe reality.Â
âJihyo says he is my son,â he paraphrases, as if he doesnât really believe her, either, âheâs uhm. Heâs six years old.â
Your mind begins to calculate immediately. Sudden dread fills you â because wait. Werenât you together at that time? Did Jungkook hide from you, lingering in the dark, and yet another past is catching up to the two of you?
No. Hold on once more.
You got married to him five years ago. Were engaged and together for a year before. That makes six. You curl in the fingers in your mind, keeping up your math.
Itâs been wrong all along, so you need to be correct this time.
Okay, so, if her â no, his, their son was born six years ago, itâd mean that Jungkook had been with her not too long before you. Thatâs not way before you got married, is it?
Your breath hitches. You blink the way he did before â not sure what to do or say. Your eyes move over to the rosy cheeks of the child again. He looks so innocent, still clueless, even though he perfectly understands what Jungkook just said.
Who the man is to him.
Of course. Same doe eyes, button nose, shape of face; like a damn copy. Not that the truth hurts enough, no â it had to be accompanied by another of his faces. Not in your own sons, somewhat in your daughter, but in him.
But you guess everybody is confused.
Even Jungkook. Most of all Jungkook, right?
Jihyo says he is my son.
Why? Does he not realise it?
That must mean he didnât know, did he? And the child didnât know either.
Jeon Jungkook, your husband of half a decade, has a son he never knew of. Older than Hana. Predating all of your history with him, alive and a toddler already back when you so profoundly believed that you were the first to share this very bond with this man.
To be the first for him at least once. ButâŠ
Youâre not.
âSay something,â you hear him plead.
His voice is a little farther away. Your eyes drift back to him; he looks miserable, a hand reaching out. His fingers graze the tip of yours, but you retract in time. He sighs in absolute sorrow, face falling, as if his chest is surrendering.
You barely whisper when you answer, âWhat do you want me to say?â
Itâs him and you; the woman is quiet, and youâre shattering. She canât do anything anyway. Only contorts her face in pure guilt when Jungkook, defeated to the core, begs, âAnything.â
âAs you wish.â Another glance at her. Sheâs looking at you, too. âWhy are you here now?â
Her eyebrows raise; sheâs caught off guard, but she still has an answer ready. Of course; Jungkook heard all of it minutes before you are, so it must be easy.
âI⊠I havenât been doing well. The man I was supposed to marry left when he found out I carried somebody elseâs child⊠evenâ even before that, actually.â Jungkook breathes air through his lips as she explains; you canât tell why. âAnd I need help. Any help.â
âI see⊠And you couldnât come years earlier, I assume? When I didnât have three children of my own?â You lift the corresponding number; your cheeks are fiery hot. âWhen there was nobody Iâd have to explain this to? HowâŠâ
You shake your head, disgusted with your attitude, but more devastated by the situation. So you spit, âHow selfish are you?â
Her mesmerising eyes are so big; with her and Jungkookâs lives combined, their son could only end up with these grossly sweet eyes, pupils fracturing your heart. Sheâs looking at you as if youâre about to eat her.
Then she apologises, âIâm sorry⊠I tried to get by for as long as I could.â
âDidnât you know we have a family?!â
âI knew! Iâ Of course I knew.â
Jungkook is royalty; people in your city know the two of you. Know your story. You wonder what this will do to you both.
âAnd,â you continue, âyou still thought itâd be a good idea to bring chaos to our home.â
âI did not wish for this at all,â she defends, âI felt terrible all the while, and⊠I was so desperate, please try to understand. I need something, anything and⊠If his father can provide any of it in any wayâŠâÂ
His father⊠his fatherâŠ
You might spiral. The same thoughts circle your head at a pace that might make you faint.
This woman. This child. And his father.
You canât breathe.
So you donât respond to the sheer idiocy she just uttered, still in disbelief; the denial will be over in a minute. But for now, it hurts and youâre confused and absolutely out of touch with reality, and⊠fuck, your stomachâ
You put a palm to your chest; the rise and fall is heavy. And just as he calls your name, you bolt away.
Just a second before you once again feel his fleeting digits miss your wrist, a lingering ghost touch as you run.
The first instinct your feet follow leads you to Jungkookâs office.
Somewhere in a corner of the mansion, you have your own chamber, dedicated to your time and your moments; but somehow, you still land in a room drenched in the scent youâre fleeing from.
And itâs counterproductive, the way youâre moving. Fast enough to dim his calls, but slow enough for him to catch up, too. Like you want him to follow. You know heâd find you even if he wasnât hot on your trail, because you like to hide there.
But on other days, itâs you finding solace in him, not away from him.
Youâre dizzy, deeply breathing when you shut the door behind you, both palms on the heavy door. You keep them there as if they could guard you from the disaster outside. But they donât. None of it might.
Because heâs still right there, busting your glass heart when you hear steps outside, nearing; closer, too close, the corresponding voice hesitating for not a momentâ
âOpen⊠open, please.â
And suddenly, youâre crying.
There is no warning, no quiet tear falling, no steady progress. The stream of shock and grief is immediate, and it leaves your eyes, passes your cheeks, collects at your chin so fast that you barely notice the door blurring.
Youâre sobbing; your forehead collides with the cold of the door, the carvings unpleasant against your skin. Where are your kids? They must still be asleep. Or maybe somebody is already â hopefully â taking care of them.
Jaehyuk gets all moody when Jungkook or you stay away for too long. You donât think he should be this attached to you, to not learn to trust others. But trust is fragile and the child seems to know and⊠and⊠you know as well. You wish you could be as oblivious as him, though.
The world doesnât work that way. No, itâs cruel and painful and everything good spoils someday, becomes rotten.
Doesnât it?
Why does the voice on the other side cut you in pieces?
God. You want to return to your children. You want back to what you had last night; you crave their warmth, and his warmth. Of your children, his children.
But wouldnât it remind you again? That the number isnât uneven as you thought. That thereâs more out there; he has more pieces out there that youâre not part of and⊠fuck. Fuck.
âI d-do not want to,â you finally reply, stuttering, words cut.
He silences. Maybe because he can hear you weeping. But he tries again, âPlease⊠open.â
You shake your head against the door, but you know such a choice wonât lead anywhere. Heâll stay right there and youâll keep telling him to leave, and despite his guest downstairs, heâll persist.
So your hands sneak to the handle, weakened by the shaking. Jungkook doesnât barge in until the door cracks open a slit; and when he steps into the room, you tumble back, out of his reach.
You donât want his embrace. You donât need his arms.
No, thatâs a lie.
You do, but you canât brave them right now. Body weightless, you rely on your voice, stating, âYou never told me.â
His face is fallen, cheeks rounder when he looks to his feet. Theyâre flushed; the hue is so different from what youâre used to seeing. Itâs always accompanied by a smile and crinkles around his eyes, sometimes shy, sometimes delighted.
This time itâs something else. Embarrassment and guilt and pain.
Thereâs a crease between his eyebrows, smoother due to your quiet tone; but itâs still there, distressed. Pained when he admits, âI didnât know. I didnât know a thing.â
âWho is she?â
He knows that, at least. You need to move away from pointless questions and throw those that youâre certain he possesses knowledge about.
He says, âSheâs somebody I knew⊠so long ago.â
A thought after another creeps into your head, like a parasite, feeding on your sanity. You feel crazy and sick when a horrifying idea makes its way through, but you canât resist the question regardless of the answer.
âWas she⊠was she one of the people you tried things with? To escape townâŠâ
âNo⊠she wasnât part of any of this.â
And you cannot say if this is better or worse than what you expected. He wasnât as terrible as to try with this many women. But if she wasnât part of that stupid plot, and you were, does this place her higher in worth than you?
You werenât good enough to be approached without a deal. To be fallen in love with unintentionally. But she was something else. It seems there was something, right?
But heâs with you. He chose you. Youâre his wife, the woman he spends his days with, the only thought in his head. Heâs loved you throughout the years; heâs devoted to you like the moon to the stars, not to her.
And heâs standing here, his eyes begging, his fingers quivering. Youâre the subject of his desire and the name in his heart; he never even mentioned her. Fuck, he breathes for you⊠but you canât seem to breathe.
Youâre the mother of his children, yes. But so is she.
âDid you⊠did you get with my sister or me to forget about her?â
Fuck, youâre breathless. Why are you breaking like this? Why does the moment feel like this? When is it going to be over? Will you wake up easier?
âNoâŠâ he says, shaking his head immediately, âno. You know how it started. It had nothing to do with her, just with himâŠâ
âSo what?!â you spit, unable to contain yourself, somehow not affected enough by the big, sad eyes, pleading and fearing. âWho was she?â
It hurts. It hurts not only because of the obvious circumstances but â your love was born out of a facade, out of a lie. Even if he loves you genuinely now, even if youâd die for him without hesitation â the two of you happened as part of a different purpose.
But she never did.
She was real. Whatever he had with her or felt for her, it stemmed out of something authentic.
Your face heats up when you inquire, ââŠDid you love her?â
âIâŠâ He hesitates. Fucking hesitates. But then says, âI didnât.â
âYouâre lying.â
You donât know if he is. You can usually tell; this seems a little more complicated. One, youâre clouded by your own judgement. Second, the situation isnât easy; Jihyo so obviously belongs to parts of his history.
Jungkook insists again, âI didnât love her.â
âBut you felt something.â
âI donât know,â comes back, and something inside you falls, even if it shouldnât, even if you had nothing to do with whatever was before you came along. You hate it, but you canât stop yourself from plummeting face-forward into pain when he says, âBut she was nowhere close to where you are now. Or where you were even back then.â
Can you believe this? The but pierces through you, repeating in your mind, as if saying, âNo, she was less than you, but still something.â How do you know none of it will return with a child present in his life?
âBut she was enough for a child,â you retort, âand⊠I donât know how careful you were with others, tooâŠâ
âI was. I was careful.â
âBut not with her!â
He doesnât respond. This isnât you; you donât make others feel bad. You endorse empathy and joy. No, this isnât you and it frightens you. If you had it in you right now, youâd take him into your arms. Heâd deserve it, considering that heâs as surprised as you, falling as much as you.
Suffering like you.
But your thoughts are going haywire, and they keep falling out, âI thought I was the first one. I wanted our children to be our firstââ
âI thought so, too,â he defends, âitâs what I would have preferred, baby, I⊠If I could justâŠâ He gulps; itâs as if you can hear it from afar, in this quiet, empty room. Thereâs a pause between his words before he steps closer, whispering, âPlease, I love youââ
âNo, IâŠâ You back away again. Shield yourself. You canât take a single touch right now.
âCan we mend this?â Jungkook asks; the question splits you in half.
Because what could you do, really? This very real fact looms over you, might do so forever.
âMend what?â you echo. âThat you have a child with another woman? What is there to mend? This is reality and you cannot undo it.â
When you look closely enough, his eyes shimmer with tears, too. The sparse sunlight seeping through the windows for the first time in hours upon hours highlights the glimmer, but thereâs nothing soft about it. You recognise dread in it.
Jungkook has been abandoned before, and ever since he married you, heâs been just as afraid, too. It took months and years for the two of you to find a remedy, to decrease the terror. To make him trust your presence entirely. To help him understand that youâre here.
Now, by the looks of it, it seems he isnât sure anymore.
He tries again, desperate, out of his mind, âJust somehow. Somehow, we can fix this, right?â
âFix what, JungkookâŠ?â
âPlease.â
Youâre moving in circles. He keeps imploring you to reconsider, and you remain clueless about what exactly heâs begging for. You just want to know where this is going. Who she is. Who she was.Â
âPlease whatâŠâ you whisper, eyes drifting to the ground. âWhat are we going to do about it, Jungkook? Itâs important to think about, rightâŠ? Who was she to you?â
Who she was?
Jungkookâs memory is fragmented.
Pieces of what she really used to be to him evaporated long ago, just when he turned to look at her properly for the very last time on that warm early summer night. Back then, her smile was fake, apologetic, as if sheâd committed an unforgivable crime.
As if sorry for wasting his time, for hurting him, for watching him leave when she wished for him to stay a little longer.
A similarly sad smile, yet so different in nature, appeared when she greeted him so gently in the hallway today. He was frozen in the staircase, stuck on that damn smile that haunted him for weeks and months back then, trying to understand whether she was actually here.
Wondered how he could make her disappear again. It wouldnât fare well with how he lives his life with you now, he already knew. She was interfering.
And⊠the familiar smile told him she wasnât here to deliver any good news. And even though he doesnât remember it all anymore, he hated how the expression brought back the flood of past images.
The first fuzzy image was of a smile, too, albeit incredibly faded. More optimistic, tender. Enthusiastic, craving the solace and joy of the night as much as Jungkook had.
She stood on the far opposite side of the spacious hall back then; even through the dancing couples, he could see her gleaming, absorbed in a conversation with her dearest friends.
Jungkook had seen her before; perhaps once or twice, but he could barely remember her face. It was as if he was actually looking at her for the first time that night. He didnât think she generally attended too many parties; and when theyâd crossed paths before, theyâd probably been a little younger.
He justâŠ
He couldnât remember her being this striking.
He couldnât recall the dimples or the vibrant smile or the sparkle in her large eyes. Far away in the room, Jungkook lightly bit his lip as he observed, cocking an eyebrow when she gasped to something her friend had said.
As if he was standing next to her and hearing it, too. Mimicking her reaction, caught in a bubble.
And it took her a little to notice him, too. But when she did, her friendsâ eyes followed, an immediate elbow teasing her sides as much as their words. Jungkook could only imagine what they were saying.
What are you looking at?
Is it your turn already? With him, yes?
Oh, and the season has barely begun!
He could read parts of it off their lips. Lifted his ego a little. But he averted his eyes nevertheless, despite the resistance in his movements, only to shift back every now and then.
To his chagrin, the night didnât offer too many opportunities to near where she stood, but as the event snuck to its end, at least a sliver of hope twinkled, even for just a minute. Approaching the carriages at the same time, he found her waiting not too far from him.
Her family was missing just like his; but he was comfortable here, staring at the sky, breathing in the late spring breeze. But her gown, while heavy, wasnât accompanied by a shawl, her arms bare.
He used the chance to ask, âArenât you cold?â
She stared up in surprise, not quite expecting a conversation. Yet, smoothly, and either bold or courageous or sweet, she answered with a confidence so enticing, âHmmm, no. I guess I felt warmed enough throughout the night.â
Interesting. So very interesting.
Jungkookâs lips twitched upwards, an enthralled smile; his voice sounded somewhat different when he asked, âIs that so?â
âMhm. Iâll thank you another day, though.â
Behind her, her folks neared, and he looked ahead and then down, smile still plastered to his face. Even when sheâd left, the sparkle remained in his eyes.
That was it for now.
Jungkookâs and Jihyoâs paths crossed again merely a week later. He understood in that time apart that the tiny interaction had caught him somehow; he was relieved when he saw her again at the next party.
Brave, he joined her where she stood, scanning the finger food before settling on some tartelettes. Heâd been hopeful throughout these days, yes, but Jihyo didnât show her face too often; so he didnât lie when he confessed, âI didnât expect you here.â
âWellâŠâ she answered, âI hoped to see you. I told you Iâd want to thank you.â
âMhhh, Iâm still not sure what for, though.â
She shrugged her shoulders, smile so vibrant. âIt was a pleasant night. I felt warm throughout.â
Sheâd said the same thing last time, waiting at the carriage, moonlit and breathtaking. He smirked a little, satisfied by the flow of the dialogue; then argued, âBut it is the summer season. Heat is all that is ahead.â
ââŠIsnât it?â
Something stirred in Jungkook. He wouldnât analyse her words on other days, but her expression was telling. Made him fearless, whirling his mind as he asked, âHave you explored this place yet?â
âNo. I never get to do so much. But,â she said enthusiastically, licking cream off her snack. Jungkook couldnât look away. âI wouldnât mind walking around. It is hotter inside anyway.â
And matching her fierce response from before, Jungkook added, ââŠI doubt it.â
He was right. Sheâd prove it quick minutes later. In the backyard, stopping in the middle of their walk, he felt the warmth, the heat when she pushed him into an empty corner, lips crashing against his.
Jungkookâs blood scorched indeed; the outside wasnât cooler. In fact, it burned. He burned. And she burned, too. Her skin, her shoulder, the mounds of her breasts underneath the dress that he pulled down.
There wasnât any room or chance to proceed too far, but somehow, Jungkook was content with this.
It made him crave harder; and he enjoyed the feeling. The temptation. The yearning for all he hadnât yet seen, yet felt. He hungered for her; she was the opposite of what the world held, brought him excitement.
Today, he doesnât know if it was this very exhilaration or the need for distraction or something else that dragged him back to her over and over again. He recalls his heart nervously jumping, but he canât recall it blooming. Never the way it did with you. Never.
But she still evoked something different. Reprieve from his days, his sorrows, the grief in his big, old home.
He never told her any of this, but he assumes she saw. Sometimes, sheâd raise his chin when they met in private, mouth breathing close to his, asking if something was wrong. Heâd deny. Heâd dive into her eyes and lips instead, forget about it all, enjoy her empathy.
Sheâd somehow worry, he thought, and then kiss him, tell him it was alright, no matter what it was. That she was there. And heâd appreciate it. Would like the warmth, the care.
And still, heâd go home to tears, suffer all over again. But when he fell asleep, heâd think of her, forbidding the last thought of the night to be anything dreadful, anything but the same pretty smile.
She offered madness. She offered humour, sweetness, and most of all, relief.
Jihyo always refused to walk around town. She never hesitated to decline his offers.
Jungkook was alright with this; didnât question her rejection at first; he didnât know what the two of them were, anyway. There were fuzzy feelings somewhere, something twinkling in his mind and his guts and his chest.
He didnât think love felt this way, however.
He regarded love as a much stronger sentiment than what they had. What was it that they indulged in anyway? Ablaze days and nights, baring themselves behind locked doors, lips on her skin, her sides, her waist, her flesh. Hands on, under, between her legs.
The digits would dig into her hips and remain; his tongue tasted her up, up and down, in and out. Taking in her scent, lapping her up, showing her new things. Body against body. Buried in her, glued to her â could that be love? No.
It was just that, wasnât it? Yes, heâd stopped meeting other women. Yes, heâd be distracted at events.
He would spend his time with his boys, but let his mind and eyes travel far from them; even the presences hiding in those halls that heâd usually mock or annoy or disregard, projecting his own insecurities onto them, dulled.
Jihyo was beautiful. Jihyo captured focus. And he called Jihyoâs name until he even muttered it when alone; she breathed it until he could only hear his own name in her voice.
But.
It wasnât love. Even today, he knows it never was.
Yet, even then, he could imagine this for a while. If he couldnât love her now, he thought, maybe he could love her some day. He couldnât tell, but he could imagine it. Who knew?Â
Then again, it seemed he would never find out, anyway.
Some days, some time later, Jungkook eventually started thinking how odd it was that Jihyo never wanted to go out. To tell somebody about them; would it be so bad?
He presumed it was because she didnât want others to know. He understood, truly; at an age where people would pressure one into obligations just when they saw others together, he didnât want them to rumour yet.
Then again, Jihyo and he were connected somehow; sometimes he thought that was enough, too. Deep under the sheets so often, sharing stories sometimes, and perhaps they werenât for the public to hear.
And there was something mysterious about them that nobody would understand, anyway. He couldnât wrap his finger around the mystical nature of the two of them, but he started to understand she had him good.
YetâŠ
Yet. Something was wrong with her. So entirely wrong when sheâd keep him hidden in rented rooms or in the dead dark of the night.
When sheâd refuse his offer to promenade through the park, be fully against his invitations on some days without a proper reason at all. Or, when sheâd skip events that she promised to attend, and then told him she hadnât been sick â just not in the mood.
And one day, he decided to ask.
A very futile intention; the urge to ask was quickly overshadowed by kisses too intense. He already wanted to see her again even before the evening was over, no matter what sheâd answer. He was already dreaming of her body, despite towering over it right now.
Would these dreams ever stop?
His nights were sleepless anyway, just like this approaching one. Hands on his own skin, today replaced by her, pumping and fondling. All over him when he climbed onto her and pushed in again.
He couldnât free himself of the itch she caused just yet; kept scratching. Then again, he was so clueless about who she was at this very moment. Fond of her, but confused, too.
Aware of how much he thought of her, but having no issues retorting things snarkily, like when she mumbled underneath him, âYou canât live without me,â and he effortlessly rose from her neck, swollen lips answering, âOh, I can.â
And he could. They were confusing in nature, but he knew that he could.
Because she was veiling something that he thought might distance her from him, so he started keeping himself mentally distanced either way. Even though it proved harder these days.
But the two of them were still something. They got along; there was humour in this, attraction and fire. And he felt heavenly inside her every damn time.
In the midst of it, he told her, âWe could try harder.â
Perhaps she misunderstood; perhaps she couldnât read his eyes and his tone yet, because she pulled him closer, deeper. He let her. Wouldnât voice these thoughts properly again until he dropped next to her and said, âI like spending time with you. And I want to try more.â
He didnât notice right away â her hesitation, her silence.
It took a second to even look at her; and when he did, he recognised the sudden guilt in her eyes instantly. Remorse, pain. Like heâd just broken something with his idea that sheâd kept whole. Only now, she couldnât save it anymore.
He didnât know what it was, so he wondered, âWhat is it?â
âIâŠâ
Then again, it wasnât hard to figure out anyway. He deduced, ââŠYou donât want it.â
âItâs⊠not that I donât want it.â
âI mean. Itâs alright, you see? We arenât this far, so if you want to reject this, I do understand. I will live.â
âI might have to reject it⊠you, Jungkook,â she confessed, and he had to admit that he wasnât overly enjoying what he was hearing, ânot because I want to, but itâsâŠâ
And the universe had cruel ways of interrupting. Always.
Because her words halted somewhere between him and her and then vanished into thin air. Cut by strong, arhythmic knocks at the door. The sudden interjection startled them, dropped the quiet hearts into the pit of their stomachs.
As the door worked on being unlocked, she whispered a tiny, anxious, âPlease⊠you might get hurt.â
And Jungkook understood; jumped off the bed, slipping into his trousers within seconds before dashing to the back. The wardrobe was empty, ideal to hide; itâs what he knew she wanted, for him to stay anonymous.
Jihyo, still bare, sat up on the bed, and Jungkook, in the dark with only a gap to observe the outside happenings, waited. Waited until the door opened. Until a man, more or less a stranger to him, only minimally familiar, stormed in with furious eyes.
He didnât stall a second before his anger ambushed her. Jungkookâs fingers tingled to crash the door of the wardrobe open; even from here, it was abundantly clear that the man struggled to not hurt her.
But right now, he relied on the fury in his tone; Jungkook assumed it was a brother or friend raging about her indecent behaviour. But it soon became all too obvious that he wasnât. Somebody of such a relationship doesnât snap like this.
No, Jungkook understood. Knew what the issue was when the man asked, âSo youâve started getting naked for others? Is that it now? Thatâs what you whore have been doing?â
For othersâŠ
She tried, âListen, Iââ
But he cut her off, âNo! I promised you everything. Why do you despise me so much? You couldnât wait for us to be wed, but needed to satisfy your needs elsewhere? Why do you despise me, huh?â
Jihyo didnât hear much of what he said, zeroing in on specific statements, and whispered, âYou do not give me everything. Not even close.â
Fuck.
If it wasnât clear already⊠Jungkookâs mind spun.
Jihyo was promised to somebody else and was using Jungkook with a purpose and intention, as a means of fulfilling whatever she needed to fulfil. And heâ he was the homewrecker, the third wheel, not her focus the way she was his focus.
Despite the mistakes heâd ever made, despite his damn flaws, he never wanted this.
What was he? A placeholder? Thrown aside the moment sheâd marry him? Why was it that Jungkookâs existence was regarded as something so low, stomped beneath peopleâs feet, like he was nothing at all?
Who knew? There wasnât even a second to think about it, to ask about it.
Priorities shifted, inquiries shoved away; when the man reached low, snatching a patch of her hair to pull her off the bed, sirens chimed in Jungkookâs head. It still mattered to him, not seeing her hurt; but his instincts were deep-rooted.
Nobody, including Jihyo, should have to experience this.
So Jungkook pushed the door open, met with a gasp, surprise and wrath. The man didnât need to ask who he was or what he was doing here; he knew immediately, more than cognisant of the wretched situation.
Jungkook was ready to throw some insult onto him, words already on his lips, arms reaching out to defend her. But he didnât need to; the guy had already let her go, taking a swing within a second before his fist landed on Jungkookâs jaw.
It couldâve been worse; he couldâve broken it. Jungkook knew right away that the damage wasnât as terrible as it had the potential to be.
But his tongue still felt warm, tasted metallic. He took a deep breath through his nose, dizzy for a moment, still sane enough to hear the stranger say, âYou can have the slut.â
There was another blob of disgust landing on Jungkookâs face; no doubt that the man bid him farewell with one last literal spit on Jungkookâs cheek. Then, the door fell into its lock, and it got quiet again.
Or⊠not quite.
Jungkook lacked words; there was nothing to say anyway. He was the culprit after all.
Worried hands settled on his body; he didnât notice how much heâd sunk to the ground, one knee hitting the floor. But when the exploring fingers touched his waist, up to his armpits and his elbows, he stood tall again.
She was trying to lift him. To check for wounds, despite the clear drops of scarlet red he was leaving on this rented roomâs floor. Eyes shutting for a second, he slapped the concerned palm off his arm, dodging it when she came back with a quiet, âJungkookâŠâ
âShut up.â
âPlease listenââ
âListen to fucking what? YouâreâŠâ
There was no ending to the sentence. He didnât know what she was. A fraud, maybe. But he didnât have it in him to insult her somehow; perhaps because she, too, was already in enough pain as it was.
When his eyes opened, they glared. To his feet, to the side, into her wet gaze. She was nearly hiccuping, but he couldnât get himself to give into the empathy entirely; the anger simmered in the pit of his stomach, threatened to come to a full boil.
Yet, he registered when she said, âHe doesnât treat me well, heâ heâs controlling. And emotionally abusive, heâ please,â she grabbed his hand, but he pulled out of her grip, âI canât marry him, not ifâ not if Iâm scared he might raise his hand at me.â
âThen donât fucking marry him. You have this choice,â Jungkook said, spitting into the corner; the colour was disgusting. âControlling and abusive, however? You sound perfect for him.â
âI donât⊠I canât. I canât stay with him, but Iâ I could stay with you. I would.â
Jungkook scoffed. She had to be joking. Undoubtedly; there was nothing in him capable of believing she meant this. Not when sheâd refused just this idea mere minutes ago.
He shook his head; he wouldnât have any of this. Even if she left this man⊠even thenâŠ
He couldnât do this because she made him do something so easily that he abhorred. Heâd seen the love between his father and his mother before, and then witnessed the hatred between her and his uncle.
After all these years of affliction, he knew the difference between love and despise.
Knew where affection could grow, where it would wilt. Where itâd be replaced with hostility.
She wasnât made for him; he wasnât in the mindset for her. And he was wrong after all; he didnât love her and he never could have.
âPlease, donât go,â she begged as he picked up his clothes, wiping his mouth on the bed sheet, ready to leave. âPlease, Iââ
She followed him all the way to the door; Jungkook resisted each push and pull, charging towards the exit with resolution. And when she blocked the door for too long, sobbing onto her body, he fletched his teeth, sharpened his jaw, clasped her wrist before he turned her around.
Arm pinned to her back, cheek pressing into the door, she kept crying, and then, finally, sighed. She gulped; then lowered her face, forehead to the cold of the wood, and too courageously as always pleaded, âBe with me one last time. Just⊠just once.â
And her tone⊠her voice⊠her curling fingersâŠ
They tempted him. Something about this, something about her tugged him in again, like an invisible force. And for the tiniest moment, he hated himself for thinking this way. But deep inside he knew the truth.
That he still craved her. Still wanted to feel her once more. Still hungered to bury himself in deep, leaving scars and marks as if to punish her just once. ButâŠ
But he remembered. Sheâd turned him into somebody he wasnât. So he couldnât. Heâd carry the regret to his grave.
So he let her go, using the moment of weakness, shoving her away slightly â she let him. She understood to give up. And he, with a coat over his shoulder, left.
A hand over the bleeding wound, and the other over his injured mouth.
If he wakes up now, you wonât be able to take it.
It was already difficult, breathing through every second of the rest of the day. Overthinking, but never quite processing the information you received. From the very moment you woke up to the story Jungkook narrated and everything that followed, the seconds have been hell.
Everything⊠everythingâ
The remaining conversations. With her, with the village bartender he expected. You donât know how he survived any of it, functioned at all; using his brain at full capacity, reading through papers when you were sure the letters were blurring in front of his very eyes.
And how he looked at you after he was done and returned to you, reaching for your limp handâŠ
The hurt was prominent, your heart still reluctant, but you let him; what good would it have done to send him away? He kept coming back. Sat there for an hour until you told him to tend to his guest, to discuss whatever he needed to.
Truth was, you didnât want him to go⊠but you didnât want him near, either.
Your mind kept circling around a hundred and thousands of things. The woman sitting downstairs, fiddling and nervous, the child still next to her. Possibly bored. Sheâs aware of her past as much as you are, of the role she played. Of the hurt she caused.
The more you think about it, the more it pains. The more it seems like a tragedy, like an anti-fairytale. Fabricated.
So unreal.
Itâs as though thinking it senseless could make it less real. Youâre married to him now, but you still feel small, shrinking, insecure and hurt and unable to make any of this coherent.
You needed silence today. You wanted your mind to divert, conjure different, more pleasant thoughts, memories of better times. But this proved worse; so somehow, you ended up overthinking the situation to death.
You donât want the children to wake up again. Hana is fast asleep, Jaehyuk dozing. It was Jaehoonâs subtle whimpering that finally shifted your attention twenty minutes ago; your arms were too weightless to carry him, but you did, swayed him, blended out your brain with his sounds.
By now, heâs already drooling over you again. You hope he stays just like this; hope Jaehyuk doesnât notice the empty side of their crib.Â
Thereâs something about this, the twin intuition. You had heard about it before, but it is truly fascinating, the way they communicate. Youâre still baffled that Jaehyuk stayed as unmoving as he did when you pulled his brother towards you, comforting yourself with his warmth.
But you have to admitâŠ
Youâre exhausted. More so mentally than physically. Your body yearns to drop. The up and down pacing only drains you further.
You should set him into his crib again. Heâs fast asleep anyway; everybody is. Just you arenât. And your husband isnât.
In fact, heâs not even in this room with you. Heart palpitating and chest paining, youâve been waiting. He slipped in and out of the rooms you were in for hours, and you kept sending him away, sickened by the apologies, not even certain what exactly he was apogising for.
For having a child? For once tending to secret meetings with a woman you donât know, ambiguous about what he felt for her? You donât know.
AndâŠ
Honestly â your heart isnât splintering because he made a mistake, really, did he? You and him were nothing back then. No. Youâre fractured because of your own damn expectations. And because you wanted life to lead somewhere else.
You didnât want somebody to become such a part of your love and marriage like this.
You sigh to breathe out the ache, deep from your stomach, hoping itâll lighten the load. But it doesnât really. Not even Jaehoonâs little hand over your chest does, his head on your shoulder, the scent of his baby hair.
And once the door to the bedchamber creaks open, you donât feel relieved, either. Your heart stirs more, if anything. Scared your son might hear or notice, you hurry to put him down again, draping a blanket over his little body before you shut your silken robe.
Jungkook appears as if heâs lived a dozen lives in a day. His pupils have shrunk, shoulders low, hair as uncombed as in the morning. He didnât bother; as little as you. He halts when he sees you standing in the middle of the room, surprised about the random spot you chose.
Endless affection flashes across his face, transparent yearning, as though he hasnât seen you in days. Within a moment, the expression calms a little, and he pulls himself together enough to ask, âYou are still awake, darling?â
You hold yourself tight, as if binding your body together. Clearing your throat, you say, âItâs⊠I donât know if I will be able to sleep tonight.â
ââŠMe neither.â
âWhat happened?â
You gesture to the ground, referring to the parlour. Sheâs probably not even there anymore. She was all day; and she journeyed. She must be tired.
Jungkook explains, as if reading your mind, âJihyo⊠sheâs in one of the guest rooms.â You nod. He cards through his hair, continuing, âShe said the guy she was supposed to marry never told anyone what had happened that night⊠Iâ I donât know why. He never came back at all, but I figured that bit. She didnât want him to, and I told her he shouldnât have either way.â
He sighs; so do you. Feelings or not, you guess Jungkook has never been a bad person. It still feels odd. He then says, âAnd then she was abandoned by her family when they learned of her pregnancy and she wouldnât tell anybody who the father wasâŠâ
Of course not. Somewhere, she must have cared.
âThey sent her to some faraway aunt who was apparently a tyrant⊠and she ran away when her boy was a year old.â
Your dropped chin lifts, an immediate response forming in your mind. Your boy. Your boy, too. But you donât spill it. In truth, you donât even need to. As if written all over your face in big, bold letters, Jungkook sees right through you.
He halts, gives himself a moment to be sure itâs what youâre stuck on, and then tells you, ââŠI know but⊠I have no connection to him. She does. I have none at all.â
âShe does, and now sheâs here⊠actually hereâŠâ
âSheâs here because it was nearly impossible to survive for her,â he insists, the tone of defence sharp and clear, âbut somehow she still did. Itâs gotten more difficult now, however, andââ Heâs struggling more now; while some words pour out, others are whispered. Like, âAs the father of her child⊠she says it is both our responsibility to ensure he is well. ButâŠâ
As the father of her child, as the parents of their child.
Heâs not wrong; and you guess that if it wasnât happening in your own household, youâd be much more lenient about this. Youâd be nodding along, agreeing that a father should be present, that a child deserves it.
Youâve been part of an orphanage filled with lonely kids for too long to think otherwise.
But it surely is different in moments like these. You feel like a hypocrite.
âBut?â you prod.
âShe understands if I say no, too. I have my own family now.â
YeahâŠ
Did she need to tell him that? Did he know by himself; are these her or his words? You wonderâŠ
âYou say she always struggled,â you draw back to again, âwhy did she never reach out when she knew she was with child already?â
He rubs his eyes. Tired, his body somewhat more worn out than ever. Barely looks active; the shoulders are in an entirely new position. Or no⊠not new. Youâve seen it before â itâs just been years now.
âShe thought I wouldnât bother,â he says, âshe thought⊠Iâd abandoned her once and for all. Which I reckon I did.â
âAndâŠâ Youâre scared to ask. You swallow. âWould you have aided her? If youâd known.â
He quietens. Youâre not too fond of the hesitation loudening the silence. You know heâs thinking, eyes unfocused, imagining the scenario you narrated without probably really wanting to. You brought this to yourself, so youâll need to be patient.
And you are, until he finally concludes, âI would have⊠Iâ I would have felt like I owed this to my child. I canâtâ sweetheart, itâs not my nature, please understand. I wouldnât leave a woman alone with this if I was anyhow part of it andââ
âAnd⊠If youâd known⊠we wouldnât even have happened, right?â
Jungkook shakes his head again, the movements even lazier now. Youâre afraid he might drop and faint. But he breathes in, then out, uprights himself, âIt doesnât matter what would have or could have happened. I did approach you and I did fall in love with you and we did happen. Isnât⊠isnât that enough?â
You blink; then blink more. A shaky breath escapes your lips to keep your voice as steady as doable. âYes⊠I assumeâŠâ
Another pause. More stalling until the thoughts previously forming in your head become less of a tangled, messy garn and get clearer. You just do not know how to voice them; to keep the man who brought stars down to the ground to you whole.
You donât want to hurt him. But you donât understand how to handle the next few days any other way.
But you donât say it yet. You wait. Listen as he begs, âPlease tell me⊠tell me what youâre thinking. I donât know what to do.â
You lie, âI donât know, either, Jungkook.â
His strong hands get ahold of tufts of his hair again, butchering his mane more. The gesture isnât aggressive, but he still looks so out of his goddamn mind. Desperately, he steps closer, breathing, âYou know that I love you, yes?â
âŠYouâve seen needles at your seamstressâ place before. They always strike you as effective, professional. Sharp. The sting you feel reminds you of when her needle digs into fabric. Perhaps worse.
Perhaps itâll turn into a sword in a moment.
âOnly you,â he adds, but then halts, a shake of his head correcting himself before he tries again, âno. Only you and them.â His eyes briefly dart to the crib, a reminder to lower his voice, even though the shudder makes it hard. âI havenât thought about her in yeaââ
NoâŠ
âYou havenât thought about her once?â you interrupt. Itâs one of the things your derailing mind tried to convince you of today. That she never really disappeared. âThe woman you were involved with like this⊠you never ever thought of her or regarded her important enough to tell me about her? To think about her?â
And now heâs confused. Why do you keep asking questions? Youâre your own worst enemy, really. Then again, how does one stop this toxic curiosity from overflowing in a moment like this?
âI donât know,â he admits. Not a needle anymore⊠âShe might have crossed my mind as somebody who once existed in my life. Not in a romantic manner. Nor in a yearning manner. I did not miss her, you see?â
He moves closer, hands lifting. You only now see how pale he is, his skin so close, eyes nearly lifeless, but not quite. Theyâre still filled with so much emotion and pain as he continues, âAnd I certainly did not care enough to prioritise her over you anyhow.â
Palms cradle your face. Usually so warm and comforting, theyâre icy today, as if his blood has frozen in his veins. And he sounds so utterly dehydrated when he says, âShe was never important enough, noâŠâ
âIâ I see.â
He waits. His breath falls on your face before he runs his tongue between his lips nervously. His waterline is damp, but holding back. You wonder when he last ate, when he last drank.
You guess heâs not as concerned about himself when he requests, âTell me what you are thinking.â
A lot. Too much to condense into one single thought. But you still pick out one of the million swirling around and throw it out, âI am wondering⊠about what you will do now. I will assume you will help.â
You see how much he hates to admit it; you nearly take it back before he, however, tells you again, âI may have to.â
âAnd⊠if you do. What will it look like? Will youâ I do not know. Will you meet her regularly, send her money, see the child? Build a bond? Have⊠have two families on either side?â
âI d-donât think it will be like this, Iââ
âHow will it be then?â
His hands drop. He shuts his eyes, but opens them again a minute later. âI will provide⊠I might get to know him. But I do not plan on making them an integral, main part of my life. I donât want this to come between us or have the children think wrong of me, and⊠youâre my priority.â
You knowâŠ
As the wife of somebody like Jungkook, you have seen the hardships that come with a traumatised mind. One that so deeply fears he will step into his familyâs shoes, mimicking the misery he once experienced.
Heâs been afraid of passing on generational trauma for years, and he battled the fear⊠you know he doesnât want to start at zero. You donât want it either. And you genuinely do not perceive him as a bad father; quite the opposite.
Jeon Jungkook gives his all. He loves with his all. He worships with his all.
But you still think this needs time and patience.
So you confess, âI believe you⊠I do. I just. I think this will change things. I cannot stop thinking about you moving back and forth, nurturing two families, and yes, I am selfish, but⊠I always assumed I was the only one.â
Not before. Not long ago. But now.
You wouldâve been content with somebody like her being out there and never finding out about it. For the very first time in your life, youâre selfish, and it hurts, it burns, and you loathe that you cannot turn it off.
âI did, as wellâŠâ he confirms. âBut youâre the only one that matters.â
âWhat about your son? Do you have it in you to not care?â
âHeâs a child I never spoke to!â he argues, voice rising by an octave. âI just⊠fuck, I do not know. Baby, I⊠I donât want to be a pendulum. Iâm not swinging between two spaces⊠I will never perceive anyone as more important than you.â
âI see.â
Pause. Then, ââŠPlease look at me.â
You feel another clump rise to your throat. Itâs more dense this time, inevitable, and it affects your speech. Accompanied by something lifting to your head and making it heavier. You tell him, âI can't.â
ââŠWhy?â
âI just canât.â
âYou caââ He shifts, eager to bring you back to him; youâre already miles away and he knows. âBaby⊠Do you still love me?â
You could scoff. But you donât; instead, you feel the liquid starting to pour. Like the rain these days, less comforting now, it drops out of your eyes. You somehow very well expected it, but the amount of the drops still surprises you.
Like a grey sky indicating a gloomy day, yet not a reliable preparation for a downpour.
Your inhale is sharp, cuts the air, and your eyebrows painfully furrow when the tears collect. You answer, âOf course I love you, Iâ Fuck, of course I do. Itâs why this hurts so much!â
âI⊠I know.â
His gaze is similarly wet, suddenly an ocean, but he blinks the despair away before he crushes you in a hug. Jungkook is never afraid to cry, but restraining himself is something heâs practised for the kids⊠and even for you, it seems.
Shit, butâ youâve told him so many times. So many times to not hold back for you. You donât either. You donât either, right?
âI know,â he repeats, âIâ I donât know why these things happen, Iâmââ
You shake your head against his chest, sogging his clothes as you mumble, âI canât blame you, can I? It was your past, yes, but I wasnât part of it, and⊠itâs still so much.â
âFor me, tooïżœïżœ for me as well, darlingââ
âI justâ I think I need distance, Jungkook.â
WaitâŠÂ
Whaâ
Thatâs when the world stops spinning, frozen like his blood. The heart he has so gently guarded so far detaches from the rest of what lies beneath his ribs, and jumps into his throat, pounds in his ears.
The profound hope that he misheard you is needless, he already knows. Heâs been hyper aware of your every movement and word today; he knows what you said and he knows heâll have to let you. ButâŠ
ââŠWhat?â
The decision still leaves him stranded on an island. Away from this house and you and his children. Desolated, he as its lone habitant. And the image is surreal.
âI need to go away,â you elaborate again, digging deeper into the wound. Can he rewind the morning? No. You add, âJust until you have this sorted out with her and itâs done, andââ
âI have,â he carefully voices, convinced, so, so convinced, âthere is nothing more to say.â
But youâre not with him just yet; you argue, âBut she should stay for a little, shouldnât she? I⊠I am not too fond of the scenario, but from an empathetic perspective, you should know about your son. Be in the loopâŠâ
Yes, you do hate the idea. Yes, it contradicts your distaste for the image of him walking to and fro between families, providing and keeping her in his life. But, after all is said and done, his son will still be his son.
And you are only heartbroken, not heartless.
âI justâŠâ you continue, gulping. âI canât be here while she is. And I donât want you to send her away already, either. Her journey seems to have been long and⊠sheâs just trying to live.â
âWhere⊠where do you want to go?â
âHome.â
The resolute tone you decide on hurts. Not because heâs against your family or your place back in the city, but because you seem to have thought it out already. That you want to leave. That you want to be away from him.
The woman that latches onto him the moment he crawls into bed after work; from the man who clutches your body throughout the night, wakes up delirious from your scent.
It stings. It burns.
âJust for a little,â you say, as if to cure the injury. âI⊠I need to be away.â
Jungkookâs throat is knotted up and dry. He almost doesnât dare to ask, but he knows heâll keep wondering when youâre gone. So he spits, âAnd then?â
âAnd then⊠I will see.â
Doesnât matter anyway. He guesses that the wondering part wonât change, no matter what he inquires, no matter what you respond.
ââŠWhy does this sound like a possible goodbye?â
He might faint. He doesnât know how long heâll have to be awake without you. Doesnât know whatâll follow this disaster. Doesnât know anything. Most of his life, heâs been haunted by this uncertainty, and he hates the return of it.
And youâre not saying anything; the moment gets worse as you close your eyes for a bit, staring down, unable to answer because you probably donât know, either.
ButâŠ
âPlease say something,â he urges, abandoning questions and pleas, diving straight into statements as if this could make them definitely true, âyou⊠you will come back. You wonât leave after this.â
Thereâs agitation in your voice, merged with desperation when you speak again, âJungkook, I can only think so far right nowââ
âNo, pleaseâŠâ
âWhat do you mean, plââ
âI canât lose you, no matter what.â
âBut right now, I canât take this either, Jungkook!â you snap. Perhaps itâs his big eyes throwing you off guard or the unknown future or the fresh hurt. Something in you breaks as your voice starts to vibrate, eyes watery. âI donât want to beâ another. And I canât fully make you abandon them either, and⊠I still donât know how to live with such a change andââ
And. And. And.
The list goes on. Thatâs the problem. Itâs an overwhelming mess, a never ending string of thoughts.Â
As the light in your eyes dims, usually so blindingly bright on other days, Jungkookâs eyes overflow. First a single drop of a tear, then half a dozen. He blinks them away, but suddenly thereâs a river across his cheek, collecting to a sea at the chin.
And you look similar.
Shattered like glass. Your broken pieces are tiny; they resemble dust. God, albeit without a single intention, Jungkook has hurt the wrong person.
Desperation at the front of his tongue, he doesnât know what to say. Nothing more to do but to revert back to pathetic beggingâ
âPlease⊠donât go.â His voice quivers, the sigh even shakier; his soft hands, the ones that held you just last night, rub his face in anger towards himself. âItâs who I used to be⊠I didnât know.â
âYes, itâs what used to happen, bâbut it doesnât hurt any less, fuck, andâŠâ Breathing is as hard as speaking. Your tears run again when you add, âAnd what if there are more? What if more of them come knocking at our door and we donât know yet?â
His chest is rising high, falling low. Lower lip never still. You know panic is growing beneath his chest, and you want to wrap your arms around him, keep his pure heart from breaking. But what can you do?
Yours is splitting, too.
Worse when all he whispers again is, âPlease donât go.â
Itâs a hopeless attempt. You know; you hear it. Heâs still trying but heâs not truly expecting you to change what you decided on. Yet, you ask, âPlease understand.â
Heâs still not moving; but you think he understands indeed. Because he nods. Doesnât look at you anymore. The sniffles are familiar, painful as he questions, âWhat about the children?â
You feared this question. The delivery of it proves harder than you thought; your tongue nearly gets tied, âI⊠I will leave the twins here. Travelling might be difficult with both of them when I am alone.â You look to the wall; to the little beds on the other side of the room. âCan I take Hana with me?â
You know itâs killing him as much as it is messing with you. You know what it means when he breathes in, but doesnât argue with you as he nods again. Jeon Jungkook loves you; he loves you to every end of the universe.
And youâll love Jeon Jungkook for the rest of your life, too, despite it all.
But this is needed.
He asks, âHow long will you be away?â
âI donât knowâŠâ you admit. âHopefully not long.â
âI see.â
âI am sorry.â
All grand arguments end in silence or insults or apologies. There are no more words to utter. Jungkook is at a loss for hope, at the far end of a tunnel. If he could still convince you, he would; but your decision sits.
So all he manages isâ
âI am, too.â
Thereâs a nod. Your tired eyes. You looking to the side, then to the bed, approaching it a moment later with a body falling so weightlessly. When he joins minutes later, youâre turned to the side, and he watches the back of your head, the mane falling, urging to touch it just a little.
But he doesnât.
Instead, he turns away, too.Â
Until you fall asleep and for the rest of the night, you donât feel a touch on you as you do on other days; but relying on your remaining senses, you do hear the sniffle. Do register the movements next to you.
One more time for a little, approaching while.
The place is empty when Jungkook wakes up. Heâs woken up three days in a row now, and heâs never wanted to â every damn time, the place would be empty.
And he canât breathe.
Ever since she stepped over the threshold and re-entered his life and you chose the sheer opposite, he hasnât drawn a proper breath. This isnât how things should be. Theyâre switched up, plainly wrong.
The room is empty; it has been this vacant before, but the void is yawning now, tormenting. Feels like it might never end.
A couple sunrises ago, you left with a lasting, gnawing touch. Before you stepped down the porch, your palm lay in his for a minute; despite the hurt, you still seemed to want to leave remnants of what he means to you.
Your hand was warm in his; and your eyes, albeit filled with some sort of cold distance, still carried some of the warmth, too, your gaze glassy. You were pulling yourself together so well. For him, yourself, the confused child clinging to you.
Hana thought you were visiting the grandparents out of nostalgic longing. She thought sheâd be away from him for a fleeting moment. Sheâs too young to understand the passing of time, after all.
So she didnât complain, but she looked dissatisfied. Unwilling to embark on this little vacation. Pouted at her father, but listened to her mother.
For her, he was keeping himself whole, too â but when your fingers slipped away from his, the heat still lingered. Like a red scald, as if heâd held his palm into a flame. Perhaps thatâs what set him off.
Perhaps just as much as when the hole between your bodies widened bit by bit, and you disappeared in the distance after the carriage had engulfed you. The impulse to run after you grew consistently and rapidly, but his feet were cemented to the spot, legs stiff.
When the carriage turned, however, and only then, they carried him down. There was a faint sound in the background, like the whispering breeze of autumn, and Jungkook barely understood what it was until he realised his lips were moving.
It was him, not the wind.
Him, in a quick downward spiral, bedazzled by the lunacy and the tears obscuring the world; repeating something he knew you were already too far away to hear. You wouldnât register any of it anymore; he hoped youâd feel it somehow.
âPlease, donât leave,â it was, wasnât it? A desperate, âWhy would you leave?â
The echoes in the mansion were suddenly much more prominent. Not just of his steps; his own voice in his head had an echo, too, but it was a lot louder, pure torture. Pressed against his ears, as if he was falling from the clouds and into burning hell.
The sounds were blocked by nothing but the wind.
This has been feeling neverending ever since. So infinite.
And maybe itâs this very horrendous fear that disables his lungs; that he might end up like this, without your touch, without your smile, without the future he drew in his mind every single day. It always, always contained you.
He loves you; heâs told you so many times, but itâs never been this apparent. And itâs drying him out, the goddamn loneliness. Blocking his throat. Shit, this place he settled on for you and his family, to give you the best life possible â its vast size is backfiring.
Becauseâ
Fuck. Fuck. What is a spacious room good for if he canât fucking breathe?
There isnât anybody in here to hear him panting, surviving; he forbid it. But the loneliness dawns on him again, and he chants with tears dropping on the ground, not making any particular sense, over and over again, âDonât leave. Please. Please donât leaveââ
As if his brain got stuck here the moment you left, playing the pleas on loop to drive him insane. His own brain is driving him insane. The betrayal is beyond belief.
Heâs losing his mind; heâs well aware of this. Pondering, thinking whether the empty rooms in this mansion compete with the vacancy in his mind. Maybe not.
Because the mental rooms are plenty; his hand trembles to push down any handle on his way. Thereâs this long corridor, leading to these rooms, and whenever he does find the courage to open one, he finds himself in a void.
And he opens them every day, all the time. When heâs asleep. When heâs eating. When heâs wandering around, downing yet another bottle. Always hoping there are scenarios where youâre still with him, in his arms, leaving the pain behind to steer towards the same eternal love youâd been targeting before you left.
But he comes out hopeless each time. And itâs cruel, how vast the corridor is. As if his mind is deceiving him, making him believe thereâs a future somewhere that youâre in⊠but your absence says differently.
He understands; the rooms in the mansion are empty because youâre physically gone, but the ones in his mind inhabit only him because the joyful hopes faded the moment you stepped into the carriage.
Now theyâre filled with darkness and fear. What if you donât come back? What if you do, only to deliver words he doesnât want to hear, and then to depart again?
He hears nothing but his own voice in those rooms, and it keeps convincing him of his own barely-there worth, and that he always fucks up and that people leave and that they stay away. Convincing him that this is it.
This is how his life was supposed to go. To lift him up, but then to throw him into purgatory again because somehow, this is what he deserves. Karmic payback.
The times he ever stops hearing these accusations and destructive statements is when other sounds interrupt them. Which has been rare, since heâs avoided conversations and social touch, except for when it was necessary and the village demanded it.
Luckily, this hasnât been the case, and heâs been able to wither in peace.
There are still exceptions. He still has his children. He remembers; he tries. But his body is frail. Attempts its best to keep him a good father, like now.
Now, when it reacts to the incoherent call. Itâs a quiet cry, a sign of waking up; Jungkook canât remember arriving in his bedroom, but he knows exactly heâs here when he hears the sound.
Ah⊠right. He told the maid to get them to sleep and then bring them to their crib only ten minutes ago. He did, right? Thereâs been plenty his imagination has been conjuring, but the conversation feels real.
Even in a state like this, he doesnât think heâd ever leave his children alone in this room, if he could prevent it. Sometimes, staff is around. Sometimes, he is. Sometimes, you are.
Were.
Right. Right. You might not return. But then again, you will, wonât you?
You love your children as much as he does; youâve given all of you to the boys as much as you did to him and Hana. They have captured possibly bigger pieces of your heart than he has. You will return, even if just for them.
And thenâŠ
What if you take them with you? Or, what if you leave them here? What if, either way, he has to live a life without you?
These little pieces of him would remind him of you, too. Theyâre part of you, theyâre half of you â but heâd see the entirety of you in them. He does even now as he walks over, watching Jaehyuk stir and Jaehoon weeping.
He hasnât woken up his brother, but he surely has shot an intense ache into Jungkookâs chest.
Looks like you when you cry. Is this odd? Is it even possible, comparing such round, young features to your more defined ones? He doesnât know, but he canât unsee it either way.
And his hands burn and pain, his eyes on fire when he lifts him up, whispering Jaehoonâs name with a shush. Thereâs a change in behaviour immediately, but itâs not enough. The sobbing turns into quieter cries when he sees his father, butâŠ
Thereâs something else Jungkook interprets.
Your scent is still everywhere. And for those few days, their way of feeding has been slightly different, too. Theyâre probably noticing the sudden shift. And yes, Jungkook offers comfort, but your absence lingers, and they understand it as well as he does.
âIâm hereâŠâ Jungkook whispers, standing in the middle of the room. For a second, Jaehoon grips the strings of his fatherâs white cotton shirt, but then his lips arch downwards again. âI know. But I am here, you see?â
As Jaehoonâs sorrow doesnât lessen, Jungkook sniffles, too, lifting his head for a moment to prevent the tears from falling onto his boy. He takes a couple steps back until he plops back on the bed. Offers a hand to Jaehoon who wraps his tiny fingers around one of Jungkookâs.
Jungkook shakes his head, his sigh tired, and then opts for a nod instead as he repeats, âI know. I donât think itâs enough either, me being here.â He gulps. âAnd her being away.â
His throat clogs up. He clears it, the tremble coming back to his lower lip as he asks in his sonâs direction, âYou miss Mama, donât you?â
And as if aware, Jaehoon cries harder again, winding in Jungkookâs arms. He doesnât know what to do to calm the tantrum, doesnât know how you do what you do that heâs not able to do. He doesnât think heâs failed as a father. He doesnât think of himself as incompetent.
But heâs helpless without you. The two of you operated as a unit so far, as one big part of this universe. With half of it gone, he feels like heâs lacking half a brain, not quite functioning.
So he adds, âI do, too. Believe me, I miss her so much, tooâŠâ Ongoing crying. âI know.â Ongoing crying from both sides. The adult and the child, hurting the same. âI am sorry, sweetheart.â
And heâs not sure who heâs saying it to. To Jaehoon; to Jaehyuk. To Hana. To you.
To the hurting child he used to be, and the longing young adult that craved for too much. Heâs apologising to everyone and over all the mistakes heâs made, all the regrets he carries with him.
And as he does, heâs not certain when his cries overshadow the ones of his son, or when the latterâs finally stop, only Jungkookâs misery still sounding. He doesnât know how to stop this from hurting and how to nurse two children in a room without you, because youâre a piece of thisâ
Youâre a piece of the picture. With you ripped out of it⊠isnât it too lonely?
It is. God. God, the void swallows him whole.
And he doesnât know what to do. Doesnât know what to say. Doesnât know where to go and how to bring you back; if he ran to your city now, where the two of you grew and loved, would you appreciate it or hate him more?
WaitâŠ
Do youâŠ
Hate him?
He doesnât know. How could he, sitting here, breaking down, mind all empty yet filled. Cruel. This is cruel.
So cruel how he forwards his mood to his children the way he learned never to do. How he canât breathe, canât think. How his words lose their meaning after a while, yet stay a mantra, still true but so out of your reach.
Iâm sorry.
I messed up.
Iâm sorry.
Please come back.
Your seamstress is as clueless as you'd like to be.
It's probably part of her occupation, the cheerful, sweet, chatty nature, or perhaps, she's in that line because of that very characteristic of her. She's always been like this, so you shouldn't have expected anything different today.
It isn't as though the world joins you in your grief just because you're feeling it. Earth keeps moving.
Coming back home alone was hard. Hana was asleep most of the time, but the moment she woke, she sought his presence profusely.
You wonder if she noticed why he kissed her goodbye so often and told her he loved her a dozen times and gulped down the first hints of yearning with a clogged throat and damp eyes.
She probably doesn't know. His adoration was quieter than hers â because she wailed when he didn't come home, hated the surroundings she'd already seen before but forgotten.
Her father isn't around and she's angry about it.
Maybe you should've left her there. She isnât as connected to you as she is to him, and while the twins might notice your absence, they won't quite make sense of it yet.
And you, you're stuck in this absolute consciousness that comes with adulthood, aware of everything.
Aware of where you are, who you're with, who is missing. Aware of how you won't be able to weep in your sister's arms forever; so aware that having beautiful dresses sewn won't bring you permanent satisfaction.
But everytime you think back to the last days, you break. The picture of him home alone, theories about what he might be doing, how he might be coping. Whether he's crying like you, fallen like you, feeling incomplete because he's in those rooms with only half of him.
That's how you've been feeling. You're a fraction of yourself.
After three days of solitude, Hana has learned to settle on pouting. Itâs odd, the contrast between her and the town, always the same. The latter is as alive as you knew it. And Seung, the seamstress you used to frequent, is still the same amazing woman, too.
Grown, a little older, but the sheer opposite of a quiet Suhana, of a dejected you.
Your sister is holding Hanaâs hand, the other tiny fingers busy with the fabric of the dark yellow dress. Youâre in a cursory surface conversation with Seung, trying to be polite despite everything, asking how sheâs doing, how her husband has been.
She got married years before you did, and she was always incredibly vocal about her relationship with her spouse. Theyâve been a key and a lock; sheâs spread hope for love amongst many other girls before.
You were one of them. And the hope bloomed, even when you were met with hurdles and thought youâd end in misery.
In all honesty, you truly thought you were an exception to the many rocky marriages. Sure, you never assumed yours would end up a constant fairytale; Jungkook and you have your days, too.
You just⊠held onto hope, more so when you fell for him, and you never ever thought youâd experience such a low.
Seung still tires of babbling about her husband soon; she enjoys detailing her fabulous life, but she never makes the entire talk about solely herself. So you expect it when you soon hear a question back, âLord Jeon has also always been such a gentleman, too, though. I enjoy his company thoroughly. Is he not with you today?â
You barely manage the lazy shake of your head, but you smile to cloak the hurt covering your heart, flooding your insides. The agony is always searing; you feel it everywhere, as though a torch lit you on fire. Every damn mention of his name makes your body sink.
In this town, the people have gathered that heâs a fragment of you, that heâs right wherever you are. But not today. Today, heâs with somebody else entirely; it enrages you, and yet also reminds you of how much you miss him every sickening moment of the endless day.
But you still act as though the praise towards the wonderful man you know doesnât drag another knife across your heart. You suppress your tears and nod, agree with her.
Of course you do. You enjoy his company, too. Youâre not oblivious to your husbandâs charm; heâs the heart of every conversation. The poetry in every novel after all.
âHe did not join me this time,â you answer, smiling away the seconds to hide the difficulties in your home. Hana sighs, as though sheâs understood that something went awry; as if she doesnât believe it when you say, âBut perhaps next time!â
Perhaps. Hopefully.Â
Your sister brushes the topic off with a wave, focusing on the task on hand. You welcome the diverging topic, just in time for the finishing touches on the dresses you ordered. Seung asks you to slip into them for a final inspection.
The first one is a light purple gown; you do not have a clue where you might wear it, but you enjoy the feel of it. Your sister nods in approval, compliments, âThis colour suits you well. You havenât worn it in so long.â
âI have. I wear it a lot back at home,â you say, remembering a similar shade in your mansion, unaware of where your thoughts are heading until you say, âJungkook got me a gown in this colour once.â
She pauses for a moment. Seung fumbles at the hem of the dress, busy making it and you pretty; but your sister notices, sighs for a second before she responds, âHe has a good eye, then.â
âYes⊠he does.â
He likes you in almost every colour, though. Heâs baptised you with the name of the rainbow many times before. Thinks every hue brings out something different in you; and that you lend it some additional meaning. Your aura and your energy mix the colours in a palette.
âTo something new; to something special.â
You nearly whimper when his voice returns in your head. Despite the circumstances, all you ever remember it in is in joy. When his words are followed by a chuckle and dimples. When the bangs, not cut recently, fall into his eyes, like curtains.
You donât think of the shaky goodbye days ago⊠rather, you recall the moments before the world fell apart, drenched in sweetness and grace and warmth.
It becomes difficult to stand here, to let Seung fondle with the fabric. To listen to your sisterâs praises and watch Hanaâs feet dangle off her seat, hitting the leg of the chair with puffy cheeks and a jutting lower lip.
The view is already too much, and you close your eyes, blending it out. Which proves hard when your husband is mentioned over and over again; of course he is. Two halves of a soul⊠of course he is.
Itâs been like this at each visit, so nobody would expect things to change this time.
And every damn time his name falls, Hana looks up. Big eyes, akin to a doe, personifying hope and love and yearning. If⊠if there was a way to contact him and let her talk to him for only a minute, you wouldnât hesitate.
In fact, leaving her there with him couldâve been an option. But you need some comfort, too, donât you? And he might not be in the proper state to take care of anyone right now. You intensely hope he is looking after himself.
But she keeps sulking. Despising the distance as much as you fear it, asking over and over again, and your dam only breaks and overflows when you step down the podium, asking, âDo you like this?â
And she, uncaring, shrugs, asking, âCan we go back to Daddy?â
You take a deep breath. Your skin tingles, a wave of discomfort filling you head to toe. Head heavy, you yet again register the change in your throat and voice, holding back as you try to pacify her, âSoon, darling. Weâre just visiting aunty and the grandparents for a little, remember?â
She does, but it doesnât help. Somehow, it makes her pout harder. Yesterday, she was crying; now, sheâs handling the bad mood differently. Maybe this is worse. You thought children forget, that they distract themselves easily, but Hanaâs affection is infinite. Integral to her.
How could she forget? You know who youâre talking about. How could anybody forget about him, ever?
You tuck in one of her black locks, inquiring, âWhich dress do you reckon I should get?â
Another shrug. Seung tries, âWould you like to take a look for yourself, as well?â
âBe nice, Hana,â you say, âdo you want to? You can say no, too, though.â
It takes a moment until she looks up. Her eyes change when she sees the variety presented to her; as if she didnât regard any of it since you stepped into the shop. But eventually, she says, âAlright. I will.â
She hops off the chair, small hand in Seungâs palm, walks around to take a look at her choices. Her forefinger is hooked in her mouth as she focuses, only coming out, slightly damp, when she points at something she likes.
Your seamstress approves of most of what Suhana prefers before moving to the colour, âWhich one shall we pick for you?â
âI like them all,â Hana says. Itâs tough to choose until it isnât. Once sheâs settled on one, staring at it with intensity, you understand sheâs decided, calling for you, âMama.â
âYes?â
âThis is Daddyâs favourite colour.â
A tender shade of sea green. Sheâs right, itâs his favourite. Or at least a preferred one. You guess you canât escape him, no matter how much you try, no matter how many miles you leave between him and you.
You ask, âDo you want to take it?â
But she seems unsure all of a sudden again. The finger has dropped with her expression, and she digs the heel of her shoe into the floor, yet nodding, âYes⊠I want to surprise Daddy.â
âHe will love it, baby,â you say, blinking rapidly. You point to the colour she chose. âThis dress then, please?â
âCertainly. Measurements?â Seung says, material already draped over her shoulder; she walks over to the measuring tape, readying herself butâŠ
Hana has long lost her motivation again. You see the light dim with each second, and you prepare yourself to convince her to bask in the excitement a little longer. But she wonât. Instead, she declares, âI donât want to.â
âWhat?â Seung voices. âIt only takes a momentââ
âI donât want to,â Hana repeats, âI want to go home.â
âThe dress?â
âNo.â She inhales, arms dangling at her sides, the childish whining painful when she pleads for the millionth, aching time, âI want to go back to Daddy now.â
Fucking hell, Suhana, how?
How do I take you back already?
If you could, youâd step out and curse into the world. Heâs too far away. Youâre too far away.
You left with a purpose, bid him goodbye to find peace within yourself. Peace with the fact that a woman is probably still sitting where you have welcomed guests so happily before. The woman that presented him yet another child, his blood and soul.
How do you explain to your daughter that returning might hurt worse than being here, and that his expression will shatter you? That heâll fall to his knees again, remind you that nobody has ever loved a girl before like he loves you.
That nobody will ever find this much adoration again. But that then, a second later, youâll remember that until you die, you wonât be the only one anymore?
How do you cope with this? How do you bring your child back into this home, in a mood like yours, without a solution just yet?
In that house where heâs grieving like you, youâll hear the echoes from everywhere, and the pain will intensify. His touch might linger on you, and the walls will scream and the bed will scream and the rooms will scream.
Yell the memories you made there.
The dinners you shared. The food he fed you with his spoon. The times heâd spill soup on you in the process and laugh it off, crack a dirty joke when the tissue drew over your cleavage.
And the times he kissed you at his office door, promising heâd be in the bedroom soon; the times you still knocked an hour later because he isnât just a good husband and father, but a good leader for his people, too.
And⊠andâŠ
The bare skin on the mattress next to you. Warm, sweet, hugging you in, lips on your shoulder, your back, your ear, your body. Engulfing you. Under you, above you, with you. The whispered words and the promises.
Vows that he fulfils during the days and the nights. Raising his children with deep-sitting sentiments, turning his own pain into power and using it to bring happiness to them and to you all the damn time.
Sleepless nights, giggly days, dances in empty rooms and conversations in laughter and tears and hurdles and successes.
Every wall and bed and room will scream out the question whether you remember.
Do you remember it all? Everything youâve become with him in all those years. Do you remember? Do you? Will you ever forget?
Everything falls. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth. Your damn heart.
And itâs then that you canât take it anymore. Maybe because you see him in your own daughterâs eyes; maybe because she keeps trying to manifest him, as if heâs right here.
So you break. Quietly but aggressively, grabbing her hand as you say, âEnough. No dresses for you. Weâre leaving.â
And you do. Suhana doesnât like the way you pull yourself and her out of the shop. Itâs not painful and youâre not violent or rushed; but maybe she hears your altered voice and sees the torment in your face, because she keeps calling for you until youâre home.
Your sister attempts her best to distract you, promising sheâll grab Hanaâs gown before you leave and whatnot â but youâre lost in thoughts, still overwhelmed by a flood of memories. You donât snap at Hana, even though she taps your wrist, asking why youâre mad and where Daddy is, and once you enter the hall in your previous house, you finally snapâ
âGet yourself together!â Youâre glaring. You never usually do. âI cannot fly to him. Practise patience for a while, alright?â
It shuts her up, but it does something to her expression, too. Sheâs tearing up, sniffling all of a sudden. Close to breaking, too, when your mother comes out to greet you, and you ask, âCould you just⊠could you play with her for a bit? Distract her? I justâŠâ
âYes,â she immediately says, offering Hana her hand, who takes it reluctantly. Sheâll be a little angry at you for a few hours. Wonât want you near her. So she obliges. âTake your time, love.â
So you do. Instantly so. Your sister helps, dragging you up to your old room by your elbow, just in time before you finally break down.
She wraps her arms around you as your tears cascade, your chin on her shoulder, shaking, hands unsteady as you lower the sound of your sobs. This isnât your first time crying here; but itâs the first time the tears blind you entirely.
Your sister lets you mourn for a while, rubbing your back, sitting at the edge of the bed as she mumbles something you canât make sense of. Sheâs always been good at comforting you, but this time, she doesnât know much about the issue itself. Unable to say much.
Instead, she asks, âThis isnât just a casual fight, is it? You had a very bad one.â
âIâm justâŠâ you try, but she shushes you again, tells you it is alright to take your time. You gulp, then start again, âI donât know what to do.â
âIt is this serious? What happened?â Sheâs concerned, but curious, too. âYou still donât want to tell me?â
You shake your head against her shoulder, and she sighs. You say, âI need to figure this out with him first. UnbiasedâŠâ
âI understand. I am here, though. You can stay here or with me⊠Seokjin knows, so he wonât mind.â
âBut⊠I justââ
âThese things happen, love. You know it. Marriage is all compromise and patience.â
You know. Of course you know. Didnât you have these same exact thoughts all day? Youâre aware of the basic foundation of marriage, but that doesnât mean it hurts any less.
âDoes it⊠always work out?â you ask.
âPerhaps. Perhaps not. I have a strong feeling that he and you will.â
ââŠWhy? How?
Maybe sheâs saying it because sheâs trying to lift you up. Maybe itâs part of comfort, to say things people want to hear. But your sister isnât this type of person; youâve appreciated her straightforward nature since the beginning of time, and if she didnât believe in what she said, youâd consider her switched with somebody else.
Which is why you trust her words when she speaks, partly because the sincerity seeps through them from beginning to end, or because youâre well aware of this universal truth, âItâs rare⊠seeing somebody love like this even after years. Of course thereâs always affection, but⊠sometimes love fades. His doesnât. He really does feel strongly about you.â
ââŠHe does.â
âSee, youâre not doubting it. Maybe thatâs enough for now.â
You would never leave such a statement open to debate. Even if a dozen women stood at your doorstep, reminding you of his lustful past and little mistakes, youâd send them away with a nonchalant wave.
Yes, the situation now differs from such a fantasy to its core, but even then, you know to trust in his heart. Itâs just the future youâre scared of. The back and forth, the facts presented to you; in the form of a memory and in the form of a child.
Breath heavy and chest aching, you tell her, âI just donât know what to do.â
âI donât know either,â she admits, voice quieter now. âButâ my first instinct would be⊠to tell you to go home. I think you need it. Your actual home.â
âAnd then whatâŠ?â
âWhatever your guts tell you to do. What are they telling you now?â
You puff out an exhale; youâre sick of crying. Your head hurts, as if devoid of oxygen. âThat I am scared.â
She nods, well aware, digs further, âWhat else? If you think about the situation, do you see a solution at all?â
Thinking about it⊠thinking about itâŠ
Properly pondering, you guess youâre not quite at the end of the road. Thereâs a wall in front of you, but itâs shrinking; if you give it an actual thought and look up, you might be able to climb over it. Itâd just need⊠inhumane strength.
âMaybe⊠in theory,â you say. âPerhaps.â
Short pause, silence cutting the air. Itâs still light outside, but the sky is grey again. No birds chirping, streets and alleys quieter. You think you hear a couple voices, a carriage passing under your windowâŠ
You miss the noise. You miss his voice.
You miss the way he sighs in the evenings, staring into a book you might have annoyed him into reading before looking up, noticing your gaze. Smiling at you, overwhelmed by love, leaning in as the novel closes and his lips openâŠ
So your answer shoots out of you when your sister asks, âWhat else are you thinking?â Clear and ardent and brimming with certainty as you sayâ
âThat I love him.â
The smile she flashes is tiny but telling. Something blooms in her eyes, as if filled with hope, and the little, unconscious gesture, manifesting in her expression, returns the longing to your heart.
A thumb wipes your tears before her hand covers yours, and with a voice so soft and gentle, she concludes, âYou really do. Go back, yes?â
And you donât have it in you to consider her wrong anymore. No matter the hurt, you donât think you should stay any longer at all. You wonât deny that you needed the escape for a bit; but maybe this suffices.
And in hindsight, maybe you knew how this would end all along.
THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ đđŒ
tumblr doesn't allow making very long posts due to the 1k block limit, so you can find the rest of the chapter and its 7k portion in this reblog! <3
#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#bts smut#bts angst#bts fluff#jeongguk smut#jungkook x reader#bts x reader#bts x you#jungkook x you#jungkook fic#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook smut#jungkook#jungkook series
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can you write roommate!alexia smut
caught in the act | a. putellas x reader
â You catch your roommate Alexia touching herself to your photos.
tags: roommate!Alexia, barçaB!reader, smut, masturbation, mentions of fingering, mention of age gap, a bit of degradation and dirty talk, not proofread đ wc: 2k+
Alexia hated having you as a roommate.
It wasn't because of the fact that you had a bad habit of putting off washing the dishes until the next morning; she learned to deal with it and wash them for you whenever it did bother her. It also wasn't because you were always watching Netflix past midnight, at full volume while she tried to get enough sleep for early morning training the next day, fully knowing the walls between your rooms were paper thin. She's learned to fall asleep to the sound of Brooklyn 99 or whatever American TV show you were addicted to at the time. It wasnât even the fact that sheâd have to set her alarm at least 30 minutes ahead of the usual time sheâd wake up just so she could force you out of bed so you could both attend your respective training sessions on time.
Instead, she hated how oblivious and clueless you were to how she felt about you.
Just now, there you were in the living room watching a dumb show on Netflix as you simultaneously swiped on Bumble. She hated seeing you looking at other girls, or even getting all dolled up for dates with other girls.
She knew your type. You liked tall, fellow athletes with great style. She wondered why you never noticed her when she fit your type so well. She rolled her eyes at the sight of you fiddling with the dating app and just wanted to return to her room but you already noticed her presence.
"Hey, Alexia." You said calmly. âCome over here.â
She sighed. "Yeah?"
"What do you think about her?" You said as you chewed on the chips you were loudly snacking on. (That was another thing Alexia let you get away with â snacking everywhere and anywhere leading to a mild ant problem.)
Alexia sat beside you on the couch and leaned in to look at your phone. It was someone from Levanteâs B team. Alexia frowned. She had to admit. This girl was undeniably hot with her tattoos and fit body but she knew she looked just as good as this player. If not that, she sure as hell was a better player. That should have been some merit to her.
"Sheâs okay..." It was all she could say to you. She didnât want to come off as the jealous roommate.
"Really? I kinda think she's smoking hot." You said with a confused look. âSheâs the hottest player Iâve played against on the pitch.â
Alexia rolled her eyes and wanted to make a snide comment but let it slide.
âShe asked me out after we switched shirts after our match, and I smelled her shirt and it smelled good as fuck.â You shared, making Alexia roll her eyes again. âPlus, sheâs taller than I am and you know how thatâs my type⊠but our texts have been stale and boring as fuck.â
Alexia shrugged and tried to focus on the show you were shamelessly ignoring already. âThen just donât go out with her.â
You sighed. âYeah⊠but there is this rookie footballer I matched with on Bumble, she plays forâŠâ You continued to tell Alexia about the other girls you were talking to but she just didnât give a fuck.
She didnât wanna know anything about the other girls you were seeing while sheâs been into you for so long.
"Anyway, can you help me pick photos from my weekend trip with Emma? She's so great at taking photos that I feel like I have to make two separate posts on instagram just to include all of my hot photos." You said before giving your phone to Alexia. "Just swipe through them and heart all the photos you like."
As soon as she grabbed your phone, she felt her body heat up. The first photo of you was you in front of the pool with your arms up, laughing gleefully. You were wearing the tiniest bikini with a bra top just big enough to cover your nipples and that incredibly skimpy underwear.
All Alexia could think about was pushing them to the side and fucking you hard with her fingers.
Alexia blinked. "You're so...." She couldn't find the words. "Naked?"
You laughed at the older womanâs reaction. "That's all you could say?"
Alexia ignored you, completely fixated by the photos of you. Alexia liked the first photo and proceeded to swipe. The second photo was you with your back turned, exposing your ass. Alexia could feel her mouth salivate as the dirtiest thoughts entered her mind. She kept scrolling, admiring every curve and crevice of your body. She loved the way your boobs spilled over your bra and the way your thong rode up your ass and accentuated your perfect hips. She loved your collarbones but she loved the thought of marking them with her mouth more.
She was practically liking every photo, unable to think objectively of what works on Instagram or whatever. She loved seeing you this exposed.
"You never dress like this usually." Alexia commented, still going back and forth with your photos. She was pretending to be analytical with your photos but her mind was just filled with obscenities.
You huffed. âYou only see me in a kit or here at home when I dress like a slob. You donât know what I dress like.â
Alexia furrowed her eyebrows. âIâve seen you get dressed up for dates. Youâre not usually soâŠâ She shook her head. âWhatever. I never would have imagined youâd like wearing something so tiny.â
Alexia had to swallow as her mouth had been watering at the sight of your photos. You chuckled, oblivious to your roommate's reaction. "Well, you would know that I actually do love tiny swimwear if only you went swimming with us more.â
Alexia took a mental note to say yes to every opportunity to see you in a skimpy bikini. "Still, you never post stuff like this. You only ever post game photos or food photos. This is just out of character for you.â She added on. "You must be posting to impress someone, huh?"
You furrowed your eyebrows and rolled your eyes at her. "I feel like Iâm just more grown now. Like, grown enough to post more skin.â You explained. âBesides, canât I post for myself?â
Wish you would post for me, Alexia thought.
You looked over at Alexia who was still looking through your photos. "God, what's taking you so long? Mesmerized by my tits?"
"You're so cocky." It was all Alexia could say as she blushed. She felt like it was so wrong to be thirsting over her younger roommate like this but she couldnât help it. You were exactly what she wanted.
You chuckled. "I told you. Emma took really good photos of me! I know I look hot in those."
You looked through the photos Alexia liked and realized the only photos of you she didn't like were the ones where you were covered up. You stifled a chuckle. "Okay, I guess I should post these immediately since it would be so selfish of me to deprive the world of these photos any longer."
"So arrogant." Alexia scoffed under her breath but unbeknownst to you, it turned her on. She loved it when you got all confident. It made her want to praise you and degrade you at the same time. "I'm going back to my room to review some things for some brand deal. Text me if you wanna order food or cook for dinner later."
You absentmindedly nodded as you typed up the perfect Instagram caption and chose the perfect thirst-trap song to go with the Instagram post.
Alexia headed back in her room and immediately pulled out her iPad, refreshing her Instagram feed incessantly. "C'mon, c'mon..." She muttered under her breath. "Just post already."
Finally, your post popped up.
Alexia felt like she couldn't breathe as she was finally able to get a better look at them through the bigger screen. She was finally free to zoom in to your perfectly shaped tits without worrying you'd see. She bit her lip.
It was almost a built-in instinct or bodily response to her the way she immediately positioned herself in front of her iPad; she wasted no time. She propped the device on her bed, blasted a song loud enough to mask her noise, swiftly took off her bottoms, and eventually, guided her hands to feel her own slick with her fingers. She was soaked already just from seeing you.
"Fuck," She muttered as she began rubbing herself, looking at the photo of you on her device. She wished she could have a gigantic TV screen just so she could see more of you at a bigger scale. She wanted to be overwhelmed by the sight of you â to be consumed by your beauty.
She rubbed her clit in circles as she kept her eyes glued on the screen. She cursed again. She thought about your tits. She wondered how they'd feel in her hands. She wanted to feel the softness against her rough and imposing hands; she wanted to know if that kind of touch would make you whimper. She wondered what colors your nipples were and how they'd look and feel... and taste. She so badly wanted to push her tongue against them.
Her legs shivered as she imagined taking your breast in her mouth, sucking on it mercilessly as you moaned under her.
In reality, Alexia was alone in the darkness of her room â her tanned skin illuminated by the sole source of light from her device that blasted music to mask her grunts and the obscene sounds of her wetness.
But in her imagination, Alexia was in your room on top of you, sucking on your breasts as she positioned her knee against your core. In her imagination, you loved to beg and whine. So there you were, underneath her, squirming as she sucked on your nipple and used her hands to play with the other one. She just could tell you were the sensitive type and the idea of you almost teary-eyed due to sheer pleasure caused by her made her even wetter.
She opened her eyes once again to catch a glimpse of you in that one photo where you had a serious face as you slightly bent over. She groaned as she caught sight once again of the flesh of your boobs pressing against the fabric of your bikini. "Fucking whore." It escaped her mouth in a grunt.
In her imagination, you were dressed in the same skimpy bikini. She had your bra cups pushed to the side to grant her easy access to lick all over your boobs, leaving the occasional mark whenever she desired.
"Please, Alexia." She could practically hear your voice say it. "Fuck me now."
Alexia plunged her fingers into her cunt, causing her to grunt loudly as she pumped in and out of herself as mercilessly as she would have with you.
She was fixated on the thought of her fingers thrusting so hard in and out of you that your tits jiggled with every thrust. Alexia somehow felt you were the type to moan loudly, grab your own tits, and beg to fuck her deeper.
"Alexia! Fuck me!"
"You want me so bad, huh? You fucking slut?" She groaned under her breath, almost breathless and winded from how rough she was fucking herself. "I'll fuck you so hard, you'd go stupid."
"Alexia, harder! Please!" The imaginary voice in her brain told her. It felt so realistic
"Yeah?" She called out your name, almost in the form of an animalistic grunt. "You fucking want it harder? You a fucking slut for me?"
She increased the speed of her thrusting, causing her to moan loudly in succession. "Fuck," She said, followed by calling out your name. "Tell me who you belong to."
She pumped in and out of herself, causing her to convulse in the building pressure inside her. Her eyes were shut close but the photo of you in your bikini was permanently burned inside her mind.
"I belong to you!" Her imagination called out.
"Say my name then." She groaned.
"Alexia," It sounded so soft and gentle.
"Louder." She growled as she imagined that it was your pussy she was roughly thrusting into. Her legs shook uncontrollably as she felt herself approaching orgasm. âSay it.â
"Alexia?!" It was practically an exclamation. It felt so real that your voice echoed in her ears.
As Alexia opened her eyes, she was met by the sight of you standing at the door of her room with a shocked face. Almost immediately after, Alexia moaned out loud as her orgasm arrived.
It took half a second for her to realize that she wasn't imagining it anymore. You were there, standing and watching her fuck herself while her obnoxiously larged iPad displayed a photo of you.
"Oh shit." She was in trouble.
a/n: not proofread. part 2 anyone? (also thank u for ur requests!)
#woso imagine#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso fic#alexia putellas fic#alexia putellas fanfic#alexia putellas x y/n#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas smut#dividers by cafekitsune
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EPISODE 3: A TASTE OF HONEY IN DEFEAT
satoru thought he would have no problem winning a bet he proposed, but a month is too long to go without a taste of anything this sweet.
themes/content: smut. edging, handjobs, mean-ish dom!reader, satoru being whiney lmao, premature ejaculation + he cums inside, light bondage (satoru receiving). (wk: 2.1k)
a/n: this is part of @luv-lies no-nut-november collab!!! so excited to have been a part of this, hope you all enjoy >:3
âYou know I trust you, but donât you think the ropes are a bit much?â Satoru giggles as you tighten the final knot around his wrists, shoulders bulging and arms stretched overhead.
âI know you trust me - itâs you Iâm worried about, âToru.â
âWhat, worried I wonât be able to keep my hands off you?â The smirk painting his features veers into a grimace as he winces, straining against the tightening rope.
âNo. Iâm worried you wonât be able to keep your hands off yourself.â
Pink lips draw into a pout. âAw câmon, you know Iâll be good! Iâm the one who made this bet in the first place, remember?â
You hum as you tug his hands down, testing the strength of the woven cerulean adorning his skin. The headboard shakes with the movement.
âAnd yet, you were so willing to break the rules.â
It had been quite a sight, truly - your dear Satoru, splayed across the bed, whimpers and moans falling from his lips like honeyed rain. They landed heavy in your ears, sticky and sweet. When the door creaked open, he made no effort to stop the fervent motions of his fist up and down his cock. He was flushed from head to toe, too lost in his own pleasure to recognize the sound of your footsteps approaching. It was only when your hand rested atop his that he jerked up, clouded eyes turning apologetic.
âI know I wasnât supposed to, I know, I just couldnât wait-â he had babbled.
âItâs okay,â you purred, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. âBut you knew the deal, remember? Iâm the only one allowed to touch you this month, right, Satoru?â
âI know, I know, Iâm sorry-â
âAnd how close you were to cumming, too.â
âI wasnât going to, I swear-â
You hummed and squeezed his base, earning a gasp. âYou know itâs not good to lie, either. Remember, you made this bet, sweetheart. Were you really so willing to throw it all away? To lose?â
âI wasnât going to lose, I promise, I just needed something-â
He was getting worked up, panicked thoughts racing through his mind. He braced on his forearms to sit up, but with a purposeful push you guided him back onto the sheets.
âItâs okay, my love. If my poor baby is so needy, Iâll take care of you. Iâll give you something.â
His eyes widened when you pulled the ropes from under the bed, eyeing him like your next meal, a starving predator ready to pounce. And here was your prey, so ready for the taking, offering himself to you as a good piece of meat should.
And now, heâs tied up like one, too.
âI wasnât even going to break the rules,â he whines impatiently.
Sitting back, you admire your work: your strong, determined Satoru spread and waiting. Trailing a finger down his stomach, his skin burns hot in its wake.
âThatâs certainly not what it looked like to me.â
âI-â
âBecause to me, it looked like you couldnât handle going even a month without touching this needy little cock of yours.â
He pouts. âIâm not little,â he huffs.
A giggle bubbles from the back of your throat, bouncing past your lips.
âAnd besides, I can handle it, I swear! I made it almost the whole month, I did, I just-â
Tilting your head, you gaze down at him. âWhat, got too desperate? Poor Satoru, âThe Strongest,â couldnât even follow the rules of a bet he made?â
Blue flashes against white as he rolls his eyes. One hand ruffles his hair, cooing down at him.
âItâs okay, baby, Iâll make you beg to break this silly little bet of yours.â
âWhatever,â he scoffs, hiding the way pink creeps up his neck and decorates his cheeks, stained like flower petals. Heâs soft like them, too.
A light chuckle lands in the air when your palm grazes up his length. He twitches in your hold, warm skin on warm skin.
âH-hah, see?â His mouth hangs open between the words. âTold you I could handle it.â
Itâs gentle touches at first, to ease him into it: slow strokes, light fingers. And yet, heâs still wrapping his throat around whimpers.
âAw baby, I havenât even done anything yet.â
Your lips curl into a smile, breath hot behind them. The words come out syrupy, dripping in sugar (and Satoru has always had a sweet tooth). His stomach aches in hunger - hunger for your hands, your body, your control. Whatever you plan to do to him, heâll swallow it whole, bigger and bigger bites until his cheeks swell and all he can taste is you.
The grip around his base tightens, running up and down. Something about your skin is so much softer than his, untainted by the cruelty he lives through, only dirtied by desire. It spreads over his skin, glistening white and sticky.
When whines begin to twist through the silence, his eyelashes fluttering to bat away the impending tears, he doesnât have to say it - heâs close.
Just as his muscles begin to tense, you rip your hand away.
Thereâs a choked little cry he lets out, hurt like an animal you spared from death. One that was ready for it, for the warmth and comfort it provided.
âWhyâd you stop?â His voice is strained already, a high-pitched draw across his vocal cords. His eyes are sparkling and wet.
A peck to his cheek sends shivers down his spine. âBecause youâre not supposed to finish, remember, silly? Iâm just helping you hold up your end of the bet, after all.â
A sound like untuned violins, haunting and beautiful all the same, plays from his throat. You giggle at the music.
âCâmon, Toru - you wanted this, remember?â
âI know,â he grumbles, scrunching his nose. âFine, fine, do whatever you want.â
You smile.
(You would have anyways)
Your gaze falls upon the aquamarine rope, the matching eyes, before trailing back down his steadying chest.
It stutters when your fingers trace up the veins of his cock.
It heaves when you cup a palm around his balls.
You squeeze.
âF-fuck,â he groans, hips lifting off the bed.
Thereâs a word living at the tip of his tongue, its shape burning into his mouth.
Harder.
Luckily, you know your Satoru - you know what he thinks, feels, wants. And as a lover should, you happily oblige.
The sound he makes is garbled and choked, utter nonsense. It came straight from the depths of his body, a pure animalistic response, one he couldnât have controlled if he tried.
Already, heâs beginning to tremble in your palm - itâs getting easier to do this, make him shake like a lost leaf floating through the autumn air, held captive by the gusts of your wind. Up and down, he travels with you, because of you.
Again, you pull your hand away.
Again, he whines.
âNoooo,â he mumbles, more to himself than anything. It was automatic, the expression of displeasure, ripped from him with the loss of your warmth on his.
âWhatâs wrong baby? You want me to stop?â Itâs more fun when he has an out, when he could say no and chooses not to. When he wants this just as badly as you. âYou know you-â
âNo.â It's more breath than sound. âNo, please. Keep going.â
And as a lover should, you happily oblige.
Precum drips down his length, covering him in remnants of desire. They cling to his skin like silky webs, woven from devotion and need. Each slick pump of your hand up and down creates more and more and more, a beautiful pearl at his slit forming one moment only to be spread by your circling thumb in the next.
Each time you reach his base, you squeeze. Each time you reach his tip, you twist. In this dance you both twirl and breathe and feel in beat, holding on to one another with sweaty hands and tired muscles.
âRemember, you can give up whenever you want,â you coo, the sweet glue of a trap.
But Satoru doesnât dare taste, doesnât dare step inside - he knows better.
(Right?)
âIâm not - fuck - giving up.â He tries to throw you a smile, but it lands at your feet.
Fists clench into each other, nails digging into his palms. You almost feel bad, the way heâs beginning to writhe within the ropes. It must hurt, you think, the texture soft but never soft enough - itâs nothing compared to you. In spite of his anguish, he knows better than to give up this easily. You havenât even really begun, not yet.
When his eyelashes flutter closed, you know to pull your hand away.
Heâs getting more subtle, the only sign of his impending pleasure a soft flicker of white and blue. But you recognize it, of course - his pleasure lives everywhere in him. In the way his breath catches, in the way his skin burns hot, in the way he gets all too loud or all too quiet.
Thereâs barely a sound this time. Instead, he just frowns, displeasure spreading across his sweet features. His lower lip sticks out, and he stares at you with cloudy eyes.
âI know, baby, I know. But this is what it takes if you want to win.â
The words donât ease the growing ache in his core, but your voice does. Every vowel blurs the pain, every consonant gives him something to cling to. Heâll climb himself out of insanity on your breath.
Again, you wrap around him and drag him closer to the edge. Unable to pull his gaze away, he stares down it, looming, waiting. The free fall must feel nice, the wind against his skin, for a moment before he hits the ground. But with a firm hand on the back of his head, you just hold him there. Itâll be his choice whether he decides to jump. Or rather, when he decides to jump.
Another choked groan leaks from his lips when you pause. There are no words left for him to say, nothing but the agony of desire. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if itâll make the leap any less tempting.
Hushed whispers, not quite praise, tingle his mind. Little hums of âI know,â or âthere, there,â dance from your throat, and he writhes.
Distress always looked so pretty on him. Pretty tears, pretty red cheeks, pretty pouts and pretty cries. Perhaps itâs a curse that he looks like a fallen angel when he weeps - if he looked more grotesque, you wouldnât feel the urge to bring him back into the jaws of pain.
But he lets you comfort him nonetheless, preen his wings and kiss his tears.
This time, when you stop, he thrashes. His skin burns, crisp like it had been warmed by the sun for too long. Everything is too tight, his hands, his arms, his shoulders, his stomach. They need to be loosened; they need to be released.
âPlease.â
Itâs so quiet, itâs almost not a word, just little sounds from his tongue.
âWhat was that, baby? I couldnât quite hear you.â
Tears stream from glossy eyes when he looks at you. His lips quiver as he speaks.
âPlease, I wanna cum. Please.â
The smile spreading across your face is cold and knowing; he looks beautiful as he falls.
âI know you want to, but-â
âI lose.â Heâs panting, gasping through the plea. âI lose, I give up, I donât care, just, please.â
Hot tears melt beneath your thumb as you swipe them away. His mouth hangs open, as though he could swallow the air, hold it inside him and let that ease the aching. But the only thing that can help him now is you, the only thing he can stomach.
âOkay, baby. Iâll take care of you.â
A loose smile flows across his face, easy like gentle waves lapping at the corners of his thoughts. The sentence itself barely makes sense to him at this point, garbled in his lust-clouded mind. But he knows youâll help him now; he welcomes the push over the edge.
Straddling his lap, you guide him to your entrance. Sticky and hot, he presses into you. Just as his tip enters your warmth, he hurls himself into the wind.
Everything in his body trembles, muscles tightening and contracting out of time. Eyelashes flutter, whimpers dance like petals as he comes undone.
The only thing he can do is twitch inside of you, pearly strings pulsing with each erratic breath.
Finally, he opens his eyes to find you smiling. Warm lips press along his cheeks, dried tears salty on your tongue.
âWell, you certainly lost this time,â you hum, resting your forehead against his; he looks at you like you created the earth itself, your breath in the wind and your heartbeat in the sun. âBut thereâs always next year, right?â
#đ©nn ⥠collab event#q writes#oneshot#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#gojo#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#satoru x reader#jjk#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk gojo#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jjk smut#gojo smut
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141 What If....
You ask him to leave the uniform on? đ„”đ„”đ„”đ„”
I am feral over this. FERAL. Literally chewing on my own arm because I need to calm down. Your prompts always get me going. I totally blame you for this. Now, I went with a little variety here. We've got Kyle in formal military dress, John coming home from deployment, Johnny returning on break for a quickie, and Simon playing out a pre discussed fantasy. Enjoy!!!
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Female Reader
Content & Warnings: established relationship, CNC, breeding, restraints, welcome home sex, quickies, formal events, semi-public sex, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), sex in a car, dirty talk, brief knifeplay, light degradation
Word Count: 3.3k
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
Johnâs return is delayed.
He was supposed to come home to you a month ago. But it wasnât him that notified you about his postponed reunion. Someone from SAS contacted you via the post. The envelope held a singular piece of paper. No apology. Just black ink on a white sheet with an official letterhead. John has always been good about making sure you know when heâll return. It's something you constantly worry about.
While on a mission, you won't hear from himâthis you know. But whenever he is able, John makes an effort to let you know when to expect him or if he's okay.
To not hear from him is odd, and it stirs up all sorts of emotions, pushing your brain toward any number of possibilities. Each scenario appears briefly before sliding into another. They worsenâand then youâre sick, stomach twisted into a tight knot.
That piece of paper is on the kitchen counter. Untouchedâbut not forgotten. It said yesterday. And yesterday, John did not return.
Youâre chewing on your fingernails. Pacing. Stressing.
It's the familiar squeak of the doorknob from the front door that finally stalls your racing thoughts. All that mental energy becomes physical. You're sprinting, throwing yourself at John the moment he enters.
He chucklesâthe sound is pleasant and soothing to your heart.
âDidnât think youâd be home,â he says, drawing you close.
Your answer is to wrap your arms around the back of his neck, and seize a kiss from him that says so much. You need John to know how much youâve missed himâhow worried youâve been.
His hands on your hips tighten, squeezing slightly as he melts under your kisses. Each one is desperate. Needy. You savor him like youâll never know this again. John's grip on you is firm, and much stronger than you can resist. He draws you away from himânot enough to create a separationâbut enough to talk.
âSlow down, love. Let me look at you.â His hands move to your face, cradling your cheeks. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too," you reply. You pull him close again. "Need you." Just a murmur, hardly audible, but John hears it.
He does not resist. He gives in, accepting your love, answering every kiss and touch with one of his own. Hands roam, fingers cling, and yet you're not nearly close enough. You need him on his back with you atop him.
John breaks away, breathing heavy, lips slightly puffy from kissing you. "Bedroom."
You shake your head. "Right here,â you reply, going in for another kiss. âUniform stays on.â
The middle of John's brow scrunches slightly in confusion, but your fingers are already looping in his belt buckles, guiding him into the living room. That brief moment of confusion morphs into a sultry smirk.
John allows you to guide, allows you to push him onto his back on the sofa. His hands never leave your body, they roam constantly even as you undo the front of his pants and shimmy them down to mid-thigh.
You have him in hand instantly, coaxing him to hardness quickly. The need for him is a driving force, positioning yourself above him, ready to impale yourself.
John's hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your center. "Yourâfuck." The sound of your slickness greets him and John groans.
Placing your hands on his chest, John palms the base of his cock, lining it up. You don't slowly ease down. You drop, accepting every inch of him in one go. There is a brief flare of pain from the rapid intrusion, and then it's gone, replaced with the fullness of him inside you.
With your palms splayed wide, you're able to rock your hips, moving up and down his length in a steady movement that has both of you groaning.
"I missed you," he murmurs as you come back down on him. "FuckâI missed you."
Your thighs start to burn with every bounce. John's fingers dig into your hips, dragging downward before ascending again. With the next roll of your hips, John meets you, thrusting up. It cuts a sharp gasp from your lips.
He grips harder, taking control. You cling to the front of his uniform, fisting the fabric as John brings you down just as he thrusts upward. It is not sweet. It is brutal and desperate. Each connection drags more pleasure out of you until your head falls back and you clench around him.
With a deep groan, John sits up, and effortlessly flips you over onto your back. Pinned beneath him, there is nowhere to go. All you can do is take what he gives.
John buries his face against your neck. "Love you so much."
You hook your heels behind his legs, urging him on. "Love you," you manage to gasp.
It is all sweat and heat. John's lips graze the line of your throat and then your chin. You turn toward him, the two of you meeting as he holds his body against yours, his release flooding your pussy.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Kyle drapes his arm over your shoulder, tugging you against him, the noise of the function receding with every step. Usually when the two of you attend a formal function together, Kyle is in a suit, but this attendance was requested by Kyle's superior officer, Captain John Price.
Instead of a suit, Kyle wears his formal military dress. The uniform is freshly steamed and free of wrinkles. His shoes are polished to perfection. Like this, he's incredibly handsome. You've been admiring him all night, resisting the urge to touch him too much around people he works with on a regular basis.
"Can't wait to take this bloody thing off," sighs Kyle, lightly tugging on the neckline of his uniform.
You rest your head against his shoulder, savoring his warmth. "I think you look rather dashing."
"Dashing?" he laughs.
As the two of you enter the parking garage, you snag his hat, placing it on your head. Kyle's smile widens. He leans in for a kiss, greedily accepting what you offer him. Removing the car keys from his pocket, Kyle hits the button to unlock the vehicle. The SUV beeps, headlights coming on.
Kyle takes his hat back, holding it with one hand instead of putting it back on his head. He offers his mouth again and you close the distance.
"Can't wait to get that dress off you, love," he murmurs against your lips. âBeen thinking about it all evening.â
You place your hand against his chest. "I think I'd like it if you leave the uniform on."
Kyle nearly chokes. "What?" he draws back slightly.
With a mischievous grin, you tug Kyle around the side of the SUV. The vehicle is in a corner spot, leaving the two of you tucked between it and a cement wall. There is no camera and no light. Both of you are hidden in shadow.
No one will notice the two of you unless they come looking.
You lean in slowly, offering your mouth. Kyle places his hand on the side of your throat, thumb slowly rubbing against the front of your neck. The kiss is honey-sweet, and tinted with seductive need. You seek another, and yet another until the two of you are gasping for air.
"Not here," murmurs Kyle, drawing back slightly.
Your hand slides downward, pausing at his belt. Kyle whispers your name, but there is no fight in it. If anything, it is lustful. Fingers toying with the belt, you kiss him again, loosening the buckle and then the front of his pants.
Reaching your hand inside, you find him hard and wanting.
"Someone will see," he groans, grabbing your wrist.
"Who will see us?" you reply softly. Kyle's gaze shifts outward to the parking garage.
"No one is around." You start to descend, opening his pants further.
Kyle's attention returns to you. His pupils expand as you take him in hand, painting your bottom lip with a pearly bead of cum. You present your glossy mouth to him, and Kyle brushes the pad of his thumb across it.
You lightly nip at that thumb, and then take him into your mouth. Kyle stifles his groan, but it comes out as a muted whimper. He gently cups the back of your head as you suck him down, hollowing your cheeks when you come back up.
This is just a tease. You want his resolve to slip.
Kyle doesn't break eye contact. He is completely focused on watching you. His dick twitches in your mouth, and Kyle grunts.
"Fuck, love. Come here."
With gentle tenderness, Kyle grasps the back of your neck, easing you off him. You extended your legs, leaning into him.
His voice is slightly husky. "I can't wait until we're home."
Kyle opens the rear passenger door and helps you up into the seat. You slide backward to the other end, Kyle following. With a hand on your throat, he pushes you onto your back. These next kisses are rough and possessive. Hungry. Claiming. You open for him, wanting to consume.
His free hand is gripping your dress, shoving it upward where it collects at your hips. Your tongue meets his the moment his fingers slip between skin and underwear. It is brief, and then he's drawing back only to bury his face between your legs.
Digging your heels into Kyle's back to stabilize yourself, you give in, moaning loudly as his tongue swirls a path up and down your sex. He teases just like you teased him. But it is short-lived.
Kyle is desperate for you. He finds your clit and stays put, tongue working quickly to send you over the edge. Your body shudders, a breathy groan escaping you as the orgasm hits. Still on your back, Kyle ascends, one hand pressed to the inside of your thigh while the other finds leverage against the car door just above your head. You lift your hips slightly, presenting your pussy to him.
He takes the hint, thrusting deep.
He does not go slowly. It is skin slapping against skin. It is all low groans and desperate fingers. His body weight keeps you pinned, and if anyone were to open door they'd have a clear view of his bare ass.
"Don't stop," you beg. "Please."
Kyle's answer is to seize your mouth, to force his air into your lungs, to firmly press his body to yours and swivel his hips, pelvis grinding against clit. Your hands fall on his ass, and then he's transformed. An animal. Rutting.
Surely, the car is shaking, but you hardly care. You only want him to finish. To give you every drop of his release.
You feel his muscles tighten under your hands, and then your bodies are sealed.
There is a small pause between then and the moment he kisses you, this time tenderly.
"So much for waiting," you tease.
Kyleâs exhalation is a pleased one. "Just wait until we get home."
John "Soap" MacTavish
"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"
Johnny's smile is devilish. "Came to see you."
"Me?" you laugh. "You just saw me this morning."
"And it wasn't nearly enough," coos Johnny, grabbing hip and waist, tugging you against him. "Missed you the whole time. Couldn't stay away."
Before you can form a reply, Johnny is lifting you up and onto the kitchen counter. He pushes everything up and out of the way, revealing your pussy to him.
"Johnny!" you exclaim.
With one hand on your thigh, Johnny uses his other hand to remove his belt and undo the front of his pants.
"I came home to fuck my wife." You instantly feel your cheeks grow hot. With a sultry smile, Johnny leans in but doesn't close the distance. "Would you like that?"
You nod. "Yes," you reply, voice nearly a whisper. "Butâ"
"But what?" he asks. You gesture at him. "The uniform? That stays on, love."
Guiding you wider, Johnny circles your clit with the pad of his thumb. The touch is electric, making you shiver as he toys with your sensitivity.
"Look at that," he purrs. "Look how wet and ready you are for me."
You whimper as Johnny tests your pussy with a finger.
"I think this deserves something bigger. What do you think, love?" He inserts a second and you whimper again. "Use your words."
"I want you inside me."
"I am inside you," he teases, pumping both fingers.
You shake your head, gasping as his thumb toys with your clit. "Your dick, Johnny."
"That I can do." His fingers are gone instantly, replaced with the head of his cock. He holds himself just inside, inching slowly until you've taken him to the base. "We'll have to make this quick. Can't be late and disappoint Price."
Johnny lightly swivels his hips, and then he's holding you in place, thrusting steadily. He kisses your lips, then your cheek. Resting his forehead against your temple, Johnny boxes you in, using your pussy for himself.
"You take me so well," he says softly. "Watch. Want you to watch."
Your gaze shifts downward, locking on to where your bodies meet. Keeping one hand on the countertop to stabilize yourself, you bring the other between your legs, fingers lightly playing with your clit.
"That's it," purrs Johnny. "Come for me."
A brief swirl and you're gone, squeezing hard around Johnny. He fucks you through it, grunting as he increases his pace. With a moan that claws up his throat, Johnny seals your bodies together, and his warmth floods your pussy. He thrusts lightly and stills.
A beat of silence, and then you both burst out into laughter.
"Fucking hell," he mutters, shaking his head.
"You came all this way on a break just to have sex with me?" you laugh.
Johnny leans back, grinning sheepishly. He glances down at his watch, smile fading. "Shit."
He pulls out and steps back, fumbling with his pants.
"Are you going to be late?" you ask teasingly.
Johnny tightens his belt and then helps you off the counter. With a quick kiss to the cheek, he heads out the door.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Every light in the house is off. The blinds are closed and it's completely dark except in one particular room.
The deep red glow calls out to you like a siren song. You stride toward it, moving through the hall silently like a shadow. The bedroom door stands open, revealing the blood-tinged space. From your point of view, nothing is out of place. All is calm and as it should be.
But Simon is here somewhere. Lurking. Watching.
This is what you wanted after all. An idea you passed off to Simon with the hope that he'd indulge your fantasy. Clearly, he took it to heart.
Adrenaline spikes in your blood as your gaze focuses on the bed. Attached to each corner are wrist and ankle cuffs. To be immobile and bred at Simon's pleasure is all you asked for, and here it is.
As you step forward, a large gloved hand slides over the front of your throat, squeezing. Simon is right behind you, and you feel every inch of him. Without even having to look, you know Simon is in full tactical gear. Parts of it dig into your back.
The leather of his gloves squeak as his fingers adjust against your throat. With a little pressure, he tilts your head back and you meet his whiskey-brown eyes. It's all you can see of his face. The rest is shrouded behind a balaclava.
"Do as I say," he growls. "Or you'll make this harder on yourself."
His command sends a bolt of need straight to your clit. Already, you feel a growing slickness between your thighs.
"Answer me if you understand."
"I understand," you murmur.
Simon makes a pleased sound deep in his throat. His thumb rubs a gentle line back and forth over the same spot.
His head tilts, lips pressing against your ear through the balaclava. "Then be a good little slut and get on your back."
Using his leverage on your throat, Simon lightly shoves you toward the bed. This time you turn around, facing him completely for the first time. He's dressed in all black tactical gear. Every inch of him is covered except his eyes, and his large frame fills the doorway.
When you take a step back, he takes a step forward. The backs of your thighs hit the bed, and you push yourself up and on, reclining until you're nearly horizontal. Simon saunters, gaze predatory and observing. His gloved hands hover just above your legs, pausing there before he bends slightly, reaching for an ankle cuff.
Simon glances between it and you languidly. You're not sure what his intentions are, not until he grabs your ankle with his other hand and tugs hard. You yelp, surprised, and then you kick out, attempting but failing to free yourself as Simon attaches the cuff into place.
"You said you understood," he growls, as you sit up to swing on him.
Simon snatches your wrist right out of the air. He hops onto the bed, kneeling as he grabs one of the cuffs for your wrists. Still, you fight and still you fail as he latches it in place.
You're not immobile but you're more restrained than before, movement restricted enough that you can't fight back like you want to. Not that you want to escape.
With a fluidity that surprises, Simon removes a knife from his boot and hooks it under the hem of your shirt. A sharp tug and the fabric surrenders to the blade. Simon tears it further, removing the garment completely.
As you use your one free arm to lash out, Simon is already prepared, blocking the blow and forcing it back to the bed. He attaches the cuff and returns the knife to your clothes, splitting your pants and tossing the remains aside.
You're on your back, completely naked and cuffed to the bed.
Simon's hand wraps around your throat, the knife tip dangerously close to your face. "I was going to worship your pretty pussy," he murmurs. "But I think I'll just take what I want."
It's all a gameâa scene. You want Simon to use you, to fuck you ceaselessly, to do whatever the fuck he wants because he can.
Simon flips the knife and imbeds it into the bed above your head. Slowly, he removes his belt, tossing it aside. When he opens the front of his pants and eases them down a fraction, you nearly groan at the sight of his hardness. Simon palms the base of his cock.
"I won't be gentle," he says, gloved fingers pressing against your pussy.
He rubs back and forth, easing a little more from your body before grabbing your hips and slamming home. There is a brief flare of pain from the intrusion and then nothing at all except excitement.
"Your body is mine," he growls as he fucks you. "And for the next twenty-four hours, I'm going to breed this pussy until I'm satisfied."
You are unable to move, unable to do much but take it. Simon is situated between your spread legs, and you have a clear view of his cock sliding in and out of you. If you want an orgasm, Simon will have to grant it. Begging for it won't get you anywhere. You need to be good, and then he'll reward you.
Simon grunts as he thrusts, pace increasing as he nears his end. Watching him is lovely. His groan is lust-drenched, his orgasm sending a little shudder through him that you feel in your core.
Simon's gaze shifts to between your legs where he slowly pulls out. "What a fucking sweet sight," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
His cum pools at your entrance, threatening to drip out. Soon you'll be overly full, a mess between your legs and on the bed.
Already Simon is stroking himself back to hardness. "Think that cunt of yours needs a bit more.
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what kind of nudes they would send you? đđ»đđ»
WARNINGS: smut, mentions of penis anatomy, male body anatomy.
seungcheol: one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, holding it up right so you can see the huge length. phone propped low to catch his abs, chest, and a big delicious smile.
jeonghan: lying down, hand lazily holding his half-hard cock against his stomach, shadows doing all the work. âthis good enough for you, babe?â
joshua: sheets slightly covering his cock, one hand slipping underneath like heâs just teasing himself. bonus: his pouty lips in the shot like heâs waiting for your permission to touch.
junhui: standing in front of a mirror, completely naked, flexing a little, with his dick hanging low. heâd throw in a wink too.
hoshi: a pic of his cock leaking, hand gripping it tight, his thigh muscles flexed as he props one leg up on the puff. thereâs a tiger plush in the corner. it kills you, but somehow it works.
wonwoo: itâs a mirror pic in his bathroom, dick out, one hand languidly holding it, while he flexes his abs, and the veins of his hand. no caption, no emojisâjust the picture. he knows itâll have you spiraling.
woozi: accidental thirst trap. he sends you a random post-shower pic, towel slung low on his hips, wet hair clinging to his forehead, and his hard cock half-hidden. âoh, oops, didnât mean to send that.â
minghao: taken from the side, showing off his hips, his cock semi-hard against his thigh, with some dramatic lighting in the background. the veins of his arm, and lower belly POPPING.
mingyu: another mirror whore. heâs taking the pic in his bedroom mirror, one hand stroking himself, abs and v-line shinng and you don't know if it's sweat, oil, or mosturizer. the smirk he gives is almost as cocky as his stupidly hard dick.
seokmin: the shy teaser. he sends you a pic of just the tip of his cock, all red and leaking, his hand covering the rest but barely in the frame. âis this⊠okay?â like, yes, itâs okay, now send the whole damn thing.
seungkwan: never thought he would send a nude, firstly. so it's aa tight shot of just his cock, leaking and red at the tip, his hand hovering like heâs debating whether to jerk off or not. âyouâre making me like this, you know that?â heâs nervous, but heâs loving how wild itâll make you.
vernon: lounging on the couch, sweatpants pushed low enough to expose his cock resting against his abs, hand casually draped over it. âso⊠you up?â he acts like itâs no big deal, but heâs grinning like crazy after hitting send, creating a scenario in his mind where you look at the pic while touching yourself.
chan: a full-body selfie of him sitting on the edge of the bed, cock hard and curved up against his stomach, face flushed and biting his lip. âthinking about you, noona. can I come over?â
#seventeen reactions#seventeen imagines#seventeen headcanons#seventeen scenarios#seventeen#svt imagines#seventeen smut#seventeen x reader#svt smut#seungcheol smut#jeonghan smut#joshua smut#junhui smut#hoshi smut#wonwoo smut#woozi smut#minghao smut#mingyu smut#seokmin smut#seungkwan smut#vernon smut#chan smut
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If you are still writing for bombshell x Spencer could you write something from early seasons when he had feelings for JJ đđ»đđ»
Hotch told you once that he was tempted to put an automatic lock on the office doors, so that he can lock them when he sees you coming during your working hours.Â
He has yet to follow through. You slip in through the doors and take a deep breath. It smells like coffee, printer paper, all the same stuff as your own office, but your office doesnât have Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, or Spencer Reid.Â
âNeither does this one, apparently,â you mumble to yourself, casting your gaze around the room to no avail. The boys arenât here.Â
Emilyâs sitting at her desk. Sheâs new, youâre jealous of her job, but sheâs gorgeous. You wonât mind sitting at Spencerâs desk until they get back. âHello,â you drawl, setting down in Spencerâs chair comfortably.Â
Emilyâs mildly startled. âHey?â
Spencerâs desk is an explosion. You debate cleaning up for him. What if you put something in the wrong place? Itâll be more annoying than helpful. âHow are things?â you ask, pushing Spencerâs chair back, and kicking a leg over your knee, high heel bobbing.Â
âWhat?âÂ
You smile at her. Flirting, just a little, but your concern is real. âHow are things going, Prentiss? With you?âÂ
âTheyâre good. Yeah. I just moved into my new place.âÂ
Bless her for not knowing what to do with you. She doesnât have practice like the rest. âA new place? Where to?âÂ
She relaxes while you talk. Her apartment overlooking Kingman, her catâs annoyance at the new smells and the long case time away. âSpencer says that cats arenât capable of holding grudges, but Sergei can.âÂ
âHeâs cute, isnât he? He knows a fun fact for everything.âÂ
Emily sits up. You can see the excitement of a secret in her dark eyes. âHeâs adorable. His little crush on JJ is so sweet, Iâve tried to give him some advice but heâs totally stuck on her.â You falter. And Emily, profiler in training, she catches it. Her lips part, startled. âYouâre notââ
âI had no idea Spencer had a little crush,â you breathe, sitting up with a smile. âFor how long? What about JJ, is she interested in him?â You hug your hands together. âYou know, I think theyâd make a cute couple.â
âWell, I heard they went to a football game together, but I donât know when. Before I got here, at least.âÂ
What? âThatâs fun.â
âI donât think itâs serious.â
You tip your head back and the heavens have opened, Derek Morganâs making his way toward you with a grin and a hand reaching for you. âSweetheart, where have you been?â he asks. âItâs been weeks, I was starting to miss you.âÂ
You texted him a few days ago about a property nearby for rent, and you had coffee the day after to hear his advice on the area, so heâs just making stuff up. âHi, Derek.âÂ
You get up and let him hug you. You deserve it. Youâre beautiful and fun and smart, and you deserve a handsome man rubbing your arm and telling you he missed you. âHow much?â you ask warmly.Â
âLike a hole in the head.âÂ
Hotch is behind him. And there, the surprise item of the afternoon, Spencer Cheating Reid.Â
âHi, Hotch,â you say.Â
âI heard something about you Iâd rather not repeat,â he says.Â
âHotch, the details were wildly exaggerated, and I was less at fault than you might think.â
âI thought it was entirely your fault.â He shakes his head. âYouâre shooting yourself in the foot, doing things like that.âÂ
âWhy, what did you do?â Spencer asks.Â
You falter again. Everyone sees your insecurity: Hotchâs brow furrows deeper than it had been, Morgan pauses, and Spencer, to your panic, holds your eye as the emotion passes. âItâs not worth talking about,â you say, shrugging.Â
âTry not to do it again,â Hotch says. âMorgan, with me.âÂ
âUh, Hotch?â Emily speaks up.Â
âYou too, Prentiss.âÂ
He leads a procession up to his office. Morgan throws you a look like he wants to talk to you, but youâve plastered unaffectedness over the wound again. Why does the idea of JJ and Spencer going on a date upset you? Heâs a sweet guy, sheâs a nice girl. Is it because you didnât know?Â
âYou really havenât been here in weeks,â Spencer says.Â
âMissed me?âÂ
He holds the strap of his bag. âYeah, I did.âÂ
What use does he have missing you? âI heard something interesting about you, Spencer.âÂ
âYou did?â
He looks shy, pale, and worried. You forget sometimes how heâs not just your favourite dork, heâs a friend. And he doesnât seem to have very many of them.Â
Oh, you think, jealousy, you heartless monster.Â
âThe rumour mill says you arenât sleeping enough,â you say gently.Â
âI sleep fine.â
You put one kitten heel in front of the other and stay, squinting at him with a teasing suspicion. âThatâs not what my informants have been telling me. You look tired, honey. You arenât sleeping, or Hotch wonât let you?âÂ
âBoth.âÂ
He does that playful smiley thing that makes you wanna scrunch his hair in your hands, like he knows heâs made a good joke.Â
âYour case in Cincinnati sounded tough.âÂ
âWait,â he says.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âAre you okay?âÂ
âUsually. Why?âÂ
âAre you okay right now?âÂ
âIâm fine.â You purse your lips. âWhy wouldnât I be?âÂ
âJustâ youâ I donât know, you didnât seem like yourself. I didnât mean to upset you, asking about that stuff. Itâs none of my business, sorry.âÂ
âHow are you feeling about physical touch today?â you ask.Â
He seems to regard you with distrust, for a few seconds, like heâs worried youâre messing with him. âIâm okay with it,â he says eventually.Â
You step into his space and touch his cheek gently, fingertip tapping into a beauty mark you often remember only when heâs in your reach. âYou didnât say anything wrong. Iâm sorry I made you think that.â You drop your hand. âJust having a weird day.âÂ
âMe too.âÂ
Spencer puts his bag under his desk and mentions a video he found on profiling you might like by one of the old Unit Chiefâs, SSA David Rossi. You steal Derekâs chair and sit knee to knee with him to watch it, Spencerâs cheeks turning dark with blush in the screenâs reflection.Â
Can JJ make him blush like that?Â
â
bombshell fics
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction
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idk if iâm just being too ⊠eh ⊠but itâs really leaving a bad taste in my mouth with the way they keep pushing driversâ partners to be front and centre of female movements in this sport. no disrespect to you personally, but if your only association to the sport is through your partner (and a bunch of sponsorships đ) what are you doing hosting women in motorsport events? there are so so so many more women who have worked so hard to get their foot in the door in the industry and know so much more about what it is to be a woman in formula 1. and i guess people can argue exposure and that itâs an influencers job yadda yadda but to me it just all lacks substance. like what is it actually doing for women in motorsport
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atsumu opens the door to his house and is greeted by silence and a dark first floor. itâs to be expected; itâs nearly midnight, and he got stuck in traffic on the way back home from practice.
toeing off his shoes by the door, he leaves the keys to his car on the console table and uses the flashlight on his phone to help him navigate in the darkness. he climbs up the stars and hears muffled voices. it sounds like a movie.
the upstairs hallway is fairly lit, so he uses the sound to guide him to his childâs door. gently, he turns on the knob and pokes his head in. thereâs a laptop playing a childrenâs movie on the desk, a flurry of toys on the floor, and a mother and child snuggled on the bed.
âhey, sweetheart,â he greets softly, grinning when he catches his daughterâs attention and she perks up.
âmommy,â she says, tiny hands tapping her dozing motherâs cheek. âmommy, daddyâs here.â
â
âmommy,â your daughter calls again, and your eyes blearily blink open. âmommy, itâs daddy!â
you twist your head and smile sleepily when your gaze lands on your husband. âhi, tsum.â
âhi, baby,â he greets, slipping inside and dropping his gym bag by the door. he moves to sit but his daughter stops him.
âno, daddy,â she whines. âyou canât go on my bed. youâre dirty!â
you snort while he blinks, and you push yourself up to sit.
it takes him a while to process what she just said. âiâm not dirty!â atsumu protests, placing his hands on his hips. âiâm clean! i changed clothes before i left the gymââ
âno,â she says, wrinkling her nose and pointing to his bag by the door. âyou have to shower.â
âthese clothes are cleanââ
ânooooo,â she whines, slapping the cushion in frustration. âshower!â
âbut mommyâs on the bed and i wanna be on the bed, tooââ
âbut mommyâs clean!â she whines again. âshower, daddy!â she extends the r of the word shower, baring her teeth in a scowl.
his jaw drops, then he turns to gape at you. âyouâre not gonna say anything?â
you tamp down your smile and shrug. âitâs easier if you just do as she says. i had to shower before i even entered her room.â
âwhere did you learn this?â he asks, turning back to his daughter with disbelief. âi bet it was from your grandma, âcause your mom ainât as much of a neat freââ
âokay!â you interrupt him, climbing off the bed before your daughter could expand her vocabulary. âiâll make sure your dad bathes, sweetheart.â you lean down to kiss your daughterâs forehead.
âthank you, mommy,â she says sweetly, kissing your cheek.
âwhat about my kiss?â atsumu asks, shouldering his bag and frowning.
âshower first,â his daughter says resolutely.
âjesus,â atsumu mumbles under his breath, low enough that his daughter canât make it out, and you herd him to step outside the door.
you laugh when it clicks shut behind you. âitâs your bag, you know,â you mention, walking alongside him. âwhenever she sees it, thatâs when she thinks youâre dirty.â
âwhy? i spray this thing all the time with the littleââ he makes a spritzing-like motion with his fingers. âwhatâs it called? the thing you gave me.â
âdeodorizer?â
âyeah!â
âsmelling deodorized and smelling clean are different,â you point out, then point to your bedroom. âgo. shower.â
he sighs in dismay, but true to himself, he's not down for long. he wiggles his eyebrows in your direction. âcare to join me?â
you roll your eyes. ânice try. iâm gonna put your gross clothes in the laundry room.â
he brightens. âi can do that! after we shower together, that is.â
you sour. âand let the stink simmer? no way.â you reach out your hand. âgive it to me; iâll do it.â
he pouts a little. âbut itâll be more fun if we shower together!â
âno.â
âcome on! for me?â
it's almost emasculating, seeing him beg like this, but your gaze is stone cold serious. âno.â
he grumbles in defeat and hands his bag over. âfine. but just so you know, iâm not a happy husband right now and youâll need to make up for the lack of love and commitment at some point.â
âi give you plenty,â you say with finality before turning on your heel and heading down the stairs.
âyou promised for better or for worse and i am going to collect!â he calls after you.
"shower first, then we'll discuss my marital commitments."
#not event related but i thought i'd repost this since part 3 of this is holiday themed#atsumu x reader fluff#hq x reader#haikyuu x reader#x reader#haikyuu fluff#hq fluff#haikyuu fic#haikyuu x reader fluff#đ â my writing#atsumu fluff#miya atsumu x reader#atsumu x reader
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âwhatâd you do today while i was gone, hm?â suguru asks.
is he fucking serious?
even if you wanted to answer, you canât. your mind is gone, any remnants of conscious thought leaving you the minute suguru bottomed out. all you can think about is the feeling of his cock pumping in and out your pussy. you think you might be drooling, and youâre sure heâs smiling down at youâthe same way he always does when he knows heâs fucking you dumbâbut you canât bother to confirm that either, not with the way your eyes are glazed over, making everything you see look as fuzzy as your mind feels.
suddenly, he pulls out. you blink a couple times to clear up your vision, pussy clenching around the air.
âi asked you a question,â he says. his voice is in total contrast to his face. his expression is almost playful, but the words sound anything but.
âwh-what?â youâre scrambling to try and remember what question youâre supposed to be answering, but all you can think about is how much you need him to be buried inside of you again.
thereâs mirth swimming in suguruâs eyes when you meet them. you frown, frustrated with how much heâs enjoying seeing you like thisâcompletely and thoroughly fucked out.
his hand snakes down towards your clit, brushing against it with his knuckles. it makes your hips jerk, the consequence of already being overly sensitive from two previous orgasms.
âyou wanna come?â he asks, abandoning his original question and slipping a single finger inside you. âagain?â
itâs cruel. him asking you questions he already knows the answers to. expecting responses when he knows you can barely form a word, let alone a full sentence. teasing you with his middle finger while fully aware of how you ache for his cock.
regardless, you nod. frantic.
suguru only laughs, thumbing your clit leisurely. a shudder vibrates your whole body. âwords, baby. use your words,â he taunts.
all you can manage is a shaky âpleaseâ as you writhe under his touch. he tuts, pushing your hips down into the mattress to keep you from moving. itâs maddening how vexed he looks when heâs the one who did this to you, denying your orgasm to satisfy his own sadistic whims. suguru catches the mean curl of your upper lip, your body communicating your irritation even when you canât.
the smile he gives you is callous. âplease what?â
your annoyance cuts through the brain fog enough for you to respond coherently. âplease let me cum.â
suguru isnât a fan of the exasperation in your voice, but he chooses to ignore it, murmuring a sweet âgood girlâ as he plunges his cock into you in one swift movement.
a string of curses falls from your lips, eyes watering as he thrusts at a steady tempo. he says something about your dirty mouth, but you hardly hear it over the hot, coiling feeling in your gut and the static sensation in your limbs.
it doesnât take long for you to climax again, blissful and babbling again as your cunt flutters around suguru. he groans, not waiting for you to come down before pulling out for the final time.
he tugs your head up so he can tap the flushed tip of his cock on your bottom lip. the way you open your mouth is automatic, as if he pressed a buttonâa testament to how well trained you are.
youâre still shivering with the aftershocks of your orgasm when he comes in your mouth. it isnât until after youâve swallowed down his seed and heâs pressed a tender kiss to your lips that you come out of your cockdrunk daze.
when your vision refocuses, suguru looks smug. âyou wanna tell me how your day went now?â
#not proofread itâs 7am pls bear with me#suguru geto smut#suguru geto x reader#geto suguru smut#geto suguru x reader#geto smut#geto x reader#fatherbrat â± library#jjk#suguru
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Teach Me
nerd!rafe x experienced!reader
Rafe Cameron wasnât usually this quiet.
He wasnât the loudest guy by any means, but his nervous energy tonight was new. Usually, his shyness came with a sort of clumsy charm, a stammered compliment or a soft laugh that always made your heart ache in the best way. But as he sat stiffly on the edge of your bed, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, he looked like he might bolt at any moment.
âRafey,â you said softly, stepping closer and leaning into his line of sight. âYou okay?â
His head snapped up, blue eyes wide behind the smudge on his glasses. He pushed them up his nose, his hand shaking slightly, and dropped his gaze back to his lap. His long fingers twisted together, pale from how tightly he was holding them.
âY-yeah,â he mumbled, though his voice betrayed him with its unsteady wobble.
Your lips curved into a soft smile as you reached out, fingertips brushing his jawline. âYou know I can tell when youâre lying, right?â
Rafe swallowed hard, his adamâs apple bobbing, but didnât meet your gaze. âI just⊠I want to talk to you about something.â
âOkay.â You perched beside him on the bed, close enough that your knees bumped. âIâm listening.â
His lips parted, then closed again, as though the words were stuck in his throat. Finally, he managed, âI want to⊠I mean, I need to⊠be better for you. Better at, um, pleasing you.â
Your chest tightened at his vulnerable confession. âRafe, youâre already amazing. You donât have toââ
âNo.â His voice came out firm, but he winced at his own abruptness. âI mean, thank you. But I want to do more for you. I want to know how to⊠touch you the way you deserve.â
The raw sincerity in his words made your heart swell. His cheeks were stained with a deep blush, and he looked like he was fighting every instinct to hide his face in his hands.
âYouâre so sweet,â you whispered, lacing your fingers through his and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. âWe can take our time, baby. Iâll show you everything you want to know.â
Rafe relaxed slightly as you guided him to sit cross-legged on the bed. His hoodie lay discarded nearby, and his glasses perched crookedly on his nose, slightly fogged from the heat in the room.
âFirst thing,â you said, settling in front of him, âis to pay attention. My body will tell you when something feels goodâwhether itâs my breathing, the way I move, or the sounds I make.â
His eyes widened, and he nodded quickly, his gaze flickering nervously between your face and your body.
âOkay,â he whispered. âI can do that.â
You reached for his hand, gently placing it on your thigh. âStart here. Gentle touches, nothing rushed. Feel how warm my skin is? Thatâs a good sign.â
Rafeâs fingers were warm and hesitant, but they began to explore as you encouraged him. He let his hand glide up slowly, his breath hitching when his fingertips grazed the hem of your shorts.
âIs this okay?â he asked, his voice low and strained.
You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. âThatâs perfect.â
As his touch grew more assured, his fingers dipped under the fabric, skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The softness of his movements contrasted with the heat pooling in your stomach, and a quiet sigh escaped your lips.
âLike that?â he asked, his brows furrowing slightly as he searched your face for affirmation.
âExactly like that,â you murmured, your voice catching.
You shifted back against the pillows, tugging him down beside you. âNow, from here, you can explore more. Donât overthink it. Use your hands, your mouthâjust do what feels natural.â
Rafeâs blush deepened, but he nodded. His hand skimmed up your stomach, pausing when he reached the curve of your hip. His fingers trembled slightly, but the reverence in his touch sent a shiver through you.
When his lips brushed your collarbone, warm and tentative, you let out a soft moan. His head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes.
âWas that too much?â he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
You cupped his cheek, pulling him back down for a kiss. âNot at all. That was perfect. Keep going, Rafey.â
Encouraged, he pressed his lips to your skin again, lingering this time. His kisses grew bolder, trailing down to the swell of your chest. His hands followed, brushing over you with featherlight touches that left your skin tingling.
âSee how my body reacts?â you whispered, your breath hitching as his hand grazed a particularly sensitive spot. âThatâs what I mean by listening.â
Rafeâs lips quirked into a shy smile, and he leaned into your touch with newfound confidence.
Rafeâs hand hesitated at the waistband of your panties, his fingertips brushing the soft fabric with a touch so light it sent a shiver up your spine. His wide blue eyes searched yours, filled with nervous anticipation, his lips slightly parted as though he wasnât sure if he was allowed to take the next step.
âCan I?â His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling but threaded with yearning.
âYes,â you breathed, your voice soft but certain.
His exhale was shaky as he focused his attention fully on you, his hand dipping beneath the fabric with deliberate slowness. The first brush of his fingers against your bare skin sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your breath catching audibly. His touch was tentative, his movements almost reverent, as though he couldnât believe you were letting him do this.
âRafey,â you murmured, your voice a mix of encouragement and need.
His fingers explored with unsteady care, tracing the slickness pooling there. His thumb brushed experimentally against your clit, and your body responded instantly, arching slightly under his touch. The sensation was almost too much yet not nearly enough, a delicious pressure that made you gasp softly.
âIs that good?â he asked, his brows furrowing in concentration as he watched your reaction.
âSo good,â you managed, your voice a little breathless. âKeep going, just like that.â
The reassurance made his shoulders relax, and his movements grew bolder. His thumb pressed more firmly, circling that swollen bundle of nerves with a rhythm that made your thighs clench instinctively around his hand. The quiet whimper that slipped from your lips seemed to spur him on, his other hand coming to rest on your hip to steady you as his fingers moved with growing confidence.
Your body was alive under his touch, every nerve alight as he adjusted his movements, clearly paying attention to how you squirmed and sighed beneath him. The hesitancy from earlier was melting away, replaced by a kind of focused eagerness that made your chest tighten with affection.
âThat feels good,â you whispered, threading your fingers through his messy hair. âYouâre doing so good, Rafe.â
His lips curved into the smallest, shyest smile, but his fingers didnât falter. He leaned down then, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing lower with every press of his lips. His hair tickled against your skin, the sensation adding to the whirlwind of pleasure building inside you.
When his kisses reached the hollow of your throat, you tilted your head back, giving him better access. He took it eagerly, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. The combination of his mouth and his hand working together was intoxicating, a steady rhythm that had you biting your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.
âYou like that?â he murmured against your skin, his voice low and velvety. The rare confidence in his tone sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you couldnât help but nod, your fingers gripping his hair tighter.
âI love it,â you whispered, your voice trembling with pure pleasure.
His movements stilled for a moment as he shifted, his glasses slightly askew as he glanced up at you. âI⊠Can I try something else?â he asked, his voice softer now, more uncertain.
âYes,â you answered without hesitation, your heart racing as his hands gently eased your panties down your legs.
Rafe paused, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you fully. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, but his gaze was captivated, reverent. Slowly, he settled himself lower, his shoulders nestled between your thighs.
âYou donât have toââ you started, but the determined look in his eyes stopped you.
âI want to,â he said, his voice quiet but firm.
The first press of his lips to your inner thigh was soft, almost hesitant. He lingered there, kissing a trail upward, his breath warm against your skin. Each kiss was tender, deliberate, until he was just where you wanted him most.
His lips brushed against you then, soft and unhurried, and the sensation sent a gasp tumbling from your lips. He hesitated, his blue eyes flicking up to yours for reassurance, and when he saw the way your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, he pressed another kiss, firmer this time.
The wet warmth of his mouth and the softness of his tongue as he tentatively explored made your entire body tense with pleasure. He was careful, almost shy, but each touch carried a sincerity that left you breathless.
âRafey,â you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.
The sound of his name on your lips seemed to embolden him. His hands gripped your thighs gently, pulling you closer as he deepened his movements, his tongue finding the rhythm that made you gasp and arch beneath him. Every flick, every press, was deliberate, his sole focus on making you fall apart under his care.
âIs this⊠okay?â he murmured between kisses, his breath hot against you.
âPerfect,â you managed, your voice breaking on the word. âDonât stop.â
And he didnât.
Rafeâs mouth was insistent now, his shyness giving way to a careful confidence as he listened to every sound you made, adjusting his movements to match the reactions he drew from you. Your hands found his hair, tugging gently as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensations he was giving you.
Every kiss, every caress, was a revelationâan unspoken promise that he was there to learn every inch of you, to cherish you completely. The pleasure built steadily, an intoxicating crescendo that left you breathless, your thighs trembling as he found just the right rhythm with his mouth. His lips latched around that sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking softly at first, then with increasing determination as your whimpers turned into desperate cries of his name.
âRafey,â you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as your hips pressed up against him, unable to control the way your body chased the peak he was bringing you toward.
His hands gripped your thighs firmly but gently, holding you in place as he gave it one last, deliberate suck. The sensation sent you spiraling, your body arching as the climax washed over you in waves, leaving you shaking and completely at his mercy. Your breath hitched, the room filled with the sound of your soft cries and his satisfied hum against you.
When the intensity finally began to drop, Rafe eased his touch, his mouth leaving a final tender kiss against your skin before he pulled away. His lips were parted, his breathing ragged, and his face was flushed with both pride and nervousness. His lips and chin glistened, a mix of his efforts and your release, and the sight alone sent another shiver through you.
He climbed back up the bed, his gaze locked on yours as if silently asking for reassurance. Leaning over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, he pressed his lips to yours in a tentative kiss. The taste of yourself lingered on his lips, and the sound he madeâlow, guttural, and almost shyâvibrated against your mouth.
âDid I⊠Was that okay?â he asked softly, his voice trembling with vulnerability. His blue eyes searched yours, his glasses slightly askew, and his lips glistening as he hovered just inches from you.
Your heart swelled at the nervousness in his voice, and instead of answering right away, you pulled him into another kiss. This time, it was deep, lingering, your fingers threading through his hair to pull him even closer. When you finally broke away, his lips were even more swollen, and his breath mingled with yours.
âYou did amazing, sweetie,â you whispered, your voice full of affection and awe.
The words flooded him with relief, his shoulders relaxing as a shy yet proud smile tugged at the corners of his damp lips. Unable to resist, you reached up to wipe your arousal from his chin, your thumb grazing his flushed skin before leaning in to kiss him again.
Rafe melted into you, his earlier hesitation completely gone, replaced by a quiet confidence that had your heart racing all over again. And as he buried his face in your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin, you knew this was just the beginning of something even more beautiful between you.
a/n: last post of the dayđ„”
taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog
#rafe obx#rafe cameron#rafe imagine#outerbanks rafe#rafe x reader#rafe x you#rafe outer banks#rafe fic#rafe cameron x reader#rafe#rafe angst#rafe fluff#rafecore#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#dark rafe cameron#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron imagines#rafe cameron imagine#obx fanfiction#obx spoilers#obx fic#obx#obx 4
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PLEASE MAKE A INO SMUT IM BEGGING AND PLEADING đđđđđđđđđđđ
MUNCH! â INO TAKUMA
ino is the biggest munch known to man. That boy loves eating pussy. He lives and breathes pussy. One taste of your cunt and his mind is spiraling. Heâll eat pussy anywhere if he could. No lie. Heâs one to push your legs all the way up to your chest, practically making out with your cunt, moaning and groaning af your taste because he loves it so bad. And itâs not just about eating pussy either, but itâs also about the way you react. He loves when you start breathing heavily, whimpering his name, lips quivering with each cry as your body shakes from an orgasm. And no, he doesnât stop after you cum because heâs doing this for his pleasure too. Heâs licking up every last drop, savoring it on his tongue. Youâre pulling at his hair, trying to move his mouth so it wouldnât feel as good, but nothing works. Heâs slurps and sucks on your clit, watching the way your head falls back onto the pillows when he slips a finger inside and starts massaging your g-spot. âCome on, baby, just one more orgasm for me. Pretty please?â He begs with glossy eyes, so drunk on your taste, your juices coating his pink lips. And who are you to deny him what he loves so much? Because you love it too. He loves to eat it from the back as well, using his tongue to run up and down your slit and through your sloppy folds. âYou taste so good, Iâll never get tired of eating this pussy,â he mumbles, diving right back in between your legs. Ino is big on giving in the bedroom that sometimes he doesnât even care about receiving. Nothing sexual will be happening but all thatâs on his mind is eating your pussy and then moving onto the next task of the day. âPretty, can I eat you out really quick before we leave?â He kisses your neck, sliding his hands up your dress and next thing you know he has you on the couch with your legs in the air, cumming on his tongue for second time in a span of only 6 minutes because heâs just that damn good.
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