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ahundredtimesover · 2 months ago

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Something About You (04) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating, an aggressive man, minor injury (18+)

Word count: 16.5k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

Spending the holidays in Busan brings about unparalleled comfort, as Jungkook fills his days with video games, hangouts with Jimin in their favorite spots, riding his motorcycle, and home cooked meals.

Whenever he’s at home, he feels like a child where he does whatever he wants and where he’s doted on by his parents, which he can’t really argue with as an adult.

It grounds him somehow. It reminds him of how he felt growing up - wanting to be valued and taken care of but also being trusted and respected. He knows that his students feel the same way as middle and high school kids who are just starting to figure things out. It’s always a good start to his year, and it gives him clarity and that sense of direction.

That’s probably the only good thing about being home this year because other than that, he’s reminded of his physical distance from you, the time you’re not spending together, and the conversations and banter you’re not having.

You’re back in your hometown, too, and he knows that the holidays with your relatives is your favorite thing in the world. You’ve always been close with your cousins, as most of you spent your childhood at your grandparents’ farm. Only you and Hayoung are based in Seoul so it’s a celebration every time you visit. It’s busy times, too, as you spend the days playing with your nieces and nephews and driving around the surrounding towns.

Jungkook knows this, so he looks forward to your or Hayoung’s messages in the group chat, which would usually just be photos or a funny story or a little accident that involves you. It’s the only time he actually reads the messages and that itself is an indication that he misses you terribly, much more than he expected he would.

The Sapporo trip suddenly feels like a lifetime ago. He spent everyday with you - seeing you in the morning, teasing you throughout the day, being in your little bubble of weirdness, talking about serious and mundane things, and falling asleep to your adorable soft snoring.

He thought that spending it how he did was his way of settling into his feelings for you - just feeling it, trying to figure it out or understand it. He still doesn’t know how he got here, even if he could point to some moments where things started to change.

Perhaps he’s only thinking about it as much as he is because you don’t think that could just happen to you - that you could just one day feel differently about a person you’ve known for years. You feel intensely, instantaneously, and he supposes if you were ever to like him, you would’ve done so a long time ago but that ship never sailed and he’s unsure if it ever will.

That still doesn’t stop him from thinking about you though. He sees your photos and reads your sometimes short and sometimes long narrations of what you’re doing and he imagines your pouty face or constant complaints and it makes him smile.

He thinks of teasing you about stubbing your toe or getting followed by bugs or your slow walking and that makes him feel giddy, too. Even the thought of you talking about current events and the pervasiveness of patriarchy in every aspect of social life is something he seeks.

And then there are the puppy eyes and sweet smile when you want something that makes him want to just give it all to you. But there’s also the affection - your hugs, your playful smacking, your shoulder leaning, and the occasional hand on top of his that makes his heart take a leap just reminiscing about it.

He feels a little silly, as he’s perhaps had hundreds of those moments with you in the past but he’s never thought much about them until recently. Until after your trip to Chungbuk, if he’s being specific.

And now he replays them in his head over and over again just because he wants more, even if he’s the one who’s not texting nor replying, and he’s slowly losing his mind.

It’s been two weeks and other than your messages to the group, both of you haven’t spoken. He knows you’re busy and he’s the one with spare time. He could easily reach out to you and you’ll probably reply, but given all this yearning, he’s nervous he’ll overdo it, that he’ll say or do something out of the ordinary and you’ll see right through him.

It’s the day of his trip back to Seoul. He and Jimin will drive out in the afternoon and they’re spending their last few hours in his living room, just playing games after a morning of riding his bike around town.

His best friend’s phone rings and he puts the call on speaker while trying to score a goal in a game of FIFA.

“Jiminie!” your voice cuts through the crowd cheering sound effect. “How’s my annoying best friend doing without me?”

The surprise from hearing you causes Jungkook’s mind to go blank. It leaves Jimin free near the net and he scores a point.

“Finally!” Jimin yells. “Did you see that, Kook? You sucked and I kicked a goal.”

Jungkook waves him off, his pride not too hurt because only he knows his momentary lapse was because of you and not for his lack of skills.

“You’re with Kook?!” You chirp.

“Yeah, we’re playing video games in his house,” Jimin replies.

“Kook! How are you?! I miss you!” You shriek. “I didn’t know if you were alive because you weren’t reacting to my messages in the group chat. Did you know that I almost slipped into a gutter? And that we went hiking with my cousins and I slid down my butt?”

“He knows because I told him,” Jimin says. “It’s not like he reads messages.”

“Hey, I do,” Jungkook corrects. He really does though, very rarely. Recently, all the time when it’s from you. “You also rode an ATV and got stuck in the mud.”

“So you read my messages! Why didn’t you reply then!” You whine.

“It’s pointless to laugh at you if you can’t hear or see me,” he reasons. “But yes, I saw them. Everyone was posting about how their holidays were going so I read through them.”

“Well, you would’ve laughed hard if you saw me.”

“And then you would’ve smacked me for doing so,” Jungkook points out.

“That is very true. Then you would’ve scolded me but then proceeded to treat my wounds,” you giggle. “As expected. Anyway, what have you bums been up to?”

“What do bums do, ___?” Jimin replies after making a defensive play. “We literally just eat and play and ride around when we’re home. And it’s been perfect.”

“Sucks I’m not there to piss you off though,” you say.

“Right? This is what peaceful living is like,” your best friend responds. “But I’m gonna deal with your annoying ass soon so let me savor this.”

“You better,” you hum. “Did you get enough rest, Kook?”

“Lots of it actually,” he half lies. He spent much of these two weeks agonizing over being away from you. “But I guess I’m ready to get back to work. I’ll start coaching the taekwondo team next week.”

“Already? Isn’t it still the winter break?” You wonder.

“Training starts early because of the competition in March,” he answers.

“Ooh, new kids to cheer for?” you excitedly ask.

“If you’re free on Wednesdays and Saturdays, sure,” Jungkook says. “But no pressure, ___.”

“I’ll make time,” you promise him.

“Okay, then,” he hums, doing his best to keep his smile from forming over the thought of spending time with you again.

“Anyway, I just wanted to check up on my friends. Gonna go play with the kids at the park now,” you say. “Careful when you drive to the city! See you guys soon!”

“Miss you! I’m going to your place right when you get back!” Jimin sneaks in.

“Don’t hurt yourself!” Jungkook adds, and you respond to him in laughter, a sound he definitely misses.

Jimin drops the call and shifts his full focus on the game.

“Well, she sounds jolly. Glad she got her joy back,” Jimin comments. “I remember last year, I begged her to take a longer leave and spend another week with her family so she could deal with her burnout.”

“Did she stay?”

“No. She said she’d be more stressed with all the backlog.”

“How’d she get through that, by the way?” Jungkook asks, immediately being reminded of how uninvolved he was at certain points in your life.

“Mo-eum and I convinced her to talk to her manager and apparently others were feeling it, too, so there was a restructure that happened and it helped with her workload,” Jimin explains. “But she would also take her leaves because she barely did, and she tried her best to switch off once she clocked out and that also helped a lot. She didn’t talk about work when we were in Japan, didn’t she?”

“Nope, which is good. At least she got the help she needed,” Jungkook hums, content that even if he didn’t know the extent of your stress that time, you were able to deal with it properly.

As an educator, he knows enough about burnout, especially when he has to deal with his students’ problems on top of just teaching them. He’s always tried to manage his emotions and compartmentalize. Working out and going back to playing the sports he loves helped him tremendously with that.

“Yeah, she did. But she’s doing so much better now and I guess having Tae back and doing our trips again lifted her spirits even more. Like, she gets to take actual breaks and be around us,” Jimin shares. “I guess watching your students’ matches gave her something new to do, too. She really enjoyed that.”

“She did,” Jungkook smiles, realizing now how those afternoons of you cheering for his team was also beneficial for you. “And well, there’ll be other matches for her to watch.”

“Yeah, it should be fun,” Jimin nods. “Anyway, one more game. I’m beating you this time.”

Jungkook drops Jimin off at his place and spends the drive to his apartment thinking of you again. He knows that even with your ability to express yourself, there are some things you don’t share with everyone. There were times when you were open to him about your thoughts and feelings though, and he takes them as a sign of your feeling of comfort around him and of your trust.

He looks back at the instances where you’d thanked him for making you feel good about yourself, and while he thought it was a natural thing for him to do that, he realizes it probably meant more to you than he expected. He hopes he continues to make you feel at ease around him, as he realizes that that’s what he feels when he’s with you.

There’s assurance and trust that you understand him. There’s comfort in your words no matter how playful or cheeky they are. There’s that affection over the things he does and his fondness over the things you do. And then there’s that desire to take care of you, to make you feel comforted and understood just the same.

He takes a deep breath before he exits his car. Two weeks of being away from you and he’s settled into his feelings. He knows they’re not fleeting. He also knows they’re not just because he wants to be a better friend to you.

As he checks his phone and sees a message from you in the group chat asking him and Jimin if they got home safely and tagging him to reply, Jungkook thinks that now is when he starts wanting more.

And he’s not exactly sure how to go about it. Or if it’s a feeling you’ll even reciprocate.

It’s been three weeks since Jungkook returned to Seoul and two weeks since you did. You apparently had to use up your remaining leaves until mid-January so you decided to stay in Gwangju for a few more days. He knew that because he sent you a message after you announced it in the group chat, and you’ve sort of been texting each other since then. It’s not an all-day nor daily type of thing but it’s much better than not hearing from you at all.

He told you that he got assigned to accompany the high school table tennis team to a competition in Sokcho for a few days after one of their assistant coaches got sick. You told him that you started working on your operations plan on your first day back at work and that you had to stay in Daejeon for a weekend to attend a conference because one of your managers couldn’t go. With that, he missed your friends’ Sunday lunch out, and then you missed dinner and drinks the Friday after that.

It’s now the end of January and Jungkook’s been living off of the occasional text messages from you and nothing more. As it’s the Saturday before the end of the winter break, he takes this time to relax and decides on making himself some bulguri noodles and then going for a jog later in the afternoon.

On your end, you intend on cleaning up your apartment after over a month of barely being around. You make a checklist in your head of what to do first when suddenly, your light turns off and for the briefest moment, you think you’re being haunted. But you remember it’s just past lunchtime and ghosts won’t appear until the evening.

You just paid your bills so that’s not the issue. You call your neighbor and find out that she has her light on, so it’s probably just you. So you ask for help.

[to: My Elders] How do you change a lightbulb?

You know that searching online would lead to multiple results, which ironically is going to overwhelm you, so you ask your very adult, very capable friends for advice. Surely they’ll be able to instruct you properly.

[from: joonie] I’d tell you if I knew

[from: uncle yoon] DON’T. TOUCH. ANYTHING.

[from: suhyeonie] please be careful!!

[from: jiminie pabo] someone pls get to her right away before she burns down her apartment or electrocutes herself

[from: my taetae] kook?

[from: bunny kook] coming

You sigh in relief once Jungkook confirms that he’s on his way. And while you think you can follow instructions had your friends called or sent them in - which they didn’t - it’s probably better if someone does it for you. Jungkook just happens to be the one who lives the closest.

You try to clean up whatever you can while waiting for him but you only manage to fold some of your clothes before the intercom is ringing and you’re granting him access to come up. He rings the doorbell and you greet him immediately.

“My savior,” you chirp, fluttering your eyelashes.

“Yah, I’m already here,” he playfully shakes his head. “No need for puppy eyes or whatever that is.”

“It’s my thankful face!” You correct him. “Not that I expected anyone to be empathic to my plight but wow, our friends were not helpful. Except maybe for Tae, who asked you to come.”

“You know you can search online for this, right?” Jungkook chuckles as he gets your stool and starts unwinding your old lightbulb.

“Yeah but AI will tell me one thing, WikiHow will tell me another, so will TikTok… I just didn’t want to be overwhelmed.”

“You… a researcher… didn’t want to be overwhelmed with… information?”

“Kook, since when did basic things make sense to me?” You pout.

“I’m pretty sure they’re not that hard to comprehend.”

“Look, if it didn’t involve a possible fire or electrocution, I’d manage,” you argue. “I mean, I can do other things. Just not… this. I’m scared to make a mess.”

You say it so softly and Jungkook hopes he didn’t make you feel bad or anything. It’s not that you expect people to just do everything for you because you actually watch others do them - like now, as you stand close to him and observe him as he replaces your old bulb with a new one. He just thinks there are things you can’t really grasp because you weren’t exposed to them. He knows you can manage yourself on a farm because you grew up going to one but when it comes to household management, you always had the rest of your family to do them for you.

He finishes and turns on the switch to see if it’s working, and you squeal in joy when it does.

You even go to him and give him a hug, which catches him off guard. He returns it though, and a part of him wishes he’d prepared for this so he wouldn’t act so nonchalant about it.

“___, it’s just a lightbulb,” he points out.

You let him go and laugh, not seeming bothered one bit. He was a little worried that he might come off as snobbish to you though, even if he thinks it’s something he’d totally say.

“It’s a belated hug, Kook. I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long,” you say.

“Because you haven’t. It’s been, what– 5, 6 weeks since Sapporo?”

“Yeah, that feels like a lifetime ago,” you sigh. “I wanna go back! But yeah, you haven’t been around to make fun of me and to take care of me so it feels that much longer. I kinda missed you.”

You say it so casually yet you have no idea how much it’s affecting him. Again, it’s something you’ve said to him so many times before. But it sounds different to him now, only because he wishes it carries a different meaning than you probably don’t intend.

He can’t bring himself to say it back, only because he’s worried about how it’ll come out, so he expresses wanting to hang out with you instead… in a not so direct way.

“Well, I’m here and I changed your lightbulb, although I suggest getting an LED one so it’s more efficient and it’ll last long,” he advises, given that what you have is the incandescent one. “Do you wanna get one at the store? I can replace that already so you won’t have to worry about this one again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you smile sweetly. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, maybe we can get a few more things?”

Jungkook chuckles to himself as he nods then sits on your couch while you change your clothes in the walk-in closet. He hoped for a quick run at the shops and maybe grab something to eat, perhaps talk more about how your past few weeks have been.

But now, you’ll probably have more time together and that satisfies his desire of being around you. It truly has been so long that he was close to wondering if the Japan trip had been a dream.

The “things” you wanted to get turn out to be Pilates clothes.

You and Jungkook arrived at the mall an hour ago and quickly got an LED light bulb at the home store. But then you dragged him to the other floor and into a shop full of leggings and tank tops and sports bras that he just looked at you blankly and you responded with a giggle.

He now awkwardly stands by one of the shelves with hoodies and has to act unbothered when he sees you pick up a few things, willing his mind not to go to places.

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” you say.

And you do keep it. He expected you to be in the fitting room for at least 30 minutes but you were done in 10. You say that you just need to try the size and you’ll get it in different colors. Efficient, and something he also does.

“Hayoung convinced me to get into Pilates,” you share as you grab the bag from the counter. “She said it’ll help with the stress. And getting my weakening body moving because I’m just in front of the screen most days. I thought I should give it a try so I signed up at the studio near my apartment and I just need to get the proper outfit for it.”

“That sounds good,” he smiles, softening at how you’re truly trying to manage your stress levels so as not to feel burnt out again. “I know that’ll help. When do you start?”

“Next week! So I just have to get these washed and then I’ll be good. I hope I don’t fall on my face while using the machine,” you suddenly frown.

“You won’t. Just don’t force yourself with the tension of the strings,” he advises. “You’re there to exercise and relax, not to get hurt. Yeah?”

“I’ll try. I’ll tell you how it goes,” you smile.

“Can’t wait to hear it.”

You mindlessly walk around and Jungkook just follows, not knowing what else you have in mind. He’s about to internally sulk at the thought that today might just end here when you stop in your tracks and turn to him.

“Did you have anything else planned today?” You ask.

“Just a jog,” he shrugs, quickly adding that it’s something he can do tomorrow once your face falls a little. “Why? Did you want to buy anything else?”

“I don’t have an outfit for our all-white college reunion party,” you pout.

“That’s in three months” he says.

“Two and a half,” you correct. “I wanna get a dress already because I’m definitely gonna forget it. And so I have time to have it dry-cleaned. Do you have something to wear?”

“Uh, a white shirt?”

“Boo, corny,” you chide. “It’s gonna be at a Club, Kook,” you remind him, referring to the one owned by Jihyo, your friend from university who also organized the event.

“What else am I supposed to wear?” Jungkook laughs.

“Well, you can show up in a tank top and you’d still look nice,” you say nonchalantly as you head towards another direction.

“Did you just compliment my looks?” He jogs after you. “You’ve never done that!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. I always praise your cute nose.”

“That… that was never a compliment,” he frowns.

But you don’t mind him, as you quickly enter a store and start looking around.

He follows you and observes how you shop. You touch the items hanging on the shelf as you pass them by even if it’s not what you’re looking for. When you see something you think you like, you stare at it for a good five minutes before deciding to either try it on or put it back. When you do try on something, you’re quite expressive, as he could hear you groan or yelp even when he’s outside the fitting room area.

You leave another store empty-handed and you apologize for dragging him around and possibly boring him. He insists he’s fine and that it’s not like it’s something he hasn’t done before, clarifying that he’d accompanied Mo-eum to look for clothes a few times before as well. Obviously, he doesn’t want to imply anything by saying that he’s done this too many times with his ex-girlfriends but looking back, he wasn’t as entertained with them as he is with you.

Though you tend to hyperfocus when you’re doing something, surprisingly when it comes to shopping, you’re very engaging. You ramble, like you often do, but you also ask him things and try to get his opinion.

It’s been over an hour of looking around but you still haven’t found anything. The ones you like are too pricey and the others just don’t fit right. You find a newly-opened store and get excited when you see the clothes are your style and you quickly choose a couple for you to try on. He’s mindlessly looking around when he hears you call for him.

He sees your head peeking out of the curtains. With the sales person attending to another customer, you ask him to help you tie the straps of the dress you have on.

“They’re supposed to be ribbons but I can’t tie them properly,” you say. “Can you fix them so I can see if it’s nice?”

He nods as he works on them, trying his best to make the knot look pretty. You turn around so he can work on the other side and he does his best to not fall into the temptation of looking at you while he does. When he finishes, you face the mirror and smile.

“It looks pretty,” you beam.

“It does. So are you getting that?”

“Hmm, probably the other one,” you say, gesturing towards one of the several dresses hanging on the hook. “That one looked nicer.”

“Oh,” is all he can say. You already look pretty in this one so that could only mean that the other option is much prettier. “Okay.”

“Mission accomplished,” you smile at him now. “I’ll get dressed and get that!”

It’s late in the afternoon by the time you finish, and you’re reminded that you’ve only had some sweet bread all day and you’re starving, something Jungkook learns when your stomach starts to grumble.

“So… early dinner?” He chuckles.

“Yes. And we’re having Japanese.”

He suggests a hotpot place after you said that you miss the soup he made on your last night in Sapporo. He comments that you seem to enjoy his cooking a lot and you remark that they’re very hearty and that he should cook for you more. It’s a request he doesn’t mind fulfilling, especially if that’ll mean being with you again.

You order a similar-tasting broth from the one he made, and you sigh in delight at just being able to take in the scent of a restaurant that reminds you of your trip from a few weeks ago.

“That week felt so fast,” you say. “The days were long and slow but they somehow still ended so soon. Did you enjoy that trip, Kook?”

“Of course. Why’d you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. I hurt your abs and smacked you with a pillow and you gave me a piggyback ride and dealt with my injuries,” you shrug.

“But I got free beer and a nice bottle of whiskey,” he reminds you.

“True. And I didn’t elbow your face when I slept next to you,” you remind him as well.

“Yup, that was a very big factor,” he nods.

“I couldn’t hurt the nose,” you sweetly smile at him.

He just playfully shakes his head at you and you clarify that you just find it adorable.

At least you find him charming, he thinks to himself.

You sit across from each other as you devour your dinner and talk about more stories of your visit to your hometown and how his weeks of training his students have been. You reminisce about Sapporo once more and mention the places you want to travel to in the future.

You’re laughing about a memory from your Hong Kong trip years ago when Jungkook gets a call. When you find out it’s Taehyung on the other end, you ask for the phone to say hi.

“___!” Taehyung greets. “I was just asking Kook if he got to save your ass from being electrocuted or something.”

“Yes, he did,” you playfully roll your eyes. “Thanks for telling him to go to me though. I would’ve waited for him to pity me before I asked him to come over.”

“Nah, he would’ve gone to you either way,” your friend laughs. “Where are you now?”

“Having dinner out,” you say. “We bought an LED light bulb and I ended up running errands and I dragged him with me. Poor guy had to deal with my annoying ass today,” you add, as if lamenting on his behalf. “I at least didn’t trip or hurt myself.”

“That’s new,” Taehyung hums. “But I’m sure he doesn’t mind it. Anyway, I was just asking him to send me something. I’ll leave you two to your dinner. See you on Thursday after work?”

“Yes, at 5 PM,” you say, referring to this string quartet charity event you asked him to watch with you. “Here’s Kook.”

You give the phone back to Jungkook and slurp the remainder of soup in your bowl.

“Yeah, I’ve got all the ones you asked for. I’ll give the hard drive tomorrow. Bye!”

He drops the call and you ask him what Taehyung needed.

“He asks me to download movies for him,” Jungkook says. “Like, the black and white Hollywood kind. They’re kinda hard to find.”

“Aww, Kook. That’s sweet. So you’re who he gets them from,” you smile. “So wait, can you download movies for me, too?”

“Sure, just tell me what you want. I can give you the hard drive on—”

“Saturday? There’s no rush. I won’t get to watch until the weekend, anyway.”

“Alright, then.”

“Thank you,” you smile at him again, the kind that’s meant to express your appreciation for all the things he does for you.

And the thing is, he doesn’t mind doing them. Even if he didn’t have these developing feelings for you, it’s something he’d still do. He’s never minded doing you favors or being collateral damage when you hurt yourself or having to take care of you when you do. He’d always done them willingly because it’s what he does for all his friends.

He supposes that the difference now is the anticipation of seeing you again when he does. It’s the excitement over knowing you’d ask him to do something and your accompanying smile and laughter. He supposes there’s more attachment in how he looks after you and in how he returns your affection.

And now with every spontaneous day or planned weekend you make him share with you, he enjoys each minute of it. Not just through your ramblings but through your silence, too; not just in your moments of triumph but in your instances of doubt as well.

It’s like settling into the feeling but more. It’s as if somewhere along the way of your friendship, he learned to settle into you.

“I thought you wanted to watch this,” Jungkook mumbles as he munches on some popcorn. “Why are you covering your face?”

“Because it’s scary, duh,” you bite back as you wrap one arm around your folded legs while your other hand makes slits over your eyes. “The spirit's gonna kill the sons now!”

“Well yeah, that’s what bad spirits do,” he deadpans. “Why did you want to watch this in the first place?”

“Because I heard it’s a good mo– Ah!” You squeal. You wait for the next scene and try to catch your breath. “I heard it’s a good movie. Plus, I like horror. Didn’t you know that?”

“I do, I mean… you’re always up for it whenever I suggest watching one. You just scream a lot. I guess you could like something and not enjoy it all the time.”

“I enjoy it though,” you correct him. “Getting scared and stressed and yelling is all part of the fun. Just like how in rom-coms, the frustration over the two leads being dumb is part of the experience. You take it all and that makes everything so satisfying.”

Jungkook merely nods in agreement but lingers on what you just said. The more he spends time with you, the more he learns how contradictory you are as a person, which is something he admires so much about you.

As a professional, you’re intellectual and decisive. You’re passionate and intentional and every single thing has a purpose or meaning for you. Outside of that, you feel intensely, whatever it is - fear, joy, wonder, anger, but you take them as part of a whole. You’re clumsy and disorganized sometimes. You’re affectionate and transparent yet there’s always something more that you feel and want, something that he’s unsure you’ve figured out yet.

And as he sneaks a glance at your wide eyes and anxious face over the next scene, he can’t help but smile at how open you are to feeling what’s out there for you. It’s quite captivating to watch, as he’s one who prefers to feel things more moderately, and perhaps it’s why it took this long for his feelings for you to develop.

His thoughts are disrupted with your gasp, followed by milder curses than he expected, and then another shriek. He focuses on the movie now, as he’s sure you’re gonna wanna talk about it after, and it ends with your deep exhale and your satisfied smile.

“That was good,” you say, as you grab a can of beer from your fridge and hand him one.

You rehash the whole two hours while you sit next to him on the couch then conclude that you’re still a little creeped out so you state you want to watch something else.

“The Thai movie about the grandmother,” you say, choosing from the long list of things you had him download.

“Are you sure?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes, I heard it’s good, too,” you shrug, already getting comfortable.

“Okay, then.”

As it turns out, it’s as emotional as it is good. And you can’t stop the tears as they waterfall down your face, to the point that you can barely breathe through your nose. You, in fact, wail, and you can hear Jungkook stop himself from laughing, even if despite your glassy eyes, you can see him tear up as well.

“You can cry, you know?” You turn to him, prompting him to pause the film.

You’re sniffing and distorting your face and he chuckles in response.

“I was about to but you started sobbing. It felt like your tears were good enough for the both of us,” he hums.

“It’s sad,” you pout.

“I know, and you wanted this,” he points out. “But hey, part of the experience, right?”

You nod because it’s true. You’d rather watch comedy dramas that make you hurt so good or horror movies that make you jump off your seat over ones that barely make you feel anything at all. But you suppose that’s how you’ve always lived your life.

People think you’re driven by logic and ideas all the time but you surprise yourself with how much you feel and how much that motivates you. But then again, that’s exactly why you’re in the field you’re in, and not everybody gets to understand or even see that.

Your tears remain and Jungkook scoots closer to wipe them off your cheeks with his paw sweaters. You meet his worried doe-eyes and you didn’t realize how innocent-looking yet expressive they are. You suddenly hiccup and he playfully shakes his head in response.

“I wanna laugh now,” you mumble.

“We’re going through the emotions of the wheel now, aren’t we?” Jungkook chuckles while proceeding to check his movie list again. “I’ve got–”

“What if we just watch Running Man reruns? I kinda don’t wanna be invested in characters again but I just don't wanna be sad anymore.”

“Then we go with that,” he nods. “And… uh, do you have anything I could cook for dinner?”

You check the time and realize it’s almost 7 PM. You had lunch out with Hayoung earlier then started your movie marathon with Jungkook when you got home. You’ve been with him for hours and it feels like time is flying.

“Ramen?”

“Sure, I can get two packs ready,” he hums, standing up to find his way around your tiny kitchen.

“I’ll also order pizza because I’m craving. What about chicken?”

“Hey, as long as it’s good food, I’m all in.”

As it turns out, eating Jungkook’s creamy ramen, then some pizza, and then some chicken wings over beer while laughing your bellies off is incredibly satisfying. You’re in tears for half of it because not only is the show funny, but so are Jungkook’s ridiculous side comments and imitation of the hosts and guests. You have to beg him to stop and let you breathe.

This is one of the most unhinged you’d seen him and you don’t care one bit that you’re snorting in laughter or close to drooling at this point. Once you calm down, you stretch your legs on the floor where you’ve been since you started dinner, and you breathe deeply.

“I needed this,” you smile then turn to look at him. “I needed to laugh and just… be comfortable.”

“Why? Work bugging you down? Pilates not yet working?”

“Work is always stressful and I’ve accepted that. Pilates is something I’m still getting used to but it helped that one day I needed to relax,” you say. “But I guess I just needed to laugh and cry and stuff myself with good food and not worry about the next day or something. Thanks for coming over with your movie library and watching and eating with me, Kook. It was fun.”

“Glad I could help you with having a worry-free day like this,” he replies. “And honestly, it feels good to just do whatever you want and not really have plans. It’s why I spend my weekends the way I do.”

“So it feels good being with me, then?” you smirk.

“Of course. You’re a little chaotic sometimes,” he teases. “But it’s part of the fun. I get to let loose and watch you be a weirdo.”

“Well I’m glad,” you softly smile this time. “You’re a little weird sometimes, too. I get to enjoy myself a little bit more when I’m around you. I mean, I say that about the other guys as well but I guess we haven’t spent as much time together.”

“We do now.”

“I know. And it’s fun. I hope you don’t get sick of me yet.”

He could tease you and say he already is, but he doesn’t want to lie to you like that. He doesn’t want you to think that even a tiny part of him would prefer not having you around.

The truth is, he’s been finding it harder to let a day pass without speaking to you, and he reminds himself to do things gradually and naturally despite the fear that you’d freak out and think of him differently just because he’s treating you differently.

“Just keep being that way and I won’t,” he says instead.

“Hmm. That’s a relief. I will, then.”

Jungkook sees you again the next Wednesday after Jimin messaged to ask who was free for dinner and drinks after work. A few from the group made it, including you, and even if Jungkook was a few seats away, just knowing you were okay and enjoying Pilates and eating well was enough to appease him.

He sees you again on Saturday for a late celebration of Hoseok’s birthday where you hog the mic during karaoke despite being tone deaf and unable to hold a note. Jungkook tries to remember all the times this had happened before and if he had found you as endearing as he finds you now.

He tries to make sure you’re okay the next day, and he ends up grabbing you some hangover soup and drinks just to get rid of the headache. You sleep for pretty much the whole day but those two hours with you was enough to get him through the week.

You’re off to a work trip overseas over the next weekend so Jungkook decides to preoccupy himself with a full day of gaming and probably an evening swim. But then Taehyung comes over to hang out and with his friend leaving in a few months, Jungkook welcomes the company.

Jimin joins for lunch then leaves for a shoot. Mo-eum drops by then leaves as well for a family dinner.

It’s during the second half of the FIFA game they’re playing when Jungkook’s phone beeps. A small smile forms on his face when he glances at your multiple messages, perhaps to rant about the food like you did last night, or to say that the bugs were biting you again, or maybe to talk about some research project you came up with while taking a shit - because yes, it apparently happens.

He hopes Taehyung doesn’t notice but his friend is quite observant, so he does.

“Is ___ doing okay?”

Jungkook misses a free kick at the sound of your name.

“What?”

Taehyung gestures towards the beeping phone.

“___. That’s her, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jungkook hums as he finally checks your messages and learns that yes, it’s the food.

You also got a papercut and he can imagine you whining about it.

“She’s just… you know, talking about the conference she’s attending,” Jungkook continues as he sends replies of memes and questions of how it’s going and if the annoying guy from yesterday is still bugging you.

“Hmm, I see,” Taehyung hums as he attempts a kick. “I was with her last week, right? She had that charity event she asked me to attend with her. We had dinner after and she was laughing while texting someone. It was you.”

“Oh, right.”

Jungkook instantly remembers what both of you were talking about then.

“I was just telling her this vacation story of one of the teachers. It was funny.”

“Wow, how trivial. And to think you don’t even reply to me,” Taehyung chides.

“It’s because you prefer to call me! Or randomly show up at my door just like you did today,” Jungkook counters.

“Because you literally don’t reply!”

Jungkook just shrugs and focuses on the match, hoping his friend would just drop it. Instead, he pauses the game.

“Okay, Kook. I’m gonna ask you a question and you gotta answer me honestly. Just remember that you’re a terrible liar.”

Jungkook groans in response. “What?”

“Do you… like ___?”

Jungkook could easily deny it, but he also knows that he is a terrible liar and Taehyung would figure it out anyway. So he answers after a few seconds and understates the truth.

“I… I guess there’s something more.”

“It’s a yes or a no.”

There’s another beat of silence, as Jungkook is nervous about verbalizing something he’s been keeping to himself for months.

“I mean, between shopping with her, downloading her movies, driving her around… it should be clear, right?” Taehyung presses further.

“Hey, I do those things for you,” Jungkook tries to defend himself as he feels like he’s being called out.

“Yah! Do you think I’m stupid? Do you steal glances at me, too?”

“No.”

“Exactly, but you do it with her. And you let her squish your cheeks and you hate it when we do it.”

“She’s always been much gentler,” Jungkook reasons.

“She rarely is but sure,” Taehyung chuckles. “So, you really do like her, huh?”

“It’s something that just happened,” Jungkook sighs, knowing there’s no point in hiding anymore. “I don’t even know how. I mean, we’ve been good friends for years, Tae. We’ve seen each other’s highs and lows. We’ve witnessed each other’s relationships and breakups, and we’ve just… always been around each other.”

Jungkook looks back at the days when it was all so simple, then suddenly being hit by a train from out of nowhere.

“There was no fuss, no drama, no expectations, no desire. Just friends,” he continues. “And then one day it was like… suddenly she looked so cute whenever she complained or pouted. And then it was fun just watching her tell stories and be weird and be smart. And then it felt nice when she would do something nice for me. And then I liked how she looked whenever I did something nice for her. And then… and then she stood up for me to my ex then hugged me later that night and I haven’t stopped thinking about her since then.”

“So it started that night, huh?” Taehyung smiles. “Was it seeing her angry and defending you?”

“Yeah… and then seeing her be so gentle after that,” Jungkook hums. “It’s how she’s always been - intense, loyal, caring. I guess I’ve always admired those things about her. I’ve always enjoyed having her around but that comfort, that familiarity, that desire for something a bit chaotic but also reassuring that I get with her, it just suddenly felt different. And I just wanted more of that, I guess.”

“Was it really all sudden, though?” Taehyung wonders. “I mean, how could something like her presence and her quirks and all these good things about her be there all these years and then just be different one day?”

“I was thinking about that because I couldn’t really figure out how I could just feel differently about her.”

“And?”

“I settled into her, I think that’s what it was.”

Jungkook has been pondering on it since movie night at your place. It’s like moving into a house then becoming familiar with it over time, and then it becomes comfortable, and then it becomes a home.

Sure, the floorboards creak and the faucet leaks sometimes and there’s a stain on the wall that won’t get off but it doesn’t matter, because he’s already settled in and he likes the place. He likes its flaws and wear and tears… It's all part of the experience. And friends are like that - there’s no changing or forcing anything. Friends kinda just adjust their way around each other over time and just fit together a certain way.

That’s how it was with you.

He tries to explain this and Taehyung nods, understanding what he means because all his friends feel like home, too.

“What was it like when it changed, then? When did it become more?” He asks.

“When I realized that, hey, I think I wanna hold hands in this home, too. I wanna kiss and cuddle and get to know every inch of it. I… I wanna stay here. Something like that.”

Jungkook smiles, thinking back to that night you hugged him after a tough night. And how every time you’d done it since then made him want you to do it again.

He thinks back to the moments these past months of your hands or arms brushing, and him wondering what it’s like to intertwine his fingers with yours. Maybe have you touch his cheeks again but look deeply into his eyes this time.

Taehyung feels comforted by his friend being able to express his feelings like this, something he’s never really been that comfortable doing before.

Jungkook feels deeply, but he’s a bit more reserved than most of their friends. He tends to express whatever he feels by being dependable, by being someone they could be around and not feel judged, by being encouraging in his quiet way. Even in his past relationships, Jungkook just seemed to suppress what he felt - whether it was love or affection or hurt or anger. To be able to articulate all that he feels for you in this way is quite special. Maybe you’re rubbing off on him.

“Hmm. Sounds like a couple we know. And they’re getting married in a few months,” Taehyung smiles now.

“I’m not even thinking about that far into the future,” Jungkook frowns.

“I know but that’s not the point,” Taehyung corrects. “I just meant that it happens, Kook. That’s how some love stories go. Just like with my brother. He and Hayoung got along so well that we just kept secretly waiting for them to finally get together. And they did, seven years after they met. Because that friendship just naturally became deeper and blossomed into something more. I mean, it’s a natural thing. Like you said, you just learn to… settle into someone. You gravitate towards them, feel like they’re a person you can tuck yourself in and just be comfortable with and that’s such a beautiful feeling. I’ve witnessed it with them and I’m witnessing it with you, too.”

“Is that how you knew?” Jungkook chuckles as he shakes his head, unsure if his friend is just that perceptive or if he’s that transparent. “Because you’ve seen it happen with your brother?”

“Sort of,” Taehyung hums. “But I’m close to her, Kook. And I know how I am with her. I’m fond of her, I’m amazed by her, I want to take care of her, but she also drives me crazy sometimes. In a very sibling-like way because that’s how I treat her. That’s how I see her. I saw how you took care of her during the flight to Japan. I saw how you smiled every time she did. Even when she was being a brat, you just… wanted to be there for her. And it’s different from how Jimin or I treat her.”

Jungkook nods, thinking now that perhaps those times in Sapporo when his friend looked at both of you smiling, left you alone together, or even had him give you a piggyback ride was Taehyung’s way of figuring it out. But another thought alerts Jungkook.

“Shit. Do you think he knows? Or maybe Mo-eum?”

“They haven’t said anything. But then again, you and ___ have kinda been treating each other the same way. I think I’m just noticing the subtle differences because I’ve been away for a while. And well, since I’m leaving again I'm a little bit more sentimental,” Taehyung laughs. “Why, don’t you want them to know?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“Because they might tell me to keep off or run for the hills.”

“Or tell you to get your head out of your ass and do something about it,” Taehyung exclaims.

“They could, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for any of that. I.. I want her to settle into me. Naturally.”

“I get that, but this is the same girl who meets someone and then gets attracted to them right away. Just saying,” Taehyung warns.

You’ve always said you tend to act on your intense feelings immediately. It’s true that at any point, you could serendipitously meet someone and then pursue them the next day.

“___ is used to a life where things are clear to her, including the people in them,” Taehyung continues. “She’s always been honest about her intentions with others and doesn’t compromise who she is with them, and we all like that about her. You might wanna just let things happen because you don’t wanna rush or pressure her and I get that but a little nudge won’t hurt.”

“How do I do that?”

“Be intentional, I guess. Act on what you feel but gently, gradually,” Taehyung advises. “Put feelers out and see how she thinks about friendships and relationships and whatnot.”

“I guess I kinda have been… unknowingly,” Jungkook shakes his head. “We’ve been having tons of conversations about how we dealt with our relationships and how we go about them.”

“And?”

“You know how we used to tease her with Namjoon?”

“Yeah, and she said that helpless clumsy people will burn the house down and so it was never gonna happen,” Taehyung laughs.

“There’s that. But she also wonders how someone could just one day decide to like a friend they’ve known for years. It’s a normal thing like you said but I guess it’s just not how she approaches relationships,” Jungkook says. “And there’s nothing wrong about that. It’s just… how do I make her see me as something more?”

“Show her that you could be? How would she know if you’re a home she wants to cuddle and kiss and hold hands in if you don’t show that potential?” Taehyung points out. “You don’t have to impress her or treat her so differently all of a sudden. Just be natural but know that you’ll have to be assertive when the time comes.”

“That is the most confusing thing but I guess that works” Jungkook sighs. “So… should I pick her up from the airport tomorrow, then?”

Jungkook picks you up from the airport on Sunday. Your conference wrapped up in the morning but your flight was delayed and you’ve been irritable since then, given that you weren’t able to eat a decent lunch.

You were texting with him last night and he kindly offered to give you a ride, reminding you that he likes long drives so it’s not a bother. You couldn’t say no, especially since an hour-long trip is much better having him to just talk with, something you’ve been enjoying a lot recently.

Jungkook was never really the texting type, that much you knew. He barely replies in group chats and the rare times you would message each other in the past was about random, shallow things. It wasn’t until a few months ago when you started texting more frequently, and your conversations go from mundane to deep, and you appreciate them equally.

Outside of that, you’ve been spending more time together, too, and you like that as well. He’s just a calming person to be around, very chill and laid-back, and you suppose it’s what you’ve been needing.

You know that he’s a reserved guy, often quiet and not very expressive compared to your other friends, unless he’s teasing you. He’s the kind to not let things bother him easily but also just does whatever he likes as long as he doesn't get in anyone's way.

You suppose that’s one reason why you were always closer to Jimin and Taehyung - they’re uninhibited and a little crazy like you, always going off about something together, narrating things animatedly, and being dramatic about everything. Jungkook, alongside Mo-eum, would just sit around and watch the three of you do all of that, and then take care of any one of you when needed.

While you still do most of those, you suppose that over time, you’ve all mellowed down a little bit. Over time, you’ve needed something else - a presence to calm you down and to contrast your often frenzied and chaotic state, a kind of energy that balances you out and grounds you.

Jungkook has been that for you recently. He listens to you rant about everything. He reassures you about your thoughts but also offers a different perspective. He makes you laugh and teases you comfortably. He shows up when you need him and he takes care of you like it’s second nature.

You know that’s the kind of person he’s always been. You don’t know though if you’ve just taken it for granted all these years because of that; you don’t really remember appreciating or even depending on him this way before. Perhaps it’s just time that’s passed and you grew up. Maybe at this point in your life, that’s the kind of person you need more of.

You smile at the thought as you watch Jungkook load your luggage in the trunk then head to the driver seat. He asks you about the delay and how the flight was. You say it was fine but that you only got to eat a sandwich at the airport and now you’re hungry, which makes it worse because you didn’t even enjoy the food at the conference.

“Was it really that bad?” He asks.

“For some reason, everything was spicy,” you frown. “And those that weren’t were just too intense and I just wanted something familiar. And delicious. Tae was sending photos of your suyuk from last night and I got so jealous. He said it was really, really good.”

“Oh. Do you want that, then?” Jungkook asks. “It’s not hard to make.”

“Wha–? Are you serious?” You look at him with puppy eyes, although this shouldn’t really be surprising anymore.

“Yeah. We’ll just get back to Seoul late afternoon and then pass by the supermarket for the ingredients. Can you wait until then?”

“I could. I mean, I heard it’s a life-changing dish,” you wink.

“Well, Taehyung’s an easily satisfied guy but I think it’s one of the best things I’ve made, too,” he chuckles. “Not sure about it being life-changing but you can maybe tell me later.”

“I’m sure it’ll be, since I’ll be very hungry by then,” you laugh. “But we could also just eat at a restaurant or something.”

He cocks an eyebrow, knowing that when you set your mind on a certain dish, you need to have it. The fact that you brought it up is a hint that it’s what you really want and Jungkook won’t say no.

He’s unsure if this counts as making a move on you but at this point, he’ll take whatever chance he can get to show you he cares and wants to make you happy. And that maybe, let you know in the most subtle way that something’s changed on his end without freaking you out.

“Fine, I know you know I really want to try it,” you giggle at having been caught.

You suppose he’s familiar with your antics at this point.

“I do,” he playfully shakes his head. “And it’s fine, really. I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“Hmm. That means you aren’t sick of me yet!”

“Don’t think I will anytime soon.”

Jungkook says it with certainty, and not in a teasing or even shy manner the way you’d expect. But you don’t think about it much. You’re just glad your constant presence hasn’t been a bother to him.

You spend the ride talking about how your respective weeks have been. You’re in your neighborhood before you know it, and he’s stopping by a supermarket and getting the ingredients while you message your friends about having dinner at Jungkook’s place. The three of them quickly reply they’ll be on their way, with Taehyung offering to pick them up.

You watch Jungkook do his magic while you wait for them to arrive, and you’re amazed when he says that he just watched a video on it online then went by feeling when he made it himself. You’re left in awe; you know your clueless ass could never.

Your friends arrive not long after, all of whom are just as excited to eat Jungkook’s dish, even if Taehyung just had it last night. He hypes it up and Jungkook calls him out for setting the expectations too high. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, he says.

Sitting next to him, you take your first bite. And your friend is right. This is incredibly delicious; you seriously don’t think any other version could top this.

You pinch the corners of your eyes in response, expressing dramatically - as you always do - how good it is. You take another bite with the kimchi, and given the unsatisfying dishes you’ve had the past three days, this quite literally tastes like heaven.

You reflexively lean on Jungkook’s shoulder as you close your eyes and savor it.

“Fuck, Kook. This is insane,” you moan.

“Yeah, well you haven’t even eaten it properly yet,” he hums. “Here.”

You turn to him and find him trying to feed you the pork wrapped in lettuce with rice and kimchi. You open your mouth and it’s even more delicious. This tastes like home, and in a way you didn’t expect.

You curse under your breath again, like Jimin is, while Taehyung and Mo-eum quietly enjoy it.

“It always amused me how Kook is the baby of the group but he never acted like it,” Mo-eum points out.

“Yeah, it was always me,” you chuckle.

“Debatable. Tae’s the baby. You’re the princess,” Jimin corrects.

“I agree,” Jungkook hums. “But we never minded, just so you know. At least, I never did.”

He says the last part softly, you’re probably the only one who hears it. Between his assuring words and this dinner he made, there’s not much you can do, so you prepare a portion of the meat with rice and side dishes, too, and offer to feed him.

He hesitates only briefly but lets you do as you wish. Your fingers graze his face and he feels the shiver on his skin.

“My thank you ssam,” you smile, and Jungkook praises you for making it well-balanced because that’s the only harmless thing he can really say.

You spend the next two hours the way you usually do when you’re together, until Mo-eum yawns and says she’ll go ahead because her three straight 12-hour night shifts are getting to her. She just wanted to see you so she came, even if you have your usual post-work dinners on Wednesdays. Tuesdays are reserved for Jimin while Taehyung usually just messages you whenever. Jungkook, you realize, has become a staple of your weekends.

Taehyung then offers to take Mo-eum home, then drags Jimin along because they need to buy something.

“What about ___?” Mo-eum asks.

“She’s out of the way,” Taehyung answers. “Plus, she craved this so she’ll help Jungkook clean up, right?” He continues, smiling sweetly at you.

“Of course I will,” you answer.

You bid them goodbye then start clearing the table of the dirty dishes.

“___, you don’t have to,” Jungkook says, taking them from you.

“This has always been my task,” you pout. “Plus, this is all I can do. You always do so much for me.”

You don’t wait for him to respond and proceed to washing the dishes. He stands next to you though and you continue talking, up until he drives you home then messages you good night.

You end up seeing Jungkook pretty much every week after that, whether it’s because of a get-together - like karaoke night on Friday after work, or a special event - such as the screening of the movie that Yoongi composed the music for.

You see him on your own, too, like on nights when you crave something after work, when there’s a movie you ask him to download that he watches with you, when you have an errand to do that you don’t feel like doing alone, or to cheer for his high school taekwondo team, just like you promised.

He’s always willing to join you even if he’s got things going on himself. He just says he doesn’t mind and deep down, you’re glad that he truly hasn’t gotten sick of you yet, given your tendencies to whine about things and complain about your work despite how much you love it.

Jungkook shares a lot more about himself, too. Not that he never did but you notice him being more open and comfortable about things he worries about - like how his students will grow up to be and if he’s being a good role model to them. There’s the occasional mention of wondering if he’ll be a good enough partner to whoever he’ll end up with after you open up a bit more about your past relationships.

It’s always stuck with you how he says that being with someone means that you witness the birth of a different person every time and then celebrating that. It strikes you because you feel like somewhere along the way, even you failed to do that yourself - accept how you’ve changed then embracing it. But he says he’s also learning, and that being with someone means you learn together.

It’s those conversations that have you appreciating your time with him even more. He’s there when there’s chaos in your mind, and even more so when it’s around you.

It’s near the end of April when you find yourself in Mo-eum’s apartment with Jimin, getting ready for your college reunion party. It feels like it’s been a while since you dolled up for something like this. Mo-eum, like you, only does it when there’s a special event. For Jimin, this is a norm in his line of work.

Your best friend eyes your outfit, fixes your dress, then suggests a bolder lipstick color.

“It’ll work with the guys,” he smirks.

“I’m not trying to get anyone’s attention, just to remind you,” you say, even if you go with the red that he hands you. “It’s a party and I’ll drink, watch people get shit faced, and then bury myself in the covers at night then lay in bed all day tomorrow.”

“You’re getting old,” he teases.

“You’re gonna feel the effects of all this partying at one point,” you reply.

“Nah, I’ve got energy. I keep myself in shape, you know?”

You throw your pillow at him at the dig, but you do point out that you still do your Pilates session every week and that’s helped with your energy, amongst other things.

“Plus, who’ll it work on? The guests are literally the same people from college. No one’s gonna go for me after all these years and vice versa,” you add.

“You have such a narrow and simplistic way of looking at things sometimes, you know that?” Jimin shakes his head at you. “You think that attraction is only immediate and a one-time thing, as if it doesn’t develop overtime or something.”

“Well, if it wasn’t there at the start, then it won’t be there later on,” you shrug.

“You only think that way because all your relationships have been that way,” Mo-eum says.

“Yeah, and they all ended right away,” Jimin points out.

“Ouch,” you say with no real bite, not like it’s something you haven’t thought about anyway.

“You want the feeling to smack you in the face at first glance,” Mo-eum adds, earning a nod from you because that’s true. “But it could also smack you years later, when you least expect it. Isn’t that intense and genuine, too?”

“Yeah, imagine one day realizing you like that cute ops guy at work that you have lunch with who’s so chill and unproblematic,” Jimin says. “Or your neighbor from childhood that you still talk with sometimes. Maybe Namjoon? He can already make ramen and you know how to slice fruits now. Who knows, it could be Tae. Or even Kook!”

“Jimin, I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this,” you sigh. “I don’t really see myself liking my friends in that way. Things that are good and comfortable don’t need to be disrupted.”

“___, I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this, too,” he counters. “You can. You only think otherwise because as much as you feel things, you don’t really pay attention to them. For you, things and people that are new are the only ones worth giving a shot because that’s what you’re used to. And I say this in the most loving way - I really think that the one who can truly handle all of you is someone who’s known you for years.”

You’re not offended, but it does intrigue you. So you ask what he means.

“You’re a lot of amazing things but that doesn’t mean every new guy you date sees that,” Jimin explains. “And I know you never said it directly but you always worried that your exes wouldn’t understand you, and so there were parts of you that you didn’t really wanna show them.”

You think about your best friend’s words and you agree. You weren’t the type who spent less time with your friends when you were in a relationship, and you always thought that meant you maintained your independence and social circles outside of your partner. Deep down, a part of you felt that there were aspects of your life you wanted to keep separate from the men you dated - your friends, your dreams, your bare and unfiltered self.

With Jeong-su, you were the passionate student leader who was so sure of herself. So on the days when you were stressing about school or life in general, you ran to your friends and not him. You suppose that’s where all the fights about not making time for him stemmed from.

It was similar with Seungho, as you were the independent and confident woman who worked hard for what she wanted in his eyes, and you felt like you had to keep that image up even if you had bouts of doubt or insecurity. He was aloof and wasn’t the type to spoil you. It was his lack of compassion that really bothered you, and you never really sought him for comfort.

There were many things that attracted you to them, but ultimately they faded away. During those years, you were focused on building yourself and your career, and they helped you in a way, because they were also attracted to that side of you - ambitious, polished, uncompromising.

But once you became in tune with the more human and flawed, unfiltered parts of yourself, you pushed them away, perhaps fearing they wouldn’t understand. Or that they wouldn’t want to deal with that side of you at all.

Maybe that’s what Jimin meant about you not paying attention to your feelings. You focused on how they made you feel, and not on what you felt about them, nor about how you felt about yourself because of them. As you grow up, you realize they’re not the same.

“What does knowing someone for a long time have anything to do with this?” You try to deflect. “You can know someone for years and still be surprised by who they are once you learn more.”

“They’re not afraid of you,” Jimin responds. “They don’t want to tame nor fit you into an idea they have of you because they already know the many versions of who you are. They’ve… they’ve learned how to exist alongside you and have fun along the way. I think that makes the difference.”

“And what does paying attention to how I feel even really mean?” You wonder out loud, as you process more of what he says.

“It means actually thinking about them, you know?” Jimin hums. “Like, giving yourself time to understand what you’re feeling, independently of what they do or say to you. You’ve always gone with your heart and we love that about you but the intense, genuine emotions that you want actually take time. I think it’s something you’ll figure out right away. It’ll be different from how it used to feel.”

“Okay, love guru,” Mo-eum chuckles. “Where’s all this coming from?”

“I listen to this podcast that talks about grown up stuff like relationships and I’ve picked things up,” Jimin shrugs. “But also I think I have a good read of people. I had a vibe with Seokjin and Hayoung long before they got together.”

“Is that why you keep pushing for Yoongi and Gyu-rim? Because you have a vibe about them?” You ask.

“Yes. And I just really think they like each other but they don’t know it yet.”

“Hmm. Interesting. And what about Mo-eum and Tae?”

“I asked her about it before but she didn’t answer me,” Jimin responds, triggering your other friend’s memory about that time.

It turns out he was right about that, too.

“And now I’ll ask you,” Jimin turns to you.

“Look, the Namjoon ship sailed a long time ago. You know how I feel about that,” you explain.

“I wasn’t referring to him,” Jimin shakes his head. “I was gonna ask about Kook.”

“Oh,” you and Mo-eum say at the same time.

Jimin watches your face distort, going from processing to wondering to somehow lost, and he chuckles in response.

“You know what, never mind. I’ll leave that for you to think about,” he smiles instead. “Anyway, come on. We have a party to go to.”

You get inside your booked car and decide to not think too much about what Jimin had asked you right before you left. Not that his question was completely out of left field because even you would say that you’ve been spending more time with Jungkook lately, but you suppose you hadn’t really thought much about what it could mean.

You can chalk it up to that unspoken promise from months ago about being better friends to each other, but maybe that’s a big part of it, too. Was it really just about that? Or have your efforts naturally progressed to mean something more?

You internally sigh at all these thoughts that your best friend unfortunately put in your head. Tonight’s not the time to be contemplating about this, not when you’ll be around people and around him.

And just as the reminder that Jungkook will be here crosses your mind, he just happens to be the first person you see right when you exit the car.

He greets familiar faces as you and your friends meet him and Taehyung in line to the Club before he turns to you with a smile.

“Hey!” Jungkook greets, going in for a hug like what you do every time you see each other.

He smells like cotton. It’s so fresh yet so manly.

“Hey,” you return, taking in how he looks. “So, uh, what happened to the white shirt?”

“Tae told me to ditch it. He said this was better,” Jungkook shrugs, eyeing his outfit of white tank top under a simple white jacket. He gestures towards your dress. “So, this was the nicer option,” he hums.

“Yeah,” you nod, remembering that unplanned afternoon of shopping when he let you drag him around the mall. “Is it alright?”

His lips turn up and he leans closer, as you near the entrance and the music gets louder.

“Yeah, you look pretty.”

Your smile is immediate and you’re surprised at how much that affects you. You’re pretty sure he’s called you pretty before, but maybe it has a lot to do with how he looks right now because if you’re being honest to yourself, he looks really good.

You finally enter the Club and get properly greeted by Taehyung, who gives you a tight hug the way he always does. You end up talking about his cameo in this one show and his guest appearance in Running Man, which you and Jungkook watched together the other day.

Once you make it to one of the cocktail tables, you greet your other friends from university and take shots with them to jumpstart the evening. You don’t really intend on drinking a lot tonight so you pace yourself and catch up with those you haven’t seen for years, including Jihyo, who introduces you to the co-owners of the Club.

It’s not really your favorite thing to do, as meeting people overwhelms you sometimes, but you go along with it. It’s still a night to dress up and kind of let loose, so that’s what you do, as you dance around with the ones you used to party a lot with once upon a time.

Taehyung is jumping from one group to another, and you never really knew how the theater kid ended up knowing a bunch of people from every faculty and department in your university. Jimin is with his course buddies whom he hangs out with frequently, and you spot Jungkook and Mo-eum in the same area they’ve been since you arrived, chatting and taking shots with people you recognize from their pre-med classes.

You finished university about six years ago and though it’s not too long ago, somehow seeing all these people you used to walk by in the halls, the library, or the clubs makes you feel like it is. There’s something about them that’s different than you remember, and it hits you just how much time can change many things - people, places… feelings, beliefs.

The initial exhilaration from seeing old friends again and letting loose quickly dies down as your energy starts getting drained and your legs begin to cramp up.

Despite your low block heels and not-too-tight dress, you still feel a little bit uncomfortable. It’s a much different experience than the last time, which you suddenly remember was months ago when Taehyung invited you all to a night out. That was when Jungkook’s ex showed up, and the memory prompts you to quickly search for him, irrationally thinking she might be here even if she doesn’t have a reason to be.

You spot him at the same cocktail table, chatting with some girls. You look around to look for either Jimin or Taehyung but a bunch of rowdy guys dance past you and bump you as you make your way towards one of the couches.

“Hey, you okay?”

You turn around and find Jungkook’s worried eyes looking at you.

“Yeah, I was just… trying to find a place to chill at,” you respond. “I’m a little tired.”

He gestures towards his earlier spot. “I’ve been saving that table all night.”

You follow his lead and get introduced to the girls he was speaking with earlier. They were members of the women’s swim team that he used to train with. They leave not long after you greet them, then you sit on the stool that Jungkook offers.

“Did you see Mo-eum on her way out?” He asks, leaning closer so you could hear him over the loud music.

“Yeah, Jimin and I walked her to Taehyung’s car. She has a shift tomorrow afternoon and she wanted to get some rest tonight,” you explain.

“Right, she did mention that,” he nods.

Jungkook offers you water as you talk about who you’ve been catching up with all night. You haven’t hung out with him much and you quickly feel at ease, reminiscing and giving updates on the other friends you’ve both been talking with.

It’s clear that at this point, people have had more to drink. There’s more screaming of the song lyrics, more cheering at the dance floor, and definitely more bumping from those drunkenly walking around.

Including this woman who gets bumped and falls to the ground, right next to Jungkook. She’s unfamiliar so she’s probably from another course you didn’t really interact with.

He gets over his surprise and quickly crouches down to help her up. She eventually does but instead of just saying her thanks and walking away, she lays her hands on his chest and dazedly smiles. The music is still loud but you hear what she says.

“Oh my god, you’re so hot,” she mumbles. “Can I dance with you? Just don’t tell my boyfriend. He’s right over there.”

She giggles and it’s clear she’s had a lot to drink. But Jungkook’s not the least bit interested, especially given that she’s not single. It’s obvious why that puts him in a sour mood.

Just as he’s letting her go and moving back, the said boyfriend makes his way towards where you’re sitting, and you get the feeling that things aren’t going to end well.

He calls out for the girl, saying he’s been looking for her, and she just had to make up a story that she’s been dancing with Jungkook, which clearly didn’t happen. This enrages the man who turns to Jungkook, yelling at him to keep off his girl.

Jungkook raises his arms, explaining that all he did was help her up after she fell but the man doesn’t listen. Surely by this time, he should be focused on ensuring his girlfriend is fine, but he seems quite drunk, too, so he probably isn’t thinking straight.

There’s a bit of commotion, as the girl starts whining. Taehyung, unknowing of what’s happening, sees the man walking closer to where you and Jungkook are, so he attempts to pull the man’s arm to get him away. That enrages him, too, so now he’s turning around and pulling on Taehyung’s shirt, which prompts Jungkook to now pull the man away from your friend.

Which ends badly, as the man tries to shove Jungkook away and ends up elbowing him in the face before he finally leaves you alone.

You shriek in response, shocked at the aggression and how fast everything happened.

You’re just behind Jungkook so you walk to face him and see that he’s busted his lip. He tries to use his white jacket to stop the bleeding, but you gently pull his hand away and place a napkin over it.

“How bad does it hurt?” You ask, trying to sound calm even if you’re boiling in anger.

All Jungkook did was try to help the girl, and though you’re unsure if she intended to deflect and place the blame on him instead, she still shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation like that. And the man definitely didn’t need to be that aggressive and unwilling to listen.

“It stings pretty bad,” Jungkook responds, wincing in pain as he puts pressure on the cut.

This angers you even more, and you try to storm off with your clenched fist, pumped up with adrenaline that you think you could even do anything.

But Jungkook pulls you back before you could make another step.

“Hey, hey. Where are you going?”

By this time, people around you have dispersed. Taehyung followed the guy, perhaps to make sure he gets escorted out of the Club. It’s just you and Jungkook at the table now, and somehow he looks calmer than you do.

“Give that man a piece of my mind,” you grumble.

“With your fist?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“With my words first. And then my fist,” you answer.

He smiles at you, softly, perhaps knowing the way you do that that’s a stupid idea but that he appreciates the thought regardless.

“You know you don’t have to,” he says. “I’m okay. It’s just a busted lip.”

“I can’t believe he elbowed your face. You were just trying to help,” you scowl.

“I can’t believe some stranger elbowed my face before you ever did,” he chuckles, earning you an apology after you reprimand him for joking about something like this.

“Really, ___. I’m fine. The pain will go away soon,” he tries to assure you.

You take his word for it and are willing to let it go. It’s that same time that Taehyung and Jimin get to your table, asking Jungkook how he is. They say that the man has been brought out and they found the girl’s friends for her to go home with. They wanted to make sure she was safe and being taken care of.

“I’m okay,” Jungkook assures them, too. “I just need to ice it and find a pretty good pain reliever for this one.”

“I have some at home that Mo-eum gave me,” you say. “They’re really effective but they make you sleepy.”

“That should be good, yeah?” Jimin asks. “___, can you clean his wound and give him the meds? Jihyo asked us to help with managing the rowdy guests so we’ll stay a bit longer.”

“Yeah, of course,” you answer, turning to Jungkook who looks a bit apologetic.

“Take my car,” Taehyung offers. “I’ll get Mr. Yang to pick you up.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you tiredly smile, the adrenaline from earlier now gone and you’re just exhausted and upset.

“Alright. Take care of him, okay?” He gestures towards Jungkook.

“Yeah, it’s my turn to,” you say. “Take care of yourselves. Let us know when you’re home.”

Jimin and Taehyung nod in response so you and Jungkook start making your way out of the Club. You come across Jihyo, who apologizes for not managing the crowd better, but Jungkook waves her off, saying it could’ve been worse.

You both wait by the street for Taehyung’s chauffeur, who’s just coming back from dropping Mo-eum off at her apartment. You move closer to Jungkook to assess the cut, frowning at the memory from earlier. The scene plays in your head and you’re hit with that feeling of anger all over again.

Jungkook sees your face contort and he can tell you’re being worked up thinking about what happened.

“I never asked you if you got hit or something,” he disrupts your thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I… you, you were blocking him,” you say, recalling how Jungkook immediately stood in front of you, his hands signaling you to move so you’re not close to the man.

“He had a lot to drink and I was scared he’d do something to us.”

“Yeah well he did, to you,” you grumble.

“Like I said, it’s fine, ___,” he smiles now to try to convince you. “My lip could've split even more with how built he was but it’s not. I’ll survive.”

“Why are you so calm?” You question him, wondering if it’s always been in his nature to be like this.

And you remember that it is.

“If I’m not then who would be between us?” He chuckles.

You frown and bow your head because it’s true. He’s the one who’s hurt but you’re the one who seems to be so affected by it.

But it’s in your nature, too. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve ever been angry at someone mistreating him.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make light of you being upset,” he mumbles, as he gently tilts your chin up to face him again.

“It’s just… I get his anger, okay?” He explains. “I’m not justifying his actions or anything. I mean, I wouldn’t react that way. And I… didn’t. I’m just saying that yes, he shouldn’t have been aggressive but seeing your partner do something like that gets to you and you end up… doing unpleasant things. Plus, he had been drinking so that made things worse but I’m not mad at him. I’m not mad at anyone.”

His words hit you, as you can imagine that the moment the woman mentioned she had a boyfriend after trying to flirt with him, thoughts swirled in Jungkook’s mind at what probably happened that night when his ex cheated on him. You saw his face fall then, and it angers you all over again at the thought that he experienced all that before and now some stranger tried to make him the other guy because his woman got caught.

Jungkook sees you clench your jaw, seemingly controlling your emotions. It’s not just anger this time. It seems like there’s something more.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly. “What else is bothering you?”

“People are just so mean,” you huff, close to tears at the overwhelming emotions. “And they’re mean to you. You don’t deserve any of that.”

And with your words, Jungkook knows - you’re not just talking about tonight.

He pulls you close to hug you, knowing that this is who you are. You feel things intensely, and while he’s not the type to do that, you’re doing it for him, and that comforts him somehow.

He feels you slowly wrap your arms around him and sigh into his chest, as if this is helping you calm down. He also knows that letting you take care of him is one other way to do that.

He pulls away and tilts your chin to face him again.

“I know I don’t, so thanks for reminding me,” he says. “I guess I just easily accept bad things that happen to me because there's not much I can do about other people’s actions but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to feel upset. I don’t want them to win and they will if I put myself down because of it.”

You nod, understanding what he means.

And he’s right. At least you get to be the one who’s mad about it. You get to expend that negative energy towards those mean people and let them feel even a tiny bit of it in one way or another.

“I’ll let you treat my cut and I’ll take the meds, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you say, amazed at how he’s the one who’s still able to pacify you when he’s the one who’s hurt.

You wait a few minutes more with him until the car arrives.

The ride to your apartment is quiet. You spend most of it looking out the window, occasionally turning towards him where he meets your gaze once he senses you’re looking at him. He gives you an assuring smile and you return it, as if to say that you just want to make sure he’s okay.

You instruct him to take a seat once he enters your place and you immediately give him the pain reliever. You hand him a cloth-wrapped cube of ice to soothe the cut, which has thankfully stopped bleeding. But you see the blood stains on his jacket sleeves and offer to soak it so they don’t stick.

You leave him to prepare a vinegar solution that you search online then return to your dining room. He’s already rid himself of his jacket, and he sits there with his tattooed arm holding up the ice to his wound, wincing at the sting. That man was big, and you’re thankful that his elbow didn’t slice Jungkook’s lip completely open because that definitely could’ve happened.

“How’s it looking?” He asks, as he shows it to you.

“Still a bit swollen,” you sigh. “How do you feel?”

“Meds are starting to work,” he yawns.

“And what do you have to do next?” You ask, remembering that he’s a PE teacher and he definitely knows about cut treatment more than you do.

“Just rinse and make sure I don’t irritate it.”

“Sounds pretty simple,” you nod. “It really could’ve been worse,” you shake your head.

“Yeah, he could’ve elbowed my nose instead. Imagine that,” he chuckles, knowing how protective you are of it, even if he really doesn’t know if you mean it or just say it to tease him.

“If he did, I really would’ve gone to him and smacked him or something,” you frown. “Nobody messes with that cute nose, I swear.”

“I appreciate how it’s worthy of your protection,” he smiles, yawning again.

You note his glazed eyes and think of how tired he must be right now. It’s been a long night and you want him to just rest and feel better in the morning.

“Just stay the night, Kook,” you offer. “You can wash up and go straight to sleep. I’ll set up the sofa bed.”

Jungkook looks softly at you. You’ve been everything he’s needed all night. Even if he was barely with you, he kept glancing to where you were to see if you were enjoying yourself. And of course because you looked really pretty in the white halter dress that he just wanted to see more, and he’s glad he got to tell you that early on.

But once he started to get tired from all the socializing, there you were. Both of you got to talking and he immediately felt at ease. And while that woman and her boyfriend disrupted his night, they didn’t completely ruin it, not when he gets to be with you at the end of it.

Sure, he hopes he didn’t have a busted lip but him getting hurt is much better than you experiencing even a fraction of what he did.

So yeah, it’s not all bad. He gets to sleep knowing you’re around him again and that you’ll be there in the morning.

“Alright,” he smiles. “I’ll get myself cleaned, then.”

Just like before, you give him a towel and clothes to use. The spare toothbrush from last time is still there, you say, and he feels giddy knowing you hadn’t thrown it away.

You set up the sofa bed in time and give him something to further soothe his lip. You leave a glass of water on the coffee table, too.

He’s asleep by the time you finish taking your shower. The cold compress lays loosely on his hand so you kneel next to him and take that away.

He looks tired as his mouth is slightly opened and he breathes heavily. But still, he looks peaceful and that assures you.

He was never the type to be doted on, especially since he’s always managed to get things done on his own. Most times he doesn’t even ask for help, instead looking out for others who need him. You know this, but he also knows of your tendencies to panic and your need to know for certain that he’s okay. Perhaps that’s why he agreed to stay.

You walk towards your bed but decide to look back, as Jimin’s words from earlier ring in your head. Leaning on your wall, you gaze at Jungkook and try to understand what you’ve felt this whole evening.

There was that sense of protectiveness earlier. He’s a good person who deserves good things, and whether it’s because of someone he cared about or a complete stranger, he gets hurt in the end, even if he was just trying to love and trying to help.

You’ve always been protective of your friends but there was a different type of intensity when it came to Jungkook. You felt helpless but you also desperately wanted him to know that you were gonna stand up for him regardless of what it meant for you.

As you look at him tonight, it’s a similar feeling, just a bit more mellow. You want to protect him in whatever way you can. You want to see him enjoying life. You want him to know he’s cared for, that someone looks forward to his laughter and his presence, that he makes someone’s day bearable and fun.

And as you lay in bed, you think about what else you’re feeling and it hits you. You want to wrap your arms around him and make him feel comfortable, like there’s a place for him to breathe and be himself. Because that’s how he’s been making you feel recently, and there’s no denying that anymore.

Jungkook is still asleep when you wake up the next day. You both slept through the morning and you’ve gotten hungry, so you search for the things he’s allowed to eat and decide on getting some cold noodles and milkshakes delivered.

You reply to your friends’ messages about how he’s doing, and Mo-eum recommends that he just rest since based on your account, he got knocked pretty hard so that might still have an effect on him.

You’re putting his soaked jacket inside your laundry machine when you hear Jungkook grunting awake from his sleep. You head to him immediately and ask him how he’s feeling.

“I feel fine,” he hums, rubbing his eyes as he gets used to the early afternoon light. “That pain reliever knocked me out good. I needed that sleep.”

“That’s good to hear,” you nod. “I got us food delivered so just wait a while. I’m getting your jacket washed, too, if that’s fine.”

“Sure. I can also just come back for it so you don’t feel rushed.”

“Okay,” you answer. “I was worried about you last night. I know you know how I get so if you stayed to appease me, I appreciate it, Kook.”

“What if I also just wanted to spend more time with you, would that have been okay?” He asks, catching you off guard.

He’s cheeky sometimes, but you don’t recall him being this bold. Your heart does a weird thing. You’re not actually sure if it’s stopped or if it’s just fluttering too hard that you don’t feel it.

Maybe it’s the way he said it with his low, gravelly voice. Maybe you're just overthinking what Jimin had said and now you’re putting meaning into everything. The last thing you want is to convince yourself that something’s there when there isn’t, just because your best friend assumed that there was.

Your face might have made a dozen different expressions again because before you can answer, he’s already chuckling at you and standing up, seemingly not interested - or perhaps just impatient - in what you have to say.

“I’ll just wash my face,” he says.

Jungkook faces the mirror and scolds himself. What he said was way too bold than what you’re used to, even if it’s the truth. He truly could’ve managed on his own, even if he probably would’ve sleepily dragged himself up to his apartment last night.

But he stayed because he knew you’d be worrying. And he wanted to bask in that feeling, even if he fell asleep right away. But being here, seeing you first thing in the morning, and spending a few more hours with you - those are things he wants to do, too.

He recalls what he told Taehyung he’d do about his feelings for you. He’ll probably drop hints or be a little more forward, but he doesn’t want to overdo it nor be too different for fear of scaring you. Or worse, pressuring you. You’ll most likely tell him off.

He wants you to settle into him, like he’d said. He wants you to just feel your way around him until you’re comfortable - until you want to hold hands and kiss and cuddle. If that’s what you want.

You’re preparing the delivered food by the time he’s finished in the bathroom and he sits in front of you, acting like there aren’t a hundred things running through his mind. This domesticity is one of them; liking and wanting more of it is another.

You no longer seemed too bothered about what he said earlier and you both get into your usual banter while eating.

Your phone beeps, so does Jungkook’s, and it seems that your friends have resumed asking how he is, now that you’ve informed them that he’s awake.

“Reply, please. They’ll wanna hear it from you,” you tell him.

They eventually call. Jimin’s driving, Taehyung is working out, and Mo-eum is on her way to her shift. You let Jungkook share his account this time and you watch him from your seat, happy that he’s regained his energy. There’s that smile again. And your heart has seriously been so weird since last night.

You wonder if it’s always done that. Or perhaps this is an entirely new feeling that you’re slowly discovering.

Jungkook scrunches his nose. He’s laughing and then asking if you’re full and then filling your glass with water. You’re reminded that yes, he’s always been like this.

It’s you that’s probably changed. And you’re not quite sure what to do. Keep your distance to sort your feelings out and see if you’ll miss him? Keep spending time with him and see if the sensation and giddiness continue?

Just then, you get a notification from your other group chat, and it’s Hayoung who’s messaging.

[hayoung 💛] Hello friends! Less than 2 weeks until our pre-wedding party / send off trip for Tae in Jeju! I’ve got everything booked. Meet up at 11 in the airport!

[hayoung 💛] To Kook and ___ who can’t leave earlier because of work (boooo 😢), I’ve arranged an airport transfer to drive you to the house. I’ll send the details later. See you all! We can’t wait!

You’re reminded of the last trip before Taehyung leaves, the late afternoon flight you have with Jungkook, and the four days you’ll be spending with him.

Seems like you’ll have to go with the second option, then.

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animasola86 · 5 months ago

Text

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH3

After Mommy has disciplined you with the cane, you feel the need to properly apologize to her, which was Daddy's idea, who promises you a reward if you do so.

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Pet names. Dom/sub undertones. Domestic discipline/caning. Cunnilingus. Tongue fucking. Cuntwarming? Vaginal fingering. Squirting. Subspace. Aftercare. Unprotected piv sex. Creampie. Cockwarming. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 8.1k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6 7–8–9–10–11–12

A/N: This chapter is a direct continuation of Chapter 1 and a summary of the dynamic you can expect from the rest of the story: a love triangle with F/F and F/M and F/F/M intimacies. I will note what you can expect in each chapter (indicated by the color of the header image and by the different colors in the warning tags), but just remember that our Reader is bisexual/bi-curious, so we'll have a multitude of different sex scenes here. ⚠️Also warning: it starts a little rough, sorry. Speaking of: before you hate on Mommy in this chapter, remember: 1) this is an established (fictional!) BDSM relationship with implied established boundaries and rules, 2) she is a Domme, 3) she is human and can have bad days too, 4) this is fiction, 5) please keep reading, it'll all get resolved! This is a HURT and comfort story after all!

Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3 🔷️ Chapter 4

Several months later

You startle awake to loud voices. It takes you a long moment to realize where you are. In your bed, on your stomach. Mommy's voice in your ear, muffled, and suddenly you remember why your butt hurts so bad.

It's hazy, there were a lot of tears and pleading words, apologies and desperate cries, and it all started with a baking tray and flying cookies, the smell of burnt dough in the air, heat all around you, a stumble, a crash, herbs and soil raining to the ground.

It wouldn't even have been that bad if Mommy hadn't come into the kitchen at the exact moment you had lost your balance and dropped everything, your surprise for Daddy ruined as well as her precious herb garden. You knew Mommy cooked sometimes, but why she'd been so upset upon seeing the broken pot and plant, you had no idea.

But she was furious, screaming at you as you shrunk away. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” you cried, trying to clean up your mess, but all you did was make it worse. You even burned yourself on the hot sheet, destroyed the rest of the plant by stepping on it, and it was Mommy's flat hand on your cheek that brought you out of the headless panic and into a deep-rooted shock.

“Take a breath,” she ordered, staring at you. “And another. Okay? Good, then clean this up. Now.”

And you did, with shaking hands, but you somehow managed to scoop up burnt cookies, dirt and plant remnants, threw it all into the trash, then wiped the floor and washed the baking sheet. And Mommy watched, with her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes darker, her face a stoic angry mask. As soon as you were done, you looked at her, and couldn't help but shed a new batch of tears, and some more, until you were back into your hysterics, sobbing and apologizing.

“Go to your room,” she told you. “Wait for me.”

Through the tears, you nodded and shuffled away, barely making it up the stairs. You felt horrible, and her cold demeanor wasn't helping, it only made it worse. You knew that look of disappointment all too well, had seen it on your own mother many times. You were a failure, you knew it, you'd forgotten it for a while, distracted by Mommy and Daddy's care, but you remembered now.

You were a failure.

And you sat in your room and waited, crying soundlessly, your lips tingling, feeling numb and way too much all at the same time. She came to you ten minutes later, in her hand a thin wooden stick. You blinked, your breath hitching. You knew what it was, had seen it on her wall, had seen videos of it being used on others. And it scared you. A lot. She'd disciplined you before, but only with her hand, not with that thing.

“Mommy?” you whimpered, staring at her.

She only shook her head and pointed to the floor. “Take off your pants and underwear and kneel on the floor, head down, ass in the air. Come on, don't make me wait.” Her voice was harsh, and all you could do was follow her words.

But as you knelt there, waiting for your punishment, the panic came back full force. You were shaking so badly you could barely stay in your position. More of your own pathetic pleading and crying and whining noises filled your ears, your heart beating out of your chest, your throat tight, lungs burning. Mommy ignored you.

When the first blow hit your rear, you screamed and jolted away. “Stay where you are!” she said sternly. “And count with me, come on! One.”

“One...” you croaked out. The cane cut through the air again and met your soft flesh. “Two,” she said, and you repeated it barely able to speak. “You deserve this, don't you? It's for your own good. You need this. Embrace the pain, think about what happened,” she explained between hits, three, four, five, you were shuddering on the floor, sobbing helplessly into your folded arms as the pain crashed through you, every impact making you flinch badly.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. She eased her blows a little as she talked between them, her voice strangely calm despite the relentless flick of her wrist. “You ruined something that was very dear to Mommy. I know it was an accident, but you were clumsy and careless. You could have hurt yourself as well. We can't have that.”

Ten, eleven, twelve. The thirteenth blow was particularly hard again, seemingly cutting into your skin, making you jerk forward with a pained yelp. “And you fell into old habits. We did not spend all that time trying to make you better if it only takes one stupid mistake to bring you back to square one.”

Fourteen, fifteen. You were a gasping mess on the floor, knees shaking so badly you could barely keep your weight on them. Sixteen, seventeen. Your whole body was aflame, your mind spinning, words repeating, every new hit adding to the already existing pain, and it wouldn't stop. You tried your best to breathe through it, like Mommy had taught you, but the thin wooden stick hurt more than you could have imagined. Your lungs ached with every sharp inhale. Eighteen, nineteen.

For the last one, she suddenly grabbed your hair and pulled you to your feet before she pressed you face-first into the wall, holding you by your nape. “Think about what you did and what you can do better. If you can't breathe through your attacks, I will use pain as a distraction again. Maybe it'll help you more than whatever Daddy does to you...” She paused, then said: “Twenty.”

The hit came with a sudden whoosh, and you screamed, jolting forward against the wall, legs shaking, your skin burning, tight and bruised and hurting. “Tw-twenty...” you croaked out, holding your breath, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down your face.

As her words echoed in your head, you had to give it to her: you were indeed distracted. The stinging pain spreading just beneath the inflamed skin of your buttocks was thrumming through you in an unrelenting fashion, scorching pulses that burned through any other concerns or thoughts or doubts, emptying your mind. You couldn't even pick up on the slight poke at Daddy's seemingly useless methods of helping you through your anxiety attacks. Nothing mattered: just the cleansing sharpness of Mommy's cane.

“Good. You took it like a big girl,” she said behind you, her hand easing down your back, hovering above your warm skin. “Better than I expected. Doesn't look too bad either. Now take a cold shower, it'll feel better.”

With that she exited your room, leaving you trembling. At least you'd stopped sobbing now. For a long moment, all you could do was lean against the wall, trying to calm your erratic heart. Your throat was dry, cold sweat made you shiver. Your focus was still on the burning welts on your skin, horribly pulsing streaks all across your butt cheeks. You remember them vividly as you'd eventually inspected them in the mirror.

The cold shower was another torture, but afterwards you did indeed feel better, clean, cleared of your doubts, knowing that Mommy was right. You needed and deserved every single hit for making such a mess, for breaking down about it. As cruel and cold as she had been, you saw reason in her actions. She had to know what she was doing, of course she did, she was your Mommy, she only wanted the best for you.

In her own way...

Looking back though, you have to agree with Daddy. It has been too much. 'That sounds a bit excessive for a simple act of clumsiness,' he'd said. It has been, but of course you hadn't told him everything. Not as detailed as you'd liked. The anxiety attack, the uncontrollable sobbing, the hysterics. The inevitable tumble into the dark abyss, unable to come back out on your own. Mommy's cleansing slap and those cane hits... they had helped, brought you back, but...

But it still has been too much. And it has been different too. Usually when she disciplines you (she always tries to avoid saying punishment because you're not being punished for being anxious but disciplined for falling back into old patterns and allowing the anxiety to control you again), when she uses pain as a distraction, she cuddles you after, tells you what a good girl you've been, makes sure you're okay, but that time... she has just left. Something has definitely fueled Mommy's anger.

Shifting under the covers, trying not to put pressure on your butt (though whatever Daddy has put on your skin did help a little), you listen a bit closer to the voices from across the hall (you shouldn't, but it's hard to ignore them too). They're loud, as is usually the case when Mommy fights with Daddy. She is the fiery one, while he is the calmer counterpart, though he can be angry too, and loud. This morning, they are both equally agitated.

“She was being hysterical!” Mommy screeches.

“And you think twenty fucking cane hits will help with that? That's not how we should deal with her anxiety!” Daddy says, more or less calmly, but you can hear the emotion in his voice through the walls.

“She was calmer after...”

“Of course she was! Because she was in pain!” He is getting louder.

And she is getting quieter, which only means she's getting more emotional. “She can handle it...”

“You overdid it. It was too much. Don't let your frustrations out on her...”

“I did not let my – Ugh! I can't do this right now...”

There's a pause, then a door opens and shuts with a bang. It opens again. Now the voices are directly in the hallway in front of your door. Daddy's voice is quieter.

“What's the real matter here, babe?”

“Nothing...” Mommy sounds defeated.

“You don't just snap like that. Tell me.”

“I just had a bad day, it happens...” You hear footsteps pacing the wooden floorboards.

“Not like that. What happened?”

“Nothing, it's fine. I'll apologize to her, okay?”

“Good. But I'm not done with you...” His tone changes, even quieter, softer, a little challenge behind the words. A smirk.

Mommy gives a soft laugh, a bit flat but there's the same smirk in her voice. “Later, papito...”

When one pair of footsteps leaves along the hallway, your door is being opened quietly. You press into the covers, pretending to sleep. Your mattress dips, a hand comes to rest on your hip.

“Rise and shine, pumpkin,” Daddy whispers, leaning over you to brush his lips against your temple, the only part of you peeking out from under the blanket.

You turn slightly, blinking your eyes open, giving him a tired smile. “Morning, Daddy,” you mumble. He smiles back and gives you another peck, slowly working his way down your face until he meets your lips. He's braced over you, hovering inches away, and you sigh softly into his kiss.

After he comforted you last night (by letting you come on his thigh), he'd washed you and himself with a warm wet cloth, then tucked you into bed and left, promising to talk to Mommy. He didn't seem to have gotten behind her unusual burst of anger, but you trusted him to dig deeper. All in good time.

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly, carefully rolling onto his side, cradling you in his arms.

“Better,” you whisper. Your butt still hurts, is tense and tight and throbbing, but it'll be okay. You're sure.

“Wanna make breakfast with me? I'll supervise, you work?” he mutters, nuzzling your neck. You nod with a soft giggle. “I think Mommy would like a nice smoothie. Should be easy enough, right?”

He helps you out of bed, picks a soft yellow sundress for you to wear (decides on a white lace thong that sits comfortably between your bruised ass cheeks), then brushes your hair and puts it into a long braid that falls down your back. He tells you to brush your teeth, and you do, and when you're done, he takes your hand and leads you down to the kitchen.

There he raids the fridge for fresh fruit and vegetables and gives them to you to chop up before he helps you pour it all into the blender with some oat milk. It's fun to do this with Daddy, standing next to him as he lets you hit the button, as you watch how everything turns into a rather unappealing green slush. After filling the thick drink into a tall glass, he puts a metal straw into it and holds it, then nods for you to follow him back up the stairs to Mommy's room.

Your heart beats faster when you approach the door. He stops and hands you the drink. “You can do this, pumpkin,” he tells you and leans down to kiss your cheek. “It'll be fine. Anyone can have a bad day, so we shouldn't hold a grudge, right?” You nod, looking up at him with a timid smile.

Then he raises his hand and knocks on the door. You flinch at the noise, inhaling sharply. “Come in,” you hear Mommy's voice through the wood.

Daddy gives you a gentle nudge, whispering “See you later, kiddo.”, and then you open the door and slip into her room. She's sitting at the large vanity, watching the door through the mirror, a brush in her hand, her long black hair cascading down her back.

“Good morning, Mommy,” you whisper a little intimidated. “I... I brought you breakfast...”

She turns around on her chair, watching you, before she gives you a soft smile. “Oh honey, that's so sweet of you, come here,” she says and holds out her hand.

You walk towards her, placing your hand onto her palm. She pulls you against her, taking the smoothie from your other hand and putting it down on the vanity. “Listen, sweetheart, Mommy is –”

“I'm sorry, Mommy,” you say at the same time, biting your lip. She smiles at you, her eyes crinkling softly.

“I know you are, baby girl,” she says. “But I am too. I shouldn't have disciplined you like that, it was too much. Mommy just had a bad day. I'm sorry for taking it out on you,” she adds quietly, wrapping her arms around you as she buries her face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

You hug her back, still a little stiff, perched between her legs. “I didn't mean to disappoint you,” you murmur into her.

She shushes you. “It's alright. Water under the bridge, okay?”

A hum escapes you, and for a moment you just stand there, holding her as she holds you, her warmth seeping into your stiff limbs. Eventually you take a deep breath, her sweet perfume filling your nostrils, before you tilt your head a bit to look at her.

“Mommy, I... I want to make you feel good, uh, better,” you say in a breathy whisper. “If you have time for it...”

She chuckles softly. “I always have time for you, sweet girl. Might be best to take the day off anyway.” She pauses, then sighs. “Well, I can stay home, but I have to work through my emails. But that shouldn't be an obstacle, right, kitten?” she whispers, then slowly leans you back fully and smirks at you.

You feel your cheeks burning up, already sensing a little throb in your core at the prospect of making her feel good. Her hands grab your waist and push you away gently, allowing her to stand up. You realize she's wearing a black silk robe (and only that), open in the front, giving you a good glance at her perfect breasts and her smooth mound. You force yourself to look up into her face.

“Come with me to my office,” she tells you and grabs your hand, taking the smoothie with the other, and then guides you into the adjacent room.

You've been here a few times before, usually perched under her desk, so the rest of the interior doesn't really matter to you. It's a bright room though, large windows, floor to ceiling, letting in the already warm rays of the morning sun. There are bookshelves lining one wall, and a wild array of other stuff in front of another. You always wondered what it is that Mommy does, aside from being a successful business woman and establishment owner.

She definitely has a lot of hobbies. There are mannequins, a sewing machine, an easel and a bunch of canvases stacked behind it. A low table with painting supplies. A camera in another high shelf next to large books probably filled with photographs. And then there's the corner you don't like to look at often, where the cane hangs from a hook, next to a flogger, a whip, a paddle and other tools like gags and harnesses and belts. Sleek black leather accentuated with wooden elements.

Mommy sure is a woman of many talents. But none of that matters to you now as she motions you to crawl under her desk, a large space made of a long wooden tabletop sitting on two drawer shelves, it's open enough to allow whoever enters the room to have a good view beneath. It's where you spent your time before, whenever she works from home and asks you to keep her company.

It's been a strange request at first, but seeing her relax due to your presence and ministrations is always something you're looking forward to. As you crawl under the table top, she puts the smoothie down next to her laptop and sits down in her chair. Despite her chaotic corner of numerous activities, her desk is surprisingly bare. No clutter, just a lamp, some pencils and a notepad, her laptop and phone on it.

You settle right in front of her, and she doesn't waste a second before she spreads her legs, her robe falling open even more as she gently guides you between them. Her warmth and scent radiates off her when you get closer to her center. She shifts on her chair, getting comfortable but allowing you to reach her just fine. Her hand remains on your head as she tilts it so you can rest your cheek on her thigh.

Looking up at her, you see her smiling, her eyes warm and already darker than usual. “You really wanna make me feel good, baby?” she whispers, watching you closely. You nod eagerly as you shift on your knees, the heels of your sock-clad feet poking into your rear. The pain and tightness of the welts is still there, but you can ignore them for now as you focus on the woman in front of you.

She leans back, opening her legs further, her hands resting casually on the armrests of her leather chair. Her eyes stay on you as you approach her core, your hands reaching up to caress her inner thighs. You hold her gaze, your face already flushed from what lies ahead. Swallowing the excess saliva gathering on your tongue (your oral fixation flaring up), you lean in and up and press your lips to her flat stomach, slowly working your way lower.

She's calm, watching you closely, and eventually you break eye contact and close your eyes, focusing on kissing along her pelvis and down her smooth mound, going by feel and warmth alone. Your hands move around her waist as you settle between her legs, holding onto her as you bury your face in her sex. There's a slight shiver when your tongue teases along her slit, your lips brushing against hers, so soft and warm.

You pepper her labia with kisses, tilting your head slightly before you ease your tongue between them, dipping into her slick. Breathing into her, her scent filling your nostrils, you feel more little twitches, her thighs pressing slightly against your sides. You retrieve your arms and rub your palms against them, noticing the hint of goosebumps on her skin as you continue licking up and around her lower lips.

When you press your tongue against her hooded clit, she gives a soft little moan, enough encouragement to keep going, to dig deeper, to kiss and lick and nibble on her soft flesh until you feel her clit throbbing against your lips. You keep your focus on the sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking your tongue against it, closing your mouth around it, sucking it hard, and she grows more vocal, her hips jerking against your face.

She taught you early on how to properly satisfy a woman, not always on herself, teaching you about your own body as well. As awkward and embarrassing as it had been in the beginning, you are grateful to know what you know now, and you find pride in being able to get her off this easily. It only takes a few concentrated licks and nibbles, a bit of teeth grazing and a pointed tongue prod, and she is shaking in her seat, thrashing her head back as she claws at the armrests, loud moans echoing through the room.

Her first orgasm comes in waves, twitches of her thighs, her cunt pulsing against your chin as you keep sucking on her clit. You look up then, watching her come undone in front of you, under your ministrations. It sends deep shudders down your own body, settling low in your stomach, a throb to your own clit as you stimulate Mommy's.

You keep going, because she'd usually tell you when to stop, and it takes more than one orgasm for her to be fully satisfied. With your hands rubbing over her trembling legs, your mouth suctioned to her throbbing clit, you watch her, waiting for any indication, any hint of what she wants now. She's breathing harder when she meets your gaze, red spots on her cheeks, her bare chest rising and falling faster.

One of her hands moves down to your head, caressing your hair, playing with the braid. She doesn't say anything, just gives the tiniest of nudges, and you follow the hint and move from her clit down to her slit. She's a lot wetter now, and you lap up every drop you come across, savoring the sweet taste as you move your tongue between her labia, teasing at her entrance, the little flutter to her cunt not going by unnoticed.

You take long strokes from her hole to her sensitive bud, filling your mouth with her taste and essence, feeling her clit thrum and her cunt clench. Tilting your head down, closing your eyes, you press firmer against her, her labia enveloping your cheeks as you push the tip of your tongue against her entrance. She mewls softly, the hand in your hair tightening, as you start pushing your tongue in and out in quick succession, moving the muscle up and down, creating obscene squelching and slurping sounds that ring loudly in your ears, a motion she's taught you, shown you, done to you so many times.

You feel the drop of your own arousal in your underwear, your body tensing as you focus on the reactions of hers. With your tongue buried in her pulsing pussy, you use your nose to push against her clit in a steady rhythm, your whole face warm and wet by now as she clenches around you. Your hands curl around her legs, trying to hold them open, but she's twitching so hard you feel the tremors against the sides of your head as she tries to close her thighs around it.

It doesn't matter, you're in too deep, literally, only focused on her pleasure, her pleasure giving you pleasure, she could smother you right that instant and you wouldn't mind. Your head is blissfully empty, all you feel and taste and see and hear is her. She's getting louder, shifting on her chair, grinding her pelvis against your face as she fucks herself on your tongue, harder, faster, a desperate little dance you volunteered for.

And when she comes, she throws herself back into the chair, gasping breathlessly, her whole body spasming against you, thighs tight against your ears, taking another sense from you as you almost drown in her juices. Her cunt clenches hard around your working muscle, and you slowly pull your tongue out when she relaxes, lapping up what she gave you. You savor the little twitches, the uncontrollable jerks of her hips, the deep exhales from above you.

As you're still licking at her slit, she moves her hands to brush stray hairs out of her damp forehead. You look up at her, lips closed around her clit, when she smiles at you. “Well done, sweet girl, thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and raspy, the low cadence sending shivers down your spine. “That's enough for now.”

You lean back almost reluctantly, licking your wet lips, blinking your clumped eyelashes apart. You feel her hand wiping at your face, her thumb pressing into your mouth. You give it a tentative suck, your eyes on her. She looks calm again, relaxed, serene.

“Mommy's gotta work now,” she tells you, pushing her thumb harder onto your tongue. “Do you wanna stay with me while I do?”

You don't even hesitate when you nod, your hands finding her wrist as you suck on her thumb, the motion pulling you deeper into the safe space you enjoy so much.

“Do you want a toy to play with?” she asks, your mind momentarily wandering to the lowest drawer of her desk, filled with vibrators and dildos and smaller items to entertain you (and her). It's a tempting thought, but you shake your head, hollowing your cheeks as you give her digit another deep suckle.

She chuckles softly. “But I do need my hand, sweet pea,” she says with a raised eyebrow and a wink.

You blink at her, your mind too empty to comprehend her words. She caresses your face, then slowly withdraws her thumb. You're at least alert enough to lick up the excess drool dripping from your now unoccupied lips. Swallowing hard, you look at her, but she already knows the empty gaze you shoot her and guides your head back between her legs.

“Keep me warm and wet, hmm, baby girl? Can you do that?” she says softly, and you nod, already pressing your lips against her throbbing clit. “But don't make me come. I gotta concentrate.”

“Okay, Mommy,” you mumble against her, leaning your cheek against her thigh as you inhale deeply, taking in her scent. She closes her legs a little around you, caging you in, holding you tightly, and you melt into her, eyes fluttering closed.

“Good girl,” she says, patting your head before she shifts on her chair one last time. Her praise almost drowns out the quiet noises of her fingers flying over the keyboard as she starts working.

You relax into her, sitting on your knees, the hurt on your butt forgotten, the drying wetness on your face ignored, the tingle between your own legs unimportant. Occasionally you give her labia a few kisses or a gentle suck, licking up along her seam, but as your mind grows silent, you slip more and more into what Mommy and Daddy call subspace, a state of mind where there are no worries, where you're not anxious, where nothing matters but the warmth of the person next to you.

It's a peaceful place where you lose all sense of time. Snuggling into Mommy's cunt or suckling on Daddy's cock, no matter where or how or when, it's your personal reward for making them feel good, for allowing yourself to let go, an escape you wished you'd known about sooner. But now you do, and it's enough. A beautiful, blissful void, and you're floating, weightless, soft breaths and a steady heartbeat, sunken into yourself.

How you come out of it is usually a blur. A gentle caress to your cheek, a little nudge, some sort of physical touch that grounds you back to the place you've initially drifted off in. A deep exhale against warm skin, your cheek pressed between wet flesh, your own thumb wet and numb between your tight lips. Your eyelids flutter when you feel another caress, nimble fingers digging into your hair, soft presses to your scalp, a soothing little hum you slowly recognize as Mommy's voice.

“Wake up, mi amor,” she whispers from above you, her accent an extra vibration through your skull.

You inhale deeply, smacking your lips, or trying to, slowly lowering your hand as you blink your eyes open. Mommy's cunt is right there, soft and sleek, and it's an instinct to raise your hand again and caress her puffy labia.

“No need, sweet cheeks,” she tells you, but you keep pushing your fingers up and down her mound, head resting against her thigh, watching the lazy movements of your digits.

Mommy sighs loudly, but doesn't do anything to stop you after all. So you continue, dip your fingertips into her slick, teasing at her clit, as she relaxes into her chair, her hand stroking the side of your head. You rub and caress, prod and poke, eventually pushing a finger into her entrance, feeling the tight clench of her walls. Her soft mewls sound in your ears, when a sudden knock disrupts the peace, making you blink and realize you're knuckles-deep in Mommy's cunt.

Mommy just issues a noise akin to a sigh or groan, and the door to her office opens. You remain focused on her, plunging your digit in and out, curling it slightly, rubbing the pad of your finger along her squishy flesh until you feel her twitching against you.

“Is she still at it?” Daddy's voice sounds from somewhere behind you.

“She just came back,” Mommy whispers, her voice just a deep breath. “You know how she gets after, the insatiable little thing...”

You don't really register what they're saying, doesn't matter, all you see and feel and smell is Mommy. You add another finger and continue your motions, pushing in slightly faster, slightly deeper, pressing harder against her sensitive spots. She shifts in her seat, her hips bucking against your hand, her breaths more labored.

Footsteps round the desk, and as you blink against your haze, you notice Daddy's head next to Mommy's. He winks at you before he presses his lips to her cheek. She turns her head and uses her free hand to grab his nape, keeping him bent over to capture his mouth for a deeper kiss. “So you like me again, hm?” Daddy hums against her, and instead of answering him, she just kisses him harder.

You watch them as you finger Mommy, her wetness rivaling your own as they continue to make out. You squirm on your knees, chewing on your swollen lip, your fingers moving in and out of Mommy's clenching hole, and fueled by their soft groans and moans, you dive in again and close your lips around that throbbing bundle of nerves in front of you.

Mommy gasps, jerking against your face, and you keep watching her from under your lashes. Daddy holds her face while propped onto one arm, resting on the table above you. The way their lips and tongues meet is a sensual dance you enjoy watching more and more (which wasn't always the case). Now it only arouses you more, seeing them so intimate.

With your mouth tight around Mommy's clit and your fingers deep in her spasming cunt, you shift on your knees until you can press the heel of your foot against your own throbbing core, the sudden sensation making you moan softly. You keep a steady rhythm, dipping your fingers in and out, sucking on her clit, rubbing yourself against your foot, feeling how your arousal drenches the fabric of your panties, creating a delicious friction that makes your empty head spin.

You come at the same time as Mommy, though while your orgasm rolls through you like a gentle wave, hers is a ravaging waterfall, cascading down with power, and as you keep pumping your fingers into her, her cunt convulses, spraying you with jerky jets of her essence as she moans loudly above you, barely contained by Daddy's mouth, and even though you were quite irritated the first time she's squirted right into your face, you barely flinch now, lowering your mouth to lick up everything you can catch.

She shudders on the chair, slowly relaxing, and it's Daddy who appears next to you as he pulls you away from her quivering core. Her chair rolls away, and he kneels beside you, wiping a cloth over your drenched face.

“Well done, pumpkin,” he says softly, smiling at you. You blink your eyes into focus, your lips trembling without Mommy's warmth against them. “I think Mommy feels a lot better now, don't you, babe?”

A soft groan sounds from behind him in response. “Oh yeah...” she sighs.

“You earned yourself a reward, baby girl,” Daddy whispers, as he helps you crawl out from under the desk.

When you stand, he has to hold you, because your legs feel numb and tingling, fallen asleep from sitting on them for so long. The aftershocks of your own orgasm definitely add to the little unsteadiness as well. His hands cup your warm face as he looks down at you. You still feel like floating, head too empty to fully focus on him or the change of position.

A slurping sound echoes in your ears, and when you look past him, you see Mommy closing her lips around the straw in her smoothie. She winks at you when you meet her hooded gaze. Slowly you come back to yourself, a soothing warmth flooding your limbs and core. Daddy pulls you to the side, and you notice him sitting down on the edge of the wide desk, his hands on your waist as he nudges you between his legs.

“You with me, pumpkin?” he says softly, tilting his head.

You look up at him, your hands resting on his strong thighs. “Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, giving him a timid smile.

“My good girl.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, before you tilt your chin up a bit more to meet his lips. As he moves his tongue against yours, slowly, sensually, you feel a presence behind you. Mommy's hands rub up and down your back, smoothing out your dress, before they disappear under the hem, and you gasp against Daddy's mouth when you feel her fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties.

She pulls them down slowly, crouching behind you, and you lift your feet automatically to step out of them. “Hmm, you enjoyed yourself already, didn't you, sweet girl?” she muses, leaning against you after she's straightened up again, her firm breasts pressing against your back.

Without breaking your kiss with Daddy, you move your eyes to see her dangling your drenched underwear on her finger. Heat crashes into your cheeks, slowly seeping down your body, and the arousal that's been draining into the bit of fabric of your thong, now drips out of you unrestrained. A garbled mewl escapes you as you rub your thighs together and squirm on the spot.

“Oh don't worry, darling, Daddy's gonna take care of the little itch, hmm, won't you, papito?”

Her voice is silky smooth in your ear, letting your eyelids flutter as your tongue wrestles softly with Daddy's. He watches you out of hooded eyes, his grip on you firm and strong, unrelenting. With Mommy still pressed against your back, sandwiched between them as you are, you feel her hands rubbing down your arms before she guides your hands between Daddy's legs, right to the not-so-subtle bulge in his pants.

He finally breaks the kiss, moves his lips along your cheek to your ear, his beard scratching along your soft skin, causing you to take a shuddering breath as you fill your lungs with air again. “Are you ready for me, pumpkin?” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips warm and wet, his breath even warmer. You shiver, and before you can answer, Mommy's hand slips around your front and down between your tight thighs, dipping right into your slick.

“Oh she's ready alright...”

“I've been asking her,” he says sternly, still nuzzling your neck, but clearly addressing Mommy, who sighs loudly and pulls her hand back.

You turn your head to look at him, biting your swollen lip, before you nod.

“Say it,” he whispers, meeting your eyes.

“I'm ready for you, Daddy,” you reply quietly. He raises an eyebrow.

You blush deeply, knowing what he wants to hear. Swallowing hard, you look down to where your hand is resting on his groin. “I'm... ready for your...” Another deep inhale, that flicker of shame rolling through your mind before you push it away again. “Your cock,” you whisper.

You look up at him, but he still watches you with a certain expectation, his eyes dark, his jaw set.

“I'm ready for your cock, Daddy,” you say again, still quiet, but it's finally enough for him. A smile breaks on his handsome face, and he leans in to kiss your cheek.

“Good girl,” he says softly. “Do you think I'm ready for you too?”

You give his bulge a little squeeze, feeling the hardness beneath the fabric. “Yes, I think so,” you whisper.

“Let's find out, hm?”

He gives you a wink, and you start unbuckling his belt, then fumble with the button and zipper of his pants. Mommy is there, leaning in from behind you, helping with the task. Daddy stands for a moment and lets his two women pull his pants and underwear down his long legs before he sits down on the edge of the desk again. Mommy leaves you as she gathers his clothes on the back of her chair.

You look up at his face instead of at his angrily bobbing cock, mesmerized by the hunger in his eyes. His hands tighten around your waist, and in the next moment he lifts you effortlessly, and you end up straddling his lap, knees on either side of his hips, legs spread (almost) impossibly wide over his thighs, your crotch pressed tightly against his. Your hands find his shoulders as you adjust on his lap.

“Dress off?” you hear Mommy's voice from behind you.

“Hmm, what do you think, baby girl? Do you want Daddy to see how you bounce on his cock? How your little cunt swallows every inch of him?”

You inhale sharply, deep shivers crashing through you as he talks like this. “Yes,” you breathe out, and as soon as you do, Mommy's hands are there to pull the sundress over your head. Without it, you are left completely naked because he's (deliberately) forgotten to put a bra on you this morning. A tingle goes through you.

You shift on his lap, fingers curling around his broad shoulders again. He watches you, his hands rubbing along your sides before he puts them large and warm and heavy on your waist, his long fingers almost teasing your spine while his thumbs rub over your fluttering stomach. Behind you, another set of hands eases along your thighs back to your rear, and when Mommy touches the welts on your ass cheeks, you feel her lips brushing against your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, mi amor,” she coos. “I thought it wouldn't look so bad. Does it still hurt?”

You meet Daddy's gaze before you turn your head and try to look at her out of the corner of your eye. “It's okay, Mommy, it's already feeling better.”

“My brave little girl,” she whispers, planting more kisses along your back while her hands fully cup your ass now, the pressure sending jolts of pain through you but you force them down, try to ignore them as you bite your lip and take a shuddering breath.

“Look at me, pumpkin,” Daddy orders, and you do, stiffening on his lap. “This is for you,” he starts, his hands holding onto your waist as Mommy lifts your hips until you hover just above Daddy's cock. “You take what you need from me, okay? You decide the pace. Me and Mommy will do anything to take care of you.”

You smile softly at him, bracing on your knees, your thighs trembling slightly, your hands digging into his shoulders. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper.

“Thank you, sweetheart, for being such a good little girl for us,” he replies, tilting his head as you squirm slightly on top of him, the tip of his cock brushing between your labia as you do so.

Before you can fully focus on indulging him (or letting him indulge you?), a last speck of doubt crashes into your mind. You blink at him, lips trembling, opening your mouth to protest, knowing you haven't been a good girl at all yesterday and have the marks to prove it, but he shakes his head, his dark eyes so intense any words dissipate right off your tongue. You close your mouth and swallow, nodding slightly.

And then you concentrate on him, looking down as one of your hands moves to close around his shaft as you guide him towards your entrance. It's taken you many months to get accustomed to his length and girth, a lot of training, a lot of tears, but by now you know that your body can handle him. Inhaling deeply, relaxing while also bracing yourself, you shift your hips (with Mommy's assistance) and lower yourself slowly, his tip pressing in, and with a sharp gasp you feel him slipping deeper.

They both guide you as you take it slow, steady up and down movements to ease him into you, small rolls of your hips, Mommy holding you from behind, Daddy's hands tight around your waist. He watches you, you can feel it as you focus on where his cock vanishes inside you. The strain and pressure is still a bit painful, especially since you let gravity do most of the work, but once he's settled deep in your core, filling you out completely, his tip pushing right against your cervix, you exhale a shaky breath and look up, seeing him smiling at you.

Mommy wraps her arms around your stomach, her warm cheek between your shoulder blades, allowing Daddy to cup your face and pull you closer. “Look at you,” he coos softly, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “How wonderful you fit around Daddy's cock. You were made for this, pumpkin. Made for me. My perfect little girl.”

You close your eyes, breathing against the tightness building low in your belly, your hands moving back up to his shoulders before you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook of it. You focus on the way he smells, how his large hands cradle your head against him, how Mommy clings to you, their warmth all-consuming. And the way his cock sits inside you, warm and hard and pulsing, how another kind of heat throbs through your straining ass cheeks.

And you realize it is all meant to be. You are meant to have relapses, you are meant to be anxious sometimes, you are meant to disappoint them, it's only human to do so. What matters in the end is that they still love you, still care about you, still treat you like their little girl. They'll continue to discipline you, push you further and further out of your comfort zone, and it will only make you stronger.

As you start moving on top of Daddy, leaning back, facing him, using his shoulders as leverage to bounce slowly up and down, you can't believe how lucky you are to have found these people (or for them to have found you). All they ever did was take care of you, in a way nobody has ever cared for you before.

Warmth spreads inside you with every slam against his hips, your walls pulsing around him, your breaths hitching, your heart beating faster. Mommy guides you, Daddy holds you, their soft words of praise and encouragement like lullabies in your ears, your own mewls and moans leaving your trembling lips in rapid little puffs of air.

Your thighs are shivering under the strain, but it's easier with Mommy's hands under your rear, pushing you up gently, while Daddy moves you down again, every bounce going deep, filling and all-consuming, and soon you find yourself floating, the friction, the steady pain/pleasure mixture, the warmth and strength of their grips, it all adds to the flickering lights, and when they suddenly all explode into a million smaller lights, you throw your head back, letting out a drawn-out moan, a deep shiver, stiffening for a second before your body starts shaking badly as your orgasm crashes through you.

You slump against Daddy's chest, arms around his neck, your hips jerking against him, and now it's up to him to keep going. His arms are tight around your back as he shifts on the edge of the desk, Mommy's hands move around your front, rubbing down your fluttering belly before you feel her fingertips drawing tight circles around your clit. You come again, with another croaked moan, spasming against Daddy as he starts thrusting up in a steady rhythm that accelerates quickly.

Sandwiched as you are, you can only take it, and you do, it's what you do after all, you are theirs to play with, and it gives you strength and pride, a safety you need to keep your mind empty and your thoughts clear of doubts. Whimpering softly as Daddy hammers his cock into your convulsing cunt while Mommy practically bullies your clit, you slip from pleasure into bliss and back, always floating, wave after wave of soothing sensations rolling through your trembling body.

Low grunts fill your ears, Daddy's deep voice vibrating through you as he suddenly stills, holding you tighter, throbbing deep inside you before he empties his balls into your quivering depths. You gasp into his neck, feeling every twitch of his cock, knowing he's painting your walls with thick ropes of his cum. You relax into him as he relaxes beneath you, his warm breaths playing with stray strands of your hair.

You rub his back as Mommy rubs yours. For a long moment you just sit on his cock until it stops throbbing and softens slightly, the only sounds your rapid pulse in your ears and your combined breaths, before it's Mommy, who brings you back to reality. “Thanks for the show, you two,” she says as she walks around you. “I think I need a cold shower now.” You feel her hand rubbing along your ass cheek before she gives it a soft slap.

You jerk against Daddy, who groans, unfolding his arms from around you to lean them onto the table beside him. He inhales deeply, and slowly you lean back too, looking at him, knowing you probably look as disheveled as you feel. He smirks at you, moving one hand to brush a few hairs out of your sweat-slick forehead.

It hasn't always been this easy to let go and look the part and not be ashamed about it, but you learned to ignore it and enjoy the moment instead, the aftermath, the soft caresses and soothing words and gentle smiles enough to distract you. You lean in and press a kiss to his bearded cheek, savoring the scratch against your lips and the little hum he issues at the touch. He cups your face, thumb under your chin, and guides your head to meet his mouth for a proper kiss.

“Are you okay, pumpkin?” he whispers against your lips, his hooded eyes boring into yours.

You nod, leaning into him, shifting on his lap. “Yes, Daddy, never better,” you breathe, moving in again, and he lets you, a smirk playing around his lips.

You haven't always been as confident with him (or Mommy) as you are now. It's been a long, winding road, over potholes and embarrassment, around bends and back in a loop towards old patterns, up steep hills and down rough slopes, through shame and discipline, hurt and comfort. A journey that started in darkness, before these two people showed you just how bright life could be.

Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3 🔷️ Chapter 4

End notes: For now, this marks the end of the present-timeline, which was just a peek at what's possible within the confines of this story. Starting with the next chapter, we will continue the backstory arc, and Reader's journey into the world of BDSM and specifically Dd/Md/lg dynamics.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: After you agreed to be their little girl, you're starting your first day in your new life. Surprises await!

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

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predestinatos · 1 month ago

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forgive me, i've got an appetite — CL16 (18+) ⋆｡ﾟ ⋆

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: reading week brings you and your academic rival closer than ever.

warnings & tags: MINORS DNI!!! smut, academic rivals to lovers, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, (a lot) of dirty (FILTHY..) talk, somewhat public sex (bathroom at a party), charles very dominant and hates losing, reader very sub and loves winning (it might change in later chapters!!), degrading, creampie, spit play.

note: i didn't proofread this and it's been a while since i wrote so i'm a bit dusty!!! please be patient i promise i'll be better. feedback would be much appreciated since it motivates me to keep writing.

Your heart raced inside your chest as the teacher walked across the room, paper sheets being carefully placed in front of each student, their faces of disappointment, relief, sadness and confusion arriving shortly after.

Your leg bounced up and down as the teacher got closer to you, a hint of a smile on his face, an indication that yes, it probably was good, but was it good enough?

You looked at the red ink on the sheet of paper he put in front of you, a “good work” escaping his lips. 98/100. Fuck.

It was good. More than good, even. But it didn’t quite matter, not yet, because there was a 2% chance the boy across the room had a better grade than you, and those odds terrified you. You looked at the teacher, who now walked towards him, same pride in his face, same silent comment you couldn’t hear but could guess, something along the lines of “excellent, Leclerc.”

You looked at him, his reaction. He smiled a smug smile, but not as confident as it had been on other times. At this point, you were sure you could know his results just by the facial expression he made as he grabbed the white paper, messily scribbled, so unlike your own clean paper. Lip bite and slow blink, 100/100. Smirk and immediate search through the paper for his one mistake, 99/100. A glance towards you and a nod that asked for your result, 98/100. Probably the most dreadful result to get. Smug smile with a half shrug, 97/100.

You won.

“Seven,” he mouthed from across the room, a small drop of hope his in eyes. You smiled, mouthing “eight” back, watching his reaction, waiting to complete the ritual you now shared. “Fuck you” he mouthed again, jokingly, as he placed his test in his bag and prepared to leave, the whole room filled with students hurrying to their next class.

You climbed up the auditorium stairs, leading up to the same door where you’d meet him. “Let me guess,” you started, barely looking his way as you walked alongside him, ready for the next class. “Theory fucked you over?”

“Don’t even mention it” he replied, before hurrying along to his dorm, a ‘later’ barely leaving his lips before he was out of sight. You moved along to your friends’ own room, where you had already left everything you needed for the night ahead.

“To a good reading week” you and your friends cheered, small shot glasses clinking against each other, part of the content inside them spilling before you downed the drink. It burned your throat, and you usually didn’t drink. In fact, this was the only one you were going to have for the rest of the evening, a celebratory act, a token of a good friendship and good grades.

The house was packed, and you weren’t sure whom exactly it belonged to, only that everyone in it was celebrating the same event, taking a collective breath of relief.

Between the talking, eating and drinking, a few hours had passed, the mood turning more carefree and light as people got tipsier and looser. You moved between the dancing bodies, the tight space feeling less claustrophobic and more comfortable now, finding a way to climb up the house’s stairs to the bathroom.

As you approach to open the door, someone else does it from the inside. His tall, broad figure almost crashes against yours, and the smell of weed hit you before you saw who it was. You looked up, about to complain, and your eyes met Charles’ now slightly red ones, the green in them fading behind his almost closed eyelids.

“Whoops” he said, his voice amused, happy, not the usual tense and focused one.

“Are you high?” you asked, the question leaving your lips with a smile, barely processing whatever dynamic you had going on.

“Mmmmmaybe” Charles said, jokingly dragging the word, exaggerating his ways but also proving the effect the drug had on him as he laughed at his own joke.

You patted him jokingly on the shoulder as a way to ask for him to move from the bathroom and let you in, but to your surprise, he remained still. “Charles?” you asked, as his eyes remained on you, an unreadable expression behind them.

“You should try it” he said suddenly, crossing his arms in front of his chest, shoulder against the doorframe.

“What?” you laughed, incredulous, barely registering what he had said. To your question, he merely pulled you inside the bathroom and shut the door, moving away from it in an attempt to let you escape, should you desire it.

“You should try some. I have an extra one.” he repeated, hand flying to the pocket of his jeans, removing a carefully prepared joint.

“Why would I?” you asked, now your turn to cross your arms across your chest, a mix of amusement and annoyance blending together.

“Because it’ll help you relax. It always helps me after exam season” Charles shrugged, a sheepish, lazy smile stuck to his lips.

“You do it after every exam season?” you eyes widened, and your own surprise annoyed you. You didn’t expect Charles to be the type to do something like that, though the reason why was unknown to you. You never saw him at hang outs or parties, at least the few ones you went to. It was implied, for you, that he simply was not interested.

He chuckled at your words, moving closer towards you as you spoke. “How do you think I survive the most stressful month of my fucking life?”

“And yet you still lost to me” you joked, analyzing how his t-shirt clung to his body tightly, how his rigid and strict rules for himself are visible in results, even when he tries to sedate them.

“Want a reward?” Charles’ voice was humorous but his eyes wee anything but. For the first time you met him, there was a hint of sincerity, an innuendo, a hint at something else that you could see. It was different, the way his head cocked to the side and his eyebrows rose, tongue playing with the inside of his cheek.

“What do you mean?” you asked back, voice almost a whisper, embarrassment over your loss of words causing your cheeks to go red. It was so sudden, this shift in energy. You could almost feel the sound of the music outside dimming, becoming softer in your ears as everything in the big bathroom became heightened. Every sound, every step.

Charles leaned back against the door and fiddled with the key placed there in order to lock it. He looked at you, looking for a hint of fear or regret, something that said you didn’t want to be there. You stared back, defiance in your eyes as you swallowed dryly.

“You know what I mean” his head hit the door softly as he stared at you, eyes exploring your body, your skin. You leaned against the washstand, both in search of something to hold on to and of a way to cross one leg over the other without him noticing too much. But he did.

His eyes went to your legs as you crossed them, then back to your face. He felt like a predator looking at his prey, hungry and knowing that she wanted it just as much as him. A hand rose to his face, his jaw, and he merely stared. “You deserve it, don’t you?” he continued, voice deeper, starving. “You’ve been so good. Better than me, even” Charles stepped closer and closer to you, slow steps that made your heart beat faster and deeper inside your chest.

He was now so close to you you could feel his hot breath on your skin, his hands on either side of you, gripping the marble of the sink, knuckles white due to his attempt at resisting. “You had to fucking remind me of that, didn’t you?” he whispered, one hand now raised, fingers hovering the skin in your arm like a test. “I hate losing,” a half-smile, eyes following the trail of his own finger as goosebumps spread across your skin.

Your heart was racing. The dress you were wearing now felt too tight and hot, sweat making the fabric cling to your body claustrophobically. “I love winning” you replied, snarky and disobedient, looking up at him from behind your eyelashes, a pleading expression written across your face.

“Aren’t you a little spoiled thing,” Charles replied once again, not giving away his own thoughts and emotions through words, though his body said otherwise: you felt his hardness against your stomach as he leaned closer to you, forehead touching yours. His words, his voice, his body, everything was already sending you over the edge, and you couldn’t help but let out a small whimper.

His eyebrows immediately raised at that, a feline smile spreading across his lips. He had caught you. “And needy too” his hand now touching your neck, thumb caressing your cheek as his eyes stared intently, deeply, at your lips. The intense gaze made you feel the urge to lick them, something subconscious telling you that you should. His thumb moved further ahead, reaching the corner of your lips and finally caressing them fully, roughly and softly at the same time, a juxtaposition of feelings only he could convey.

The pressure he applied suggested a silent request for you to open up - one that you complied with, desire clouding your judgement, your thoughts. You let him apply pressure on your tongue before sucking his thumb, the same pleased look in your eyes as you looked up at him. “Good girl” he muttered, eyes half closed not only by the drug in his system but by the sight of you. “Fuck you love this, don’t you?”

You could only nod in response, eyelids fluttering as you suppressed a smile, his thumb spreading saliva across your lips.

Charles was high. Not on drugs, or not only on drugs at least, but on you, on the view he had before him. He never imagined someone like you - so good, so organized, so innocent-looking, could be so alluring and intense. He felt higher than ever, his cock twitching inside his boxers and jeans, desperate to be wrapped around your cunt.

Without warning, his other hand pulled your dress up and your panties down, fingers glazing over your wetness. You were soaking. Part of you was embarrassed by how little it took for you to feel this way; empty, in need to be filled up by him, claimed; but another part was too far gone to tell. You moaned around his thumb which remained inside your mouth as he traced small, light circles around your clit.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he was as surprised by the words coming out of his mouth as you were, for he was not very vocal during sex, not like this. But he felt a strong need to be filthy, to let all of his thoughts out from his brain into yours, and test the reactions of your body as he went. “It’s this easy with you, huh? How long haven’t you been fucked properly?”

You were about to reply with “a month” but before the full word could get out, he tightened his grip on your face, pressure being applied to your cheeks as a way to call your attention to him. “I said properly.”

You didn’t know how to respond, but you didn’t have to, because before you could think of an answer, he inserted one of his fingers inside you, so slowly it almost caused you pain, your eyes watering at the need for more. “They don’t know what to do with you, do they?” Charles continued, hips grinding against nothing, a hint of his own composure disappearing. “They don’t know how to treat a pretty whore like you.” His lips were on yours now, biting them and letting his tongue swirl around yours messily and torturously.

Your fingers held on to his dark brown hair, pulling his face tightly towards you, his stubble now brushing against your neck as he sucked your skin while kissing it. “But I do. I know you just want attention. You want people to know you’re a good girl, so well behaved, so obedient” another finger slipped inside you, movements fast, the sound of your wet cunt filling the room, his hand gripping your waist tightly in an attempt to steady you. “Look at it” Charles demanded, your head lowering in order to witness the view: his arm moving rapidly and erratically, your legs spread wide for him, his veins forming an intricate pattern. “Fuck” you tried muttering, though you weren’t sure any coherent words were said.

“Yeah, what a mess” he tsked, mocking you as if he wasn’t flushed out too, as if his eyes weren’t dark and he wasn’t getting more incoherent himself. “You act all pretty but this is what you really like. Being a needy, messy, slut.” At his last word, he curled his fingers inside you as he applied pressure on your clit, a moved so sudden it made you spasm against the sink, one of your hands flying to your mouth in an attempt to shut yourself up.

But just as quickly as he did it, he removed his hand from inside you, leaving you empty and practically dripping over him. He was breathing heavily as he unbuttoned his jeans and lowered them along with his black boxers, a small precum stain already on them.

You gawked at it hungrily, parts of your hair clinging to your face, lips and cheeks wet from your own saliva, head cloudy and dizzy. Charles wrapped his hand around his erection, pumping himself a bit while looking at you. “God, you look so desperate… You want it?” at his words, your eyes met his again, pleading as you nodded, incapable of speaking. “Beg.”

His stern voice was laced with intense and violent lust, his eyes now so different from the ones you knew. He meant every letter of the word, his chest rising and falling with anticipation being proof of that.

“Please,” you started, your voice so quiet one could barely listen to it.

“Louder, baby,” his frame stood over you, ready to pounce at any minute, his tip now touching your entrance teasingly.

“Charles” was all you could say, a mix of shyness and lightheartedness fogging your brain. You bit your lip as he tsked, a small disapproval move of his head as he inserted himself fully inside you without warning.

This sent you into overdrive. His ravenous movements and heavy breath contrasted with your whimpers and inability to move properly, eyes rolled at the back of your head with arousal. You felt full of him and yet you wanted more. More of his hand on your thigh, gripping tightly, more of his other one on your neck, forcing you to look at him.

“I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” Charles said, a smile spreading across his face, enjoyment over your lack of clear thinking. “So fucking stupid you won’t know anything anymore.” Your hands held on to his back, scratching his skin in pleasure.

“And you’ll love it” he continued, knowing you were too far gone to be able to reply with anything but his name, “you’ll like that you’re becoming a dumb little whore.” The hand gripping your neck now tugged at your hair as he asked you to open your mouth.

You complied, feeling your cunt tighten around his cock and tears forming at the corners of your eyes. As you opened, he spat on your tongue, the act so filthy yet so erotic you moaned loudly, eyes wide as you swallowed.

“You love this don’t you?” his eyes stared deeply into yours with amusement and pleasure, his words combined with grunts, sweat forming on his neck. “You act all fucking pretty but you love being fucked like this,” he gripped the top of your dress and pulled it down, revealing your exposed breasts, nipples hard from exhilaration. “What’s my name?” he asked, though you knew what you’d reply either way, words failing you except for that one.

“Char-” you started, but couldn’t continue as he held one of your breasts in his hand, caressing its nipple aggressively. “Can’t even finish the fucking answer” he chuckled, getting off on taunting you.

“I’ll give you an easier one. What’s your name?” he asked again, and though you wanted to reply, you couldn’t, no words left your mouth except for one. “Charles-” you moaned, covering your mouth with your hands due to the sheer loudness of his name in your mouth.

“Wrong, baby,” Charles mocked, revering in the way your were completely lost, at his mercy, his. His mouth crashed against yours once again as his hips moved frantically, his cock slipping in and out of you with ease given how wet you were. You tasted blood on him as you realized he had bitten his own lips a couple of times, an attempt to resist, to stay longer, to delay the ending of the act.

The sound of his skin on yours filled your ears, tears streaming down your face as you suppressed louder sounds from coming out of your mouth. You were so close it was ridiculous, barely any coherent thoughts flashing through your mind, your whole being focused on pleasure only.

“Gonna fill you up the way you deserve it, brainless little brat” his words were more aggressive, more intense, his need to claim you, leave his mark, increasing with every thrust. “You want it don’t you?” he asked, the question so earnest yet so stern, his eyebrows betraying his dominant attitude for just a second. “Say you want it.”

He didn’t have to. You were ready to beg for him, to have your thighs sticky with his warm cum. “I want you to fill me up, Charles” you managed to say, after a couple of failed attempts, to which he replied by moving faster against you, his hand on your clit. “Fuck I’ve wanted to fuck you senseless for so long now” he said, eyes rolling at the back of his head now, words coming out of him slurred and dragged. “You deserve it; always fucking teasing me” he continued, his words sending you over the edge, a feeling of ecstasy flowing through your veins as you came around his cock, cunt pulsing and nails digging deep into his arm.

That was the tipping point for him. He cursed loudly as he moved deeper and deeper inside you, cum spilling out of his cock into you, filling you up. After a couple of seconds, he removed himself from inside you, taking a few steps back to admire the view.

You were flushed out, lips swollen, red pussy dripping with his cum, mascara running down your big eyes. “Fuck” he let out, looking like a mess too. “Who would’ve thought,” he said, smiling to himself, the Charles you were used to coming back slowly, almost like he had been like that the whole time.

“What?” you asked, your senses coming back to you, looking around for a way to clean yourself.

“Miss Smart Ass is a freak” he joked, a smirk on his face, the dimple on his cheek so visible it made him look innocent.

“Says you” was all you could reply.

“You want to turn this into a competition too?” Charles crossed his arms in front of his chest, veiny forearm showing. You couldn't help but stare in admiration.

It was your turn to laugh now, knowing this was a one-time thing. At least for now. “You wish.”

“Maybe I do. You still wanna smoke one?”

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corazondebeskar-reads · 5 months ago

Text

of rage and ruin - chapter nine

chapter nine

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: things take a turn for the worse.

Please read the warnings as some new important ones have been added. NOTE: this is the last time that the SA tag will be used in this story. However, the events of this chapter are important. If you decide to skip this chapter, feel free to message me and I’ll fill you in. Or message if you want specifics about the tags to decide if you want to read it.

chapter warnings: non-con, dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, sexual assault (NOT by joel, NOT described, just implied and alluded to), p in v, torture

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You were wrong about Mike. About his lack of retaliation.

You were so, so wrong.

That much is clear when you wake up.

The first sign that things aren’t quite right is that you never did get around to going to sleep last night.

The second is that you may be buried, or something. You can’t quite move your limbs beyond wiggling your fingers and toes. And you can’t see shit.

The third sign is that you can’t smell Joel. Not beyond what’s soaked into your skin and sweater. No, he’s very much not here. Or anywhere nearby, if the rapidly tightening feeling in your chest is any indication.

It’s panic you can’t shake off, you know, since you can’t fucking move.

The fluorescent overhead buzzes to life.

“Not so brave now, are you?” The voice blows in from across the room and sinks in your gut like it’s sleeping with the fishes.

You really, truly are in some deep shit.

You’ve been kidnapped from your kidnappers. Honestly, what did you do in a past life to deserve this?

He’s right about one thing. The confidence you clung to in the early days has been picked at like carrion. You’re scared.

“I didn’t–I’m–” but something is wrong, so very, very wrong. You’re bubbling out gibberish and spit. It’s just sounds, dribbling from sloppy lips.

He rolls his eyes. ��Shut up. It ain’t gonna wear off for a while, so best just sit quietly like a good bitch.”

You’re not sure if it's the panic or whatever he’s drugged you with, but your throat is cinched, and your cheeks sting from the uncontrollable stream of tears.

“Let’s see what’s so fuckin’ special about you. Why your cunt is worth more than my brother’s life,” he spits, unfortunately literally, as droplets spray.

Shit. They were actual brothers. Not that it mattered; what was done was done, but you had really miscalculated this.

His hand is on your shoulder. It’s better than where you thought he was reaching, and yet, still horrible. It’s not like you haven’t had to deal with handsy or aggressive men. It’s just… usually, you can move. Fight. Run.

His hand is nothing like Joel’s. His fingers are short, his nails broken and edged with grime. There are scars and dry skin, like Joel, but it’s nothing like his rough grip. There’s no nick above the webbing of his thumb, no calluses on the plump pads of his fingers to remind you that you’re alive.

Mike brushes his thumb over Joel’s bite, the thin newborn skin taut and jagged. You make a sound. You don’t hear it, not with the way your heart is beating in your eardrums, not the way every note scrapes your throat, but you grate out a sound that might have been a hiss.

Or a growl.

His hand connects with your cheek, which does not help the dizziness stuffed between your ears.

You’re not even mad, because it makes you dizzy enough that you don’t really register what comes after. Maybe you would have been worried about that, but he hit you hard enough that you didn’t even remember how hard you’d been hit.

He must know he’s on a dwindling timetable. Inevitably, by dawn, the others will return to the base with Joel in tow. Inevitably, by dawn, they’ll know.

As if he can tell you’ve dug up a fragment of hope, he leers, taking a swig from a bottle of dirty brown liquor. “You think Jim’s gonna waste resources on finding you?” he murmurs, grimy fingers stroking your cheek.

And just like that, with a sharp breath, you lose that hope. Because he’s right, he’s undeniably right. Jim never misses a chance to bitch about the drain you are. They don’t need you, not really. Neither does Joel, not really.

It’s easy, after the hours that have passed, to give in to the overwhelming dread. His hand wanders as it settles in, and you twitch away from his touch.

“Guess it’s wearin’ off,” Mike muses, taking another drink. “Can’t have you puttin’ up a fight now.” His bottle clinks against the file cabinet he sets it upon as he squats to dig through a duffel bag.

There’s nothing you can do when he ties you down. There’s nothing you can do as he grips your cheeks hard, his thumb digging into your jaw until your mouth opens. You try not to swallow the liquor he pours in, only to aspirate it instead, wheezing and sputtering to little effect.

“Jesus. Can’t even handle a little booze,” he sneers. “Too bad. Can’t have you gettin’ too feisty, huh?” He forces more down your throat, and it burns.

He keeps squeezing your face, peering down at your mouth. “Reckon I should teach you a lesson about biting,” he said, tapping the bottle lightly against your front teeth. A whimper of fear slips free, and he grins crookedly.

“Yeah, you don’t like that, huh? My brother didn’t much like gettin’ bit, either.”

He steps away to rifle back through the duffle, and when he comes back, it’s with a pair of rusted pliers.

You can feel your body twitch, trying its very hardest. The lingering drugs and booze make your head spin and throb. Mike faded in and out of view, but made his presence very clear as he pried your jaw back open.

He tapped each tooth with the pliers, hemming and hawing about where to start. Garbled sounds are all the protest you can muster, trying to shake your head loose of his grasp as he selects an incisor.

The first two attempts fail, the pliers slipping free, battering you in the process. The third try, though, clamps on just right. He clumsily tugs, to no avail, before wiggling and twisting the tooth. Reluctantly, your body parts ways with it as he increases the force, plucking the loosened tooth from the gum.

You can’t even really hear your own screams. There’s pain, there’s blood, there’s Mike’s sick laughter. And then there’s darkness.

—

It’s not the fight that wakes you. Not the gunshots, not the snarling. Everything has died down by the time you come around.

Well, not everything. Based on the sounds, you’d hazard a guess that Mike is still at least a little alive. When you look up, you’re thrilled to find out you can, that the paralysis has waned.

Then, of course, you wish you hadn’t looked at all. Once you have, though, you can’t look away. You understand that Tool song now, the one from the CD your dad burned you before the world went to hell.

For a moment, Joel meets your eyes, and you are the wolf, nearly. You can feel the way it burns through your veins.

Satisfied that you aren’t afraid, that you’re okay for a moment, he finishes his feast.

There’s not much left of Mike when he tosses his corpse into a corner. It smacks against the far wall and drops to the ground. His final resting place.

The Wolf that is Joel, that is your alpha, that is your savior, stands on his hind legs with those unsettling inverse ankle-knee-freaky bits bent. But even crouching, he fills the room. He’s a blur, like the first time you saw him, an ink blot in the center of your vision. A wormhole absorbing all the light. What little is left reflects off his shiny body. It takes you a moment to realize his fur (or his body hair, as he insists) is soaked in blood.

It clings to the plaque on his teeth. His hands are steeped in it, some already hardening or coagulating under the stretch of his claws. He stalks over to you, and you do not flinch from him. His claws rend the rope as if it were no more than spaghetti. You tremble uncontrollably as he helps you sit up, most of your faculties back under your control. His blood-soaked, massive paws cradle your cheeks, pulling back abruptly when you whimper.

A growl rumbles from his chest, and he throws his head back and howls. It brings footsteps in your direction as he gathers you into his arms. You’ve never felt smaller than you do now, and it’s not just the bulk and heft of his body. He cradles you with a delicacy unbefitting his sharp, deadly nature, but it’s all the more Joel to you than the brutality you witnessed.

The raiders filter in, just a few of them, more to control him than assist, but they reclaim Mike’s stolen supplies and pay you no mind. At least until Cheryl comes in.

“Alive after all, huh?” she says, approaching far closer than you think she should dare. But she wiggles the remote to the shock collar as she nears, peering at you. “Still want her, pet?” she asks Joel. “She’s all used up.”

He bares his teeth and snarls, and she shrugs. “It was just an option,” she says, hand dropping from the pistol on her belt.

You feel sick from the second brush with death in as many hours. Or maybe it’s from the bootleg booze and blood that’s been dripping down your throat.

He looks down at you, long tongue poking out to lap at your cheek before he realizes the injury is inside. He whines, and you shake your head, weaving your fingers in his fur and burying your face there. He doesn’t need words; neither of you do. He just takes you home.

No. Not home. You can’t let yourself accept that. But it’s been almost a year, now. Almost a year since they plucked you from that FEDRA truck and brought you to hell.

It’s not the cell that’s home, though. It’s him.

—

You look up at the wolf once you’re locked in, the relief of your familiar prison bubbling up like bile. The others go back to their day, the incident no more than a blip of inconvenience. Silence lingers, both of you waiting, waiting, waiting to hear the heavy thunk of the cellar’s deadbolt.

As soon as it sounds, you break.

“You found me,” you gasp, trailing into a whimper. “You found me, you found me.” Your voice is grating, leaking from your cracked and dry throat. It hurts to talk, your jaw throbs, and you struggle around the swelling, but you can’t stem the leak.

He grips your biceps with both paws, and rolls back the shift enough to speak. “I found you,” he says firmly, letting you feel his sturdy hold on you, keeping you there and present. “I’ve got you. Okay?”

You don’t respond, still shaking and swaying a little on the spot. “You found me,” you echo, raw and dredged up from the hollow of your lungs.

“Hey,” he growls without aggression. “ Listen to me. ” He doesn’t mean to do it. His voice drops a register, an even lower rumble than usual, and your attention snaps up to him.

He winces. There’ll be time to apologize later, though. “I’ve got you,” he repeats steadily. “Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you echo in a whisper.

“I will always find you,” he promises, eyes gone dark. “Always, little omega. You’re mine, and there’s nowhere on this godforsaken earth that they can hide you from me.”

In any other context, it would frighten you. It should, by all means, frighten you a little. Instead, you kiss him.

It’s a mistake that sends you pulling back, gasping in pain, and all the ferocity on his face falls.

“Let me see,” he coaxes gently, cradling your jaw. He’s careful as he presses your lip to the side to get a good look. “ Jesus, ” he whispers.

You can see the guilt building up, layers upon layers from all his life. You won’t let this, won’t let you be another. “Joel—”

But he’s not having it. He bristles and narrows his eyes at you. “Would you stop tryin’ to run your mouth? You’re making it bleed.” His eyes dart over your face, stopping back on your missing tooth each time before sighing, shoulders slumping.

“C’mon,” he grumbles, leaving no room for argument by simply picking you up and carrying you over to the bed. He settles with you straddling his lap, wincing. He looks down for only a moment. “I’ll take care of that next. Sit still ‘n be good.”

It turns out not to be a hard order to follow. He sets about to lick your wounds, starting with your mouth. He doesn’t mean for it to turn into anything, he really doesn’t, but he’s licking inside your mouth. As his spit mixes with yours, as he laves his tongue oh-so-gently over and over, the familiar tingling starts to set in. It numbs the pain, not entirely, but the relief is enough to make you sigh softly against his mouth.

He can’t entirely be blamed as it turns into lazy kisses, tongues brushing comfort over one another, each press of lips like a mantra. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. You’re not sure who’s reassuring who.

It’s not going to fix it. There’s not a magical makeout session that can restore your tooth or even heal the socket. Not that quickly, anyway. But it eases the pain, and so does the way his warm hands hold you like you’re something precious. The way he groans into the kiss, the way he can’t stop reaching for every bit of you, checking meticulously to make sure nothing else was taken from you.

He makes good on his promise to soothe your other wounds. He can’t quite numb your aching mind or racing heart, can’t slide his tongue over the places that shattered inside, but he can damn well remove every trace of Mike from your body.

He settles you down on the mattress, settles himself into the wolf, and he licks every inch of you. His long, hot tongue is just rough enough to make you feel clean. There’s no way even a cell of Mike’s skin is left behind on yours. Joel eats it all up like he did the man himself. It leaves your whole body tingling, your heart pounding in your ears, your cunt gushing by the time he sheaths himself in you.

There’s no room left for anyone else. There’s no room for anything but you and Joel in the darkness.

It’s too late before either of you realize he’s triggered his own rut. Your body responds beautifully, burning under his touch, following your alpha into blissful oblivion. He fusses relentlessly, worried despite his own distress and desire, not wanting you to feel trapped or forced. Not again. Never again.

It’s a promise neither of you are sure he can keep, but both know he’ll die trying.

It isn’t as long as your first heat, but it’s all the more intense. Your little room fills with sweat, pants and groans replacing any need for words. And it’s exactly what you need—no thoughts, no memories, no dealing with what you’ve suffered. Just Joel, just… love? No, that can’t be right. Just lust.

His cock is insistent, pressing into you, filling the gaps he’d left behind. He doesn’t bother turning back to the man, doesn’t bother trying to pretend he’s anything but a mindless creature right now. And still, he’s so gentle. More gentle than he’s ever been.

You didn’t have time to build a nest, but that’s okay. He doesn’t ever move from his place over your body, cocooning you, blocking everything else from sight. There’s just Joel. You’re warm and cozy and safe.

You almost forget that you’re locked up at all. He keeps you on such a high with his deft fingers, mouth, and cock that you can’t even fathom a time when he might have to part from you. The lock of your cunt around his knot is your echo of his promise. Never again.

—

“How much of this is even real?” you whisper in the fading light of your heat. Your hand is lazily raised, blocking out the fluorescents, but he catches it with his own, his thick fingers making room for themselves between yours. Locking you together in another way, keeping you close.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” he says quietly, gruff voice even coarser in the way he holds back, keeping it soft in your ear. “Probably nothin’. But it’s there anyway.”

He was sure as shit right about that. This burning in your chest, the way your heart picked up as he wove your fingers together and tugged your hands down, using both your arms to hold you to his chest, your unified fist in the center. It’s not real, not really. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. There’s nothing for this heavy feeling to rest upon, no foundation for the feelings that should not be there.

And yet.

The conversation is veering uncomfortably personal, of which you only have yourself to blame, but you run from it anyway. “You ever see Dawn of the Wolf? ” you ask, pushing for something unserious, something that’ll have him rolling his eyes and putting up a fuss about the W Word.

That’s not what happens, though.

His breath catches for a second before rolling out in a soft sigh, his warm breath ruffling the hairs at the nape of your neck. “Yeah,” he admits. “My—” and there’s something potent in his pause. Something that saps the silliness of your subject change away and dances dangerously close to serious.

“My daughter loved that shit,” he says.

You can’t help the way your body stiffens. You want to roll over and look at him, to parse his pursed lips and warm eyes. He doesn’t let you, though, tightening his grip around your waist, fingers pressing a little more insistently in the divots between your knuckles until you settle.

“Watched the damn movies, read the damn books, had the damn poster on her wall,” he says, something careful in his words. Like he’s trying to give this to you without giving anything up for himself. These memories he’s clutched in the recesses of his ventricles—they can’t be extracted without damaging the last soft tissue he could spare to wrap them in.

“So, who’s team were you on?” you tease instead.

“I didn’t give a shit,” he dismisses. A beat passes. “Why would she even have considered the wimpy blond vampire kid?”

“Oh, I see,” you say, nodding sagely. “You think the obvious choice was the tall, hairy, brooding wolf-man. I have to agree.”

“Shut up,” he grouses immediately. “It was all stupid, anyway. None of ‘em could stop whining.”

You go to turn over again, but this time, he lets you, both of his arms cradling you in a way that makes your throat feel tacky and tight. It’s made worse by the way his eyes are bright, the flecks of green bursting through the brown like lichen in soil.

“Never did get to see the sequel,” you say after a moment, trying to regain some sense in your brain.

He snorts. “Didn’t miss anything. I thought it couldn’t be worse than the first one but it was the stupidest two hours of my life.”

“I can’t believe you saw Dawn of the Wolf 2, and I didn’t,” you say. A beat passes. “Will you tell me about her?” you ask, barely a whisper, afraid to break whatever is happening.

“Not… not today,” he grants, and you take it for the huge step that it is, and nod, burying your face in his chest instead and taking a deep breath of his soothing scent. The oaky notes are easier to parse, now, much more complex. Hints of spices are there, sometimes.

You’re getting too familiar. So much so that when the chamomile blossom of his grief leaks through, your grip on him tightens just a little, and you find yourself pressing a kiss to the thick thatch of hair beneath your cheek.

It isn’t real, but how can it not be? How can something this intense not be real? No, it’s different. This isn’t real versus fake like something photoshopped, something on a green screen.

This is more than that. The dotted lines that make up constellations aren’t real, but it doesn’t change the way those stars are bound together to make something unique, something breathtaking.

“I get it now,” he murmurs, breaking your existential reverie.

“Get what?” you say, nose wrinkling.

He bumps his nose against yours, nudging at you in a way you know would involve a playful nip if he was his other self. “Why he didn’t just eat her,” he says.

You reward him with a bark of a laugh. “You’re still thinking about Dawn?”

This time he does nip at you, catching your ear gently with very human teeth. “S’your fault,” he grumbles, and you feel it rumble through his chest.

And yours.

No, wait, that was your stomach. You’re suddenly starving, and with that revelation comes another, much worse one. You sit up so quickly that Joel follows suit, eyebrows raised.

“What’s the matter?” He barks.

“It’s the food,” you whisper. “That’s why they don’t let you share. That’s how Mike got me. It’s in the fucking food.”

He sits up, cupping your jaw. “Explain,” he growls.

“I think they’re drugging us,” you finally tell him. It’s been a haunting tug in the back of your brain, one you didn’t really want to admit to. There’s been a matching tug in your gut, the feeling of something not sitting quite right, but you couldn’t put a finger on it.

It had been twenty years since you had something like cough syrup, anyway. But that’s the feeling. The fuzzy spot between your eyes where the ground seems to swoop up, the way you move through the day underwater.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers. But he can’t deny it makes sense. It makes too much goddamn sense. He’s been too fucking compliant, too fucked to care. He thought it was apathy borne of everything he’s been through.

But goddamnit. He knows. He just knows you’re right.

next chapter

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #alpha!joel x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #werewolf!joel #omegaverse fic #dead dove fic

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ineffable-doll · 5 months ago

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Tips on adding tags to fics

I wrote a guide last year about writing fanfic summaries (check it out here) and thought it might be useful to do a follow-up on tags! (Please note that this is AO3-specific and focuses entirely on the Additional Tags section. And also that all of this is just my opinion.)

I see folks often lament that they don’t know what tags to add to their fics; I think the biggest struggle comes from folks not knowing what purposes tags serve. So, let’s discuss that!

Convey Tone

The first thing tags are used for is to tell the audience what tone to expect from the fic. Is it a lighthearted comedy with some sweet moments? Tag it with Fluff, Humor, and Comedy. Is it a dark, slow, depressing tale that ends poorly? Try Heavy Angst, Sad, Bad Ending.

When looking for a fic to read, people want to know what the vibe is so they can find the fic that matches what they’re in the mood for. The summary is useful for this, too, but the tags are where you can really confirm: Yes, this is a fic with Light Angst, Humor, and Happy Ending.

In short: use tags as tone indicators. Not all fics cleanly fit one tone or the other, so overlap tags accordingly. It’s normal to have some contradiction; that’s the nature of storytelling.

Some common tone indicator tags:

Fluff

Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Domestic Fluff

Romantic Fluff

Light-Hearted

Crack

Crack Taken Seriously

Hurt/Comfort

Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Comfort No Hurt

Hurt No Comfort

Humor

Some Humor

No Plot/Plotless

Light Angst

Angst

Heavy Angst

Angst With a Happy Ending

Eventual Happy Ending

Sad Ending

Bad Ending

Happy Ending

Hopeful Ending

Ambiguous/Open Ending

…and more!

2. Content Warnings

Next, tags are a great place to add content warnings for your fic. Notes can go into more detail or be used for chapter-level warnings, but putting the broad categories of your content warnings in the tags is a good idea so those who wish to avoid certain types of content can do so, and those specifically seeking out heavy content can find what they’re looking for.

AO3 has the Archive Warnings function to help with this, but tags can elaborate on or specify warnings that don’t fit the Archive Warning categories.

Not everyone likes content warnings or sees the point of adding them, or they feel that they ruin the surprise element of storytelling. I won’t make a detailed argument here, but consider content warnings a sign of respect for your audience and their wellbeing. Triggers are very real things rooted in trauma and the least you can do is give someone a heads up that what you wrote could negatively affect them. Plus, as mentioned, sometimes darker content is exactly the thing someone wants, and a warning can actually be another way to attract a reader.

A very very short list of content warning tags to consider (and here’s your own heads up for mentions of upsetting topics in this list):

Death

Grief/Mourning

Violence

Canon-Typical Violence

Torture

Blood

Abuse

Alcohol

Drugs

Rape/Non-con Elements

Mentions of Rape/Non-con

Consent Issues

Mental Health Issues (there are lots of more specific tags for this category)

Panic Attacks

Ableist Language

…and more!

(There is definitely more that could be said regarding content warnings for Explicit fics, but I don’t read or write those, so you’ll need to look elsewhere for that.)

3. Searchable/Fandom-Specific

One of the most useful aspects of tags is being able to search the entire Archive via tags and/or filter content by tags (both to include and exclude – familiarize yourself with AO3’s Filter system if you haven’t already). So, you’ll want to include tags that folks are searching by. Tone indicator tags are used this way, but so are fandom-specific, character-specific, and relationship-specific tags.

If you have no idea where to start, look up the fandom/character/relationship you are writing for and filter AO3 by that. Then, spend some time looking at tags and filtering by different ones. See what comes up. Reading fic is always the best way to learn how to tag them, and that’s especially the case here. Maybe you’ll end up creating a new fandom tag!

While fandom-specific tags are not necessary, they can help make your fic easier to find, especially in large fandoms. Note that fandom-specific tags will usually have the fandom listed in parentheses at the end.

It’s difficult to make a list of tags for this sort of thing, but here’s some common structures I’ve seen over the years:

[Character Name] Needs a Hug

Asexual/Aromantic/Demisexual (etc.) [Character Name]

Oblivious [Character Name]

Dramatic [Character Name]

Sweet [Character Name]

Angry [Character Name]

Disabled [Character Name]

Autistic [Character Name]

Agender/Nonbinary/Trans [Character Name]

[Character Name] Has Anxiety/ADHD/Tourette’s etc.

Ambiguous [Character Name] and [Character Name] Relationship

Queerplatonic [Character Name] / [Character Name]

They/Them Pronouns for [Character Name]

Teacher/Superhero/Artist/other profession [Character Name]

[Character Name]-centric

Touch-Starved [Character Name]

[Character Name] is Bad at Feelings

[Character Name] Has Self-Esteem Issues

…and more!

Another category is tags for specific scenes, missing scenes, story arcs, episodes/chapters/parts, and so on, such as:

The Night at Crowley’s Flat (Good Omens)

Cloud Recesses Study Arc (Modao Zushi)

Post-Mogami Arc (Mob Psycho 100)

And there are plenty more that are so fandom-specific that they don’t fit an exact category:

Alternate Universe – No System (Scum Villain)

Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens)

Xianle Trio (Tian Guan Ci Fu)

4. BONUS Topic – Canon Divergence and Alternate Universes

One of the most fun parts of fanfic is toying with canon, so here’s a list of tags that can convey your fic’s relationship to the canon story. These are for fics that maintain a strong relationship with or resemblance to canon.

Pre-Canon

During Canon

Post-Canon

Canon Compliant

Not Canon Compliant

Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence

Alternate Canon

Fix-It

Not a Fix-It

Fix-It of Sorts

Some fandoms have specific tags regarding canon compliance with only parts of the given media – usually the case for franchises or works with big gaps between installments.

Not Canon Compliant With [Media Name] [Season/Episode Number]

Next are Alternate Universes (AUs), which are so divergent from canon to the point of not even being in the same world. There are more types of AU than I could dare list here, and several are also fandom-specific, but here’s some generic sorts that come to mind:

Modern Setting

Human

High School

College/University

Roommates/Housemates

Soulmates

Superheroes/Superpowers

Fairy Tale

Urban Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy

Meet-Cute (can also be Alternative Universe – Different First Meeting)

Meet-Ugly

…and more!

5. BONUS BONUS Topic – Romance

Lots of fics on AO3 are written for romantic ships, and there are a LOT of tags to categorize different types and stages of these ships. These tags are useful to establish reader expectations (and again, for filtering). Some common examples:

Pre-Slash

Pre-Relationship

Developing Relationship

Established Relationship

Love Confessions

Love Realization

Drunken Confessions

Mutual Pining

Not Actually Unrequited Love

Getting Together

Getting Back Together

Moving In Together

Falling in Love

Marriage

[Friends/Enemies/Strangers/Rivals/etc.] to Lovers (can also have three stages, such as Strangers to Friends to Lovers or Lovers to Enemies to Friends)

Flirting

Slow Burn

Denial of Feelings

…and more!

There are also tags to specify what physical affection the characters engage in:

Holding Hands

Cuddling & Snuggling

Hugs

Kissing

Making Out

Almost Kiss

First Kiss

Second Kiss

Literal Sleeping Together

Non-Sexual Intimacy

No Smut

Explicit Sexual Content

Implied/Referenced Sex

…and more!

Aaaand a few non-romantic ones to toss around, for fun:

Best Friends

Platonic Relationships

Friendship

No Romantic Relationships (goes under the Relationships section, not Additional Tags)

Found Family

Friendship/Love

Ambiguous Relationships

Queerplatonic Relationships

Family

Parenthood

Love

Siblings

Developing Friendships

Parent/Child Relationship

…and more!

This guide got out of hand, and I still didn’t cover everything I could have, but I hope this was a helpful overview and makes tagging a little easier for you going forward! Here’s AO3’s tagging page for more info. Feel free to drop your own tips in a reblog/comment or ask questions if there’s something you want me to elaborate on. <3

#ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writing #fic writing #writing #writing advice #ao3 tags #archive of our own

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thebestofoneshots · 2 years ago

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SERIES MASTERLIST

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Summary: You meet Sirius and Regulus at a family vacation in the Caribbean, but things don't go as planned and you end up losing contact once the trip is over. Years later your family moves to England and you get accepted at Hogwarts where you finally meet Sirius once again, along with all of his friends. One of them with a mysterious secret, that you'll uncover as you embark on your own Hogwarts adventure. Mostly canon-compliant. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Read Gilded Constellations on AO3

Read the French Translation by @nagareboshi-chiyo

Paring: Sirius Black x Reader / Remus Lupin x reader / Wolfstar x reader

Chapter average: 5k - 6.5 k

Content: Smut in later chapters, Poly!Marauders, throuple, graphic descriptions of violence, MAJOR and minor character death (this is The Marauders Era guys, you know), jealousy, angst, pining, love triangle, LGBTQ+ themes, The Wizarding war 1.0, implied child abuse, possible proofreading errors, mental health struggles, hurt no comfort, hurt with comfort, period typical attitude, first war with Voldemort, canonical character's death, fluff, Requited Love, F/M/M, mostly canon-compliant.

Status: Ongoing (Weekly updates)

♡ Indicates SMUT

PLAYLIST

01 | Summer Breeze

02 | Escape

03 | Bitter Sweet Symphony

04 | Rainy Days and Mondays

05 | Good times

06 | Crazy Little Thing Called Love

07 | Peaceful Easy Feeling

08 I Fooled Around and Fell in Love

09 | The Fairy Feller's Master-Stroke

10 | Black Dog

11 | Do Ya

12 | You really got me

13 | Rebel, Rebel

14 | Maybe I’m Amazed

15 | No One Like You

Interlude (Q&A Event)

16 | Boogie Wonderland

17 | Tonight’s What It Means To Be Young

18 | Friends will be Friends

19 | Silver Bird

20 | Bad Moon Rising

21 | Fox on the Run

22 | Long Long Way From Home

23 | Hungry Eyes

24 | Peace of Mind

25 | I’ll get Even With You

26 | Hooked on a Feeling

27 | Can’t Take My Eyes Off You

28 | If You Want BIood, (You’ve Got It)

29 | With a Little Help From My Friends

30 | Bridge Over Troubled Water

31 | Strange Magic

32 | Come a Little Bit Closer

33 | More Than a Feeling

34 | You Belong to Me

35 | Chill of Desire

36 | Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

37 | Gimme, Gimme, Gimme

38 | Let the Good Times Roll

39 | Running With the Pack

40 | Hot Stuff

41 | Urban Adventure

42 | Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

43 | Sympathy for the Devil

44 | No One But You

45 | Hold The Line

46 | Comfortably Numb

47 | Let Me Take You Home Tonight

48 | Dust in the Wind

49 | High Hopes

50 | Love the One You're With ♡

51 | Some Guys Have All The Luck ♡

52 | Twentieth Century Fox

53 | Too Much Love Will KiII You

54 | Sail Away Sweet Sister

55 | Noone Together

56 | Who Wants To Live Forever

57 | Play the Game

58 | Staying Power

59 | Break on Through

60 | Stone in Love

61 | Mr. Blue Sky

62 | Born to be Wild

63 | Something About You

64 | Put Out The Fire

65 | Spell Binder

66 | Hot Love

67 | What's On My Mind

68 | Mysteries and Mayhem

69 | Livin' Thing

70 | Back Talk

71 | We've Only Just Begun

72 | Relentless

73 | Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’

74 |

75 |

BONUS TRACKS:

Your Theories, The Note, The Costumes, Sirius and the Chimney, Sirius and Vix after the bad moon, Evans and Vixen, Remus and Vixen at the infirmary, Remus holding Sirius at DADA, Remus and Sirius’ height difference, the FOXSTAR picture, Art by @nineloseteeth, We're going French,

Leave a comment telling me if you want to join the tag list

A/N: Most Poly!Marauders fics are oneshots, where the relationship between characters is already established, and they're all happy and pleased with it. No issues, no drama, but I WANTED the drama. Couldn't find it, so I set myself up to write the story behind the stablished relationship. I wanted to know how they started dating each other, the jealousy, the will they won't they, because getting into a poly relationship can't be an easy task, and I wanted to explore that story. If you're interested: Welcome to Gilded Constellations!

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snazzynacho · 4 months ago

Text

— When in Rome

Chapter 1/?

Emperor Caracalla x female oc

Words: 2.9k Read on ao3. Main masterlist

Summary: Willow somehow wakes up in Ancient Rome. Caracalla likes what he sees…

Chapter summary: Caracalla wakes up to find a beautiful woman he does not remember bedding last night in his bed. Alas, he has to correct this. Luckily, for her, he seems to have awoken in a good mood.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Smut, explicit, Time travel, dirty talk, mental health issues, Caracalla doesn't have an STD but he is schizophrenic and has severe PTSD and memory issues, references to concubines, manipulation, possessiveness, period-typical attitudes, angst and hurt/comfort, murder, treason, canon-typical violence, romance, fluff, implied/referenced smut, forced marriage, falling in love, pregnancy, canon divergence, pre-gladiator 2, Implied Consent, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Nipple Play, Mommy Issues, Cock Warming, Cock Rings, Light Dom/sub, but Caracalla is too much a switch fr, Panic Attacks, Mental Breakdown, Body Worship, Praise Kink, Possessive Behaviour, Possessive Sex, Caracalla eats pussy like it’s his job, Cunnilingus, Spit As Lube, Spit Kink, Predator/Prey Roleplay, Pubephilia, Caracalla has a thing for women with an outie labia, okay? Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

A/N: This is part 2 of my fanfic 'Emperor of Time'! You don't have to read that first but it is recommended even though it is unfinished. Basically, these two fics coincide with each other. Bold = in Latin. Miiiight be getting ahead of myself with the smutty tags bc I’ve attempted to write smut before but failed BUT I WILL try because this is CARACALLA😭😍

Waking up to the sound of snoring is not a common occurrence for her, so she jumps up on her feet and frantically details her unfamiliar surroundings even through the pounding throbbing in her head.

The room is ornate and simply breathtaking. Beautiful paintings line the walls, and the floor has a large, intricate, square mosaic pattern in the middle. Against the back wall is a bed raised high on golden legs. However, it is different from any kind of bed she is used to. It looks more like a sofa.

Upon closer inspection, she realises the snoring is coming from over there. She peers and sees a male figure dozing away, wrapped in the silky covers. He has bright orange hair and rosy cheeks, and his brows are slightly creased but not enough to indicate a bad dream.

That’s more than she can say when a booming voice rips her from her trance. Bounding footsteps mixed with shouting are moving closer and closer to the door. She internally panics. She needs to hide—but where?! Her body is rigid. Her hands are clenched in anticipation. Her head whips from the door—where the handle rattles, it being opened—to the bed several times. Finally, she decides the best thing she can do is hop into bed and hide under the covers as best as she can. Her legs leap across the room to the bed. Peeling the covers back, she climbs into bed. The man stirs in his sleep a little and then resumes snoring. She notices a bit of dribble down his chin and finds it strangely endearing.

Just when she’s about to hide her face under the covers, the door bursts open, revealing another young man with the same fiery hair. “Caracalla, you must make haste! The senates are waiting, and you are already biting into my private leisure time!” He exclaims something in a language she does not recognise, waking the other man up by shaking his shoulders. He then glares at her and rolls his eyes. “Hm. Whatever. I will go to the meeting on my own and leave you with your...concubine,” He grumbles and turns to leave, slamming the door shut behind him.

To which the man in the bed grumpily responds with an audibly confused “huh?”. He rolls over to eye the woman in his bed. He does not recognise her face at all, though he can recognise a beauty when he sees one. “I do not remember bedding such a beauty last night…That must be corrected at once,”

Before she knows it, his lips are on hers. Wow, now this dream is talking! His lips are surprisingly soft but firm with desire. His hands grab at her waist, and she moans into the kiss. She can feel his smirk on her mouth. She feels his hand travel up to her breasts, rubbing at her nipple through her clothing. Moaning again, almost sounding annoyed, she rips her lips from his, immediately tearing her upper clothing off. She will not be needing that.

He giggles ardently. His lustful, bright blue eyes stir something deep within her as they’re now fixed on her exposed breasts. His mouth immediately attaches to one of her nipples, and the bud quickly responds to his licking and sucking, growing into a hardened peak. She moans as his mouth deliciously toys at her nipple while the added sensation of his fingers trailing up to flick her other nipple sends tingles straight down to her wet core. She squirms, her hips involuntarily rolling upwards, rubbing against his, desperately seeking that sweet, sweet relief.

Roughly, he pushes her hips down, grunting something. His fingers grab at the waistband of the fabric covering her legs. He does not think twice about why she wears such foreign clothing, yanking them down. Her legs wiggle, hurriedly attempting to ease the removal. Once they're gone and chucked on the floor somewhere, along with her other garment, he palms her thighs, spreading them slightly. His eyes tentatively travel down to the patch of curled hair on her perfectly plump and round mons Venus. He would never say it out loud, fearing mockery in Roman beauty standards, but he loves that bush of hair on a woman. It is simply concupiscent…a glimpse of natural womanhood. An erotic, animalistic drive would take over him every time he saw his pubes rub up against another’s pubes with each thrust. He smirks at the thought of that happening with this captivating lady he woke to find in his bed as if she were an angel—a goddess sent down from the gods just for him. Soley for Caracalla to indulge in. Not Geta, his brother. Only Caracalla.

Feather-light strokes brush up and down her thighs, sending shivers all over her. His cock twitches in his sleep toga at the sound of her whimper and the glistening wetness of her folds. He cannot look away. His cock twitches again, leaking pre-cum. Her folds are exquisite, peeking out and forming the most intricate large petals. He licks his lips again, looking her in the eye—an unspoken agreement. She responds by biting her bottom lip and shoves his head towards her, connecting their lips heatedly.

His pelvis jerks up against her, and she groans as the fabric of his toga pleasantly rubs against her clit. His tongue slips into her mouth, swirling saliva around messily and hungrily. Their hands palm at each other's bodies, hers running up and down his back and resting around his neck and his tickling along her thighs and up the side of her body. Giggles bubble up her throat and into the kiss, and he decides now is the best time to quit kissing and get down to dirty business.

A line of saliva is the only thing that connects their lips as they part, and it should be gross, but it is far from it. Feeling relieved since he finally rids himself of his toga, he leaves light pecks and bites at the crook of her neck, down the valley of her breasts, and along her stomach, stopping at her mound. She feels his hot breath on her folds, and she revels in the goosebumps it leaves her in. His thumbs press on either side of her cunt, slowly running along the slick skin, spreading it open gently. It squelches as a string of wetness across her hole comes into view and plays with his desire, almost beckoning him to come closer. His warm wet tongue obliges, broadly licking up her cunt, and his mouth sucks at her folds while she moans, tilting her head back. After a few more licks and sucks, he suddenly stops, and she whines at the missing contact. She's about to protest and beg for more when his hand roughly grasps the back of her head, gripping her black, wavy hair. He harshly yanks her head forward, so she's forced to look down at him. Before she can say a word, he spits. A fat wad of warm saliva lands directly on her clit, and she whines in the shockwave it sends to her nerves, taking pleasure in the tingling. He watches her wet cunt clench around nothing, and that tips him over the edge.

Diving straight in, his tongue scoops up her juices and flicks up her cunt, swirling hers with his saliva. Her hands move to grip his hair, pushing his face even closer to her core. Throbbing, her clit reacts to his tongue faultlessly toying at it, sucking and kissing like it is the sweetest treat. He lays his tongue flat on the swollen bundle of nerves, moaning at its pulsing sensation detonating up his tongue. Her hips roll, wanting more.

Groaning, he equally wants more. Resuming darting his tongue around in patterns, he pays close attention to her clit, and occasionally pushes his tongue in her wet hole, collecting more of her sweet juices. She notes his beautifully hooked nose teases her clit pleasantly when he does this, moaning louder for him to let him know. He slips his fingers inside, feeling the soaked walls of her tight cunt, curling and pumping in and out. Her moans and cries almost drive him to orgasm, but he refrains. He must feel her sopping cunt around his cock first. There's no way he will miss out on that. Speaking of orgasm, he feels she is growing close. He sucks at her clit again and pumps his knuckle-deep fingers faster, and she lets out a precious cry, spasming around his fingers, arching her back, and convulsing at the inconceivable pleasure, climaxing hard. His tongue darts down, lapping up her juices, and he pulls out his fingers, placing them in his mouth, sucking her essence off with an audible ‘pop’.

Her grip on his fiery hair loosens, and Caracalla moves his mouth to her thighs, kissing up her body until he reaches her plump lips—juicy and red from climaxing—snogging her so she can taste how delicious she is.

His thick hand pumps his cock a few times, preparing himself, and pulls the foreskin back to expose the head. Pre-cum squeezes out, dripping onto the bed below. Unexpectedly, her thumb grazes against his tip, collecting the rest of the pre-cum, and presses the salty essence on her tongue. She sucks it off, as he did with her juices, with a ‘pop’.

His breathing hitches in his throat. Letting out a shaky breath laced with incredible desire, he roughly seizes her thighs, making sure they're spread as wide as they can—as if they haven't been this whole time. He lines his hard length to her cunt, and plunges in. They moan at the same time, his girth stretching her soaked hole so defiantly. He sets an unrelenting tempo, it is almost painful at first, but pain turns to pleasure, and she soon finds herself driving against his thrusts. The lewd sound of smacking flesh and sticky skin fills the room, along with their moans. She covers her mouth to silence her loud noises but he rips her hand away. “No, mea vita. I want to hear you,” he commands, his voice low, almost sounding cruel.

He starts to move his body forward, pushing downward into the mattress instead of deeply into her. His cock is now in greater contact with the back wall of her cunt. Instinctively, she wraps her legs tighter around his waist, wailing at the new pleasurable angle his cock is in, feeling that coiling tension and fire in her abdomen. “Yes, that’s it. Let me hear your slutty wailing,” Holding a hand under her waist for an even better angle, his pubis rubs against her clit, the prickly hairs stimulating the bundle of nerves, building up her arousing more. Her legs tremble, and her throat burns at the constant erotic noises that spew out. That coiling tension becomes stronger, her cunt tighter as it spasms. With a loud cry from her lips, and a sharpness from her nails digging into his back, her hips snap and she comes undone.

“F-fuck!” Hips stuttering with one final powerful thrust, he, too, orgasms and empties himself inside of her. She feels his warm release coat her walls as his body slumps on her shoulder. He pulls her in an embrace, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck while their frantic pants and the heady smell of sex refill the room, completely and utterly blissed out. She hums in delight. After a few moments, he rolls onto his side, leaning on his elbow, his slicked cock still inside of her. His clammy hand grabs hold of her waist, pulling her onto her side like he is.

Placing a finger on the side of her face, he caresses her flushed cheek and moves a strand of her hair that is stuck to her forehead away. His voice is much lighter, sounding in love. “What is your name, my beauty?” Usually, after sex, he falls asleep or pushes the concubine away. But there's something different about this woman.

She gapes at him unreadably.

"You are teasing me, aren't you? You let me hear those pretty moans of yours, but now the cat has got your tongue?” he cracks a smile, flashing his gold tooth before his brows furrow and his head tilts to the side. “Oh, don't tell me you cannot speak Latin,” he sighs hard but cackles…Either she does not know Latin, or he truly fucked her brains out.

“Emperor Caracalla,” he points to himself, smug as he refers to himself as Emperor. He then points at her, motioning her to give him her name. He recalls doing the same when he got his monkey Dondas, though she didn’t respond because she is a monkey, after all.

“Willow,” her soft voice says, a bit croaky from crying out during sex.

“Will-ow,” the name is foreign on his tongue, and his mouth moves unfamiliarly. He shakes his head and grimaces slightly. “No, no, no. I ought to think of another name for you, my beauty,” he runs his thick fingers along her forearm, intently watching the hair on her arms raise at the touch.

"Tell me. What does your odd name mean?" Willow blinks at him. Her wide, brown, doe-like eyes oddly tug at his heartstrings. “I bet it means sweet like honey,” he smirks, placing the two fingers he touched her with on his lips. His red tongue darts out quickly to lick the remnants of her essence. He hums in pleasure at the taste. Even though she does not know what he is saying, Willow can tell it’s something erotic. She gasps softly at his action, and if she is not already as wet as the Nile River, she’d be as wet as the ocean.

“Your new name must not be any old name but something truly special. I’ll get back to you on that,” At that, his cock slips out and he hops out of bed. Caracalla seems to have entered a completely different realm. He doesn't look back at her—a sharp contrast to the intimacy they shared mere seconds ago. Instead, he wraps himself in a silky red and gold robe, tied dangerously loosely around his pelvis. He might as well be wearing nothing still. Willow tries to avert her gaze, but heck. This is her sex dream—a mighty one at that—and if she wants to ogle at this hot emperor her brain mustered up, then so be it!

Willow looks at him again, slightly sad, feeling his cum dribble out of her used cunt. This is her dream. Surely, she can direct it. She sits up in bed, her perky breasts slipping out from the silky covers, now on show. She hopes she looks as seductive as she felt moments ago.

Caracalla turns around, casually holding onto the robe’s cord that’s knotted loosely around his pelvis. The weight of his hand lowers the knot, revealing more skin, and making his pose more provocatively risky. She eyes the patch of red hair trailing up from his pubes and up his stomach, crossing her legs together to wear off the returned throbbing of her core.

He’s looking at her indifferently before something changes in his eyes. He smirks and states, “You shall begin to learn Latin. I will have the finest tutor in all of Rome come here just for you, my sweet,” he steps closer, holding her gently by the chin, and then moves his thumb up to stroke her lips. “Just for you.” There's a daring twinkle in his eye, and though Willow cannot understand his Latin words, she cannot help but be swooned.

Seemingly saying goodbye, he leaves the room. Willow is left feeling butterflies in her stomach.

This wet dream has been the best she's had in a long time—maybe even the best she has ever had. She strangely felt everything. Willow was amazed at how well her brain conjured up every feeling and sensation, every tingle, every rush of lust in her lower belly she had not felt for a long, long time, revelling in how his hard cock pumped in and out of her wet cunt, making her walls clench and spasm so ridiculously much...

She needed this dream. She loves her job. She has made a career out of singing, mostly operatic, while her best friend, Diana, plays the harp or the violin with the orchestra—but it is hard work. And a sex dream once in a while is nothing to complain about. Especially one with a Roman emperor…

Now, she can relax and let her eyes close, and she'll wake up in the (stressful) real world again. Albeit slightly more relaxed than before. It is better than nothing, Willow supposes.

This is until she feels a light tap on her shoulder. She opens her eyes a tad grumpier than she would like to and sees a young woman in a cream tunic, with others standing in the room, waiting. She says something in Latin, but Willow has no idea what, staring at her blankly. The servant takes Willow’s hand and guides her to her feet before leading her elsewhere. The palace is incredible, with white stone pillars and marble floors.

Willow can get used to this, but it is only a dream, after all...

A/N: Mae vita = little honey.

Hawktuah on that thang (sorry).

Wow so this is really ambitious of me to post. I haven’t fully written smut in a long time, if ever, because I’ve never been able to write it properly and I always thought it turned out bad. So, let me know what you think… Eeek I’m nervous.

Also, I made Willow in the sims!! Well, technically I found her on the gallery by @ m1w4k000 but I did change her nose, body, and hair a bit. :)

Tag list: (comment to be added/removed)

#snazzynacho fanfics #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor Caracalla x female reader #x oc #x femoc #fanfiction #gladiator ii fanfiction #gladiator ii spoilers #caracalla smut #emperor caracalla smut #emperor Caracalla x oc #caracalla fanfic #caracalla x oc

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ziv-helpless · 7 months ago

Text

When war divides part I

pairing: uncle!Aemond x niece!Reader

Summary: Reader is the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, second born. In another adventures night in the brothel she gets pulled aside by Aemond ending in a questionable conversation.

warnings: incest, mentions of past trauma, hate for bastards (duh, it's Aemond), questionable morals?

words: 2564

a/n: First fan fiction that will be multi chapter. If you want to get tagged for the next chapter just comment. I hope that everything is understandable since Englisch isn't my first language. I let a few friends read over some parts, but over all it is not prove read.If I forgot to put any warnings or if you can find some mistakes feel free to tell me.

anyway, enjoy! ✨🖤

It is an evening like the others. Aemond has been seeking the comfort of the brothel more often than usually, the war has been getting to his nerves, the death of Luce gnawing at his guilt. Moans and the sound of skin slapping against each other filled the air as he made his way across the room to where Sylvi was waiting for him, punctual as always.

He tried to ignore the people who were fucking around him by keeping the gaze of his good eye focused on the floor until he reached the curtains of his whore’s room. Aemond never understood how the smallfolk could have sex like animals all in the same house with barely any privacy.

Or maybe he was just weird for seeking a mothers touch in a whore. It was not his fault his brother Aegon brought him here when Aemond was only thirteen, what else could a young boy have done? Apparently that never changed and so for the sixth time in not even a moon was he here again, naked, vulnerable and in the arms of Sylvi. Only when the hours of the wolf was reached did he get ready to leave again, this time with more confidence, the strong walls around his heart built up again, laying over his face like a mask.

Aemond held his head high as he strode out of the brothel, a heavy hood concealing his identity when something in the corner of his vision caught his attention.

Some knight of the kings guard slamming into a silver haired woman with a face of beauty. A beauty he knew. It was you. His niece getting fucked right next to him by a knight of the kings guard. To say that guy was going easy on you was an understatement.

Sweat glistened on your skin, illuminated by the candles spread across the room, surrounded by other men and women enjoying the show. Not only was Aemond’s eye wide opened once he recognized you, but you seemed to push the guard away, stumbling around to grab your clothes and disappearing into a different hallway to get away from your uncle as quick as possible.

Aemond how he is followed after you and once you were in reach he grabbed your arm harshly, pulling you into a secluded corner.

“What do you think you are doing here?”

He practically spat at you, anger and confusion seething through his veins.

“You are supposed to be in Dragonstone.”

Shame rose in you as you stood bare before Aemond, his grip harsh.

“What even are you doing in a brothel getting fucked by a knight of the kings guard?”

He continued, almost berating you as you awkwardly try to move with your back against the wall.

“The same reason you are here for, Uncle.”

It was a hidden threat as if you knew he was not here for pleasure. Your words did not face him as he kept his guard up.

“Do not worry your head around it. I will be out of your sight before you realize that the hour of the nightingale has struck. No need to end me like you ended Lucerys.”

Your words plunged a dagger into his heart, Aemond’s jaw clenching tightly. The sight of you so vulnerable not only in front of him, but in front of the smallfolk did little to quench his anger, on the contrary.

“I know where to go for moon tea if that is your issue.”

The seething tone on your voice was an indicator that this conversation should be done soon and it was.

Without another word Aemond let go of you, exiting the brothel in haste. By the looks of it he will not tell you, not with how his eyes lingered on your exposed form a little too long.

You returned to the knight to say farewell and to apologize for being interrupted before leaving yourself. Aemond’s words plagued your mind as you absent mindedly wandered through the streets, unsure whether to go back to Dragonstone or to stay here.

Should someone recognize you and report you the king would imprison you in an instant without a second doubt. Aegon was never one to be on the side of the blacks due to Rhaenyra’s bastard sons. Even despite your hair he still hated you to his guts just because you were the daughter of the usurper queen.

With guilt gnawing at your inner soul your feet carry you through the cobbled alleys, the noise of wet puddles echoing off the walls as you trudged closer to the red keep a flood of thoughts overwhelming your every being.

Your shoulder suddenly bumped into something, finally pulling you out of your racing brain. You were met with the eye of Aemond, staring at you with furrowed brows. In the rush of your thoughts you must have been fast enough to catch up with him and ended up ramming your shoulder into his.

Both of your faces were mostly concealed by hoods as you just stood there speechless, your eyes scanning his every feature.

“Why are you following me? Did you not risk yourself enough by being in Kings Landing?” Despite the obvious annoyance in his tone there was some hint of worry. Was he worried you might get killed? It was probably just the regret that spoke from him.

“I…” Rather confused you looked around, only now noticing where your feet had dragged you to. “I wasn’t paying attention.” You cleared your throat, trying to appear in control of yourself.

“Mh.” A hum was all you got, it was what most got. Aemond was never talkative, keeping things to himself most of the time. He always appeared to be lost in thought.

“I apologize, my prince.” With a few blinks you try to ease your raging mind, yet the confusion on your features did not go unnoticed to your uncle.

“I offer to hide you in the keep until it is safe for you to fly back to Dragonstone. I am sure your mother is worried for your absence.” Not a single emotion could be traced through his words. They were dull, calculated and cold. “In exchange for information.”

Of course he would only help if there was something in return for him. Without knowing any better you agree, nodding your head ever so slightly, following him back to the Keep.

“What you saw is a secret between us now, right?” Insecurity laced your voice as your cloak absorbed the soft raindrops from the night sky, the sound of wet footsteps in puddles filling the else silent alley.

“I suppose so.” His eye met yours for a second before focusing on the dimly lit path.

Aemond led you through a hidden entrance into the castle as the two of you snuck passed guards and private chambers until you reached his and he let the door fall shut behind him. Heavy breaths left your lungs after practically sprinting to his room. Never in your life have you been in your uncle’s chamber, but it was not as bad as someone might think. Books and candles littered his desk and at every place were it was possible candle wax dripped down. The room seemed cozy and warm, a stark contrast to the front Aemond put on in front of others.

Maybe he was not too bad after all. Maybe all it took was getting close to him, something you two definitely were not.

“I do not know much. Only that Daemon is currently in Harrenhal, trying to expand my mother’s army.” Your voice pulled Aemond out of his thoughts as he leaned over his desk, his hands gripping the edges tightly as he seemed to be studying maps of Westeros.

“What about your brother?” It seemed as if he did not believe your words, he did not trust you. You could not blame him. The last time you saw each other was at the family supper, before your grandsire, his father, passed.

“He is in Dragonstone. Mother does not allow him to leave. She is… distant, I suppose.” Your hurt and sadness were reflected in your soft voice as you swallowed down the lump forming in your throat.

“Stop staring at me.” Aemond caught you red handed as your eyes trailed over his hands the whole time he fiercely gripped the wood. Immediately you averted your gaze to the candles next to his bed. You could feel the heat pool at your cheeks as a red hint rose over them.

“Do you hate my family?” After what seemed like an eternity your words broke the heavy silence, only for one twice as heavy to return. You did not understand the war, not the reason the family is split in half, not the reason why it even was the way it was.

“I apologize. I should not have asked.”

“No.”

“Then wh-”

“I do not hate.” Aemond made it clear he didn’t like being questioned, not by anyone and especially not by you.

With a quick nod you apologized, staying silent. Despite everything your eyes stayed on him. You knew he could feel your gaze, but you did not know how else to keep your mind busy.

Aemond turned his head a little, gazing behind his shoulder to were you were still standing by the door. He nods towards a chair in front of the fire place for you to sit down in and you do as told. Carefully you take of your wet cloak and hang it in front of the fire for it to dry.

“I forgive, but I do not forget.” He was obviously referring to the loss of his eye. You had been there to witness it all, the fight between Aemond and your brothers, Alicent attacking Rheanyra, all of it.

It pained you to see the anger inside of Aemond still burning after all those years. Who could blame him though? No one apologized to him, everyone stamped it off as a little fight between boys yet they fought like men with daggers.

“I am sorry, Aemond. For what happened. My brothers have a fragile ego, but that’s easy for me to say considering my hair.”

A short silence filled the room, the only sound being the fire crackling as the flames ate at the wood.

“Do you think I’m a bastard, Aemond? The timing fits, doesn’t it? But maybe I just got lucky or they had the misfortune of nature taking it’s course despite the blood of the dragons.” Aemond’s fist hit the table, all different kind of metal objects clattering at the impact. The sudden sound made you flinch as you had been staring absently into the warm light.

“Do not play with me and shut your mouth.” He hissed at you like you struck a nerve. Never had he shown his anger or frustration in such a way. Of course he was violent, but not violent against you.

“Please. I just want to understand.” You were almost begging as you tried to keep your voice from quivering. Shouting scared you, shouting at you to be specific. It released that primal urge in you to hide from the world, but you could not run so your fingers clawed at the chair, trying to supress the fear.

“Nyke gaomagon daor gīmigon skoros naejot pendagon!” Your uncle’s voice went from anger to something that resembled frustration. The guilt in his tone and body language was evident.

No matter your fear you quietly get up from the chair, walking over to where he stood, placing a gentle hand on the back of his tunic. Aemond seemed to flinch away a little form your touch, not used to one of gentle form. (I do not know what to think)

“Nyke gaomagon daor jaelagon bisa vīlībāzma. Nyke gaomagon daor jaelagon īlva lentor naejot sagon ezīmagon kesrio syt hen pirtra.” You tried to comfort Aemond with the ways your mother comforted you as a child. It always appeared to you as if Alicent never held her children. You pitied them, but to what use? In your youth you tried your best to give Aemond the comfort of a mother although you were just a child yourself. (I do not want this war. I do not want our family to be split because of falsehoods.)

“I want to leave the past behind. At least for the two of us, hold a grudge against my brother if you want to.” Your breath tickled his neck, a shiver running down his spine as goosebumps formed on his skin. Slowly your hands fall away from his shoulders, fingertips gracing his back before your arms fell next to you.

“Do it again.” Aemond demands.

“What?” You were utterly baffled as he grabs you hand and presses it back on his shoulder. He was deliberately seeking physical connection, you. A huff of air leaves your nose in contentment as you press yourself against his back again. Everything stayed silent after this, actions speaking louder than words.

Aemond turned his head to the side his lips impossibly near as you looked up to him from his shoulder. Unexpectedly he cupped your right cheek and his lips meeting yours in a soring kiss. After a mere seconds you broke apart and you hid your face in the crook of his neck in shame.

He clears his throat, looking back down at the map on his desk, standing there like earlier. “I apologize.” Soft words for such a harsh man. It was the first time you have ever heard him apologizing.

“It’s… it’s alright.” You words were muted by the lack of distance between your bodies. The air was heavy with unspoken feelings neither of you addressed at the moment, too caught up with the war about to break out any day.

A soft sigh left you lips, making it’s way across Aemond’s skin. Your lips gently press against his neck, a sweet-tempered gesture to calm both of your racing hearts. His head fell back a little, giving you more access as your nose pressed against his artery while nuzzling into the crook of your uncle’s neck.

“Careful, your treading on thin ice, princess.” His words were nothing more than a hum as he enjoyed every single second of the moment, wishing it would never stop.

The both of you knew the inappropriate gestures like the palm of your hands, having spend countless hours in the street of silk and in various brothels.

“I did for my whole life. What is the difference now?” The exhaustion did not go unnoticed to Aemond and neither did the hint of sarcasm. But your words were the truth, something your uncle probably has not heard in a while.

“You should rest.” If you would not know any better, you might have said he sounded like he cared, when in reality it was probably more of him wanting to get rid of you. It was moments like these when you wished for the power to look into others minds or have the powers of Helaena to see the future through dreams.

“And where do you suggest?” You yawn softly into his shoulder, a way to intimate gesture to be between you and Aemond, when you were on opposite sides of the war.

“My bed. I have enough space in the library.”

Divider from @targaryen-dynasty

#aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #fan fiction #multi chapter #multi chap fic #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic

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salvador-daley · 3 months ago

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Chained ⛓️ Updated!

An Umbrella Academy Murder Mystery

A/N: I don't know if anyone is still interested in this story but contrary to all indications (regular updates) I am still writing it anyway because, well, delusion. I've not given up on it, I just had a baby and babies are - and this is true - very distracting. If you're happy to see my username on your timeline, clap your hands (leave me a comment) and I'll try my best to update again before the child starts school in 2030.

Chapter 30: Sake

Chapter summary: With time running out to prove his innocence, Klaus seeks to confront his prime suspect. But he’s not ready for what happens next.

Chapter snippet:

AS HE finds the entrance to the passage, Klaus’s feet stop dead.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“What do you mean?” asks Ben.

“I mean we’re walking down a rapey back alley to go meet a potential murderer, Ben. Call me a Nervous Nancy, but it feels like a bad plan.”

Ben looks down the alley and then back at Klaus, as if none of these details had really occurred to him before now. The narrow passage is lit only by a single pale bulb above the kitchen door, about halfway down. The wet cobbles are scattered with upturned crates and mouldy cardboard boxes, left out in the elements to rot. Dumpsters line the walls, sheltering a family of stray cats that slides between them like sultry nightclub patrons.

Ben turns back to Klaus. “You’ll be fine, come on.”

Klaus remains frozen to one spot.

“Look, how do we even know this is the guy, huh? I mean, what do we have to go on? A weird sculpture and a hunch?”

“It’s gotta be him, Klaus,” says Ben. “Think about it: Gary was an asshole. He was sleeping with Jaz’s fiancée, he was probably planning to blackmail her, and Detective Wesson said-”

“Ugh, can we not talk about her, please? She makes my sphincter twitch.”

“Detective Wesson said Jaz owed Gary money. Plus there’s the whole Janice connection. The two of them probably planned it all along.”

Klaus frowns. Is that possible? Could Janice really have set this up somehow? Could Jaz have harboured such a grudge against his friend that he would sneak into his room, stand over his sleeping body and cut his throat in the night? Jaz who had poured shots at the party and shared bitchy gossip over breakfast the next morning? Jaz with his limited edition Jordans and his manicured nails and his tiny twisted dreadlocks?

“Something just isn’t adding up and I can’t put my finger on it,” says Klaus.

“Well, this is the only way you’re gonna get answers. Just stop being a colossal wuss and get down there.”

Klaus’s feet are still rooted firmly to the ground.

“I-I don’t think so. Let’s just go back to the party before-”

“No!” Ben throws his whole ethereal form in front of Klaus. “It’s time to grow some balls.”

“I have balls, Ben,” says Klaus, his voice rising. “And there’s a bad feeling in them!”

“Well, I told you to see a doctor about that.” Ben shifts into the light of the moon so he can meet Klaus’ eyes. “Look, I know you’re scared, but if you don’t do this now you’ll never find out the truth. Diego will lose his job, you’ll have to go on the run. This is the only way, Sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and take a risk.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re already dead!”

“Just do it,” Ben hisses.

Read the rest on AO3

No obligation tags. If you’re still alive, say hello. @badsext @yeah-klave @softforklave @anglophile-rin @falloutby @merry-melody @neist @purblzart @maerenee930 @firstpersonnarrator @super-unpredictable98 @wcrmboy @spookyfbi @squishitude @courtneytarynofficial @mokolataddict @pickledbeefwastaken @love-is-dirty-baby @jender123 @vonkimmeren @narnianaos @sylvertyger @merrilark @faceache111 @rob-private @pietro-t1me @not-oscar-wilde @thislovelylife @falafel14

#robert sheehan #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #tua #umbrella academy #umbrellaacademy #umbrella acedmy #klaus Hargreeves fiction #tua klaus #klaus tua #tua s4 #tua netflix #tua fanfic #murder mystery #umbrella academy fanfic #ben hargreeves

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starryevermore · 1 year ago

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the house of snow (20) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: the ton learns of how its king adores the queen.

word count: 1,992

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: implied smut, fluff, pet name (petal), not proofread

When you first learned of Coryo’s intent to marry you, you had expected a life as Queen would be spent focusing on building a robust social life—planning and attending balls, organizing dinners, entertaining the rest of the ton, overseeing the social season. In your downtime, you would read in the library or stroll the gardens. Forever stuck in a loveless, unsatisfying marriage. Coryo, however, defied your expectations at every turn. Not only was his love true, but he wanted you to rule by his side. He didn’t wish for you to be a mere figurehead—he wanted you to be Queen in every sense of the word.

You quite liked it, if you were honest. You liked sitting at the desk with him, flitting through papers, sorting out the important needs of Panem. You liked being able to tell him your thoughts and know that they were being heard. You had heard too many horrible stories of men belittling their wives, thinking themselves better when they received the very same education. There men in this Capitol that got off on treating their wives as second-class citizens. You were forever grateful that your Coryo was not one such man.

And, of course, you and Coryo got up to plenty of revelry in that very office.

Coryo pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he helped you back into your dress. Though it would be easier to merely push up your skirts and settle between your legs, Coryo insisted on seeing all of you. You were his beautiful wife, he’d say, and he would never deprive himself of admiring such grand beauty.

“We need to add social engagements to our calendar,” you said, carding your fingers through his hair. He nipped at your neck.

“I prefer monopolizing your time. Those people do not deserve you in all your brilliance.”

“We rule those people, and we should try to remain in their good graces,” you countered. Coryo conceded by placing a kiss against the same spot he bit. “Just a few balls, perhaps a luncheon or two with the Electors and their families.”

“Very well. Let me know which ones you have a preference toward, and I shall make the arrangements.”

It was ordinarily the woman’s work to deal with social engagements. A smile tugged at your lips. For Coryo to so easily take on the task, without you even indicating for him to do so, warmed your heart. How did you ever get so lucky? How did you ever think poorly of him? “My mother is throwing a ball this week. I suppose we should attend, at least to keep up appearances with my family,” you said with a roll of the eyes. “The ton would not take kindly to a woman who forsakes her family for the Crown. They would spread rumors that I am a power-hungry wench, intent on making you my little puppet.”

Coryo barked out a laugh. “If only they knew how much power you hold.”

“Oh yes, I do quite well at tugging at your strings.”

“You may tug on them for however long you like.”

Though your dress had just been pulled back on, it soon found itself pooled on the floor moments later.

Thought it had been your suggestion, you dreaded the idea of returning to your family’s home—if you could call it that anymore. After having been away from them for the last month, you came to realize you were scarcely more than a pawn to them. If your father wanted you to be well-cared for, he could have allowed Coryo to court you when he came into money again. The Snow family was not a family known to squander their wealth. Had it not been for the war, they still would have been living off of their fortune for generations to come. And your mother…The way she pushed you to act like someone you were not in hopes that it further along Coryo’s proposal…It just made you sick. You once thought that they cared for you, in their own strange ways, but now you weren’t for certain.

Coryo watched as your lady’s maid pinned back your hair in preparation for your mother’s ball. You were tempted to tell her to stop, that you would no longer be attending, but you also wished to show them, show the entire ton, that you had their King wrapped around your finger. For every thing that they chastised you for, Coryo loved. Nay, he adored. You were certain there was very little you could do that would be wrong in his eyes.

“You are exquisite,” he said, coming to your side as your lady’s maid stepped away from her elaborate creation. He leaned down, pressed a kiss at the junction where your shoulder met your neck. “The ton will have never seen a more beautiful Queen.”

“You shouldn’t let me stray far from your side then,” you teased as you rose from your seat. You turned so you faced your husband and looped your arms around his shoulders. “The ton can so easily devolve into animals when they see something shiny and new.”

“Oh, trust, my petal, I do not intend for you to ever leave my side.” Coryo kissed your forehead. “I already nearly lost you once when I was least expecting it. I won’t allow it to happen again.”

Your heart clenched. It had been so long since Sejanus was mentioned. You nearly forgot about him entirely. For him to have been so close to both you and Coryo, it didn’t feel so strange for him to not be around anymore. What would have happened if he didn’t come to convince you to run away with him? Would you all still be close? Or would he have still tried?

You hoped Sejanus fared well with the Peacekeepers. Despite what he attempted, the friend he was willing to hurt, Sejanus was a kind and gentle man. Coryo had told you little about his time in service with the Peacekeepers, but you knew enough to be certain that Sejanus would emerge a changed man. You only wished that he was still kind.

“And you should not worry about such a thing,” you said. “I am yours just as you are mine.”

Coryo hummed, and pulled you in for another kiss. You let him, letting your worries melt away.

The worries did not stay away for long, unfortunately. As your carriage rolled up to your parent’s home, your heart thump’d, thump’d, thump’d in your chest. You hated having to let go of Coryo when the carriage came to a stop. At least it didn’t last long, for Coryo soon was helping you out and your hands were reconnected.

Like when you arrived at the palace, Coryo let you take the lead. But, unlike at the palace, those who bore witness to this soon began to whisper. You expected as much. The tradition of the no one walking ahead of the King was one long upheld. No one ever dreamed of stepping into his path. You swallowed, lifted your head high and squared your shoulders. This was going to be a long, arduous night, but you were not going to let the gossip of the ton ruin your evening.

Your mother’s eyes were on you the second you stepped foot in the ballroom. You took a breath and turned away from her gaze. Coryo stepped beside you and took your hand. “Come,” he said, “let’s take a turn about the room.”

You nodded.

Her eyes never left you, though. You moved your hand to hold onto Coryo’s arm, hoping for him to steady you. He looked at you curiously, but said nothing. At least you were distracted by the ton as they flitted around you and your husband. They were so eager for the approval of the King and Queen. It was almost laughable.

Finally, though, you couldn’t take it anymore as your father joined your mother’s side.

“We should go say something,” you whispered to Coryo as another young lady sunk into a low curtsy in front of you. “Appearances and all that.”

“Are you certain? I believe we will be quite fine if we continue to ignore them.”

You stifled a laugh. “Perhaps. Think of it this way, though—if we speak to them now, we can ignore them the rest of the ball.”

“Very well. Lead the way, petal.”

Your heart thump’d harder as you crossed the room to your parents. You didn’t have the first clue what you were going to say to them. What they would say to you. They had enough tact, you were sure, to not incite an outright fight with the King and Queen. But they had enough audacity to insult their daughter. They did it as easily as breathing.

“Mama, Papa,” you greeted when you reached them. Neither dropped into a bow or curtsy. Your lip curled at the disrespect. It did not matter that you were their daughter—there was still social etiquette to be followed. “The ball has been lovely so far.”

If they were going to stoop so low, you would not meet them at their level.

“It could be lovelier if there wasn’t so much…whispering among the ton,” your mother said.

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Coryo’s hands clenched and unclenched. You gave his arm a squeeze, but that did not stop him from saying, “The ton is full of idle gossip. It always has been.”

The warning in his tone did not stop your mother from continuing it, “Still, it is improper for a wife to lead the King.”

You ground your teeth together. Is that all you were to her now? A wife to the King? Oh, if only she knew the true influence you had. If only she knew how highly your Coryo regarded you. She may be trapped in a loveless marriage—and you would forever pity her for that—but that did not mean she could dismiss your marriage so easily.

“Queen,” Coryo corrected. “Lesser kings have killed for lesser slights against their queens. I would tread carefully if I were you.”

Your father looked between your mother and Coryo. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, he tried, “What my wife means to say is, we would hate for the Crown to be ruined by such silly gossip.”

“The Crown could not be ruined by such things,” Coryo dismissed with a wave of his hand. “What would damage the sanctity of the Crown is to allow such disrespect to go by unchecked.”

“Of course,” your father said. “We did not mean to—”

“I am tired of this conversation,” you announced. You turned into Coryo and smiled up at him. “Would you like to dance?”

Your mother guffawed. “Women do not ask—”

“Whatever you wish, my Queen,” Coryo said. He kissed you softly, snorting a laugh as your mother continued to blubber in the background. “I would dance with you forever if you should ask for it.”

Coryo led you out to the middle of the dance floor, ignoring your mother’s antics and prying eyes of the ton. He took one hand in his, letting the other settle on your waist. Your free hand came to rest on his shoulder and the band began to play. As he twirled you around the room, everyone seemed to melt away.

Good. The ton could spread rumors and stories all they like. Your parents could look down on you if they so pleased. But none of that would change the fact that your Coryo looked at you like you were the most brilliant diamond ever mined. None of that would change the fact that, in a society where loveless marriages were commonplace, you found the very thing you dreamed of since you were a girl.

“I love you, my King,” you said.

“And I you, my Queen.”

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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stitch-away · 3 months ago

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ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 day 2 - a peace offering ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

pairing: joel miller x reader (gender unspecified)

summary: you return to the man bearing gifts, hoping he'll let you in

tags: feral joel miller, fluff, mild violence, ptsd, amnesia (not mentioned yet), grunty joel bc he can't speak

word count: 2.4k

series: feral joel miller

a/n: some fluff before the inevitable angst lol. the next chapter will be kinda fluffy and then we'll get into the juicy stuff. again, the reader's gender is not mentioned and probably won't be for the early chapters at least. i plan on this becoming enemies to lovers, so once it gets more explicit etc it will probably become male reader. but for now it's gn!

you can’t return empty handed. or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself as you pick the locks to your neighbours’ apartments. this is a little overboard, even for you, but the desire to have that man in the forest trust you is clouding your judgment. it’s honestly pathetic to think you’re risking severe punishment for some guy you just met– who, most certainly hates you, and is barely human, in any philosophical sense.

the last door in the hallway cracks open and you creep inside. you’ve got a few flannel shirts, jeans, a jacket, and some socks. all you need now is a good pair of boots. you peek round the door and see exactly what you’re looking for. you snatch the boots, tying them and hooking them in the strap of your bag. it’s a few minutes til your neighbours’ shifts end so that’s all the time you’ve got to make it to the perimeter without them seeing you with their stuff.

you clumsily dash down the stairs, skipping most steps, and shoving your way out the door. as you break into the street, you can see people packing up to head home. cutting through a backstreet, you make it to your hole in the wall without running into any of your neighbours.

sprinting out into the vast field outside the qz wall feels like a breath of fresh air. a tentative hope stirs in your chest as you see the forest. you’re going to see him again– whoever he is. you can only pray that your supplies are enough of a peace offering for him to let you in. there’s too many questions you have to simply leave him alone.

the forest is even more beautiful than you remember as you push through the bushes. a small bug, smaller than anything you’ve seen before, lands on your hand. it has a vibrant red colour with little black spots. you remember reading about this back in the qz. it’s a ladybug. you smile softly, simply taking in the beauty of the little bug for a moment. once it flies away, you continue forwards.

the stench of freshly dried blood enters your nostrils, you realise you’re close to where you last saw the man. you groan as you feel your foot sink into some of the blood from yesterday. you trudge forwards, trying to listen for any movement that could indicate that the man is around.

“hello?” you call out. before you can regret yelling out to a man that’s as skittish as a bird, you feel a weight hit your back and your face plant hard into the dirt. large hands grab your arms and flip you over, spit flying in your face as that same guttural roar you heard yesterday rings in your ears.

sharp canines and that scruffy greying beard consuming your eyesight. once the man stops growling at you, he keeps you pinned to the ground, his nose pressed against your as he pants, each breath filled with a threat.

as the shock wears off, you realise he’s giving you a chance to explain yourself. unable to yourself from trembling, you take a deep breath before speaking.

“i– i came with gifts,” you stutter, “in my bag. i have clothes and boots. you need them. take them.” the man frowns in confusion, tilting his head to the side. you’re the first person he’s interacted with for years, let alone a person being kind to him. this isn’t right. this isn’t how it’s supposed to work out here in the wild.

the man grabs your shirt and slams you into the dirt again. he snarls at you before crawling off you and sitting back on his haunches. he clearly doesn’t view you as a physical threat. you don’t know if that’s progress or just insulting.

you take the opportunity to sit up. you pull the bag round into your lap and open it up. noticing the man’s tense posture and locked stare on the bag you think it’s better to let him explore it himself.

“here,” you say, laying the bag in front of him, “there’s nothing bad in it. just clothes. you can check it yourself.” the man snatches the bag and dumps the contents onto the ground in front of him.

“i– i just saw that your clothes were torn and dirty,” you say, watching the man rummage through your meager steals, “and your boots are coming apart. i was… worried that you might get sick living out here without the proper clothes.” the man grunts dismissively, holding up the jacket in front of him.

he stands up, starting to unbutton his shirt. you stare fixed for a moment as the man reveals fluffy chest hair and strong pecs dusted with dirt. as he reaches the bottom button you snap yourself out of it. you shoot up, startling the man who draws his knife.

“no, no, no,” you say, holding your hands up, “i’m sorry, i should’ve got up slower. i was just shocked. most people aren’t comfortable getting undressed in front of other people.” the man tucks his knife away slowly and tilts his head. you frown at his apparent confusion.

“what about that is confusing?” you ask. he grunts and grabs at his shirt, gesturing to pull it off further.

“you don’t understand why it’s wrong to get undressed in front of other people?” you ask, your eyes widening as he nods. fuck. maybe this man’s more feral than you thought.

“shit,” you mutter, digging into your pockets for the pen and paper you brought with you. you could tell he had good fine motor skills from the way he handled the deer so you’re praying he can write. you hold the pen and paper out to him, “can you write?”

he shrugs but takes the pen and paper anyways. he frowns at you as he waits for a question.

“how long have you been out here?” you watch as he thinks it over before hamfistedly scrawling letters onto the page. it’s clear he’s having to think about how to properly form each letter as he goes, not having done this in years.

he holds up the paper. it reads, “stopped counting at 10,” in sloppy inconsistent lettering. you can hardly begin to comprehend how long that is. over a decade, out here in the wilderness, and he’s still alive. you have to admit, that's impressive.

“did you come to live out here when the outbreak happened? like when all the infected started popping up?” the man shrugs. he looks like he wants to agree but he doesn’t have the memory to back it up.

“if you did, that means you’ve been out here for 20 years,” you say, shocking both yourself and the man as you say it, “do you remember life before you were out here?” to that he gives a strong shake of his head. he can’t remember anything but the last 20 years in the wild.

“so that’s why you don’t know why it’s inappropriate to undress in front of others?” the man shrugs but nods. he’s not certain but he assumes so. “can you remember your name?”

his name. that’s not something he’s had to use in, apparently, two decades. but it’s one of the only things from before life in the wild that he can actually remember clearly. that and a deep aching pain that always seems to linger in the back of his mind.

he scribbles on the paper again and holds it up.

“joel.”

“joel?” you say, smiling slightly, “nice.” for a second, you see his face light up at the small compliment. he’s not used to talking to, or even seeing people, so a compliment is beyond rare.

the pair of you stand there for a moment, you not knowing where to take the conversation and joel not being able to say anything even if he wanted to. joel’s posture has eased slightly through your conversation as he’s come to realise you aren’t a threat but he’s still tense. he doesn’t really understand why you have any interest in talking to him at all.

“so, i take it you wanna keep the clothes?” joel nods.

“good, ‘cause i put a lot of effort in to get you them,” you chuckle, “especially those boots.” joel raises his eyebrows and smiles for a moment. it’s a smile that only slightly reaches his eyes. you can tell there’s a pain behind there that even he can’t understand.

joel writes on the paper again and holds it up, an undisguisable nervousness coming across him. despite his life out in the wild, anxiety is not something he’s used to. he’s been able to find his rhythm out here, a rhythm that keeps him safe, and you’re disrupting it.

“stay. explain. food?”

you feel your smile stretch wider. he wants you to stay. this is a lot better than his attitude earlier. clearly the peace offering was a good idea.

“yeah, okay,” you say, following joel as he leads to where he lives. he takes you past some dense bush til you find a small hut made of branches and greenery. it’s surprisingly well built with mud, vines and roots being used to hold it together. whatever joel did before the outbreak, it’s clear that some part of him mind still remembers.

the hut is clearly built joel’s needs alone. it’s hardly big enough to fit the both of you in and the roof is too low to stand comfortably. there’s tools, some handcraft, some found, collected in one corner and opposite is a dirty old blanket on the floor. next to the tools is a plastic container joel must have found. he cracks it open to reveal cuts of the deer from yesterday. he grabs out two cuts and takes them out and round to the side of the hut. there sits a small fire pit. joel lifts a rock next to the fire pit to reveal matches. he skewers the meat on a thin piece of scrap metal that he places above the fire pit before lighting it. none of this is very hygienic but it’s nothing short of impressive. it’s easy to see why joel has survived out here alone for so long.

he gestures for you to sit on a log he’s placed in front of the fire as he crouches in next to the fire to keep his eye on the meat. he takes out the paper and points to where he wrote “explain”.

“right,” you nod, “you probably haven’t needed to cover yourself except for warmth, but most people wear clothes to conceal their nudity. it’s considered rude and wrong to undress or be naked in public.” it feels strange to explain a concept you take for granted to an adult man. you wonder what the hell happened to him that caused him to forget something like that.

joel frowns a little bit. he really has no reason to be respectful to other people, but if you’re going to be hanging around more, maybe he has a reason. he nods and flips the meat.

“do you know how old are you?” you ask, curious to see what exactly he can remember. joel shakes his head. he points at his face to ask you how old you think he is.

“maybe in your late 40s or 50s,” you shrug, “sorry, i’m not very good with age.” joel shrugs. his age is not really a priority of his.

a silence stretches over the pair of you as joel watches the meat cook. it’s not an uncomfortable silence. it’s a silence that brings you peace in the way leaving the qz for the first time had. the thought that joel lives like this, in this silence makes you envious but also a little sad. you only appreciate the silence because of the deafening rowdiness of the qz. you wonder if, after 20 years, silence becomes deafening.

joel pulls you from your thoughts with a grunt, handing out a cooked piece of meat for you. you thank him and take the meat, biting into it. eating meat with a knife and fork is a world easier than biting and ripping but as you watch joel devour his, you copy his way of eating. you weren’t so naive to expect this resourceful man to teach you nothing but you’re surprised it happened so soon.

sitting in the warmth of the fire with only the sounds of wood crackling and both of you chewing, you feel a sense of belonging well inside you. for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel lonely. the people in the qz talk, they walk on two limbs, and they know not to undress in public, but they’ve never made you feel at home. not like joel has, in his odd behaviours and general silence. joel, a man who has shattered your preconceived ideas of what is man and what is beast, for which you couldn’t be more grateful. following your curiosity has rarely paid off. you’re glad it did this time. you just hope joel feels a similar sense of belonging.

as joel finishes his cut of deer, he grabs some dirt and chucks it on the fire. he precedes to stamp it out until all the embers are put out.

“don’t do that with the new boots i got you,” you say, lightly teasing joel, “don’t wanna melt the bottoms of ‘em.” joel grunts and nods, walking over to the hut and shutting the makeshift door.

you sit there for a moment, waiting, before you realise, joel probably isn’t going to say goodbye to you. he just expects you to leave. you stand up, grabbing your now empty bag, with a sense of accomplishment. despite joel’s unconventional social behaviour, you feel like today went well. you got off to a difficult start but joel accepted the clothes and you know his name now.

“hey, joel,” you say, walking over to the closed up hut, “i’m gonna go now. i’ll come round tomorrow, maybe. bye.” you hear joel grunt softly. it’s not a grunt of annoyance or dismissiveness but he's a way of reciprocating your sentiment.

with a smile, you trek out of the forest and back to the qz. when you make it back to your apartment, slipping past your neighbours, you head to the kitchen. you open one of the drawers and pull out some scissors. you dump them in your bag and grab a razor from the bathroom. tomorrow, you’re gonna give joel a haircut.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x male reader #joel miller tlou #tlou joel #feral joel miller series #feral joel miller #stitch-away #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller fanfiction

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scoonsalicious · 1 year ago

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Unwanted: Chapter 29, Unarmed, Redux - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of violence, death, talking about feelings, finally being honest and getting shit out there.

Word Count: 2.1k

Previously On...: Tony filled you in on what's happened since your showdown with Carthage.

A/N: Send in the Barnes!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

“Doll.” Your eyes shot open at the sound of Bucky’s husky whisper. He stood in the doorway, staring at you like he was seeing a ghost. He was still wearing the same clothes he wore when he’d rescued you– covered in dried blood, both yours and the Hydra agents he’d taken down. His right eye was a riot of black and blue bruises, nearly swollen shut, his lip cut.

“Hey, soldier,” you said softly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I’m surprised you wanted to see me at all, doll,” he said forlornly. “After everything I put you through, I’d be done with me if I were you.”

You offered him a soft half-smile. “Come here,” you said, using your good arm to pat the space on the bed next to you.

Bucky looked between you and the spot you indicated with confusion, as if he weren’t sure he’d heard your offer correctly. But he walked over to you like a man condemned, and you wondered briefly if he expected you to tell him you were well and truly done with him now. As if you could ever be. You were pretty positive by now that, in spite of everything, you truly couldn’t live without him.

Gently, so as not to jostle you, Bucky sat down on the bed, though making sure not to touch you. You weren’t going to have any of that, though, so you reached across with your good arm and tugged him toward you until he was snug against your left shoulder. It hurt a little bit, but it was worth it to have him close.

Bucky looked down at where your left arm should have been, tucked underneath your hospital gown and hidden from view, as it was, in its sling. “I see you’ve come unarmed, doll.” He offered a weak smile.

You threw your head back and laughed, and it felt so good to feel good in his presence again. “You got jokes, Barnes,” you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Speaking of jokes, what the fuck happened to your face?”

Bucky raised a hand to his face, gently poking at the swollen tissue. “Little gift from Stark,” he said. “For everything I put you through. Can’t say I didn’t earn it.”

You frowned, moving your hand up to gently caress his cheek. “He shouldn’t have done that,” you told him softly. Bucky looked down at you. “I deserved it, doll. I deserved that and so much worse, for everything I did to you. You almost died– fuck, you did die, and it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t let Carthage think there could be something between us, if I hadn’t led her on, none of this would have happened. You never would have gotten hurt, never had your heart broken. We’d be getting ready for our baby, and I wouldn’t have betrayed you over and over again–”

“Baby,” you said, putting your hand gently to his lips so as not to disturb the cut, “Stop. I’m not saying you’re blameless, but it’s not all entirely your fault, either. Carthage… Carthage had a mission, same as Soldat had missions. Maybe she wasn’t wiped the way you were, still had some control over her own mind, but she was programmed to want to get you just as surely as Soldat was programmed to kill. She would have come for me, no matter what, because I was an obstacle to that mission. It wouldn’t have mattered, I don’t think, if you had never spoken to her. I was always going to be in her way.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t hurt you, though. In so many horrible ways.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, each lost in your own thoughts.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked eventually, gently petting your hair. “And I mean mentally, not physically.”

You sighed. “Everything happened so quickly, you know?” Bucky hummed in agreement. “It was like: Boom! Chloe died! Boom! Lost a baby, almost died! Boom! Kidnapped, beaten up! Boom! Shot, almost died! It all still feels like it happened to someone else, and I haven’t really had a chance to let myself feel it, you know?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I get it. But when it does hit, it’s going to hit hard, I think.”

“Probably,” you agreed. “I think I need to find a new therapist that’s not an A.I.” you told him. “Not that Tony’s program isn’t great– I just… Did you know Carthage hacked into my session feeds?”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Fuck. Doll, that’s an awful violation of your privacy. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s… she… she took what she learned about me from my sessions, and she used them to manipulate you, to hurt us,” you told him.

Bucky tensed beside you. “What do you mean?”

“Her ‘advice’ to you?” you said. “About what she liked in bed, to spice up our relationship?” Bucky nodded slowly, and you could tell he was ashamed with himself at the memory. “Well, she tailored it specifically with what she knew would be most upsetting to me, what would hurt me the most, so I would be angry at you, be the most hurt by you.”

Bucky swallowed, and you noticed his fists clenching next to you. “And I played right into it,” he said, shaking his head. He was furious; at both Carthage and himself, you could see that. “I was so fucking stupid; I didn’t see what she truly was until it was too late, and I let her play me like a fiddle.”

“You wanted a friend who understood you,” you said. Yes, you were still hurt by everything that he’d done, and you probably would be for a long, long time, but the truth of it was, now that you’d seen what Carthage truly was, had witnessed the depths of her manipulation of him, your anger toward him had significantly abated. Maybe you were being foolish. Stupid, naive. Maybe you were making all the wrong decisions, but your heart was always going to pull you back to Bucky Barnes. He was a gravitational force you just couldn’t escape.

“I had friends,” Bucky argued softly. “I have you, and Steve, and fucking Big Bird. I didn’t need her. Why did I think I needed her, Pocket?”

You shrugged, taking his hand in yours. “Hydra had you for 70 years,” you told him, “and during that entire time, you were alone. Surrounded by people, but you were all alone. It makes sense that you would seek out someone who, based on what we all thought we knew about her, had been through something similar. I mean, how could any of us understand, really, what sort of horrors you’d gone through, when you don’t even understand all of them, yourself?

“She came packaged as this perfect counterpoint to you. And we know she was trained– educated, basically, in how to get to you. She basically had a Master’s degree in Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky snorted. “It’s still not an excuse for my actions, doll,” he said.

“No,” you began carefully, “it’s not. But it’s a mitigating factor that will be used in determining your sentence,” you said with a small smile.

“Have to say, sweets, I’d been fully expecting a life sentence of you never speaking to me again.”

“Yeah, that was what the jury was initially thinking, but upon further review of the evidence, they may be willing to bring it down to time served and supervised probation going forward.”

He looked at you, eyes blazing with hope, but almost instantly, his face fell. “Doll, how can you say that? I fucking slept with her! How can you still want to be with me after that?”

You sat up a little straighter, slowly this time, so as not to disturb your injuries. “Did you know Jade recorded the two of you?” you asked him carefully. “In the Russian safehouse?”

Bucky went pale and moved away from you. “No,” he whispered. “No, I didn’t know that. Oh God, Pocket– did she… did she make you watch it?”

You nodded, and Bucky put his head in his hands. “Oh, fuck. Doll. I am so sorry. I never wanted you to see that. It was bad enough that it happened, but for you to have had to witness it–”

“Buck,” you pulled his hands away from his face. “Buck, it’s okay. I’m glad I saw it, actually.”

Bucky looked at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “What?!” he asked. “How… how can you be glad?! I cheated on you, I broke your trust– again! How can that make you anything but disgusted with me?”

“Okay, let’s take this one step at a time,” you said, repositioning your hands so you could interlock your fingers with his. “First of all, it wasn’t cheating. We technically weren’t together, so you could have slept with whomever you wanted to. I don’t love that it was her, but we weren’t committed.”

“It felt like cheating,” Bucky bemoaned. “I hated myself the entire time.”

“I appreciate that,” you said. “But you need to know that, while I did hate that you slept with her, I would have gotten over that, eventually. That wasn’t what I was upset about, after.”

“It was the lying and not telling you what happened after I got back,” Bucky offered, and you nodded. “I didn’t get your messages about the articles until after I’d done it,” he said. “And I felt like the biggest fucking idiot. Of course you never would have done that to me. You’ve always been too good for me. I think I was projecting my own guilt onto you, and that was so fucked up of me. I was so scared of losing you when you were willing to give me another chance, I just ended up pushing you further away.”

“It doesn’t help that you had a snake whispering in your ear,” you said. When he looked at you, confused, you continued: “I’m not absolving you of all guilt, because you still had autonomy; you still made your own decisions, but I saw how she fed into your insecurities, in the video. How she played up your fears, and used them to manipulate you. How she took your anger and disappointment and used it to her advantage. I also saw how you had to think about me in order to get it up for her,” you added with a smirk.

Bucky blushed. “Caught that, did you? I don’t think Carthage did; though I wasn’t trying to be subtle about it, to be honest.”

“No,” you said with a smile. “She didn’t catch it, and she most certainly wasn’t happy when I pointed it out to her. Was quite pissed when I laughed about it to her face.”

“Oh God,” said Bucky. “That must have infuriated her.”

“How’d you think I got the broken arm?” you asked cheekily.

“That fucking bitch,” Bucky hissed between clenched teeth.

“It was worth it,” you assured him. “She took your pain at what you thought I’d done, and she twisted it, made you a victim. I’d break all my bones if it meant she paid for what she did to you.”

“I don’t understand how you can be so forgiving about all of this,” he said.

You snorted. “Would you rather I just cut you out of my life forever?”

“No!” Bucky looked up at you, alarmed. “Never– I just… I just don’t understand how you can be so… okay about it, after everything.”

You shrugged. “Well, I did die; certain things seem trivial, now. Maybe I’ve got, like, ancient death wisdom or something.”

Bucky wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Not funny,” he said, tugging you gently to him. “I’ve never been more scared in my life than I was when I thought I lost you.”

“I know,” you hummed. “You snapped Carthage’s neck.”

Bucky flinched. “I wish I could say I’m sorry I did that, but I’m not. I know I swore off killing a long time ago… but when it was you in danger? I don’t have any regrets. I’d do it again, even if it makes me the fucking monster everyone says I am.”

“Thank you,” you said to him.

“For what?” he asked. “Killing her?”

“For choosing me over her. When it really mattered.”

“Figured it was about time I started showin’ you I meant it, doll,” he said with a sad smile.

“And for what it’s worth,” you added, “I don’t think you’re a monster. I think you slayed one, and as far as I’m concerned, that makes you my hero.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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steddiebbang · 10 months ago

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STEVE AND EDDIE MAKE A PORNO | Explicit | 55k

Author: @hitlikehammers

Artist: @hagnoart

Beta Reader: @dontwasteyourchances

[Link to fic] | [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, (background Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Nancy Wheeler/Barbara Holland, Jonathan Byers/Argyle; porn film scene pairings indicated in the relevant chapters)

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Chrissy Cunningham, Jonathan Byers, Barbara Holland, Argyle

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Nay: oblivious!BEST friends to lovers, Romcom, Porn, Y’know because shooting a porno is the orienting plot device, Humor, General Shenanigans, Coffee-related Innuendos Abound, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending (not THAT kind), (…okay also a lot of that kind because again: THEY ARE SHOOTING A PORNO)

Trigger Warnings: This fic is inspired by a film where the filming of a porno is a central plot device; sex positivity, orientation positivity, sex-and-pairings-for-aesthetic-appeal-NOT-for-endgame-purposes are the name of the game.

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

Unlikely but inseparable best-friends-since-middle-school Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson move in together after graduation and, honestly? Lead a semi-stable if generally-uneventful life (or not-entirely uneventful, fine, because Eddie takes personal offense to that characterization of anything involving himself): but they make a decent living as minimum wage grunts and they never starve, which of course counts as a win in late-stage capitalism. So what if it’s always been paycheck to paycheck and they’ve only just made it outside their hometown: they still do earn their paychecks, Eddie’s booking more weekend shows to pad his kinda-pitiful record store wages, the cafe Steve works at is expanding and a promotion to senior manager isn’t wholly out of the question, and they did make it out of their back-assward hometown, no matter how far they got. Most of all, through better or worse, bound thicker than blood: they’ve got each other. It’s not the life Steve was raised to expect, but it’s not one he’s trade for anything in the world.

Which is still true when, due to a very unfortunate lack of communication—with good intentions! It honestly was all above-board and stupidly well-intentioned—they may have entirely unwittingly paved their way into bills-so-overdue-the-utilities-are-canceled. Like: bye-bye-water-mid-shower-canceled.

Which: fucking late-stage capitalism. Ruining everything.

And it is ruined: it’s the holidays, which means there are extra hours but they’re being vied for Hunger Games style, and the lack-of-heating thing’s going to be a real problem with the Midwest winter that’s creeping up quick. Basically: ‘up shit creek without a paddle’ is an understatement.

But then, opportunity presents itself in the most time-honored of professions when they run into the shocker (or: not-really-a-shocker, dude was hella repressed) partner of a straight-laced douchebag classmate at their ten-year-reunion: an adult film star who reveals $100k could be within their grasps—bills paid, debt cleared, money to spare for the first time in forever—if the form of...well.

Shooting their own porno.

So umm...fucking late stage capitalism?

And honestly it’s a solid plan, despite being absolute insanity (though that’s honestly unsurprising because, again: nothing’s uneventful when Eddie Munson’s your best friend), but the question that rears its head ultimately isn’t one of revenue, but one they probably should have thought through a little harder from the get-go: when budget’s tight, cast is limited, and promotional value is crucial—alongside everyone banging everyone?

You’re also probably gonna have to fuck your best friend on camera for cash in the process.

(Goddamn previously unrealized and unacknowledged feelings late stage capitalism, man. Fucks up everything.)

#steddiebang24 #steddie #steddie big bang #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanart #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiebang24 masterpost

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notjustjavierpena · 2 years ago

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Reunion - Part II: Clamp

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This started out as a collection of a few requests. Then it became feely instead. Then a second chapter to Reunion. Read the first part here.

Summary: Homemade nipple clamps, toast for breakfast and a sudden confession.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, dad’s best friend joel miller, daddy kink, innocence kink to some extent, homemade nipple clamps, nipple play, PIV sex, rough sex, dirty talk, possessive sex, reader has post-sex feelings, joel does too.

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49869355/chapters/125892349

Clamp

Joel’s stomach growls loudly underneath you as you are cuddling in bed. He tries to deny it when you start fussing, but the way the noise repeats itself, traveling all the way up to your ear as you rest your head on his chest, makes him capitulate quickly. You get out from underneath the covers.

“Come on, I’m hungry but…” he says with a tinge of the stubbornness of a teenager as if eating is only an inconvenience and not a way of staying alive as well as healthy. He’d go hungry to touch you, and it’s almost sweet but you’d rather feed and hydrate him so he can go again sooner.

You can feel it as he watches your ass when you move to the dresser in his room. There are a few pieces of clothing sticking out, and you yank at what you correctly assume is a t-shirt. Pulling it over your head, you are encapsulated in the smell of Joel’s fabric softener, a hint of his cologne too that doesn’t seem to want to come out completely.

“I’m going to make some toast,” you say just as stubbornly, bending over to tie your hair up in a messy bun despite knowing you are not wearing any underwear. Joel groans behind you.

“Ain’t playin’ fair,” he mutters bitterly, “Look at you. No panties and my shirt? Diabolical.”

You hear shuffling behind you but you actively ignore the footsteps coming up behind you. Instead, you secure a few stray hairs with the hairpins that you took out last night, trying to look busy when hands settle on your hips.

“Turn around,” he tells you. You smile to yourself.

With a few seconds delay, he adds a threatening ‘young lady’. You put on a pout and then face him, “Just wanna feed you, Daddy. Look at you. You’re already skin and bone.”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” he argues.

You shake your head, allow him to kiss you longingly for a little bit, “No, I like your tummy. You’re soft. Like you soft.”

“Soft,” he repeats with a scoff, “I ain’t soft.”

And then, “And I always get what I want.”

Suddenly, his hands reach up to find the hairpins at the back of your head. He pulls one out, makes you furrow your brows as it tugs a little at the sensitive baby hairs there.

“Ow, what are you doing?” You ask as he removes the second one. He holds them in his large palm, big enough to hide them completely from view.

“Do you trust me?” He questions. He looks into your eyes expectantly, waiting for confirmation before he continues. You nod. He doesn’t go on.

“I mean yes,” you quickly add.

“Good girl,” he smiles at how well you are learning. Then he reaches for the bottom of his shirt that you are wearing, pinching the hem with his thumb and forefinger now that he has the pins in his palm. He yanks the shirt up until it rests above your breasts, “Hold this up f’me.”

You do as he says. The fabric skimming over your chest and the anticipation that is hanging in the air has made your nipples hard, standing in peaks and waiting for what is about to happen. You know exactly where this is going yet it still hits you when one of the pins clamp down on your sensitive nipple.

You half-moan in beautiful pain, half-chuckle in surprise. It stings and pinches, but despite never having done this before, your body reacts a whole lot more by pulsing between your legs than by triggering your fight-or-flight response.

Joel studies your face but you don’t give him any indication that you want to stop. He tugs a little on the pin to make sure it is secure and elicits a little sound from you. You’ve noticed his boxers are already starting to tent.

“Next one,” he informs as if performing a mediocre task, his voice having dropped an octave. He sounds breathier, aroused. You don’t jump half as much when your other nipple is painfully pinched too, but the feeling of them burning together is so intense that slick has started to smear your inner thighs.

“Now,” he yanks your shirt down, makes your arms fall to your sides and your toes curl as a pin nearly catches in the fabric, “Go make me some toast. See if you still think I’m soft then.”

“But…” you try.

“Go on,” he says and crawls back into bed before you can play dirty and touch him on the front of his underwear.

Making breakfast has never been harder.

You are in a world of hellish lust as you enter the bedroom again, holding a plate with buttered toast in your hands. There is a slice for you too, but it’ll take a whole lot longer for you to eat your way through it than it will take Joel to wolf down his own two pieces.

He sits on the bed in silence, chewing quietly and occasionally brushing a few crumbs off the top of his chest. You hope that he doesn’t see the way you try to rock down on the foot you have tucked underneath yourself because he’d laugh straight into your face.

“Don’t start without me.”

You sit up straight at being called out and the shirt tugs at your tits. You hiss loudly, “Please.”

“In a moment, just gotta get clean first. Sit against the headboard, ‘n take off your shirt,” he leaves the bed to go wash his hands. He is painfully hard at this point. You nearly break the plate when you move to place it on the nightstand.

“What’re ya doin’?” He calls over the tap running from the master bathroom.

“Not getting fucked,” you quip.

“Watch it,” he replies back as if unaffected. God, he is so much better at this than you.

You are completely naked as he reenters the bedroom. You’ve stuffed a pillow behind your back, halfway to lying down with your ass scooted downwards on the bed a little. Your pussy is flushed pink and glistening, presented, and your nipples are a good amount of shades darker from the blood flow having settled there. The burn is exquisite, but it’s the sight of Joel’s eyes going dark that makes you whine.

“Jesus,” he laughs quietly as he crawls between your legs. Even the weight of him on the bed makes a sound slip from your mouth, “Ain’t ya just an obedient little thing?”

You blink up at him almost teary-eyed. He takes pity on you.

“Let’s get these off,” he promises, kneeling to free his hands from having to support himself. He removes one homemade clamp, making you whimper in relief at the ceiling. The blood flow makes your heart pound, slamming painfully against your ribs whilst you anticipate the second clamp being removed.

Joel flicks your abused nipple instead. Your head snaps down to his grin, betrayal visible on your face. Your cunt reacts immediately, feeling too empty and fluttering as it tries sucking in something that isn’t there.

Joel looks down between your legs. He smiles affectionately, creating an obscene contrast to what he is doing to you. He coos softly at your facial expression, it having turned pained and horny, “Shh… I’ll kiss it better, baby.”

He finally removes the second hairpin. There’s a second where he lets you cry weakly at the new sensation, but then he tugs at both of your nipples to the point where you don’t even have the brain power to say a sound. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Good,” he praises, relenting but only to rub the sensitive nubs with his thumbs in clockwise motions, “Don’t think about anything. Just think about this, princess. Feel good?”

It does. You nod. The gentleness behind the touches is soothing you more than you thought it could, the pads of Joel’s fingers bringing your heartbeat down a notch. He traces your areola, breathing a little more erratically at seeing your pussy jump without being touched.

He tugs again, soothes again until your nipples are red and swollen underneath his fingertips. The clamps have done a number on you because you start to think you might be able to come like this, a growing pressure starting between your legs.

But Joel isn’t going to let you. He straightens until he is upright again, swallowing thickly as he focuses his attention on your neglected cunt. He runs a warm hand down over your mound, your hips twitching in response to finally being touched. Joel’s breath hitches in his throat as he stares down at his shiny palm, “Why didn’t you say anything? Look at her. She’s weepin’.”

“Just needs you,” your doe-eyes are on full blast.

“Mhm,” he agrees, lazily running two fingers through your slick folds until you sigh, “You took a lot last night. Think you can handle it?”

“Want you to keep me sore, Daddy,” you push into his touch again. He swears under his breath, teasingly dipping his digits into your cunt but making no suggestion that he will follow through on what they’re doing. You bat your eyelashes, “Please.”

It does not take much more convincing. He calls you princess again but this time it is with a frustrated sigh. He yanks his boxers down over his hips to let his cock spring free, kicks his underwear all the way off, and lets them fall to the floor of the bedroom in record time.

He is fully erect. Hard and beautiful. The head of his dick has turned a dark red from having been seeking your attentive touch since he watched you put up your hair. The tip impatiently weeps precome for you. You consider a blowjob for half a second because your mouth waters at the idea of tasting his salt and musk.

Later, you think, some other time.

He strokes himself a few times until the bead at the head spills down over the length of him. Your eyes never leave his cock, especially not when he slides it through your glistening folds to coat himself in your arousal.

“Could come just like this,” you tell him and finally dare to look up into his eyes. He smiles back at you and it tugs at your heartstrings. You reach out to hold his elbows and lift your legs to wrap them around his waist.

In one smooth motion, he positions himself and rocks into you without stopping until he has bottomed out. The girth of him never ceases to amaze you. It’s the same each time; he stretches your walls painfully until you whimper and tells you that big girls can take it. Ain’t you a big girl? You nod with your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it to suppress the pathetic little noise that’s bubbling up in your chest.

It works for a moment but only until Joel tells you to breathe. The noise finally comes out and it becomes wanton when he starts fucking into you. He pounds you like yesterday and you can barely contain yourself anymore, whining and groaning as he gives it to you with the intention of making you sore all over. Your walls are already sensitive, and you hate to think that you haven’t actually been out of your state of arousal since you knocked on his door. It’s embarrassing. It’s infatuation.

You let out a high-pitched squeak as he bucks up his hips, nudging at the front of your walls and searching for that little spot inside you that belongs to him by now. He finds it expertly, fits inside of you like you were made for each other.

“There!” You plea whilst arching your back, “Daddy, it’s right—“

“I know where it fuckin’ is,” he leans down to kiss you, breaths coming out through his nose as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. You dig your nails into the back of his arms, making an attempt to move with him and oh God, you kiss him so deeply.

“Say I’m the best you’ve ever had,” he growls when he pulls back for a breath that he can barely catch, sweat threatening to drip down from his brow. He has one hand on the headboard, making the bed rattle underneath the both of you, and the other lays over your heart. He applies just the slightest pressure to your chest.

“You’re— baby, please,” you can barely find the words, gasping out into the room. The only thing you can think of is how important it feels to hold onto him as he drives into your cunt, scared that if you let go you’ll melt into the mattress and never see him again. You never want that to happen. You want to drown in everything he is.

“Say it,” he gives you a particularly hard thrust, managing to put the hand on the headboard behind your head before you bang it into the wood. You don’t even think you would have noticed it if it had happened since you are so delirious already from being so fucked out.

“Best— best I’ve ever had,” you stutter out between loud moans, the pleasurable tightening in your belly soon reaching a crescendo, “I’m close, oh f— I’m so close.”

“Careful, princess,” he notes as you almost swear at him, “Don’t make— shit, don’t give me a reason to stop.”

He wouldn’t, you think, he is as lost in you as you are in him.

“Never,” you pant, noises climbing in pitch, “I’m gonna be so good for you, Daddy. Gonna come— oh God, please, gonna come on your cock!”

“Yeah,” his thighs flex, your legs squeeze harder around him, “Oh fuuuck, I can feel you— come on my dick, sweetheart. You can do it.”

The tightening releases into sweet clenches. Your vision blanks for just a moment, your brain unable to focus on any other of your five senses except touch, and Joel touches you deep inside as his hips stutter and your walls milk everything he has to give.

He fucks you through it, bucks his hips upwards to prod at your g-spot whilst you shiver and moan from the heat of your climax. It may be even more intense than yesterday despite how many highs he pulled from you.

Everything stills. Time passes while you pant. The windows must be foggy by now. Joel slips out with a soft groan and kisses away the pained moan you let out when emptiness hits.

You are sure you are experiencing heat stroke as you try catching your breath. There are small beads of sweat scattered all over your chest and stomach, some collecting in the dip of your belly button. You feel like you are floating in the Sunday afternoon silence. A bird chirps outside of the window, and you catch yourself wondering why you haven’t heard it until now. He is too important, you think, so important that you filter out anything that isn’t him until he leaves you in this state of clarity. You love him.

Joel is staring down at you and you can see yourself in the reflection of his brown eyes. He glows just like you, filled to the brim with dopamine. His skin burns as you rub his arms where you have been digging your nails into them moments before. You wonder if he feels the same as you; like someone who is seconds from evaporating, bursting, something, unable to move, in love.

You pull him down into yourself. He sticks to you in a way that would normally have you scrunching up your nose, but you don’t care about it right now because his cheek is pressed to yours. You giggle softly with post-orgasmic excitement.

But then a thought reluctantly worms its way into your head. Why isn’t he saying something? You know why you aren’t, but why isn’t he?

“Joel,” you say in confusion as he suddenly starts to break free from your embrace. He moves to sit up next to you, eyes the plate on the nightstand, and practically launches himself up from the bed so he can take it to the kitchen.

You crawl across the bed without thinking as if you have the speed to catch his wrist before he is out the door, “Joel. Fuck, Joel!”

That catches his attention. Joel turns in the doorway. He sets the plate down on his dresser instead, “You know I fuckin’ hate that.”

“Well shit,” you continue and he visibly flinches.

“Don’t say anything,” you don’t think you have ever warned him as he repeatedly does with you, “Don’t say anything, just come here.”

You hold out your hands, still on your knees at the edge of the bed. You grab at the air, and after a brief pause, Joel gives in. He steps forward until you can hold onto his wrists, “Remember that time you wiped away my tears? The first time we… doesn’t matter. Point is I was sad and you were there.”

Joel avoids replying. He swallows thickly, jaw muscles tensing.

“I just mean that you can talk to me,” you finish your speech which is barely a speech with a beating heart. There are so many butterflies in your stomach that they are making you slightly nauseous. You look at him expectantly, watching his eyes skim over your face, scanning for what you assume is genuineness. You won’t ask why he needs reassurance that you are telling him the truth.

“I’m falling for you,” he breathes out.

Of all things, you do not expect this.

“Ditto,” you say back, eyes widening when you realize that it’s the word you have managed to blurt out.

“Ditto?” Joel furrows his brow.

You slap his arm, “Shut it. You know what ditto means.”

But then he bursts out laughing and your heart swells. He leans down over you, naked and vulnerable right there in front of you, and kisses you gently.

He inhales deeply afterward, then asks the question that you want an answer to as well: “What in the world are we going to do?”

It comes out of nowhere a few weeks later when you’re home again.

“You know Joel?” Your dad asks as if you have never noticed him in the many years he’s been your father’s best friend. You try not to freeze.

“Yes, I obviously know Mr. Miller, Dad. What about him?” You sip your coffee, eyeing the crossword on the back of the newspaper that your father is holding up in front of himself.

“Think he’s seein’ some new lady,” he replies but there’s no tone to his voice.

You tense in your seat, setting down your mug to avoid dropping it if the news is about to break, “Why do you think that?”

“Don’t matter why, but she’s good for him, I can tell,” your father is still oblivious, “Just smiles more.”

“Ah, well good for him,” you pause briefly, “Can I get the crossword puzzle?”

“Sure, honey.”

As he rustles the paper to pull out the page, you stand with the excuse of getting a pen, but when you have your back to your father, you grin to yourself and don’t mind the butterflies that seem to have moved into your body.

Joel is right.

What in the world are you going to do?

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