#the pairing is mostly implied
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theprinceandthewitch · 5 months ago
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Resisting and failing to not give into the urge to talk about a show with a dead fandom but... people did not understand Raimundo Pedrosa's arc and I still have no idea why they thought Raimundo was misogynistic to Kimiko when he's literally her personal cheerleader LMAO.
Most of these people were Jack/Kimiko shippers, but Raimundo was the only person on the team who wasn't misogynistic to Kimiko - not once throughout this entire show does he think she's less capable than him just because she's a girl. These people really looked me in the eye and said "not only is Raimundo underserving of Kimiko he is also undeserving of his leadership role"
ong... we did not watch the same show...
I still don't understand how they could have come to the conclusion Raimundo wasn't deserving of Kimiko or leadership when Raimundos whole story is about how you can achieve greatness despite fucking up in the worst way possible. They rlly said the character who's main theme is kindness was the worst one to be a leader... even though this show makes a point about how being the best fighter doesn't make you the best leader through Omi's and Raimundos relationship.
These fellas really watched Raimundo's arc culminate when he took Kimiko's spot in an unfair AND LETHAL fight even though he wasn't the best fighter on the team and said "wow what an asshole he thinks Kimiko can't fight as well as him - he rlly is undeserving of her love and leadership LOL"
LIKE??? How... How is he an asshole... This kid was actually prepared to die when he took Kimiko's spot in the Final Showdown... AND he would rather risk his own life than Omi's - even though he knows Omi is the best fighter they have... because you know... he loves his teammates and doesn't want to see them get murked by literal villains...
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aria0fgold · 10 months ago
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Something interesting and funny in a way that I've observed from some mahoyaku fans is that being a fan of 1 character results in you being a possible fan of their fated pair cuz of that character's writing. The new mhyk jp artist in twitter that I followed started off as an Owen fan, but the more they got to know Owen, they also started to be a Cain fan too (and also turned out to be a caiowe shipper, I understand, thank you for joining the club I love their art).
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thevashstampede · 1 year ago
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does this villain show you're rbing fanart of actually have that much homoeroticism in it im curious
What, Scum Villain??? Um. Yes, yes it does.
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sharonaparadox · 5 months ago
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[Images: fanart of Adam and Lute from Hazbin Hotel.
The first image has Adam sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs as he rests his chin upon his knees and looks down to the side with a small frown. On the left side of the canvas, he is curling his wings around himself to cover his body and mouth. On the right side, Adam is drawn without his wings to reveal that he is wearing a white tank top, purple boxers, and golden socks with one scrunched down near his ankle. He also has on multiple golden rings on all but his ring finger in addition to a golden chain bracelet and a black bracelet with golden spikes, matching his eyebrow piercing and multiple earrings.
The second picture shows Adam in his battle outfit but without his mask or halo as he grins widely up at Lute, who is floating just above him with a stunned expression. He is grabbing at her shoulders as he exclaims, “Lute! I fuckin missed you, you crazy bitch!”
Lute is looking down with creases visible under her wide eyes as she frowns slightly, reaching her hand down to cup the side of his face while she asks, “Adam? You… you’re alive?..”
The third and final image has the two standing side-by-side as they look ahead at someone off-screen. Lute has a mostly neutral expression with a slight crease to her eyebrows, while Adam has a more casual conversational expression. He is wearing a purple T-shirt with golden text in all capital letters reading, “First Man” as he rests his arm atop Lute’s head and says, “She will stay here. Prepare a fucking room for her. And hurry up losers” End description.]
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Don’t really see them as a couple, for me it’s more like father daughter or siblings kind of relationship
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gojonanami · 6 months ago
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❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 ! ❞
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❝ SATORU GOJO KNOWS JUST HOW TO KEEP YOU COOL DURING A HEATWAVE - WITH HIS D!CK !! ❞
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✧ pairing: satoru gojo x reader
✧ summary: it’s a heatwave in tokyo and who better to spend it with than satoru, who has an interesting idea of how to pass the time — fucking the heat away.
✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, porn some plot, best friends to lovers, tiny bit of angst about suguru, inappropriate uses of popsicles, fucking in the heat, ice play, sex (p in v), oral (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), cum eating, cum fucking, pussy drunk satoru, implied multiple rounds, fanart by @ / umbra3terna on twt / tumblr (pls go follow htem, they are so talented)
✧ w/c: 7,161
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“It’s so fucking hot,”
“Then let’s fuck to cool off.”
What? 
You stared at the strongest sorcerer, his face flushed red, heat clinging to his cheeks, white locks blowing in the cool breeze of the fan, his shirt lifted up to cool him or maybe to tempt you, his melting popsicle dripping onto his burning skin — and your eyes flicked to the blue liquid slipping down his abs, then back to his face. 
The low buzz of the fan filled the silence between the two of you as you stared at him, “what?” The question slipping from your mind out your lips. 
Satoru Gojo had far too many outrageous things leave his mouth — he was insolent, arrogant, and even mildly violent (mostly towards Ijichi) — but you didn’t know if it was him or the heat — but you were considering it. 
What the fuck was wrong with you? 
(Him. It was him that was wrong with you.)
It was a heatwave in Tokyo. The one rare time you hadn’t been sent away on a mission, and you couldn’t even leave your apartment with the heat warning issued. Not to mention your central air breaks down, with a repairman nowhere in sight. 
It was just your luck. 
You rub at your eyes — and you weren’t sure if they were burning from your sweat or your lack of sleep last night. You’re blasting your fans around your apartment, stripped down to your shortest shorts and lightest tank top. You’re walking around your kitchen, using a takeout menu to fan yourself as you watch your order drive towards your place. There was no fucking way you were cooking in this weather. 
And you see a phone call come through — Gojo Satoru’s name flashing across the top of the screen. You sigh, contemplating ignoring the phone call, but you know he would only call a million times more, and you pick up. 
“Why did it take you so long to pick up my phone call?” and you shake your head, placing the call on speaker as you watch your takeout arrive at your place. 
“It literally rang twice,” Satoru’s patience had not changed since your time Jujutsu Tech — as you glance at your contact photo, a picture of him dressed in Shoko’s skirt from your school days, with Geto snickering in the background — though a lot of things had. 
“Two times too many,” you knew he was pouting. 
“Satoru, unless the next words out of your mouth is an offer is to fly me to a place where the weather is better, I’m gonna hang up on you,” you sigh, making your way to the door, opening the door to find Satoru standing there, looking far too stylish in a white t-shirt, his blue shorts hanging low on his waist, and sunglasses perched precariously on his head, your takeout in hand, “what are you doing here?” 
“Well I thought you wouldn’t  want to take a beach day with me unless I showed up to your place. Ta-da!” he lifts up a duffel bag, seemingly stuffed to the brim. 
“Satoru, there’s a weather advisory out. I’m pretty sure all the beaches are closed, and even if you’re immune to heatstroke, I’m not,” you step aside to pull him inside, the humidity sucking the little cool air you have in your apartment, “why did you think going to the beach in this heat was a good idea?” 
He shrugs, “An excuse to get out of the house, plus, my apartment’s cooling is out—“ 
“So you thought even if you couldn’t go to the beach, you could steal my A.C.?” you sigh, collapsing on the couch, “well too bad because mine’s busted too,” you glance over, but your gaze doesn’t find Satoru, seeing his paintbrush head stuck in your freezer, “you’re going to melt—“ he turns around to have a blue popsicle stuck in his mouth and you almost snort at the sight, “bring me one too.” 
“What should we do?” you murmur, sticking the popsicle in your mouth, as you laid back on the couch, sucking on the end of it, “watch a movie?” 
“It feels too hot to do anything but lay here,” Satoru sighed, the crinkle of his second popsicle white noise as you scroll through possible movie options on your phone, until you toss it away, metal overheating just as you were. 
“Well, we have to fucking do something other than just burn,” and you glance over, his white tee rolled up to expose his stomach as he ate his popsicle, and you raise an eyebrow, “what the hell are you doing?” 
“What’s it look like? Enjoying my popsicle,” he half mumbles as he continues to suck on the colored ice, “it’s better than it getting on my shirt,” You watch the popsicle drip onto his exposed abs, liquid pooling in the crevices of his toned muscles, you lick at your own popsicle, catching the drops off the melting ice with your tongue, wondering how much sweeter it would taste to lick it off his abs, “see something you like sweetheart?” 
His teasing words and wide grin pry you from your reverie with the subtlety of a crowbar, and your cheeks burn, as you roll your eyes, “You’re a dumbass,” you mutter, and he snickers at you, as you avert your gaze from him, and go back to eating your popsicle. 
You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you as you slide the popsicle into your mouth, and you definitely don’t miss the way he eyes you as you suck at the fruity ice, before letting it slip from your lips, leaving only the tip of it pressed against your lips. 
“See something you like, Satoru?” and he has no reaction, shamelessly staring still, as he tilts his head. 
“I do,” he says without missing a beat, lifting his gaze to meet your own, “are you offering?” and you blink, before looking away — why was everything with Satoru a game of chicken? A bull’s rush to the line the two of you refused to cross, but did everything to pull the other over it. But neither of you had faltered, not in all these years. 
Not since the very last summer just like this. 
The sun had sunk past the horizon line, the summer night only predicated by the harmony of cicadas and the humidity that still stubbornly clung to the air, despite the sun being long gone. And that’s when Satoru had knocked on your door to tell you — tell you what had happened with Geto. 
He was gone. He had left. And he wasn’t coming back. 
And why was it that the signs were all there, laid out before you like directions to where he was going — and you didn’t see them, obscured by his empty reassurances and your own selfishness. 
You didn’t blame Suguru. Not after everything that had happened with Riko, Haibara, and everything else. But when you saw Satoru before you, despondent and broken — not a single inch of his usual flippant humor present, not a bit of his joy that he always had. But a part of you wanted to blame him — blame him for hurting Satoru, for hurting you, so prolifically. 
But you couldn’t blame him all the same. 
Satoru had spent the next few nights in your place, even sharing your bed at time, waking up with his long limbs tangled with your own, his face often buried in the crook of your neck, and you could see the evidence of dried tears on his face, despite his best efforts to cover his own tear tracks. 
“Do you think I could have stopped him?” he had asked you that night, his head laid in your lap as you flipped through the channels of the shitty TV you had brought from home and refused to replace, “do you think he would have listened?” 
“I think Suguru is even more stubborn as you are — because you were stubborn enough not to listen to your best friends,” your fingers cupped the bottom of his chin, “there wasn’t anything you could do — you can’t help someone who wasn’t willing to accept it,” 
“I could have made him,” and his skies contained in his eyes were infinite — just as he thought of himself — but he wasn’t. Because unlike the sky, he was human. 
“No, you couldn’t have,” you flick his forehead, and he pouts up at you, “and sitting here and wondering what ifs will do nothing for you — except drive you and your very excellent best friend crazy,” 
“Lucky for me she loves me even when I drive her crazy,” and you roll your eyes, a smile pulling on your lips, as he stares up at you, your fingers mindlessly tracing the length of his jaw, feeling the quake of his body as he shivered under your touch. 
“Very lucky,” and you could feel the pull between your bodies, the ever so slight way you leaned, willing for once to cross that line for him, for you — but he turned on his side, facing the TV instead of you. 
“What should we watch?” 
And you had promised yourself that night, you wouldn’t let your feelings get in the way of your friendship, you wouldn’t do that to him — because you knew he had already lost too much. 
But now—he was the one trying to cross the line. 
You stared at him, before scoffing, “Shut up,” but you were too afraid to let him. Your eyes drift back to the TV, leaning back against the couch — it was for the best this way, “think the heat’s getting to you more than you admit,” 
“Maybe,” he hums, as you finish your popsicle and sigh, leaning back on the couch again, with a groan. 
“It’s so fucking hot,” you sighed, leaning back on the couch, head hanging over the armrest. 
And you could feel his gaze on you, undeterred from before, “Then let’s fuck to cool off.” 
You almost think you heard him wrong, as you slowly lift your head to look at him. You must have heard him wrong. Satoru was known to make bad jokes or say ridiculous things — but not like this. And you find a smirk across his lips, but the heat in his gaze had not a hint of humor in it — burning hotter than the sun taunting all of Tokyo. 
“What?” You don’t know what you want him to say — say that it was a joke, say that you heard him wrong, or just say it again. But your eyes can’t pull away from his, the blue of his eyes pulling you close instead of pushing you away unlike his technique by the same name. 
“You heard me, sweetheart,” he tilts his head, biting into his popsicle, letting the tip slip into his mouth, “we could fuck the heat away,” the idea slips so casually from his lips, as if he was recommending a movie or a book, and not fucking you here and now. 
“Satoru—“ your voice is chiding, you’re shaking your head, but the couch creaks as he leans forward, the remnants of his popsicle slipping down his abs and through his happy trail and seeping into his shorts, “don’t fuck around—“ 
“Do you think I’d say that to you of all people just to fuck around?” he raises his eyebrows, and your words flee your mind just as you wish to, but you sit, wondering if this is a literal fever dream from the heat, “you don’t have to think about it so much,” 
“Don’t I?” you scoff, shaking your head, as you get to your feet, wiping the sweat from your forehead, “Satoru, why—“ 
And he’s getting to his feet, wiping the melted popsicle on his stomach with his white shirt, no longer caring as much as he said he did. And you can feel the heat radiate from his body, all consuming just as this heatwave was — clinging to you even as you tried to keep cool, sweat dripping off your flesh like the pleas that left your lips. 
“I’ve thought about this for too long, too many times,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against your cheek, featherlight as if you’d break apart under his touch, “we’re sitting in your place — it’s just you and me. You’re asking why, and I’m asking why not?”’
“I don’t want to sleep with you just like that, I can’t. I want it—“ you cut off, but he doesn’t let you turn your head, hand cupping your cheek now. 
“You want what, sweetheart?” Your mouth was impossibly dry, the words unable to force their way from your throat, “tell me, please,” and the pleading in his voice breaks you. 
“I want it to mean something,” and his gaze softens, as your eyes meet his again, a ghost of a chuckle on his lips, “it’s not funny—“ and he’s daring even closer, a hand sliding down your side. 
“It’s funny because you could think I would ever want anything that’s to do with you to be only meaningless,” he murmurs, words fanning your skin, and god it was so fucking hot. Between the temperature, his closeness, and his words, you were sure you’d pass out, “do you know how many times I wanted to do this? So many times during the days and nights we’d spent together, I wanted to just reach over and pull you into a kiss,” 
“Then why didn’t you?” your brow furrows, “and why now?” 
“Because I’m tired of waiting for a sign, for something in my head to tell me it’s safe, that you won’t disappear,” his thumb rubs back and forth, “just like every good thing in my life,” 
“I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with me at this point,” and his lips curl, a breath away, “Toru—“ 
“Can I kiss you?” and you almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but you can’t, the heat so thick it feels as if every molecule of your body was on fire, and the only thing that could quench the flames was his lips. So you just nod wordlessly. 
His lips find yours. It was chaste, a brush of his lips against yours, the lingering sweetness of the popsicle dancing on your tongue. It’s too soon that he’s pulling away, your lips mourning the absence of his touch already. 
“Feeling cooler?” his words warm your lips, but even so you’re pulling him back into another kiss, lips sliding against his firmly, his fingers tangling in his hair, wanting nothing more than to melt into his grasp.
And you part your lips from his for a moment,” Not at all,” and your eyes flicker to your refrigerator, “but maybe we can cool down.” 
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“Fuck,” Satoru shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was your lips against his pulse, or from the drag of the quickly melting popsicle against his burning skin. But neither of those compared to the soft groan ripped from his lips as your tongue dragged up his side, following the sticky, sweet trail of melted ice, mixing with his sweat, “well, am I sweeter than ice cream?” 
He’s too sweet. 
He’s certainly sweet like this, laid out on your bed for you, his shirt long discarded, his shorts about to join them. Soft pants made his chest rise and fall, slowing and quickening with your touch — his pulse thrumming under your touch. 
But he’s also sweet with the way he looks up at you, soft eyes to match his smile, as if he was made to look at you like this. And a part of you wanted to believe he was — even if most of you couldn’t quite believe it. 
Your lips curl, humming as you press a wet kiss to his sticky skin, “i don’t know, I need more time to make my final decision,” you lick up the length of the rapidly melting sweet, droplets of sweet sugar water dissolving on your tongue, but you knew it really was nothing compared to the taste of his lips. 
But you weren’t going to tell him that. 
You take a bite of the popsicle, before leaning down to kiss him, letting the ice melt between your tongues, as his fingers tangled in your locks, and soon enough he’s rolling you onto your back, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. 
And he leans forward, eating the last bit of the popsicle from the stick, “Well it’s my turn to taste now,” 
“You can’t even wait your turn for this, huh—“ the last word is a squeal as his fingers slide into the waistband of your shorts, snapping it against your heated skin, flames licking everywhere he touches. 
The melted popsicle runs down his muscles, rivulets running down the contours of his body, before dripping onto your burning skin, nipples pulling taut from the sticky sugar. He leans down to tease one nipple, sucking the melted liquid off, before doing the same to the other. 
“I’ve waited long enough, sweetheart,” and he’s dragging your shorts off, thighs crying out in relief as the cool air of the fan did it’s job to ebb away the heat ever so slightly, drying the layer of sweat, “I don’t want to wait another minute,” 
“So impatient,” you chide teasingly, voice lilting and yet he looks at you with a half lidded gaze, sending a wave of heat right to your core. And the way your thighs press together doesn’t go unnoticed, fingers splayed against the plushness of your thighs, forcing them gently apart. Your cheeks burned, and this time not from the weather, “Toru—“ 
His cerulean eyes find the wet patch of your panties, a smirk pulling at the corners of his pretty lips, “Don’t think this is sweat, baby,” he teases, fingers skimming over the damp spot, “or should I make sure?” 
“Satoru—“ and your chiding is cut off by the sinful press of his fingers to your clothed cunt, his dark eyes lidded as they watch your slick soak through the ruined panties already. And you can’t help the way your hips buck against his hand, “you motherfucker—“
“Funny coming from the one humping my hand,” he grins, and his thumb grinds down against your clit, his other slipping under your ass to knead the soft flesh, “maybe it is sweat and I should just leave you to cool off,” his fingers slipping away, delicious friction that your cunt was already spread open, wet, and willing for— 
A whine leaves your throat, an all too pretty noise, “Toru, please, I—“ and his fingers are hooking in the fabric of your panties before ripping them off, quite literally, the sound of tearing fabric making you gape at him, “what the fuck—“ 
“It’s too hot for these anyway,” Satoru pockets the panties in his shorts, “look at this, you’re burning up,” he stares at your leaking pussy shamelessly — because shame was a word that Satoru Gojo did not know, “and I think I know just what to do to cool you down,” his head leans down, blowing softly at your inner thighs, over the sweat mixed your pre that coated your skin, your folds twitching, just as the corners his lips did, “so needy,” 
“You’re the fucking worst,” your words a mutter unfolding into a gasp as he drags a single finger up your leaking folds, gathering your slick on the tip of his index, and then he’s tracing a slow circle around your clit, “Toru,” your words are half pleading, half pouting. It’s so hot, his touch only serving to make you sweat — literally and metaphorically. You were sure your sheets would be ruined after this — and not just from your sweat. 
“Lemme savor this, you kept me waiting so long, Princess,” his reverent words pressed against your inner thigh, teasing butterfly kisses that make you squirm, a flick of his sharp tongue that tastes the sweat against your skin, “how’re you this sweet? S’perfect,” his words are seemingly more for him than you, pussy drunk without even taking a single sip. 
But not for long. 
His nose bumps against your clit, tongue flicking against the seam of your messy cunt, eager fingers pulling the sticky, sweaty skin apart, and your cheeks burn with how exposed you feel—and how self conscious you were. 
“M-maybe this isn’t a good idea. I’m really sweaty—“ and the flat of his tongue drags up your sopping pussy, and fuck, good wasn’t enough to describe it. 
“Then I better clean my nasty girl up, right?” he cools your sticky skin with another soft puff of air blown between lips glossy with your precum, making you whimper as he pulls away, “one sec, sweetheart, think I need reinforcements,” 
The creak of the bed as he scurried off for a moment making you lift your head, an embarrassingly strong ache between your legs making you whine, legs closing, as you bit your lip, “Toru, what the fuck—“ 
And he’s back, but not empty handed — a glass filled to the brim with ice, a grin on his lips, “ready to cool off, Princess?” 
~~~ 
“A-ah, too cold,” you whine, and Satoru can’t help but disagree it’s far too hot — and it wasn’t the weather. It was you. 
You were always hot. You always had been — otherwise how else did you melt his icy demeanor from the moment you met? Too big of a chip on his shoulder from all those years spent at the lonely top of his clan, and you had no problem keeping company up there while kicking off his pedestal. 
Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Gasps pulled from spit soaked lips, chest rising up and down, and your legs spread open just for him. You shivered as he dragged a half melted ice cube along your collarbone, water trailing behind that he was more than dragging his tongue along, the sweetness of your skin mixed with the tang of your sticky sweat. 
How had he resisted for so long? 
It had been years and years of pining. Of late night spent watching movies, of days spent fighting alongside each other, and even more days spent trying to get home to the other. And all that time, he still had stayed at the same distance. 
Because it was safer. It was easier. But he wasn’t know what it was — the heat, patience wearing thin, the fucking sight of your smile even in this fucked world — but he couldn’t stand it anymore. 
Not without you by his side. 
“Think the ice would beg to differ, sweetheart,” he hums, as he presses a kiss over the pooling ice as it melts right above the swell of your breast, “I’d say it’s much too hot,” your nipples grow hard under his treatment, a hiss leaving your lips, as he sucks the ice water from one nipple while rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. 
“Toru, fuck, please—“ your words cut off with another gasp as he buries his face in the swell of your breasts, licking up the valley, before his lips find your pert nipples, lips closing around, sucking and licking, before nibbling at the skin. 
“You always this needy, pretty? Or is it just for me?” his words are said teasingly, but his eyes are just as desperate as yours, fingers dragging down your sides now, “better be just for me,” he mutters more to himself than you, as you gasp, ice cold fingers prying your thighs apart, “heh, what a mess you’ve made,” his fingers skim your dripping cunt, and he lifts his fingers to spread them in front of your face, your pre strung like spider webs between them, “don’t think sweat’s does this, does it?” 
And he turns his head, pressing kisses to your thighs, a glorified slip and slide from your sweat and pre alike, but how was it that you still tasted so sweet? A whimper escapes your bitten lips, his breath warming your pussy, a puff of air blowing over your twitching entrance, eyes sliding to the glass of melting ice. 
“You put a fucking ice cube in me and I’ll—“ he snorts, but grabs an ice cube all the same. 
“Only I belong inside you, baby, nothing else,” and he presses the ice cube to his lips, your eyes hypnotized as you watch him drag it back and forth, until he lets it slip into his lips, melting as he leans down, “now let me cool you off,” he presses his lips to your clit, a short kiss that has him melting all the same. 
You jerk. Cold. His lips tingled as his lips enveloped your clit, and his tongue was no better. Fucking freezing, a yelp that he rips from your body, as you can’t help but squirm. But he doesn’t let you get away that easily. Because nothing about the two of you was ever easy. 
His fingers press into your hips, arms pinning your body to the mussed sheets of your bed, as his tongue circles your clit, cold ebbing away with each stroke, until he’s lost in the warmth of your pussy. 
And Satoru only could wish he set up a camera — so he can watch you again and again with your gaze hazy with lust, tears welling like the condensation on the glass on making your eyes just as glassy, but you stared at him all the same. 
So he might as well give you a show.
“Fuck, could live in this tight cunt, you’re gonna be the only sweet thing I drink all summer,” the only summer drink he will settle for — the only thing sweeter than sugar itself — and he only one he wants. His tongue parts your folds, sinking deeper past your entrance, until he’s practically tongue fucking you, face buried in your cunt.
“T-Toru, ngh, too much,” and it was all too much for him — your soft moans, the lewd squelch of your pussy, the tremble of your thighs as he ate you out, and his tongue pulls back a moment, choosing to focus on your clit, as he sinks a cold finger inside, “fuck!” 
“Now you’re getting it, Princess,” he coos, and your scowl only lasts a second as his thick finger fucks you open, “gotta make sure I fit don’t I?” 
“You’re so fucking full of it—how about less talk and more—“ and he presses his erection against your leg, letting you feel how hard you’ve gotten him, and how fucking much he could cum in his boxers here and now. And you whimper, pussy clenching at the sight of him, “Toru, how will you—how—“ 
He’s so fucking big. 
“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” and he’s slipping in a second finger, as his tongue laps at your clit, “I’ll make myself fit,” and he would be the only one who would fit, the only one that could fuck your cunt, have his fingers curling deep, the only one making your head loll back against the pillow, “she’ll let me in, fuck you right, make sure I can carve out a nice place for myself — when I fuck every inch of her,” 
And his fingers piston into you, surely pruning with how your pre slips down his wrists and the wet sounds of your sloppy cunt grow louder, almost louder than the moans you make. 
Almost. 
“Said I’m the fucking worst, but it sounds like I’m the best, huh?” and you’re too far lost in the pleasure, nodding your head, as he’s fucked all the logic from your mind — leaving only want behind. And it seems like you both were on the same page now. 
It was nasty, the way his tongue took turns lapping at your walls, before teasing them open with his fingers. The way his sweat dripped down his face and mixed with your pre as he glued himself to your pretty pussy — and he was sure he could die of heatstroke with how fucking warm your pussy was. 
And he would die happy. 
But he knew you were close — with the way your hips were nearly grinding against his face and fingers, spit mixing with pre as he pulled away a moment, continuing to hit every spot that drove you to the edge closer and closer, “G’nna cum already, baby?” His taunting lilt makes you scowl, even with how far gone you were,  “s’cute, is it that easy?” 
“T-toru, I swear—“ and his lips latch to your clit, sucking hard, right as his fingers find that spot—and he swears your soul leaves your body, your body tenses under his touch, lovely lips falling open with his name on it as you cum. 
Well, more like squirt, your release making even more of a mess of yourself, the sheets, and him. It splatters across his face and hands, and he’s groaning, vibrating against your cunt, as he fucks you through your orgasm, sucking and slurping every drop you gave him. And it’s a feat as you absolutely drench his mouth, slick, sweat, and spit, dripping down his jaw. 
And he’s a fucking vision, once you get it back, far gone in the pleasure, as he continued to lap at you, until he finally pulls his fingers from you, and your eyes flutter open, chest rising and falling as you watch him lick each one of his digits clean, sliding him into his mouth, “what? Y’know i love my sweets,” his tongue then darts out to clean your slick from his face, before wiping the rest off. 
You’re reaching for him, eager fingers finding his shoulder, as you tug him on top of you, before flipping him with ease, so his back hits the mattress. He stares up at you — and god, did he always look at you like this? And how did you never see it — and how would you ever stop? 
“Princess—” but you don’t let him protest, lips meeting his, a soft groan as you taste yourself on his lips, palms sliding down his sticky chest, and your lips journey downwards, ghosting down his body. Your lips linger over his raised nipples, tonguing and teasing them, a hint of sweetness that lingers from his popsicle undoubtedly. 
“And you said I was sweet, you’re the one covered in melted popsicle,” you mumble, and he smirks, but his reply melts into a groan as the tip of your tongue traces the ridges of his abs, “can’t take it, Toru?” 
“F-fuck, can you blame me, sweetheart? Been thinking about this for too long. Wanted nothing more, nothing more than you,”  and your lips graze down his happy trail, a sharp inhale as he shudders as your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers, tugging it down.
He’s perfect — just like every part of him, almost annoyingly so, if you weren’t too busy drooling over it. Swollen tip flushed a deep red, while the rest was a perfect blush pink that you wanted to paint your cheeks with, glossy with precum and sweat, begging to be touched. 
And you were more than happy to oblige. 
He nearly cums then and there when his cock grazes your cheek, smearing his pearly precum across your face. You turn your head, letting his tip drag over your lips, painting your lips with his pre. 
“Shit—“ he sucks air between his teeth, fingers digging into the sheets of the mattress, “not gonna last long at this rate—“ 
“I’ve barely started, surprised the honored one hasn’t cummed in his boxers yet,” he pouts, before he’s hissing as your lips press teasing kisses to your inner thighs, “can’t handle the heat?” And the tip of your tongue licks at the pubes above his cock, the melted sugar water clinging to the skin there, leaning down to kiss the tip of his cock— “then maybe you shouldn’t have started this—-“ 
And his fingers sink into your flesh, and now you’re on your back, sweat making you nearly stick to the sheets but you could care less with the sight above you. His cheeks flushed as he looks at down at you, but his lips curled in the same grin he always had, “oh, I’m going to be the one end it,” 
“End it? Don’t tell me this is the last I’m seeing of you,” vulnerability creeps back in a moment, and his fingers traces the curve of your cheek and down to your lips — “didn’t take you the type to hit it and quit it,” 
And he snorts, “I didn’t take you as the type to know what that means,” but his thumb rubs back and forth across your bottom lip, “but do you think after all this time I could ever quit you?” 
His fingers grasp at the base of his weeping cock, groaning as he teases your entrance with his tip, marking you with his precum, your gasp making his dick twitch, as if it’s begging to be inside you. “All of this is for you,” he grunts, guiding your hand to his chest, feeling his heart thus underneath your palm, “it’s always been for you,” 
“I’m starting to think you didn’t wanna just fuck the heat away,” and he laughs, his tip kissing your entrance, just as he brushed his lips against yours. 
“Well, who said that was the only reason?” And he’s sinking inside you, inch by inch. And there far too many fucking inches. He groans at the sight of your folds, swallowing his cock whole, walls stretching around his length, “look how good you take me — this perfect pussy was made for me, isn’t that right?” and you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted in a silent moan, as your walls pulled him deeper and deeper, “not g’nna be able to control myself, shit, feels too good, princess,” 
“Feels too good to be like this,” you’re panting as the words leave your lips, your eyes glassy with lust — Satoru swears you could look at him, and it would be enough for him to fuck you all over again, “too big, Toru — you gonna fuck me stupid,” and you can feel his dick grow, pushing against your walls as he bottoms out, and you whine in return, “hngh, I wasn’t being serious—” 
“So tight,” An almost guttural hiss pulled from the back of his throat, and he’s smug as he looks down at you, mouth fallen open, “I’m always serious about fucking you stupid, sweetheart,” as he lifts your legs, pressing them to your chest, your ankles dangling next to his head, as he kisses the soft skin there, a wicked grin, despite the sweat trickling down his face, “it’s the one time I can be smarter than you,” 
He’s torturing you. Torturing you as he grinds his hips roughly against you, the lewd noises of your sloppy cunt and the sticky perspiration between your bodies deafening, yet still won’t give you what you want. More than that, the heat between your bodies was too much — flames engulfed every muscle with every brush of his body against yours, every twitch of his dick inside you, and veins full of fire rather than blood. And you were sure you’d spontaneously combust in this heat, and he’d still fuck you all the same — letting himself be swallowed up by the fire just as well. 
Your moan was almost unrecognizable to you, the pleading in your voice bone deep, just as the heat was, “Please, Toru, move,” and he’s grunting, and you know he wants you — has wanted you all these years, and he only smiles at your words, a short laugh on his lips. 
“Anything for you, sweetheart,” and his fingers dig into your hips as he begins to fuck you, hard and fast. His balls slap against your skin, the noise ringing in your ears, and your cunt resists every time he pulls out — as if you never want him to go. And he never will. He can’t stand the thought of anyone else seeing you like this — see the way your lips part in moans; the way your eyes glaze over in pleasure; the way sweat drips down your face, running down into the divot between your tits; the way your tight cunt bulges at the sides as you take his dick so well — no, this is a sight just for him, “s’pretty, and all for me,” 
You’re already s’close after all the teasing all night, the sounds of his grunts and groans doing nothing to help as his tip rams against your cervix, and you’re sure his dick is fucking places you only dreamed of reaching, but still you can’t help but want more—so much so that the word slips from your mouth. 
He laughs, fingers pushing on the slight bulge in your stomach making you gasp, the sweat of his palm mixing with your own that gathered on your stomach, “Even when you’re getting your guts fucked, you want more, sweetheart?” and his fingers rub meanly at your clit, pinching and pulling at the sensitive spot as his tip hits that spot that has your vision blurring again and again, “I’ll give you anything you want, because you’re mine,” 
And you’re surprised the bed frame doesn’t break as he begins to slam into you, but it does creak, begging for a break, just as you had begged for this dick. Your eyes water as he rams into you, rutting like a dog in heat, and maybe he was — maybe you both were. 
“Toru, Toru, I’m close, s’close, I can’t—“ and you’re so cute, like this, whining and begging for him, for the thing only he can give you — and he’s twitching inside you, and he knows he’s not far behind. 
“Cum for me,” he nearly orders, and his words are the thing that makes the ribbon of heat in your cunt snap. Your toes curl, as you cum hard around his cock, walls squeezing and shuddering around him as he only pistons into you harder and deeper, intent on making you feel pleasure in every inch of your body, and he’s shifting your legs, hands helping you wrap them around his waist, as he ruts into you, chasing his own high. 
You’re boneless and long gone, as your chest bumps against his as he fucks you, but you still manage to find words to push him over the edge, goad him as you always did, because you know right where to touch (especially now). 
“G’nna cum inside me, Toru? Fill me up with your release?” and he swore he lost the ability to breathe, heat and your words stealing the breath from his lungs, as he ruts into you, mix of sweat and sex making his head spin, but not as much as your sweet cunt does. 
He’s close, he knows he is, especially when he looks to see the ring of cum and sweat around the base of his cock, and when your fingers thread through his white locks, thumb rubbing against his undercut, to pull him back into a bruising kiss, right as his cock hits your deepest part again—
“Cum for me, Toru,” and he does, uncoiling at your command, spurting thick ropes of cum inside your walls, painting your insides, as he fucks it deeper into you with every roll of his hips. Debauched groans leaving his lips as he murmurs how perfect you are, because you are — even more than he could have ever imagined. His thrusts slow, the sticky sweat and cum drenching both of you and the sheets alike. He pulls himself gently from inside, groaning at the loss of your warmth, but also wondering if your cunt doubled as an oven — the cool air of the fan sliding over his bare skin a relief. 
He eases onto your side, pressing sweet kisses all over your face, before you bury it in the crook of his neck for a moment, before pulling away, “You’re all sticky,” you wrinkle your nose, with a whine, and he laughs, a shit eating grin on his lips — more euphoric than sarcastic. 
“Well, who’s fault is that?” and you’re pouting, brow furrowed. 
“The same guy’s bright idea it was to fuck in the middle of a fucking heatwave,” and he props himself up, the sheets nearly glued to him as he took in the damage, mussed and ruined with the mess of cum, sweat, and spit all over, “you’re buying me new sheets,” and he chuckles, leaning over to peck your lips. 
“I’ll buy you a new bed if you ever let me do that again,” and you shake your head, eyes fluttering open and then closed, as he nosed as the column of your neck, completely fascinated with the way your skin was glowing still after all of that, “you just gonna doze off after all of that? Such a nasty girl, we gotta clean up after all that, don’t we?” 
“Don’t wanna get up,” and he chuckles, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head, but the touch seems to make you whine, “fuck, but its so hot,” 
“And yet I didn’t hear you complaining when I was fucking you,” he tilts your chin up, glazed over eyes fluttering open to meet his, and how was it that your gaze alone was enough to want him to pin you down and fuck you all over again? “Told ya it was a good idea to fuck the heat away,” 
“Except when it ends up like this,” and he sighs, the creak of the mattress underneath, as he gets to his feet, “what are you—ah!” he’s lifted you into his arms, sweat soaked bodies sticking together nearly as he carries you through the living room, making a small pit stop to grab two ice cold water bottles, sounds of the TV still floating through the apartment, towards your shower. 
“Who said this heatwave was over yet?” 
A weather report was playing, a snippet Satoru caught before he shut the door. Reports say the heatwave is going to continue for the rest of the week. Residents are advised to stay inside until things finally cool down!  
“You hear that, sweetheart?” as he sets you down, turning on the water of the shower, letting the cold water soak you both, as he loomed over you, pinning you against the shower wall, “guess it’s just you and me for a week,” and he opens the water bottle, taking a sip before pressing his lips to yours, forcing you swallow the water, tongue seeking after it. 
His fingers rest below your chin, as his lips ghost over the curve of your jaw and the slope of your neck, before his teeth graze the hollow of your throat, as his fingers sneak down to tease at your aching cunt, sinking in to stuff his cum dripping down your thighs back inside, “lucky I know just how to keep you cool, right?” 
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✧ a/n: its been super hot here where i live and i'm dying so i want gojo to come fuck the heat away.
✧ taglist: @mysticaltigersorceress, @kentocalls, @biblioth-que, @dreamtardisspace, @augustwinesworld, @totallytatum, @hanxyy, @sxnkuna, @spindyl, @rosiesroseas, @kxouri, @elisaj313-blog, @theelegantpotato, @peppertoastuniverse, @alwaysfreakingout, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @pompompurin-rambles, @catsgomurp, @admirxation, @ninikrumbs, @equanimoushuman, @mysticaltigersorceress, @eightantseatingapplesss, @notgoodforlife, @satowooo, @gojo-gets-me-wetter, @ivypinsss, @fayyyrieee, @hcn-eyes, @designerpvssy, @mua-for-now, @sukunabish, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @suguwife, @forest-fruits-jam, @pinkyvomit, @ranatherealestsigma, @gojosbrat, @megumibrainrot, @pxppygirl
8K notes · View notes
taegularities · 4 months ago
Text
meraki | jjk (m)
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MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3 ➳ word count: 26.6k <3 ➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3
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TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs
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1:04AM, Her
There’s a word for how you do what you do.
A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.
Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.
Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.
You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.
Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.
For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.
You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.
And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.
You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.
Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.
But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.
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1:04AM, Him
Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.
Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.
They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them. 
It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.
Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.
Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.
He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.
He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.
But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core. 
Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.
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1:12AM, Her
You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.
Or so you think.
You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.
It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.
Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.
But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.
Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.
And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.
It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.
Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.
Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.
You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.
And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.
As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”
“I’d guess so.”
His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.
Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.
Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.
You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”
“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”
“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”
Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.
“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.
So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.
“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”
You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”
“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”
“Aren’t you going, too?”
“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”
“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”
Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”
“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”
“I guess so.”
Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.
So you question, “You taking the bus?”
“Nope. Subway.”
“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”
“…Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.
But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”
“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”
“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”
He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”
“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”
He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”
You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”
His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”
“I mean… you know me.”
“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”
“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”
“I don’t. You approach me.”
“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”
He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.
“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.
“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”
“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”
“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”
Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”
Shit.
Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.
“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”
For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”
Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.
You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
Right… you need to go home. You forgot.
“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”
“Sure.”
With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.
You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.
Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”
Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.
Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.”
“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”
“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”
“Just a lot later than necessary.”
“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”
And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.
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1:25AM, Her
You catch up to him fast.
“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.
Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”
You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”
“And you’re idiotic.”
“Well… shit.”
This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR. 
You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”
“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”
His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.
You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey.​ Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”
Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”
“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”
That’s it. This look of his.
Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.
And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”
His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”
He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.
Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.
You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.
Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.
He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.
You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.
In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.
You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.
But…
He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.
You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.
Yet…
You don’t want this to end just yet. 
So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—
“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”
“Excuse me?”
He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”
This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.
“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”
“Uh… not until the afternoon.”
“So you can sleep in.”
“I guess.”
You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.
“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.
“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”
In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.
Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.
Whatever.
You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”
No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”
Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?
“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”
He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”
You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.
“You must be crazy.”
“I am,” you confirm.
“You think I’d do this, huh?”
“…Maaaybe?”
“No.”
Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.
So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.
He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.
More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”
“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”
“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”
“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”
You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”
He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”
“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”
He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.
“Alright. Then… good night.”
And that’s it.
You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.
You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.
At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.
You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”
He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”
Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”
Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?
You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”
“Thanks. You’re very nice.”
The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.
But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—
“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”
Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”
“You wanted to take a walk.”
And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.
“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”
You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”
Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.
Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”
“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”
Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”
Nothing easier than that.
“Deal!”
“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”
“North-east.”
“Good. Works for me.”
The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.
You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.
So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.
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2:13AM, Her
The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.
Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.
But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.
You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.
At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.
You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.
You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.
For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.
But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.
He asks, “You good?”
“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”
“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”
“Nah. I’m used to them.”
“…Oookay.”
He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.
Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.
“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”
“I can!”
“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”
See what?
You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.
Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”
“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”
Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”
You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.
Not that you ever had the chance to.
He doesn’t really hate you, does he?
Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.
The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.
And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.
Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”
Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.
“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.
“Shut up.”
“Found anything?”
“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”
You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”
“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”
You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”
He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”
Well… you didn’t want the night to end—
“I…”
You hesitate.
He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.
“Yes?” he prods.
“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”
He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”
Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.
With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”
Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”
You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Watch.”
He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.
He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.
“What?” you question.
“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”
Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”
“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”
“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”
“You’re…”
Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.
Warm and soft; gentle.
As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.
The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.
And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.
But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.
Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”
“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”
“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”
“Yeah… why?”
“No reason. I do, too.”
“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”
“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”
You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”
“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.
But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.
He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.
And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.
You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”
He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.
But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”
You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.
Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?
“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.
“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”
“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”
This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.
You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”
He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—
“No, I don't.”
Ah. Ah.
Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.
And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.
Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”
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2:19AM, Him
You’re irritating to the core.
You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.
Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.
Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.
She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.
But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.
“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”
Your… what now?
Excuse me?
Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”
You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.
Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”
“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”
The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”
“Was it really?”
“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.
He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.
But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”
“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”
He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.
Right?
He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?
Anyway…
“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”
“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”
A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.
Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.
The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.
So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…
He pauses. Where… are the flavours?
Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.
You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”
He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.
He answers, “It’s fine…”
But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.
You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”
“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”
“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”
But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.
Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.
But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.
Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”
It does look good…
But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.
Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…
Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.
It’s good. Very damn good.
And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”
“Alright. Be right back.”
“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”
So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”
You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.
“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”
“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”
“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”
Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.
And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.
“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”
“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”
“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”
“Hm… was it, though?”
Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”
“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”
You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.
And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—
“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”
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2:49AM, Him
The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.
Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.
Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.
It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.
You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.
Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.
You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.
Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.
When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”
Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”
“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”
Bingo. He thought so.
“Ah… why?”
“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”
Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”
“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”
You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”
“Doesn’t it?”
You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.
Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—
“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”
“Shut up.”
The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.
“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”
Jungkook frowns.
“Jieun?”
“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”
“Ah… Right, right.”
“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”
“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”
“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”
Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.
It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.
“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”
“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”
“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”
Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?
And…
Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?
Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?
The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.
But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.
“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”
You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.
“I know. It happens to me, too.”
“Really? How?”
Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”
“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”
“How so?”
“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”
Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.
“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”
You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”
“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”
You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.
“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”
This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.
It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.
“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”
The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”
“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”
His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”
“…But?”
He knows what’s missing.
“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”
Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.
But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.
You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.
But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.
“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”
“Shu—”
“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”
One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?
“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.” 
“…You think?”
Damn.
Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.
But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.
“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”
Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”
“Oh… right…”
Right.
He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.
It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.
“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”
Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?
And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?
“That’s so nice,” he says.
“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”
Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?
The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.
So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”
You know…
The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?
That type of thing?
But he doesn’t say any of it.
“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”
“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.
“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.
He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.
But somehow, he can’t stop looking.
Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.
Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”
There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.
He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.
This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.
So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.
Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.
Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—
And then, a vehicle roars from afar.
Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.
One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?
You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”
“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”
“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”
“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”
Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.
“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.
Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.
Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.
You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.
His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.
Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.
Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”
As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.
When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?
It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.
For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”
“What? You were lau—”
“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”
You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.
So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”
Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.
“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”
“Ah… Yeah? Why?”
“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”
His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”
You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.
“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”
“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”
“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”
Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…
“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”
“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”
You’re observant, he’ll give you that.
“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”
“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”
“Would she be awake, even?”
“She’s a night owl. I know that.”
“Uhm…” 
He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.
“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.
“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”
That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.
Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.
He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.
Your body is so clearly encircled by it.
Bedazzling.
Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.
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3:25AM, Her
You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.
Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.
“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”
Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”
You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”
“What for?”
Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.
“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”
“How old is… Jieun anyway?”
Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.
“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”
‘93, as far as you remember.
“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.
“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”
She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.
A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.
His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”
“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”
“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…
You smile.
“Just a friend,” you repeat.
“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”
Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”
But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”
“I know you won’t, baby.”
She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”
You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”
Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”
Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”
“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”
“Yes. Thank you so much.”
“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.
She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.
So you ask, “What’s wrong?”
“Hm? Nothing.”
Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”
You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”
He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”
“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”
He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”
“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”
“Mhm. Okay.”
You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.
He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.
Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.
You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.
You laugh quietly at yourself.
Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.
He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.
But his body won’t move.
Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.
He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”
You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”
“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”
“…The couch is too small.”
“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”
You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”
“Why?”
“You can’t sleep on the floor.”
“…Why not?”
You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”
“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”
You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.
“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”
He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”
The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.
As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.
But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”
Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”
“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”
“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”
You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.
But all he responds with is, “What?”
“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”
It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.
“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”
Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—
Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”
“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”
“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”
This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.
“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.
“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”
“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.” 
He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.
“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”
An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.
Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”
“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”
You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”
You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.
“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”
Well.
“That you are,” you verify.
“Damn.”
“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”
“Maybe.”
“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”
Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.
“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.
That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.
There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.
And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.
You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?
Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”
“Hm?”
“Is it uncomfortable down there?”
“Uh… a little.”
You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”
“…What are you talking about?”
Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.
You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”
He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”
Your answer is immediate.
“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay… okay.”
As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.
“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.
“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”
“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”
“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”
“Thought so. Are you tired?”
“Definitely.”
“But you’re not sleeping.”
“Because you’re talking.”
Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.
When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought. 
And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”
“That’s really why, huh?”
“Mhm.”
“The only reason there really is?”
“What else could there be?”
You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”
“Yeah?”
Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.
Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?”
He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.
You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”
“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”
And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.
His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.
They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.
Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?
A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.
And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.
Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.
Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.
He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.
But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.
He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.
What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…
It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.
Reacts so effectively.
Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.
And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”
“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”
Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.
It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”
Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…
“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”
“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”
Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.
But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.
He’s loving this.
He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”
Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.
“Good. Good, good, good.”
The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.
His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.
And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.
But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”
Oh, he didn’t just…
Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.
But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”
“Ah? Where are you going?”
“Wait.”
He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.
“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.
You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.
“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”
“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”
“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”
“Ah?”
“Mhm.”
“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”
Exactly.
Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.
But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.
The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.
When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.
It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”
“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”
“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”
“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”
“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”
“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”
You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.
He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity. 
You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.
“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.
You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.
But it’s hard. So hard because—
God, he’s lapping you up so good.
So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.
He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.
Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.
They don’t make men like him anymore.
Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.
He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.
Tell him, “This should be enough.”
And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”
You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.
Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.
On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”
“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”
“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”
You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.
You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.
He must have.
Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.
Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.
“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”
“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”
No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.
Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.
Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…
You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.
But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.
Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.
And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.
Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.
Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”
He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.
You tell him, “Use my panties then.”
“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”
Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.
Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…
Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.
Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.
As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”
“Yes— yes!”
“Mhm…”
He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.
You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.
But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.
So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.
Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.
Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…
You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”
He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.
Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.
You wonder how he likes what he sees.
Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”
Good to know.
So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.
He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”
And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.
The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.
“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”
But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his. 
The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.
Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.
“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.
“What?” you voice. “Not good?”
“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”
You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”
“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”
His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.
You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”
“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”
“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”
“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”
And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.
The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.
And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.
“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”
Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.
His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.
In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”
Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.
You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.
Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.
Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.
The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.
You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”
“Crazy… right?”
“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”
He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”
You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.
Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”
“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”
“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”
You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.
But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.
Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.
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5:12AM, Him
Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.
The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.
And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.
Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.
But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.
You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.
You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”
“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”
“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”
Well, shit.
Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”
He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”
“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”
“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”
“Woah. You sing?”
“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”
He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”
But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”
Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”
“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”
Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.
“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”
Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”
“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”
He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—
A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.
“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”
And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.
His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.
He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.
Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”
“Uh… all good.”
“Yes. All good indeed.”
Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”
Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?
And behind that, the town.
If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.
The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.
But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.
From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”
“Uh-huh.”
It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.
Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.
And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.
Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.
He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.
“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.
He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.
Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.
Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.
He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Hidden spot then.”
“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”
The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.
It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.
He likes it that way.
No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.
Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.
He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”
He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.
If you did, you’d never let him live it down.
You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?
But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.
“Good?” he asks.
“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”
The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.
He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.
But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.
“You… did it for me?” he asks.
You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”
“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”
“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”
“Thank you. Really.”
You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.
He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.
There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.
Because of you.
Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.
Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.
But…
He’d love to talk to you again.
However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.
“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”
Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”
“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”
“Sure? She is.”
He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.
“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”
Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.
“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.
“So she is your type.”
Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.
And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.
So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”
“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”
“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”
“You do not small-talk.”
“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”
He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”
“The type thing!”
“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”
The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.
Just for a second.
Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.
In some way, it still does.
You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”
“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”
“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”
Cute.
But he’s not giving in this easily.
He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.
For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.
He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”
You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—
They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.
You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.
Crazy.
But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?
Yes.
The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…
When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”
You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”
As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”
“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”
“I guess so.”
He guesses so.
It’s been a while since he fell in love.
Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.
His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.
He means it. And you seem to know.
Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.
Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.
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READ BELOW!!
the fic isn't over yet – as always, tumblr has a 1k block limit that makes our lives harder than necessary lmao. read the last scene and the remaining 3k words of meraki here 🥰
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fushitoru · 1 month ago
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all i want for christmas is you! a gojo satoru fic
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pairing ⸺ bf!gojo x reader
summary ⸺ after a well needed rest from the kids, you and your boyfriend focus on baking christmas cookies for your pta responsibilities. however, it ends up taking a naughty twist when satoru finds out the surprise you've planned out for him.
warnings ⸺ FLUFF, smut in the form of fingering and p i v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, some jealousy, but mostly crack, pta cookie baking for megumi, very domestic, not edited, “good girl,” teasing, use of pet names like “baby,” gojo is a warning in himself
a/n hbd to my husband and loml 😚😚 i hope you guys enjoy this it kind of made me realize only long fics heal my soul but this is anticipation of holidays :33
general masterlist
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You sometimes did not know what to do with Satoru.
When he told you to come over to make Christmas cookies that are part of his PTA commitments for Megumi, you really didn’t expect him to come out of his room with that sweater on. It’s an ugly sweater—so he’s got the holiday spirit nailed down—that has printed “BIG PACKAGE JUST FOR YOU.” Below it, a cartoon Santa stood pantsless, strategically holding a neatly wrapped gift box over his crotch.
You give him a look as he comes out to join you in the kitchen. “Please don’t tell me you wore that in front of Tsumiki and Megumi.”
He has the gall to look offended as he puts on his even stupider “Your opinion wasn’t on the recipe” apron. “Of course, what kind of father do you think I am?”
You sigh, moving to put in the last of the dry ingredients. “I saw Megumi watching Breaking Bad on his iPad last week.”
“What?” he gasps dramatically as he pauses while moving for the fridge. “I swear I downloaded Youtube Kids!”
Look, Satoru is a good dad. Foster-dad. Whatever. He’s been taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki for ages now, ever since that incident happened, and he’s been doing his best. But, unfortunately, his adult life and burdens and responsibilities cause him sometimes to be a absent father. He makes up for it—goes shopping with Tsumiki for her clothes, spends quality time with Megumi.
One thing he’d never miss, however, are those PTA meetings.
He is the PTA mom final boss. No matter what event is being held, he’s going to go all out. You don’t miss the smirk he gives to Karen everytime he brings an even bigger cookie platter for Megumi’s homeroom than she did for her son Sam’s, nor the sassy pursed lips as he donates artist-grade markers from Michael’s instead of Mia’s cheap ones from Walmart.
Yea, he is just petty like that, but it’s always the moms whose sons have gotten into fights with Megumi that he outdoes everytime. You know better than to question his peculiar form of revenge.
“I think that means he found a way to break through the parental controls. He’s definitely your kid,” you reply with a bit of mirth in your voice. Then, you quickly move to intercept Satoru’s journey to get the eggs as soon as you notice a miniscule movement of his. You were not about to let Satoru force another trip to Whole Foods with the clumsiness you’re all too familiar with in your five years of dating.
Grabbing the eggs before he can, you turn around to find him staring at you, a dazzled look on his face.
“What?” you ask, already smirking. The view of the outfit you’d worn today had been obscured by the apron when he first came in, but when you moved to get the eggs in front of him, he definitely got a view of your ass in your tiny red skirt and fuzzy, festive top.
“Why the hell are you wearing a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit?”
“I was thinking we’d watch Christmas movies and chill today after the cookies!” you exclaim, just as Satoru interrupts with, “We’re baking cookies for children, you freak.”
The room went dead silent.
Your cheerful smile dropped instantly. Meanwhile, Satoru’s face lit up like he’s just won the lottery, full of pure glee.
Both of you shout at the same time, “What?”
You slam the eggs down onto the counter with just enough force to make him flinch, narrowing your eyes at him. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a freak?”
“I didn’t mean it like that!” he yelped, backpedaling so fast you were surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet. “It’s just—” He gestured wildly at you. “—that outfit is… is…”
“Is what?” you demand, crossing your arms and daring him to dig himself deeper.
“Babe,” he starts to whine, apologetic like a wet dog and padding his way back over to you while pulling you in for a back hug. “It’s hot, okay? Don’t get me wrong, it’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to focus on cookies, and you’re over here looking like every Christmas fantasy I didn’t know I had.”
“Get off me,” you grumble, shooting him a glare as you try to shake him off. “You are not touching these cookies. Sit on the couch.”
He yelps as you slap his hand. “Babe, but I’ll just be reinforcing the patriarchy if I let you stay and do all the work in the kitchen.” Then, he moves closer to your ear like the chronically online loser he is and whispers, “6’ 3’’ btw.”
“Go away!” you shriek, waving him off. This process would indeed be two times faster if Satoru was on his couch. There wasn’t any rush, but you’d really appreciate getting to the dicking-down part of tonight after much appreciated privacy from the kids for the first time in forever. You take a mental note to thank Yuji’s grandpa and Nobara’s grandmother with extra cookies for the sleepover as you shoo your boyfriend to the couch.
You get back to work on the wet ingredients by cracking the eggs, but not before you hear a “I’ll be reflecting on the systematic oppression women face in the workforce.”
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Pulling off the oven mitts on your hands, you wash your hand but not without sneaking a peek over the kitchen counter. You were locked in on the cookies, paying no mind to Satoru’s existential bemoaning, and now that you’re done, you can’t wait for the fun part of tonight.
After waiting a few minutes and checking and rechecking the cookies to make sure they’re done, you set them aside to cool and make sure to turn off the oven. Tonight, you were determined to get that big fucking package Santa owed you, and your boyfriend was going to be the one to deliver it.
As you walk out, you know the strat you’re going to use: innocently suggest a Christmas movie to watch, snuggle close to him, and he’ll fall into the trap you set for him like a bear towards honey. You know your boyfriend all too well, and today, you were feeling coy.
He’s stretched out on the couch, scrolling on his phone, his posture as awful as ever. But the second he hears your footsteps, his head snaps up. His eyes immediately dart to the movement of your bare legs, lingering on the tiny red skirt you’re still wearing, before slowly traveling back up to your chest. Wow. He really wasn’t making this difficult.
You plop down next to him while grabbing the remote, pulling up Netflix. “What movie should we watch today?”
He blinks, clearly distracted. “We’re watching a movie?”
The Princess Switch catches in the side of your eye as you scroll through the options. Without looking at him, you answer, “Yes? What else were we going to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, his voice already dipping into that teasing tone you know so well. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve Vanessa Hudgens playing herself two times.”
You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Mr. Holiday Spirit.”
His gaze doesn’t leave you, though, and when you finally glance at him, his expression has shifted. He’s not teasing anymore. His eyes are a little darker, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “What?” you ask, already smirking.
“Nothing,” he says, his voice lower now. “Just... you look really good in that outfit.”
Your cheeks heat, but you play it off with a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Satoru.”
“Won’t it?” he murmurs, leaning a little closer, his hand brushing against your knee. The heat of his palm lingers even after he pulls it away, and you feel your heart skip a beat.
You’re about to respond—something witty, something to keep the banter going—but then his hand moves again, this time resting firmly on your thigh. “You’re really going to make me sit through a Christmas movie when you look like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
Your breath hitches, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, leaning just a fraction closer to him. “What would you rather do?” you challenge, your voice softer now.
His gaze dips to your lips, and that’s all the invitation he needs. In a second, he’s closing the distance, his mouth pressing against yours in a kiss that’s anything but sweet. It’s hungry and demanding, like he’s been waiting for this all day, and when his hand slides higher up your thigh, you realize you’ve completely forgotten about the movie and the preview playing. Satoru, clearly a little annoyed judging by the pout on his face, moves to close the preview featuring Vanessa Hudgens’ obnoxious British accent and then the room is silent except for the wet sounds of your sloppy kissing.
When you’ve both made out for a while—now with you on his lap—you both pull back with fastened breaths, looking at each other’s glistening lips. Finally, from Satoru comes out a, “That. I wanted to do that.”
Maybe it’s the attention whore in you always looking to rile up Satoru and get his affection, but you couldn’t refrain from blurting out a “Are you sure you wanted to do this with me, or would Linda have sufficed?”
At the scrunch of Satoru’s nose, his face practically spells out a Who the fuck is Linda? “You know, the one that gets really friendly with you when I’m going to the bathroom at those PTA meetings.”
Satoru sometimes did not know what to do with you.
Here he is, trying to make out with you when you’re looking like that, makeup done perfectly and looking beautiful as always. He hasn’t gotten laid with you in a hot minute, and here you are, picking at him. He has no fucking clue who Linda is, but what he does know is that you’re really cute when you get jealous. “Yeah?” he teases, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. His grin is maddeningly smug, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Linda sounds nice. Should I call her up?”
Your jaw drops, but the sharp retort forming in your head is lost when his hand slides from your cheek to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You know,” he continues, his voice a low murmur, “if you’re jealous, you could just say so.”
“I’m not jealous,” you shoot back, your voice unconvincing even to yourself. You shift under his gaze, trying to keep up the façade, but it’s hard when his lips hover so close to yours.
Satoru’s grin widens. “No? Then why are you bringing up some imaginary PTA Linda when I’m clearly only interested in you?” His lips press against the corner of your mouth, a slow, deliberate kiss that makes your breath catch.
“You’re clearly only interested in being annoying,” you quip, but the words lack their usual bite as his hand slips lower, trailing down your side until it rests on your bare thigh. His touch is firm, possessive, and it sends a shiver through you.
“Annoying?” he echoes, his tone mock-offended. “That’s a big word for someone who just ruined a perfectly good makeout session to talk about Linda.”
You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when his thumb begins tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “I didn’t ruin anything,” you argue weakly.
“Didn’t you?” He dips his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Because now, instead of kissing you like I want to, I’m stuck reassuring you that Linda doesn’t stand a chance against my very sexy, very jealous girlfriend.”
You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, but it turns into a soft gasp as his teeth graze your skin, his tongue soothing the faint sting. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, tangling in his hair and tugging him closer.
“Mm, but you like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. His free hand slides higher, skimming under the hem of your skirt, his fingers teasing against the soft skin of your hip. “Admit it.”
“Shut up,” you manage, though your voice is breathless now. He’s too close, his scent overwhelming, his touch setting your nerves on fire. When his hand tightens on your thigh and he pulls you closer, you give in, letting him capture your lips in a kiss that’s all desperation.
Linda, whoever she may be, is long forgotten as Satoru kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you’ve spent apart. His hands roam, his touch firm and confident, and when he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re all I want,” you believe him completely.
A breathless “Satoru” leaves your lips as he gently–but hurriedly–lowers you down to lay on the couch while he bends over you, inching down the hem of your top to bury his head in your tits. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “I missed my girls.” He starts to leaves rough kisses, an occasional bite and suck, and then stops. Takes in a deep breath. “Wow, you smell good babe.”
You look at him, flustered. “Stop smelling my tits, oh my god.” For good measure, you grab his hair to bury his face against your breasts once more.
“No,” smooch, “it’s,” smooch, “smelling good. Like the new holiday scents from Bath and Body Works.” He then abandons your chest to kiss his way down your body, sliding your skirt down as he kisses around the edge of your panties. “I’ve missed her, too.”
Despite yourself, you moan, spreading your legs to give him full access. He takes it enthusiastically, giving you a little kiss in your middle. Then, his eyes don’t leave yours as he uses his teeth to pull your panties down, slowly and sultry. Your pussy leaks even more, and the motherfucker notices, because there’s a faint smirk on his face as he hones back in your wetness, running his fingers to spread your slick. “Wow, my girl must have been sooo pent up,” he croons, eyes not leaving your hole and the way it clenched every time he spoke. “My good girl is soo desperate.”
Without missing a beat, you sneakily reply, “Don’t call me that, that’s so corny oh my god—-“ You’re interrupted with your own gasp as he enters a finger in. When he finally curls it, hitting your g-spot dead on, you suck in your breath. You really missed this.
“Oh, really?” He giggles, clearly amused by you trying to rile him up. “If my baby doesn’t like being called a good girl then why is she clenching so hard on my—“ thrust— “fingers?”
And suddenly the feminist in you leaves as his big, thick fingers ram into you faster than ever, and you start squealing like the slut you are for your incredibly hot boyfriend who’s equally as much of a slut for you, judging based on the rock hard erection against your thigh. Take that, Linda.
You’re in a daze of pleasure, too fucked out to notice Gojo wrenching down his sweats to pull out his throbbing cock, to pump it to full mast. It’s only when he rips his finger away from your cavern that you start to whimper, clawing at his arms to continue fingering you.
And he starts cooing, giving you a small kiss on your cheek as he aligns his dick with your pussy. “I know baby, I know,” and he groans as the soft, wet heat of your pussy grips on him hard as he pushes in. It’s not long before he starts thrusting, wiping your tears while driving in even faster. “Wow, good fucking pussy.”
“Satoru,” you whine, but you don’t even know for what. You were close enough when he was fingering you, but now you’re steadily approaching your climax. But Satoru, who’s attuned to what your body needs, readjusts himself to go even deeper.
It’s when you gasp loudly that a glint lights up in his eyes. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” He drives into that spot like a jackhammer, savoring in your little squeals and moans of his name, until finally, he feels you climax.
“Oh my god,” you says breathlessly as your orgasm takes over you, convulsing while Satoru doesn’t let up, continuing his pace until his hips become more sloppy. After a few off rhythm thrusts, he comes in you, collapsing on top of you.
He’s breathing heavily from exertion, and you run your nails on his back and hair gently. You both bask in the glow of your orgasm. Of course, that is until Satoru perks his head up. “Do you think I can eat that kid Martin’s cookie? Megumi told me he doesn’t like him and that he’s annoying—-OWWW, what was that for?”
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kitten4sannie · 2 months ago
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two player game
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pairing: gamer boy! yunho x gf! reader
genre: smut with zero plot
summary: you find something worthwhile to occupy your attention while your boyfriend is wrapped up in his current save file.
w.c: 1.7k
warnings: nasty dom! yuyu (bro gets a bit whiny), tiny bit bratty mostly good girl! reader, pet names + name calling, praise + degradation, SIZE KINK 🗣️🗣️🗣️, monster cock yunho agenda, implied throat/hole training, manhandling, edging, cockwarming w throat, messy oral + deep-throating, finger sucking, a (rough) quick fuck bc yunho cums in 0.5 seconds, breeding + bulge kink, creampie <3
a/n: as a certified yunwhore i simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to write about gamer boy yuyu ~~ honestly i have no excuse for this tbh i just need him so baddddd and this is what i have to do to keep the voices at bay 😔✊🏼 anygays, enjoy lovelies! and if you liked, please consider sharing your thots with me :3 <3
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“You said you would stop playing after you finished that level, Yun, come on,” you whined to your boyfriend, who was currently balls deep in the newest video game he just bought. It should’ve been you he was balls deep in, yet here you were, third wheeling to an inanimate object. 
Yunho ducked and weaved around your waving hands that were currently trying to block his view from the flatscreen tv he was locked in on, sitting up from the slouched position he had on the sofa you both were lounging on. 
“Ugh,” you huffed, throwing yourself back into the couch, your arms crossing over your chest. “Whatever.” 
He turned his head for a moment to look at you apologetically, reminiscent of a golden retriever that just got scolded. “I’m sorry, baby, I swear, I’ll get off soon. I’m just…at a really good part right now.” 
“You said that twenty minutes agoooo.” You leaned against Yunho, your cheek squishing into his large shoulder, pawing at his nearest thigh. “Why can’t you play with me, instead of your stupid game?” 
“Oh, I see.” Yunho raised an eyebrow at you, glancing at you through his peripheral vision. “Someone’s in heat, huh?” 
You let out a whimper, kneading at his upper thigh. “I want you, Yun…Please, pay attention to me~” 
Yunho simply spread his thighs apart, your gaze shifting from his mischievous eyes to his poorly concealed cock still trapped inside his black sweatpants. He grunted, reaching down to adjust it, moving his thick length over so that it laid comfortably across the thigh closest to you. “You can have me, princess. I’m right here.” 
Just as you were about to pounce on him, Yunho grasped the bottom of your face in between his slender fingers. “Ahh, ahh, ahh.” Chuckling at the sight of your squished cheeks and confused face, he leaned in, whispering, “Go ahead and cockwarm me, baby, with that pretty little mouth of yours. You can do that for me while I finish this part, mm?” 
The sick bastard was toying with you. Well, two could play at that game. Licking your lips, you got down onto your knees in front of Yunho, fitting yourself in between his open thighs. Without saying a word, you began to run your fingers along his soft length over the material of his pants, tracing the outline of it, feeling it harden underneath your fingertips, making sure to rub your thumb over his pronounced tip, knowing it was sensitive. 
As if on cue, a small whimper escaped Yunho’s straining throat, his eyebrows screwing together as if to concentrate harder, refusing to look down at you. 
Filled with determination to interrupt his gaming, you tugged the waistline of his sweatpants down, your thighs squeezing together from the way his dripping cock smacked heavily up into his lower abdomen. You wrapped your hand around it, humming at how warm it felt within your grasp, lowering yourself down to slowly drag your tongue from the base up to the tip, licking around the tip until it shined. Lightly sucking it into your mouth, you palmed his balls one at a time, squeezing them suddenly, earning another whimper from your boyfriend. 
“You’re playing dirty, princess,” Yunho grunted, pressing his back into the couch, glancing down at you just in time to watch a good majority of his pulsing cock disappear down your throat. “Fuck, what a good slut…” He stroked the top of your head like he would with a cat, nodding approvingly. “I trained your throat well, haven’t I? Now, stay just like that while I play, okay?” 
Your cheeks grew warm from hearing your boyfriend’s polarizing praise, unable to keep yourself from letting his thick length push even deeper down into your throat, breathing shallowly through your nose, your lips already stinging at the corners. “Mmmrfff….” You stayed still for as long as you could with his oversized cock pressing against your tongue and throat, beads of saliva dripping past your mouth and down along his slick skin, using your hand to lube up what you couldn’t fit inside your mouth in the meantime. 
Yunho shuddered from underneath your touch, his half-closed eyes shifting downwards to burn the image of his tiny girlfriend, who was currently being swallowed by one of his many hoodies, trying her absolute best to fit his big cock inside her mouth. Your stark size differences always made him throb, made him want to take advantage of them in every way he could. “Look at you, taking all of me like that, baby…Take some more, okay?” he exhaled, sliding his slender fingers into your hair and bucking his hips up, fucking himself into your tight, warm throat. 
“Mmnn…!” you moaned back, squeezing your hands into his large thighs, feeling his muscles tighten up underneath your fingertips. You were so wet already, you had no choice but to squeeze your bare thighs together as a poor attempt to keep from soaking the carpet underneath you. Being enveloped in your boyfriend’s warm cologne and clothes while he ruthlessly shoved his cock down your throat was simply too much for a sensitive girl like you to handle without creaming yourself. 
“So tight, princess, just like your wet little cunt, huh?” he groaned out, opting to wrap his fingers around the back of your neck and continue shoving himself into your throat, rolling his hips up in a quick, sloppy fashion, with clear desperation, and a need to give his pretty cum dump a load to gulp down. He audibly hummed at the choked moans and gasps you were letting out, pulling out just to roughly slap his cock down onto your lolled out tongue, grunting and groaning as he shot thick spurts of cum down your throat. He tried to control his panting, wanting to hear your answer to his next question. “You sounded so hot, choking and moaning on my cock like that. You soaked your panties just from getting throat-fucked, didnt you, baby?” 
“Uh-huhhh,” you purred, your voice a bit gravelly from the abuse your throat took, swallowing down most of his load, only sticking your tongue back out when he reached down to push two fingers over it and into the back of your throat. 
Yunho watched with awe as you didn’t seem to gag, humming at the feeling of you sucking the rest of his pre-cum and other mixed fluids from his slender digits. “That’s my good girl…so well trained now…fuck.” 
You moaned onto his fingers that continued to lazily slide over your tongue and occasionally down into your throat, slowly pulling away to purr, “My cunt’s trained too, Yuyu. Don’t you wanna fill up my other hole, see how well I can handle your cock now?”  
Not caring that he had been missing out on the important lore that was playing out in the current cutscene the entire time, Yunho tossed his controller out of the way and lifted you up from the floor, taking a second to push your soaked panties out of the way before he sat you down onto his cock. He let out a small growl, watching your cunt swallow the thick tip of his cock and slowly take the rest of him inch by inch. “God, you’re still so fucking tight, princess…” Yunho pressed his lips onto your ear, rubbing his hands up and down your waist, the borrowed hoodie you wore bunching up near your tummy. “Mm, but you can’t help having such a tiny pussy, can you? So small and cute…perfect for my big cock to fuck full…” 
“Perfect for you, Yun, just for you–nnngh…!” you gasped sharply, just as your boyfriend began ramming himself up into you, his hands tightening the grip they had around your soft waist, using you like you were his own perfectly crafted cocksleeve. “So big, so biggg, fuck–”
“And you’ll fit it all inside your perfect cunt, just like you always do, won’t you, baby? Yeah, just like that,” he groaned out, lowering one hand down to your tummy to rub circles over it, feeling his own cock as it slammed into your cunt each and every time. It never failed to make him feel so dizzy, knowing you were this small, yet you could always take his cock like a champ. “That’s my girl, look at you go, baby, letting me breed you like this…so good for me…” 
“So good, so good for you, Yuyu…” You gripped his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into them through his hoodie, unable to keep yourself from moving your hips down whenever he fucked up into you, growing more and more desperate now that you were on the edge of ecstasy. “Gonna cum…oh my god, breed me, please…!” 
“Gonna fuck you so full of my load, princess…” Yunho tossed his head back into the couch, his deep groans gradually turning into a staccato of whiny, higher-pitched moans, still able to forcefully drive you down onto his cock, but his thrusts growing increasingly sloppy and desperate. All Yunho had to do was lift his head back up to look at your pretty fucked out face and how effortlessly tiny you looked wearing his hoodie to reach his limit, immediately pumping his hot load into you as soon as it began spurting out of his aching cock. “You feel that, baby? All the cum I’m fucking into you…?” 
“Mmhmm…!” It felt so good, you started to cry. “I love it, Yuyu…” 
Just as his cockhead roughly kissed your cervix for the last time, Yunho felt your cunt lock around him like a vice, something warm and wet coating his cock and lap. “Fuck, you just came all over my cock, didn’t you?” He chuckled, rubbing your back in small circles. “Always making such a mess, aren’t you, babygirl?” 
“It’s all your fault, Yun,” you whined softly into Yunho’s shoulder, hugging onto him for dear life, your vision fading in and out. If you had came any harder, you would’ve passed out, though it was always like this whenever you were around your irresistible boyfriend. 
��Mm, why don’t you remind me of who it was that interrupted my gaming session?” He sent a playful smile your way, booping your nose when you pouted. “Oh baby, next time, just ask me if we can switch to a two player game~” 
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© kitten4sannie, 2024.
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fanged-fanfics · 20 days ago
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☆ "You Can Have My Last Name" — Zaunites x GN Reader ☆
Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed
A/N: I'm pretty sure this idea is like. Everywhere by now. But people from Zaun/the Undercity don't really have surnames so plot is basically what if Reader offered up theirs. Simple and cute type stuff idk I wanted some fluff
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──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────
Viktor
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 Mentioned the nature of his lack of a surname rather casually, while venting about how Piltover kept trying to say his paperwork was 'invalid' for lacking one. He explained to you that it was common for anyone in the Undercity, and that most from there didn't have one at all
ᯓᡣ𐭩 More confused than anything when you offer yours, or he at least pretends to be. The truth is the idea flustered him coming from you so casually, so to cope he acted like he didn't know what you were implying
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Thinks about it for several weeks afterwards, subconsciously mulls over how your name would sound paired with his in his mind. He writes it down a few times too, just to test it out. Finds out pretty quickly that he likes the sound of it
Vi
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 Doesn't miss the implications a bit, as a matter of fact she IMMEDIATELY flirts back by asking if you'd really give your precious name to any pretty face you come across
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Teases you about the idea relentlessly any time the subject of names is brought up, or in any way she can really. Often makes jokes that she's gonna make a fool out of the name
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Secretly actually very honored that you'd offer it up to her but she doesn't feel like admitting that yet, you're gonna have to deal with jokey teasing for a good while first
Jinx
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 Snarkily says she wouldn't be a good fit for your name to hide the fact that she really doesn't think she deserves to be considered a part of your life
ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Ohh, you might be crazy too if you're gonna give it to someone like me"
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Feels kinda bad that she wouldn't have anything like that to offer you in return. She loves the idea of having a family to belong to again, but her own self doubt gets in the way of admitting that to herself
Ekko
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Oh- uh- what??"
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Genuinely very caught off guard. Not at all in a bad way, he just doesn't know how to respond to such a sudden and blatant flirt. Quickly tries to think of something to say as you're chuckling and reassuring him it's okay
ᯓᡣ𐭩 He ends up telling you through his fluster that it's not really gonna bring you any good to proudly announce a Zaunite as part of your family name. But in the end, he gives you a soft smile and says it's a nice thought he isn't against
Sevika
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Is that so?"
ᯓᡣ𐭩 More keen on the idea than you'd might think- tells you it wouldn't be such a bad idea, but you'd have to prove it's a name worth adopting first, teasingly daring you to make it a name you'd both be proud to wear
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Tells you to reconsider once or twice, but mostly because she loves seeing how determined you get when defending her right to bear your name
Silco
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 Doesn't pick up on what you're implying at first at all, simply tells you that isn't how that works and you're talking nonsense
ᯓᡣ𐭩 You have to prod into the implications a little more to get him to finally register what you're actually trying to say. It takes him a moment, but when he catches on he falls silent for a while
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Ends up mildly tripping over his words while telling you he's not really someone to give such an important thing to, and that you should get a better head on your shoulders and keep focused (largely to hide the fact that the offer genuinely caught him off guard. He's never gonna stop thinking about it)
Vander
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 Actually not against the idea. Seems to chuckle it off at first, but once he realizes you're being serious he fondly mulls over the idea with you while cleaning up for the night
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Recognizes the idea might not be very feasible, but hey, what's wrong with having hope? Everyone's allowed to have dreams to chase, right? No harm in chasing this one together, then
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Promises that once things are settled down enough that he'll try to make it happen with you. As long as the kids he takes in are all alright with you, of course
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jayparked · 8 days ago
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traditionally nontraditional | park sunghoon
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SYNOPSIS: newly married, you and your husband love creating your own...unique traditions
PAIRING: husband!sunghoon x wife!female reader
GENRE: smut
AU: established relationship, chrithmith ∩(·ω·)∩
RATING: explicit/18+, minors dni
WORD COUNT: 7.2k of pure smut baby
WARNINGS: unprotected sex, creampie, dom/sub dynamics, big dick hoon, cock abuser!hoon, oral (f. receiving), nipple play, nudes, sexy ornaments, dirty talk, slightly bratty y/n and hoon is not having it, impatient insatiable hoon, he's so down bad for his lil wifey, teasing, sex with barely any prep, size kink, mentions of size training, strong language, sunghoon cannot stop praising you for the life of him, implied oral (m. receiving), choking, pet names, begging, body worship, overstimulation, forced orgasm, punishment kink, y/n gets tied up :) they are so grossly in love i was gagging the whole time
SNAIL TRAIL: merry belated christmas! for all my freaky horny down bad sunghoon stans. this one's for you. but mostly to my favorite hoonie girl @sungbeams who not only made this incredible banner, but also beta read for me and continued to throw constant words of encouragement my way when i was struggling to write this. as always, i love you so much and everything i do is for you.
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“Sunghoon…what is this?”
You’re sitting in the living room of the home you and your newly wedded husband purchased only a few months ago. Wrapping paper and gift bags are strewn throughout the room, traces of hours of opening presents together for the first time as husband and wife littered in a haphazard mess. The fireplace, which is the only lightsource in the room right now besides the ones decorated on the Christmas tree, is warming the entire room as gentle snow falls outside, colorful lights reflecting off the sparkling white substance. You’re bundled up in your favorite Christmas pajamas on the couch while Sunghoon sits in a plush recliner facing you. A proud sparkle adorns your husband’s eyes as he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees while he rubs his hands together with excited anticipation as he watches you closely.
“Do you like it? He can’t help the way his lips pull into a subtle smirk, his eyebrows quirking up on the word ‘like’. Sunghoon feels insanely proud for being able to keep this particular gift a surprise. Normally he gets too excited and has to tell you as soon as possible. There’s been quite a few birthdays and anniversaries in the past where Sunghoon hasn’t even made it out of the department store before FaceTiming you and showing you what he’s in the process of buying you. Getting a view of the department store workers side eyeing your husband as he excitingly gushes at you through the phone always warms your heart. An array of apologies always leaves his lips after telling you what he’s gotten you. If it were anyone else, you’d be slightly annoyed with the ruined surprises. But, in all honesty, you actually adored it from him. Your husband being too excited to keep a secret is just another way of him expressing his love. Plus, even if he can’t hide the larger, more extravagant things, he still finds ways to surprise you.
Like with what you have resting in your palms right now. The plastic squeaks slightly as your thumb rubs against it. Memories flood your mind, your thighs twitch, yearning to rub against one another as you lick your lips. It’s hard to ignore the dark haze in your husband’s gaze and the way his legs are spread so perfectly apart. 
Noticing your staring, Sunghoon lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he looks down at his hands before raising his eyes to meet yours once again. He’s waiting for your response, you know he is, and you also know that he’s patient enough to sit here for hours until you’re able to find your voice and speak just what exactly is pulsing through your mind.
And the longer you make Sunghoon wait, the more pleasure he gets from seeing you squirm beneath him later.
“I-I love it. Wow…” You gulp as you stare at the ornament in your hands, eyes unable to tear away from the polaroid Sunghoon has placed perfectly inside.
But it’s not just any polaroid.
It’s a very explicit photo of the two of you on your wedding night where you’re on your knees, throat stuffed with your newly wedded husband’s deliciously thick cock. Mascara running down your cheeks and a hint of drool dribbling down your chin is visible in the photo along with Sunghoon’s large hand gently pulling your hair back. 
“I remember that night so well,” Sunghoon grumbles as he leans back in his seat, his eyes still trailing over your body.
“I would hope you do!” you laugh, looking up at him, “Our wedding night, it was only a couple months ago after all.”
“And I don’t think I’ll ever forget it,” his gaze darkens, his arms moving to rest behind his head, “Especially the way you moaned once my dick hit the back of your throat. Or when I could see my bulge in your stomach. Or how you could still see my handprint on your ass the next morning. Or-”
“Hoon!” You laugh and toss a throw pillow towards him, which he catches easily, laughing along with you.
“Sorry. Like I said though, it’s a night I’ll never forget. And when you suggested we try to make our own Christmas traditions, well, what can I say? I was inspired.”
His smile is so genuine with a light sparkle in his eyes being reflected from the firelight. You can’t help but walk towards him, needing to be close and to feel his warmth. You’re about to lean in for a kiss when his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in until you’re sitting on his lap. But that wasn’t good enough for him. Sunghoon repositions you so that you’re cradled in his arms, your head resting beneath his collarbone. He leans down slowly, a smile blooming on his face, until your noses touch. Giggling together, you both close your eyes and move your heads back and forth, noses bumping together repeatedly in the process. The innocent moment doesn’t last long, though. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. You’re about to ask him what he’s thinking about, but before you get the chance, his soft pillowy lips are brushing against yours, his strong arms pulling you closer to his body.
The kiss seems innocent at first, full of love and tenderness as your mouths move together. But one little shift of your hips in his lap has your husband groaning, deepening the urgency of the kiss. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip and you eagerly grant him entry all while one hand cusps your cheek and the other grips your hip tighter. Your own hands can’t stay still as one dips below his shirt and wanders from his stomach up to his chest, marveling at the way his muscles feel against your palms and fingertips.
He quickly repositions you. Now, straddling his lap, his hands are free to roam down your body, exploring every curve he can. As if he hasn’t already familiarized himself with every inch of you. Continuing the kiss, he groans as you naturally grind your hips against his lap. His hands grab at your waist, quickling seating you down on him fully until you’re able to feel his cock hardening beneath you. At the feeling of friction against your clothed clit, you moan into his mouth, head tilting back slightly while you grind on him harder. Sunghoon catches your bottom lip between his teeth, growling slightly as he pulls and sucks.
Once he releases you, his mouth is attached to yours again immediately. The kisses are deep, feverish, and desperate; his tongue sloppily entering your mouth muffling any sigh or moan that was lingering within you.
Only when air is needed do you two break away. You look into his deep brown eyes and easily get lost in how lustful he appears. At the same time though, you see something in his eyes soften, complete love and admiration evident amidst the yearning.
“How about we make our second ornament, hmm?” Sunghoon smirks, nipping at your lips again. All you can do is quickly nod your head as you place your hands on his cheeks, savoring the tender moment before it’s gone. One thing about your husband is that once he gets riled up, it’s almost impossible to satiate the beast that consumes his sweet and romantic side.
“Perfect,” Sunghoon’s voice is husky with desire. Quickly, he stands up effortlessly with you still in his arms, one hand firmly placed on your back while the other holds one of your thighs. You can’t help but giggle as you cling to him, peppering kisses along his jaw and neck. You slow your ministrations down when you hear him groan as you nip at a particular spot under his ear; you slowly open your mouth and let your tongue brush against his skin before biting down gently, careful to not leave any marks (per his unfortunate request, no visible marks can be left on him due to his new position at work. Plus, it’s been harder to cover them up and there’s only so many times he can wear a scarf during the summer without getting weird glances from coworkers. And the amount of turtle necks he’s worn during this winter season in particular is fashionably criminal).
Sunghoon easily carries you to your shared bedroom, not even bothering to close the door as he gently tosses you on the mattress. You quickly sit up, peeling your clothes off of you before Sunghoon even has a chance to get on the bed himself.
“Slow down, let me help you,” he murmurs, placing a hand on your arm to stall you. You let him remove your shirt, although he’s doing it painfully slowly; leaving soft kisses along your collar bones and the base of your neck once they’re properly exposed. Even though his movements are slow and intentional, it feels like time is speeding up between you in the best way possible. It’s something you can’t quite explain. You’ve heard other people talk about how time seems to stop when they’re with their partners. But, for you, time has always sped up with Sunghoon, the entire world spinning by as the two of you live in your own timezone; a cocoon created just for you two to find solace in.
You wouldn’t change it for a thing.
Finally, Sunghoon has you completely naked and laying on your side, supporting your upper body weight by laying on your elbows as you look at him towering over you. He’s already swatted your hand away from him when you tried to lift his shirt up, a wide, goofy smile plastered on his face as he gently encourages you to wait. What you’re waiting for? You have no idea. But your heart is racing with anticipation, your body warm and cheeks flushed already.
All he does is roll up his sleeves slightly, exposing his veiny forearms. Instantly your eyes are drawn to his hands, though, his fingers flexing slightly as they move back down to his sides. 
“You’re staring, darling.”
“Can’t help it,” you sigh, “look at you.”
Sunghoon chuckles softly, an endearing smile back on his face, “Look at me? Look at you. So pretty for me…” he takes a step forward, his gaze primal and hungry, “so pretty for me to ruin, tsk tsk. What am I going to do with you?” 
You feel your face heating up even more, blush surely spreading across your cheeks. You can’t help but wish he would hurry up, though. It feels like your heart is going to beat out of your chest with how fast and hard it’s pounding. Hands craving for a purpose, you keep reaching for your husband, desperate to feel his skin mingle with yours, but he keeps swatting you away. Your body is aching for him like it always does, no matter how many times you’ve had him inside you. You always want more of him- need more of him.
Sunghoon looks towards the closet where you keep your polaroid camera resting safely on the shelf above your hanging clothes, the long neck strap spilling over the ledge. But, he bites his bottom lip and turns back to you, groaning as he places his knees on the edge of the bed. One of his hands comes out to grasp one of your knees, spreading you apart so he can properly look at your glistening cunt. 
“Fuck,” he exhales, “I can see how wet you are for me already. Darling, I haven’t even touched you yet.”
You try to look away from him, but his gaze is too captivating, holding you in place.
“Just looking at you has me like this,” you quip playfully, “my husband is just so sexy.”
“Fuck…say that again,” he groans, massaging your knee with his hand, his eyes glued to yours.
“My…hus…band,” you say slowly, drawing out the syllables with a smirk, clicking your tongue at the end while you bring a foot up to rest on his thigh. 
His free hand instantly grasps your foot, stopping its movements immediately. Sunghoon can’t help but sigh and marvel at you. But only for a moment. Roughly, he tosses your leg to the side and buries his face in your heat, forgoing the slow build up he initially was going for and presses his nose against your clit as he tongues at your hole. 
“Oh!-” You let out a surprised choked yelp, but you’re quickly sputtering as one of your husband’s hands comes up to grasp one of your breasts tightly. His thumb flicks over your perked nipple, massaging your mound harshly as his tongue continues to lick at your arousal. Your back naturally arches, your hands grasping at the sheets near your head as moans easily leave your lips.
“Mmm, so sweet for me,” Sunghoon coos, bringing his free hand up to wipe at his mouth. At first, you think he’s done, but then he has two fingers roaming between your folds collecting your slick. “So wet, all for me,” he says proudly, eyes locked in on your cunt. He’s more so talking to himself. More praises and remarks are made but your head is becoming too foggy, thighs now twitching with the soft contact. You need more, more of him.
Your hands snake down to his head, making him look at you for a moment while you silently plead for him. You know that he knows what you want, but all he does is smile happily at you, continuing the slight touches. His fingers circle the outside of your hole and just far enough outside of your clit to have you clenching. It’s completely unfair for him to do this to you, but unfortunately, it’s not the first or last time he will play with you like this. 
“So needy,” he coos again, “is this what you want?” Sunghoon slowly pushes one digit into your cunt, making sure not to move it around. You try to suck him in further, hips wiggling unintentionally.
“Sunghoon,” you groan, closing your eyes, “please.”
“Please what?” You can hear the smirk in his voice and it’s enough to make you want to throw a bratty tantrum. But, somehow, you’re able to stop yourself. Because this is exactly what you want. And if you give into your bratty dynamics, it’ll only prolong what you need. 
So you’ll give your husband what he wants, for your own selfish agenda of course. “Please touch me more. I need you. No more teasing. Please.” The more you talk, the whinier you sound, but you don’t care anymore. Your hole continues to clench around his digit, desperate for it to move, piston, curl, do anything other than just sit dormant.
Sunghoon chuckles lowly, “Being so good for me today, aren’t you? Fine. I’ll give my wife what she needs since she’s been such a good girl this year.”
Your eyes are still closed as you sigh, waiting to feel more of his fingers inside you or even to feel his lips around your clit.
But that’s too predictable. And Sunghoon doesn’t like being predictable.
Instead, your eyes pop open as you feel Sunghoon’s cock pushing into you. The stretch is painfully delicious, your body shivering as he fills you up more and more. Once he’s completely sheathed inside you, Sunghoon groans and grips your knees tightly. You don’t know how you didn’t hear him slide his pajama pants down his thighs, but it’s a detail you don’t mind missing. Plus, you’re more focused on the way your body stings, urgently trying to adjust to his giant cock. Sunghoon stills for a moment, chest heaving as he adjusts himself inside you. 
“God, you’re so tight,” he hisses.
“That’s what happens when you don’t warm me up properly.”
“Smart fucking mouth,” he tsks but he can’t hide his smile. Sunghoon quickly rips his shirt over his head, tossing it mindlessly to the floor next to him. “I know you can take it, though. Your body was made for me, afterall.” 
He doesn’t even give you a chance to reply before his hips are pulling back, snapping forward back into you just before you feel his tip about to leave your hole. You moan with the force of his thrust, hands reaching out to grip onto his firm biceps. 
“Look at you. You’re so perfect like this, so beautiful,” Sunghoon groans as he thrusts harder and faster into you. “So…beautiful,” he grunts again. You gasp as he leans forward, his cock hitting a new angle. But you don’t have time to fully appreciate it. His hand wraps delicately around your throat, squeezing until a slight gasp leaves your lips.
It feels like your body is levitating; every inch of your skin prickles with a rush of adrenaline as your husband continues to abuse your hole. The way his hips snap against your thighs has you feeling bruised already. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Some might feel embarrassed for how quickly they get to their orgasm, but not you. You feel a sense of pride swell in your chest knowing that your husband knows your body so well and is always determined to have you come before he does. It’s a law he’s written for himself. And, ever since the first time you’ve been together, he’s held true to it. The rare times he comes before you do is if you’re sucking him off quickly somewhere outside of your home, which is usually taking place in a restaurant bathroom or a dressing room in a random department store. Being the man Sunghoon is, though, that same night he makes sure to spend hours with your thighs cushioned against his head. No matter how much you beg for his cock, he always insists on using his tongue or hands to fully appreciate your body as a reward for taking care of him at the random moments when he needs to use you.
Ever the selfless, Sunghoon lessens his grip on your throat and leans down, kissing you softly while his pace doesn’t relent. It’s drowning the way his lips naturally mold with yours, all the words you want to say get poured into the way you receive his touch, wrapping your arms around his neck and bucking your hips forward to meet his thrusts.
“Don’t come yet,” he commands, a harsh bite in his voice as he pushes your hips down, “I want our next ornament to be a picture of you right as your orgasm hits. Can you do that for me? Can you hang on just a little bit longer, baby? I just want to have a little more fun with you before I grab the camera.”
You shake your head, biting down hard on your bottom lip to try to keep yourself from orgasming. Tears prick your eyes as you feel your body start to betray you despite your best efforts.
“C’mon, baby, please? Fuck, I don’t think I can stop. You just feel so good,” he groans loudly, both hands gripping your breasts tightly as he continues pounding you into the mattress. “If you can’t hold it I’ll just have to make you come again and again until I get the picture I want.”
“Please let me, Hoon. I-I can’t-” a choked moan interrupts you when Sunghoon presses his thumb firmly on your clit, rubbing harshly at a steady pace while his cock continues to piston in and out of you. You don’t even have a second to enjoy the dual stimulation. Your orgasm hits you like a train, exploding from the bottom of your body and rippling upward. Eyes rolling back so harshly, it feels like you’re going to pass out as your body starts to tremble violently underneath Sunghoon.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, slowing his pace down only slightly, “look at you, my pretty doll. Can’t even let me fuck you for more than two minutes before you’re losing your mind on my cock. You did so well taking me without any prep. Always so good for me.” He’s kissing up your chest between sentences, arms holding you tightly in place. You focus on the sound of his voice, letting the low familiar tone guide your soul back to your body.
Sunghoon pets your hair comfortingly, leaving gentle kisses along your face while his cock still sits snugly in your heat, unmoving. “You back with me?” he whispers, seeing the light returning back to your eyes and your body shaking less. You nod your head in response, a soft smile spreading on your face as you blink slowly at him.
“Good. Now that you’ve had your moment to catch your breath I can punish you properly.” Sunghoon removes himself from your body and the bed, now walking towards the closet.
“W-what?” You sit up on your elbows and watch him, confused with the way his jaw clenches and his back muscles tense.
“I thought you were gonna be a good girl for me, but I guess I was mistaken.” He’s digging around in the closet, nowhere near where the camera is.
“But I have been good!” You pout shamelessly, your tone whiny and full of attitude.
Finding what he was looking for, Sunghoon straightens himself and grabs the polaroid camera without a second glance. When he turns around, you gulp, seeing the four fuzzy cuffs in his hands alongside the camera.
“I told you not to come,” he flicks his hooded gaze at you, his face cold and annoyed, “so you don’t get to touch me since you wanted to be so greedy.”
Silently, Sunghoon walks back towards the bed and quickly fastens your feet into two of the cuffs, securing them snuggly and pulling out the fabric straps from under the mattress to hook the cuffs to. His jaw is still clenched while he moves impatiently, huffing at himself when his fingers fail to get them secure the first time. Only when he moves to your last free wrist does he finally look at you. Trying to appear sorrowful, you jut out your bottom lip and lower your head to look at him through your eyelashes. Sunghoon groans, always falling into this trap when it comes to you.
“Don’t look at me like that. You know what you did was wrong. And I’m not letting you off the hook that easily. You disobeyed so you’ll be punished. I know how handsy you get so it only seems fitting.”
You tug playfully at your wrist constraints, eliciting a stern scowl from your husband. Sighing and shaking his head, he takes out the camera and sets it down next to your body.
“But it’s Christmas…” You try again, but he doesn’t acknowledge you this time.
Sunghoon patiently looks over your body, his eyes slowly combing over every curve of your body, biting at his bottom lip as if it’s the first time he’s seeing you like this. You desperately want to rub your thighs together, missing the feeling of his cock stretching you out. It doesn’t go unnoticed by your husband, the way your legs tug at the cuffs or the way your hips buck up slightly. It’s almost worse that he won’t acknowledge you, even slowing down his gaze. And it’s killing you that he’s not even saying anything so all you’re left with is the cold air settling against your skin and feeling like a frog about to be dissected with the way you’re displayed before him. 
You let out a low moan, a huff really, while you furrow your brows and desperately try to meet Sunghoon’s gaze. He trails a finger from your thigh down to your ankle, your body twitching under his touch.
“Hoon-”
“No.”
One of his hands falls to his aching cock, still erect and glistening from your arousal. He slowly moves up and down his length, wincing slightly while looking hungrily at your exposed pussy. Flashbacks of your first night together flood your mind, the way Sunghoon practically drooled over your naked heat while your body trembled with a surge of adrenaline. The look on his face now is the same as it was all those years ago. 
Finally, his eyes trail up your body, resting into your gaze. That soft smile is back and you wonder if he’s reminiscing like you are, if he’s feeling the same overwhelming swell in his chest, wishing this moment wouldn’t have to pass and you could stay like this together forever.
As romantic as that sounds, you’re both over it. Smirks blooming on both of your faces as the yearning and needing for one another takes over your bodies. You use another wasted attempt at your constraints, whining for your husband in a near tantrum state. It only fuels his ego, loving how desperate you are for him. His erect cock visibly twitches, pulling Sunghoon towards you like a magnet. Placing a knee inches away from your dripping cunt, he leans down and groans as he kisses you, putting so much pressure against your lips that your head pushes deeper into the pillows until your neck starts to ache. His tongue doesn’t wait for your permission, forcefully pushing past your lips until he’s able to collide the muscle against your own. You moan into him, bucking your hips up once again to try to feel his body against your own, but he’s hovering a teasing length away, just enough for you to not be able to reach him.
In compensation, one of his large hands moves to grip your waist tightly, nails digging into your skin while he continues to attack your mouth. You desperately want to reach your hands out and wrap them around his neck, to tug on the ends of his hair and move his head to the side to nip and pull at the skin beneath his ear. 
The tension building up in your body is reaching a boiling point and you’re afraid you might actually lose your mind. Sunghoon loves to hear you beg, that’s nothing new to you, but the type of begging you’re on the verge of doing will only become a regret shortly after. You want to keep your composure, you really do, want to be the patient perfect wife Sunghoon married months ago. How could you possibly behave in a time like this? With a man like this?
You’re about to let loose when Sunghoon breaks away from your lips, moving his own along your jawline and dipping down to nip at your collarbones. In doing so, Sunghoon’s body lowers and you feel the tip of his cock bump against your swollen lower lips. Gasping, no, moaning, no-, whining, fuck, maybe all of the above sounds leave your lips simultaneously. Arching your back, your body desperately needs to be closer to him, to feel him against every inch of your skin. You feel dizzy, high even from the lack of contact and he has the nerve to sit there and watch you, chuckling as if you did something cutely amusing.
“You think this is funny?” You finally manage to pant out, wrists getting sore from tugging too harshly against the cuffs.
“Very.” Fangs beaming through his smile and sparkling eyes, Sunghoon gives you a moment before reaching for the camera. Quickly his fingers work until a bright light flashes in your face making you blink quickly.
“Sorry, love. Just couldn’t resist that pouty face of yours. Definitely one for the books. Now,” he grunts, looking down where your bodies are almost connected, “you ready for me? Gonna listen this time?” 
You nod your head earnestly, clenching around nothing, aching to be filled again.
“Take a breath,” he instructs, lining himself up to your hole, “because I’m not warming you up again. And I don’t plan on going slow.”
Instinctively, you do as you're told and inhale slowly. Sunghoon watches and waits until you’re exhaling to shove the head of his throbbing cock past your walls. Only getting halfway in, Sunghoon winces, letting out a low groan as his brows furrow while he looks at you, gritting his teeth as his eyes darken. Moving back onto his knees, Sunghoon tears his gaze from you and pushes his hair out of his eyes, his brows furrowed while he lets out another impatient huff. A failed experimental thrust getting him nowhere deeper inside you only elicits more huffs and a few muttered swear words. He leans down and lets a wad of spit string down from his mouth, landing directly where his cock and your pussy meet. Sunghoon brings one hand down and smothers the spit along his digit, moving it along his cock and up to your clit where he rubs annoyed circles frantically. He knows it doesn’t feel that good for you to be instantly met with harsh pressure and fast speeds, but he’s not trying to make you feel good right now exactly. No, he wants your body to react faster, to adjust to him before he completely loses his patience.
“After all this time I’m still too big for this little pussy? Thought I trained you better.” He’s shaking his head in disapproval and all you want is to get on your hands and knees and beg for his forgiveness; to beg for him to show you how to take his monster cock properly. But you’re left to just lay here like a starfish, whimpering as you try to relax your body. It feels impossible with all the anticipation building up. Your body is tense, heart rate increasing with every passing second. Your walls pulse around his thick member, sucking him in further and further with each subtle rock of his hips. Sunghoon’s brows are furrowed so deeply and his jaw clenched so tightly makes you clench around him even harder. Fuck, he’s so hot like this. Normally so patient and unbothered, it’s moments like this that really excite you. Because an impatient and bothered Sunghoon just means more fun for you.
“Sorry,” Sunghoon grumbles and grabs your hips firmly, backing out slowly only to ram himself completely into you. Gasping as his tip hits your cervix, your hips stutter against his pelvis. Sunghoon exhales a slow chuckle, biting his tongue between his fanged teeth with a smirk.
“God, you’re clenching me so tight I feel dizzy.” 
Moaning out a haggard, “‘M sorry” is all you can muster. Not that he gives you more time to form a proper sentence. Sunghoon is already moving before you can even adequately appreciate the full feeling he’s giving you. Your chest bounces with each harsh thrust, every muscle in Sunghoon’s body is flexed and strained as he finally delves into his own pleasure. His biceps and pecs are bulging right in front of your face, almost mocking you for not being able to touch or gnaw on them. 
“My pretty wife taking me so well,” grunting, his pace quickens, “you’re doing so, so good for me.”
Your body is desperately fighting against the restraints, feeling so good and overstimulated all at once. The pleasure building up inside your body is looking for any sort of relief. Not being able to rake your fingernails against the skin of his muscled back, not being able to leave open mouthed kisses along the side of his face and neck, it’s all driving you crazy. To just sit here and take this continual cock abuse is driving you so quickly over the edge you’re afraid of coming too quickly again. 
“Sunghoon,” you gesture your head to the side where he placed the camera minutes ago, “the camera.”
“Already?” The innocent and shocked expression on his face has your cheeks feeling hot, biting down on your bottom lip to keep you as grounded as you can. But that knot is winding tighter and tighter, he’s hitting all the right spots and one more low whine out of that pretty mouth of his is all it will take to have you coming undone.
Sunghoon stares at your face, the way your nose is scrunched and your eyes are closed, and hurries to grab the camera. His thrusts slow only slightly, the intensity lessening as he moves his body to grab the device. From fast and deep, he changes to slow and intentional; languidly dragging his cock against your walls.
Sunghoon raises the camera up to his eyes but stops, his body completely stilling, the camera lowering to his side.
You open your eyes and blink slowly at him,“What’s wrong?”
“I have a crazy idea.” There’s a far away look in his eyes mixed with a little sparkle, a look you’re not completely unfamiliar with.
“What is it?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” you say confidently, without any hesitation. What a silly question for him to even have to ask. Curiosity is starting to overwhelm the back of your mind when you see Sunghoon turn the camera over in his hands, the long black neck strap slipping between his fingers, wondering what the hell he has planned in that quiet mind of his.
Sunghoon is inspecting the camera strap carefully, then glancing back at you. 
“I’m gonna choke you with this.”
“What?”
A proud smile adorns his face as he guides your head up and slips the camera around your neck. You gulp as you feel the scratchy material against your esophagus, Sunghoon’s grip already tight while he adjusts everything until it’s in the perfect spot with the extra fabric wrapped around his fist. The camera itself is in his hand in a ready position just in case he decides he needs to take a picture quickly. He gives some experimental tugs, relishing in the way your eyes flutter with the constriction. Twitching, his cock that’s still buried deep inside you pulls his focus back. 
Sunghoon’s body now fully envelopes you, resting his body weight on his free arm while the other angles the camera near the side of your face.
“Why didn’t I think of this before?” He chuckles with satisfaction, taking a quick experimental photo of your chest. He tosses the expelled polaroid on the other side of the bed, making sure the photo lands faced down.
You couldn’t answer even if you wanted to; same old dance, different song really. Because your husband has started up his rhythmic thrusts again, going back to his original pace and pulling at the camera strap attached to your neck. You don’t miss the way he slips one of his fingers underneath the material though, the digit resting lightly against your skin.
Again, you desperately wish you could touch him. There’s no way to properly convey the yearning you have to feel his skin against your fingertips. To make up for the lack of physical action you can show him, you compensate with an array of moans with his name and swear words, you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore. Anything that will convey to him just what he’s doing to you exactly and how well he’s doing it too. 
“Oh my-, fuck, Hoon! There- right-, yeah! I’m-, hmmm.” It feels like your body is levitating with how deeply your back is arching, brain getting dizzy, your eyes are rolling back so hard. You can feel your thighs starting to shake more and more with each thrust Sunghoon pounds into you. Has he ever been this deep before? There’s no way he hasn’t. He could be pushing your uterus further into your body for all you know with the way he’s going absolutely crazy on you.
Sweat blooming like 4am dewdrops on Sunghoon’s forehead glisten, some drops falling down against your own brow. He’s muttering something back to you in between kisses along your skin, but you can’t make out the words with how fast and quietly he’s talking.
Not that it matters anyways. Your release is building up so quickly again you’ve become a sputtering mess yourself. 
“My god, you’re doing so well for me, baby,” Sunghoon winces, voice louder and understandable once more, “You’re gripping me so tight. Are you close again already?”
“T-take the picture!” You squeal through a gasp, grinding your hips against him.
Moving fast, Sunghoon loosens his grip on the camera strap, positioning his fingers on the button and tries to angle the lens to a spot that fits his liking. There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he watches your expressions. He almost can’t believe that he’s the reason your eyes are rolling back so hard, that he’s the one making your entire body shake without barely having to do anything at all. 
“Oh!” You gasp as your husband’s cock twitches inside you mid thrust, hitting your g-spot easily. Your mouth falls open, back still arching and your eyes roll back yet again. The bright flash from the camera goes off while Sunghoon spews an array of swear words, tossing the camera to the side quickly. He grabs your hips and thrusts in and out of you at a rapid pace, fucking you through your orgasm while he chases his own high.
“You’re so fucking hot for letting me tie you up and take pictures of you, holy fuck. I have the best little wife,” he growls, “letting me do whatever I want with your body. You’re perfect, perfect for me.” A guttural groan leaves his lips as he ruts his hips against yours, muscles stuttering as he shoots hot ropes of cum as far into your cunt as he possibly can. Finally, you let out a loud sigh as you let your orgasm wash over your body. Electricity shoots throughout your veins as you ride out your high, Sunghoon slowly moving back and forth as he fucks his cum deeper into you. Even after you’re both panting and coming back to reality, he’s milking out every drop he possibly has left, making sure it’s well seated in you before pulling out fully.
With shaky legs, Sunghoon stands and stretches his arms over his head, returning to give you a shaking, soft kiss to your trembling lips.
“I love you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your cheek before giving a swift peck to your nose. He moves to undo the cuffs from your wrists, massaging your skin lightly for a moment before moving onto the next ones.
You whine as he moves away from you, wanting to kiss his lips over and over again until you physically can’t anymore. Brain spinning from your high and body buzzing, you’re not ready to have any sort of space away from him just yet.
When Sunghoon finally gets the last cuff off your ankle, you sit up and grab his arm, pulling him back down to the bed and enveloping his body in your arms. He laughs as he falls on top of you, wasting no time to reciprocate the embrace, littering your face with rapid kisses that leave you giggling.
“I love you too, by the way.” You giggle, squishing your cheek against his while squeezing your arms around him tighter.
“I know,” he says softly. “Hey, we should see how the pictures turned out!”
“Oh god,” you groan, completely unprepared to see what you look like in a total fucked out dazed state. Sunghoon moves to the side, resting his head against your shoulder and reaching over your body for the photos, hiding them from your curious eyes so he can get a peak first.
“Daaammmnn,” he whistles with a side glance towards you, “I just felt myself twitch again. These are too good. Can we do this every time we have sex?”
“Lemme see.” You laugh and reach for his hand. He hands over the photos willingly, watching your face intently while you take in the photos. “That’s me? I look like that when I-”
“Yep,” Sunghoon sighs dreamily, “I never get tired of seeing it.” He tilts his head to the side to give you that rare goofy grin that you love so much.
“Should we put it in an ornament now?”
“Nah,” Sunghoon takes the polaroids from your hand and sets it on the nightstand, pulling you closer so now it’s your head that’s resting on his chest, “Let’s stay here a bit longer.”
Closing your eyes and breathing in his scent, you sigh happily, arms wrapped securely around his waist while he murmurs soft words into your hair. An array of “so pretty”’s and “my baby did so well”’s tumbling from his kiss swollen lips.
It only takes you a moment to realize what he’s doing. And you get your confirmation when you open your eyes.
“You want to go again…don’t you…”
Sunghoon exhales with a low chuckle, his head falling back while he continues to play with your hair. “What gave it away?”
“Well…you’re being very affectionate right now. And I have eyes.” You giggle and gesture towards his naked bottom half, with his (once again) fully erect cock on display.
“Oh…that.” Sunghoon shyly replies. “Can you blame me?” 
Without waiting for your response, yet again (does he ever wait for you to properly reply to him?) Sunghoon moves quickly and is hovering over you once again, lowering his bottom half until his cock is nestling between your folds. Teasingly his tip nudges against your clit, your body already weeping to have him inside you again.
Thinking he’s about to put himself back in, you brace your body to feel the stretch. Instead, Sunghoon gives you a mischievous grin and grabs your waist. He flips you around, pulling your hips back until your ass is in the air and flush against his pelvis.
You feel the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance again, but he pauses. And you groan because he seems to always be doing this; somehow always getting lost in thought just when you’re ready to let everything go and be fully consumed by him. But nothing can ever be that simple to Sunghoon. Every minute, every second, every detail is thought out in ways that only Sunghoon could do. But the more he gets lost in thought, the more pleasure you’ll feel later. If only your patience could keep up.
“Fuck, I wanna tie you up again.”
You let out a surprised laugh, somehow, at the same time, you’re not completely surprised by this at all. His words are so simple, yet they send an excited chill throughout your body. You know better than to move when you feel his presence leave you, most likely heading back to the closet to rummage through your shared box of fun. 
You hear his feet shuffling back, followed by the bed dipping under his body weight shortly after. “Mmm. Love you like this,” he sighs, massaging the swell of your ass with his hands before landing a playful smack to it. He grabs your arms and places your wrists on top of each other. The feeling of what’s most likely one of his ties wraps around, tightening deliciously around your skin until you can’t move your arms at all. 
“We’re going to make so many ornaments tonight, baby.”
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♡ pls like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! ♡ masterlist ♡ all rights reserved jayparked 12/30/24 do not copy, repost, or translate
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chuulyssa · 1 month ago
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─── ★ POST NNN CLARITY !
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synopsis — the month is over, and so is the challenge. but gojo and geto both treat you so differently from each other.
pairing — gojo, geto [separate] x reader
cw — mdni, pwp, choking, praise kinks, finger sucking, implied oral (m receiving), breeding, edging, overstim, nicknames (sweetheart, dolly, baby)
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── GOJO SATORU
“Fucking— hell—”
The room was littered with clothes, takeout and boxes all around the floor. The clock showed around one. The darkness could be seen through the open window, and the neighbours could probably hear everything through it as well. Though you didn’t seem to care — or rather, you couldn’t.
Gojo’s hips were snapping into yours at a rapid pace, and the speed, the technique, the sounds — there was nothing else you could focus on.
“Waited all month, sweetheart,” Gojo bit on your shoulder, and your hands went up to your mouth immediately. “Might’ve tried to touch myself in the middle of it too. But you know I can’t cum without you.” His chest touched yours, and one of his hands went to your breast to fondle it, while the other held your hip in place. His fingers pinched your nipple, and you moaned.
“‘toru—”
“Tried telling you too,” he cut you off, tongue glossing around the other bud. “But you wouldn’t listen.” At this, he bit the nipple nearest to him, as if to punish you for not listening. You groaned loudly, trying to push his head away from your chest, but he stayed where he was. Instead, his hands came up from your hips and breast to hold yours in place.
“Satoru—” He pushed his fingers inside your mouth to shut you up.
“But of course,” he continued like nothing happened, “you were worth the wait, pretty.” Gojo leaned in to plant wet kisses on your cheek. “Fuck, not gonna stop any time soon, baby. You’re—” thrust— “fucking—” thrust— “incredible.”
“Come here.” With that, he took the fingers out of your mouth and licked them one by one, slowly and steadily. He grabbed you by your hips once more to bring you back towards him. You felt your skin pulling against his hot body, soft and rough at the same time. He pulled his cock out of you just to make you lick it clean, making you swallow some of his cum from when he had already released some time ago along with your own juices.
His chest rubbed against your nipples again as his cock teased you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, trying desperately to move on him in any way possible, despite his power being stronger than yours.
And then, with one quick thrust, he finally shoved himself inside you completely. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips. “Needed me?” Gojo's voice spoke from beneath his breath. “‘Cause I needed you bad, pretty.”
His rhythm picked up rapidly, and you held onto him tightly as your bodies collided. “Fuck— so fucking tight…” You found yourself holding on tighter as a wave crashed down upon you.
“Fuck— go slow, please!” You cried, feeling your legs tremble uncontrollably, but he simply laughed into your face.
“S-slow?” he cooed. “You want it slow, baby?”
Your hands shook underneath his, and he paused for a moment to let you catch your breath. Before you could realize it, however, he began to move again, this time somehow even more desperately. Each thrust of his seemed like an eternal promise to please you, to fuck himself senseless with you.
“N-no one could fuck me like this but you, dolly,” he whimpered in you ear, and you shut your eyes tightly, not being able to form a coherent response. Your mind was hazy with pleasure as he kept pounding into you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he drove deeper, hitting all the right spots.
Then he slowed down again, burying his face into your neck as if to hug you, and stroking your hair with surprising tenderness. You were partly surprised, but mostly relieved by it.
“Baby?” he mumbled into your hair. “I… I love you… so so much.” Then he detached your hips and thrust hard inside again. All night long, he kept this up, driving you to the brink of your orgasm again and again, only to pull back and start all over.
“S-still want me to go slow, eh?”
“N-no! No, please don’t! Faster!” you pleaded.
“I know, I know,” he groaned, a hand on your neck. “W-want you too, baby. Want to f-feel you come on me. Please, p-please—”You gripped the sheets under you tighter when he hit the right fucking spot, and your toes curled, your back arching, practically begging to get attention from him on your nipples again. And on and on he kept going, kept sucking on your tits, kept humping and out, kept begging you to release, and then kept denying it to you. It was like a cycle of never-ending pleasure, and god did you hope it never ended.
Faster. Harder. Nothing mattered, just for him to keep going faster and harder until suddenly your leg twitched in the air. Gojo threw both of your legs onto each shoulder of his. A feeling like an electric current jolted between them.
The tension made you cry out. “Fuck,” Gojo said as he pumped his dick inside you, “w-watchin’ my girl for four fucking weeks without touching her— god, baby, you wore that skirt without panties for this, right? To get like this?” He pushed inside you harder.
Your eyelids fluttered and jaw dropped, and you moaned so loud you thought you might’ve brought some of the wall down with you. In fact, you didn’t think anything would ever work properly again.
Except your breathing probably, and maybe the tip of your tongue as well, because he had pulled his wet cock out of you and stuffed it in your mouth now, eyes glinting. “Day twelve’s done. Day thirteen now, baby. Don’t disappoint me, come on.”
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── GETO SUGURU
“God, I love you.”
You had been pleasantly surprised when Geto had taken a week off his missions to, in his words, “spend time with you, my lovely girlfriend”. Now, you just wished you would come out of this alive. He was rutting into you at a sensual pace, as if edging himself just as he had been doing to you for the fifth time now.
He pushed your sweaty hair away from your face, his own dark hair covering his emotionless eyes. “I’ve missed you so so fucking much, baby,” he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. He was enthralled by every inch of you.
Geto panted into your ear, and by that sound alone you could feel yourself getting close. He felt so good inside your body, especially during these past few weeks since he had been ignoring any and every seduction method you tried.
In fact, all he did was be selfish, he thought. When you would go out of your way to please him by wearing such pretty dresses, who was he to deny you the pleasure you asked for — and deserved? This gave him more reason than not to continue holding you tight against the bed and pushing himself deeper inside your scorching pussy.
You could feel yourself being edged up to the brink just to be brought down by him again. Throughout the two hours he had had you for, he had only let you come twice, while he himself had done so more. How selfish. 
“I'm going to cum in you now, pretty. Get ready.” He huffed, digging his fingers in your thick blonde locks. “Fuck,” he groaned.
“Again?? Ah!” You yelped, involuntarily clenching around him.
“Yeah, so what?” he muttered, wincing a bit at how tight you were but not slowing down his fast pace. 
“I’m gonna end up pregnant!” You cried.
“So?” Geto replied, finishing his sentence after his third orgasm had happened. Just like, it seemed, he had been planning on doing it all along. “And besides, it’s not like you’re gonna be able to walk for a good whole week after I’m done with you, doll. Might as well make it nine months, hm?”
“Gonna breed you so well, love,” Geto groaned in your ear, and the feeling of his dick pulsing hot and needy in your cunt amplified. “Ooh, I wonder how you’ll look with my baby inside you dolly. Prettier than you do now, I’m sure. Fuck, can’t imagine.”
“Gonna breed you so well, love,” Geto groaned in your ear, and the feeling of his dick pulsing hot and needy in your cunt amplified. “Ooh, I wonder how you’ll look with my baby inside you dolly. Prettier than you do now, I’m sure. Fuck, can’t imagine.”
Soon enough, your brain fell out and into bliss from how much of his cum your pussy had swallowed by then, releasing yet another flood of your own fluids. “Came without warning? Fine, I’m letting you off the hook this time” He chuckled. “Not again though.”
“I wanna come too!” You cried loudly.
“Oh you wanna come, dolly?” He mocked, and then continued plowing in and out of you, building back his pace. “You gotta wait for it…”
You tried to, you really did. But it didn’t help that he was hitting all the right places, all the good spots, whether knowingly or unknowingly — but that didn’t matter. He felt good — so good, in fact, that you couldn’t bring yourself to understand whatever the fuck he was saying right now.
“I know you’ve suffered this whole month too without me, haven’t you? Who else can fuck you so well, hm?” Geto groaned. “All this time that I haven’t been paying attention to this pretty pussy, fuck me, it’s all my fault — a stupid bet to Satoru,” he increased his pace again. “But now we’re here, right? The month is over, and I can’t control myself anymore, dolly.”
You couldn’t help but thrust your hips back up at him in response, greedy for all he offered.  Because yeah, you wanted more, actually. You needed him more. Your nails scratched at the sheets. “Sugu—” you whined, grinding your clit into his pelvis.
“Can you say that again for me, baby? Please,” he begged. He begged. And God, did you have to relent when he said it that way. So you said his name again. And again. And again. As many times he wanted you to. Because he hadn’t heard you say it this way in so long, and he was now going crazy over it.
It was really nice to have Geto take a week off his missions to “spend time with you”. But now, you wondered if the entire week would be spent in the bed, in the shower, and on the kitchen counter.
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© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.
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couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 1 month ago
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To Your Love That Smells Like Crazy
Synopsis: Damian presented as an alpha, to everyone's despair. He announced he found a mate, to everyone's skepticism. You're the perfect omega, to everyone's delight.
Pairing: Yandere!Alpha!Batboys X Gn!AFAB!Omega!Reader
Tw: 18+ pwp; noncon/dubcon smut; noncon drugging; creepy batfamily members feeling attracted to Reader when they were still 15, but nothing sexual or romantic between them happens until they're 18; this chapter is mostly Damian x Reader; ABO, Reader is an omega, all the batboys are alphas; Heat symptoms; Damian and Reader are 15 at first, when the smut happens they're 18, Tim is three years older than them, Jason is five years older, Dick is 10 years older and Bruce is on his 40s; Implied future gangbang? They want to share Reader (polyamory) but right now the real action is just between Damian and Reader; Loss of virginity on both parts; Implied that Damian is also inexperienced on kissing and Reader knows a little more about that; Fingering!R receiving; Slight schoolgirl/boy/person!Reader; Reader wears lipgloss, nail polish and earrings; Omegas breasts produce milk during heat; Some breastfeeding; Breeding kink; Handcuffs; The word ‘rape’ is used twice; Lots of crying; Nipple play; Dirty talk; Slight voyeurism; Unprotected sex; Negative and selfdeprecating thoughts; Claiming ownership (biting); English isn't my first language.
Word count: 4,7k
Requested? No.
Extra notes: Planning on making one pwp chapter for each batboy, and then a last one with no smut. Also, I think I'm gonna start posting on AO3 since the tw are getting worse...
General masterlist | To Your Love That Smells Like Crazy - Series masterlist
Damian was territorial, dominant and temperamental since the family had known him. Maybe he was born like that, maybe he wasn't, they couldn't know, so, what they most hoped for was that those were just personality traits, maybe coping mechanisms, and the puppy would present as an omega or beta one day, and then maybe the hormones would make him calm down. It was a small possibility, but one could only dream, right?!
Well, those hopes were crushed when, at his fifteenth birthday, Damian woke up growling at the mix of strong alpha scents stinking his room, his territory, and started pacing inside there, not allowing anyone but the old beta Alfred to come in.
He calmed down after a couple of hours, came out of his room to eat breakfast, assessed and scented the rest of his territory (everyone's territory, really, the manor was the family’s home), and maybe humor his inner alpha by subjugating the rest of the pack. It didn't work, obviously, they were all mature alphas who went through puberty already and knew how to (mostly) manage conflict with a newly-turned alpha who still smelt like milk and was just overwhelmed with hormones.
After a full belly, it was decided he shouldn't have to go to school for the first few days (something the teenager was happy with), to learn to control his mood and impulses, visit a specialized doctor to be sure what kind of suppressants were better suited for his organism, and so he could go through his first rut in peace.
A few days later, Damian went back to school, nose itching from some not-so-pleasant alpha scents, some weak beta scents, some sugary omega scents, and a lot of milky scents coming from most students, especially unpresented puppies.
He wondered how adults live like this, if he would just get used to it, and it wouldn't bother him so much one day. One thing was to feel the smell of flowers or food, another thing was to feel people’s pheromones. But his train of thoughts were halted when he felt you.
Not even inside the classroom yet, but he could sniff you out and find you if he wanted to. Strong, yet suave, soft. Strawberries. And milk. It made his whole body shudder and tremble. Now he knew why his family occasionally asked where the delicious scent stuck to his clothes came from. Now he knew why alphas turned their heads and stared at you so much when you both were walking around. It was all you. His best friend.
Damian stared openly and unconsciously, while you made your way to him none the wiser and sat down at his side, and he almost got annoyed when, at first, you didn't seem to notice his new presentation, as if you didn't even acknowledge him as an alpha yet. But then you turned and stared at him strangely.
— Dude, why’re you staring so mu- Oh. — You blinked, finally having realized where the new musky scent was coming from. — You're lucky you smell good. My neighbor smells like feet.
When he came home, he announced he had an omega.
Obviously, that left everyone bewildered as to what he meant by that, it was impossible for during his first day back outside as an alpha, he already had a mate. But he didn't have to explain much for them to understand, the scent on his clothes was enough proof as to why he wanted you for himself.
After that, Damian invited you to hang out with him at the manor for the first time. It caused a reaction in everyone, and all of them were home, of course they were, Damian wanted to show off his future mate, and you had to meet the family, since he single-handedly decided you were going to join their pack already.
As you walked past each door on the way to Damian's room, everyone had a reaction.
The old beta and grandfather, Alfred, was very polite and nice, he smelt like tea. He smiled more freely with how sweet you were, amused by Damian's clear crush.
Next, you passed Dick by the gym, he smelt spicy, and his door was open, so he could peek better to satiate his curiosity when Damian's crush arrived, yet, he didn't expect to almost fall from his stretching position when he finally took a whiff from your sweet scent for the first time, instead of just the faint and weak thing that occasionally got stuck on Damian's clothes and hair. He managed to look mostly presentable even though he almost sprinted to the corridor to meet you. Dick was even more pleased to see you were beautiful, even in your modest school uniform. He forced himself to hold back and stay in the gym when Damian decided the interaction took long enough, and pulled you to keep walking.
Jason was next, he was in the library. His scent was thick. Woody. He coughed around his drink when he felt your scent, and Damian rolled his eyes at him. Jason’s whole body froze when he saw how soft you looked, clearly an omega. He noted that you looked older than fifteen, but Jason knew you were just a couple of months older than Damian, and you still smelled like milk. His attraction to you bothered him because he couldn't ignore your still-milky scent, and he was already imagining how you would smell like when you fully reached maturity. Your hair was shiny and looked soft, like clouds and cotton-candy. He wanted to stick his nose there and hug you. You looked the perfect company for a nap (and more). Damian quickly steered you away to keep walking.
Next was Tim, he was in his room, and he smelt like peppermint. He always kept the door closed, but during your visit, it was open wide, due to his curiosity to meet you, everyone knew that. Tim snapped his eyes away from his computer when he felt you, and stared at you wide-eyed when you appeared. You didn't even come inside, Damian didn't want to feel your scent coming off of Tim's room to haunt him every time he walked past that door for the next days. It would definitely make him want to kill his brother. Tim tried to burn your image to his brain to the smallest details. He noted the color of your nail polish, your earrings, the thing dangling from your backpack, the shine and rosiness of your lip gloss. Tim specially liked your soft-spoken voice, and it bothered him how polite, neutral and distant it was, because clearly you both didn't now each other, you were just there as Damian's friend, meeting his older brother for the first time, and just wanted to go hole up inside Damian's room as soon as possible to avoid the weird interaction.
Soon, your wishes came through, and you spent the next few hours there with Damian basically teaching you everything and doing your homework. It was a new behavior, he never did that out of instinct before, some people asking him for help would annoy him, others, like you, he would calmly help out of the hidden kindness in his heart, but he never took initiative before. You brushed it off as just new alpha behavior and just used his either gentlemanly or condescending behavior, if it meant you could gain things out of it and be lazy.
At dinner, you finally met his father. Bruce Wayne was the alpha of a pack full of alphas and a beta. His himbo and playboy persona gave you the impression that he wasn't the most dominant alpha around, but you were proven wrong when you felt his sandalwood aroma and saw his towering frame. His personality was the same you saw on the TV, though, pleasant like a TV host or just a popular guy. On the inside, he was fixated with you, ignoring your milky childish scent and your school uniform. He wanted you around the house more. God knows how much a bit more of softness could help the family’s dynamic. Maybe that was what was missing, an omega around the place. Like you. Actually, it could be you. He thought about convincing Damian to stick to living in the manor even after you were both married adults. Or you could be Bruce’s when you were of age. Wait, how old were you?
Alfred drove you and Damian to your place after everything was done, all the alphas with a heavy heart, bothered that you had to go, that you couldn't spend the night with them yet. Even if you were already theirs.
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It took a lot to convince Damian to share you, but eventually, he begrudgingly agreed, they were a pack, after all, not just a family, they stick together, take care of each other and of each other's interests. Having something that wasn't just vigilantism in common would be good bonding for them, and the closer a pack could get, the better. That he knew. A pack sharing someone wasn't exactly unheard of either.
After that, Damian started inviting you to the manor more often. Almost every week you were there. Your parents started saying that Damian probably was interested in you, but you laughed it off, never thinking an alpha like him would be interested in an omega like you.
The family made the best of that time to get you used to them, to their dynamic, and to make you feel at home, safe, trustful. They also wanted your scent to get stuck everywhere. To get to know you. To learn everything about you. To make plans.
When Damian's 18 birthday came, you were already legally an adult too, and they invited you over, saying it was a birthday party. When you got there, the party consisted in only you and the family.
The conversation was nice.
They put drugs on your piece of cake that simulated an out of cycle heat.
It started with fatigue.
Then fever.
Your eyes got blurred.
You thought you were getting sick, and just planned on taking cold medicine when you got home.
The alphas were slowly coming closer and circling you, unnoticed.
You felt weird in your intimate parts, maybe you needed to pee.
You stood up, but your knees were weak, and you almost fell, if it wasn't for Dick, who caught you mid-air.
All scents became clearer when your eyes locked. You wondered what the look on his face meant, confused.
You felt their excitement, and arousal. And you felt something poking your thigh.
You felt your own underwear getting wet.
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You asked them to take you home, but they denied. That made you feel antsy, so you tried searching for your phone to call your parents to pick you up, but you couldn't find it. It got especially hard when Damian picked you up and started walking up the stairs with you.
— It's okay, omega. You're okay with us. I’m going to take care of you… — Your hands trembled when he purred the word ‘omega’, mumbled those words, and nuzzled the side of your head with his nose, taking a deep breath from your sweet strawberry scent, and faint sex smell, due to the wetness between your thighs. No longer any hint of milk anymore, since you already reached maturity just a couple of months before him, and now he also didn't smell like puppy anymore.
— N-No… D-Dami… W-Where are you taking me? What a-are you gonna do? … I wanna go home… I’m not feeling good… — You whimpered and tried to weakly move out of his hold, it didn't work.
— You are home, beloved. And I’m going to help you feel better… With my knot. — Your eyes widened. — I will fuck you real good and fill you with my semen. I know it is your first time, it is mine too. But do not worry, your heat will make it painless and you will be satisfied with me. — You whimpered higher, your omega was preening, crying for a knot, your pussy squeezing hard, but your mind knew it was wrong. Clearly something was wrong. Why was no one helping? Couldn't they see you were caught by surprise with your heat and were saying no to him? Why were they looking at you like that? A cough coming from somewhere seemed to snap Damian out of it, like he remembered something. — Ah, right. And then, you will receive father’s, and my siblings' knots. I will go first since it’s my birthday and I claimed you first. — Damian blushed, despite his smug tone. 
You cried for help, at first, it came out weak, as your omega didn't want to make something the alphas would disapprove of, but the closer you got to the room they designated for the moment, the reality of what was coming was overtaking your instincts. Especially after your belly started to hurt at being empty of seed.
The alphas only shushed you, and you helplessly watched as Tim handcuffed one of your hands to the bedpost as soon as Damian laid you down on the nest they made for you, and Dick and Jason each started taking your sneakers off. Bruce was standing a few feet away from the bed, Alfred at his side. The oldest alpha’s eyes were glued to your laid down figure, hungry and serious. Darker than you had ever seen. You've never been more scared of him before. He occasionally commented something to Alfred, that you vaguely registered as instructions, that also started being given to his children.
You weakly tugged at the handcuff and tried to sit up at the same time, but Damian pushed himself between your legs, and held you down by the waist. Dick and Jason held your legs open to accommodate him better, and your overwhelmed brain barely noticed their hands also rubbing your ankles and thighs. You've never felt more aroused and more scared your whole life. 
Alfred exited the room to start doing Bruce's orders, and he kept watching. Tim, who had disappeared out of your line of sight for a second, came back holding a long, shiny and glinting pair of scissors. You tugged harder at the restraints and tried to push your body up to get away, thinking he was going to hurt you, but he just purred at you to calm you down, unfortunately, it worked, and your pussy tightened when Damian hissed at feeling your center pressing against his hard cock, when you pushed your hips up and against his. You could feel him poking your underthigh, only the clothes separating you.
— It's okay, omega, I’m just cutting off your clothes, it's gonna be easier to strip you that way. — Tim said soothingly, while purring and almost cooing at you. Your eyes widened when he said that, and actually started cutting your shirt open, until Dick was able to pull the ruined fabric off from under you. 
All three alphas started purring at seeing your braless torso, chest already swelling with milk and nipples darkened. Omegas body produced milk when they had a puppy to feed, or during heats, and ruts, when an alpha was in a rut, and the omega was helping them, because the body understood it was a rough period, where a lot of energy was spent and not much nutrition came, since both were too busy procreating and too weak to go searching for food, so the milk was a lot helpful in those moments. There were even historical moments where that skill was useful in other contests, when the economy got so bad that most packs were starving, and the omegas of the pack helped them survive with milk.
Damian bit his lips and brought his right hand up to your left breast, squeezing it softly. Everyone was entranced, watching a single drop of milk come out, the breast not full yet. You arched your back, it felt good, so good that for a moment you forgot why you wanted to get away. Damian also didn't help your train of thought when his thumb started rubbing your stiff nipple, sending ripples of pleasure through your body and forcing your eyes closed. You forced yourself not to make a sound.
You snapped out of it when you felt Tim cutting your pants and underwear off. Your eyes widened at the feeling of being exposed and the almost cold air that made your hair stand. Your legs trembled and you felt Dick and Jason's hands working, uncoordinated pads of fingers dancing across the inside of your thighs. 
Your arousal’s scent freely infastated the room now, and half of them growled, in exception of Bruce and Tim, who were keeping themselves more calm and collected. 
— It's time to go now, let Damian and (Y/N) have their moment. — Bruce announced and you watched as Damian smirked, then you hid your face, sobbing against the pillow. He cooed at you while his other hand went down between your legs and started rubbing slow circles while pressing against your clit.
Dick sighed.
— Take care of them, Dami. Have fun and enjoy. — Dick patted Damian's shoulder, but you weren't sure the alpha above even noticed you, too busy gazing at you and your body, enjoying how warm and wet you were. 
— Yeah, remember to do what we taught you, baby bird. — Damian only hummed at Jason's comment, and leaned down, pressing his chest to yours. He brought his mouth to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and started leaving a trail of kisses up your neck, and under your jaw.
It was your first time feeling someone doing this, when you read fanfics and books, you never thought this could feel good like the writing always described, but it actually did, and you hated that you liked it, crying harder against the pillow and hoping his lips weren't moving closer to your face because he wanted to kiss you. You felt his nose sniffing your scent gland.
Tim hummed.
— Be careful with them, and don't take too long, everyone wants their turn. — Tim warned softly and was the last to exit the room, closing the door, but not locking it.
Damian’s warm breath huffed against your neck.
— Finally alone… — Damian whispered with a hoarse voice that made your hair stand. You whimpered and squeezed your eyes harder.
— Please, let me go… You don't have to do this, I won't tell anyone- — Your sentence was cut short when one of Damian's long and thick fingers invaded your entrance delicately. Your mouth opened on a silent scream, and the alpha watched you with lust in his eyes.
— Beloved… Omega… You will come to like this, I promise you that… — He sucked a faint hickey on your scent gland. His right hand started exploring the rest of your body, fumbling and squeezing the softer parts he found out he liked the most. You couldn't control your panting and small moans when his finger curled upwards inside you, touching your sweet spot. 
— D-Dam-... A-Alpha… — You arched your back when he started fingering you faster, your sensitive walls milking a single finger, crying for a thick knot, thirsty for his seed, your womb empty of puppies. 
— See… — He kissed your cheek. — We barely started, and yet… — Another kiss, closer to your mouth. — You're already dripping and earning for my knot… — Your lips met, it didn't seem like he had much experience, maybe it was his first kiss? Either way, you knew a little more about what you were doing, and he quickly learned. In just a few minutes, he was dominating your mouth. The younger alpha gave a slow bite to your lips when a second finger joined the first in fucking you, wet noises eccoing around the room.
You gained some clearance after a few moments, when he took his fingers off. You whined, not knowing if it was to plead him not to rape you, or because you wanted his cock stuffing you as soon as possible. You tried to force your head away from his, and he relented, pausing the kiss, but only to start taking his own clothes off. If your face wasn't already hot from the fever and arousal, you knew it would be now, feeling shy with everything new that was happening and his naked body, and surprised that you never once noticed his muscles before. 
While afraid, you peeked down and saw his hard and bobbing dick, it was thick and above average, but not too much. Not too much for someone who wasn't a virgin like you were, that is.
You tried to sit up, to get away from him in a bolt of strength you didn't have until now, fighting your omega with as much as you could. But it proved to be no help, as it punished you by making your belly tug and hurt twice more. Your torso fell down on the bed again, powerless by pain, numbness, and the restraint around your wrist.
Damian only cooed, still kneeling above you and between your legs. You cried. You didn't feel his calloused hands holding and caressing your hips, but you felt the blunt wet tip against your entrance. You were ruined.
Your parents would hate you. They would say it was your fault for ignoring their warnings and shoving yourself inside a home full of alphas with no omega. They would kick you out of the pack. And if the Wayne's did good on their word of raping you one after the other, you would probably get pregnant, as you weren't on birth control. That is, if they didn't kill you or kept you hostage in their basement. And even if your pack wanted to, they wouldn't be able to do anything to get justice for you, as the Wayne's were much more influential and rich. You were only going to the same school as Damian because your parents worked as teachers there, for god's sake. You were doomed. And if they decided to mark you…
You cried harder, ashamed of being so aroused now and so dumb all along. For the first time, you hated being an omega.
But all those self-deprecating thoughts were muffled when he finally invaded you. It was slow, gentle, testing how things felt. Damian heaved a breath and buried his face on your neck, breathing your scent deep. It felt amazing, for the both of you. You were so deep in your heat that of course it wasn't going to hurt at all, silly you. Those alphas were right, they are always right. They can take care of you.
— … More… Please, I want more… — You moaned and tried moving your hips against his, forcing his cock to push against your walls faster. Damian's head snapped up, looking at you with interest and lust. You were already cockdrunk, as he was pussydrunk, and he wasn't even halfway inside yet.
He bottomed out with more hurry, after pulling in and out twice to test if you really weren't in pain. He moaned deep against your face before shoving his lips against yours again, while he thrusted his hips. The alpha found the perfect rhythm while pulling almost all the way in and out, in a steady dance. Your moans got louder by the second, your inner omega happy with all the attention you were receiving.
Your free hand shot up to rest on his back, nails digging his scarred skin, not knowing what to do. Damian's hips gradually grew in force, until the bed was shaking and softly hitting the wall. The sound of your hips colliding and your wetness clear as day didn't bother you, as you only started begging for the alpha. To be owned. To be knotted. To be breeded.
— See how I take care of you… — He kissed down your collarbone, murmuring against your skin. — Make you feel good… — One of his hands slid down to grip your thigh, pulling your leg up, purposefully looking for a deeper angle to ravish you. You gasped as he found it, and his thrusts got harder. You mumbled a bunch of agreements to whatever he was saying, you just wanted his knot! — You're my omega now, our omega now… — He softly bit your pouting nipple, being considerate as to not hurt the sensitive and swelling area. Your hand trembled on his back and shot up to pull his hair in an overwhelming wave of pleasure. He pulled weakly at your nipple with his teeth scraping the nerves on the area, until he let it go. — We will stuff you full of cum everyday and every hour… — His lips trailed down your ribs, but the position didn't allow him to go further down. He wanted to leave kisses on your whole body, and now he could do that, because now you weren't escaping them. He growled, resigning himself to traill his lips up through the space between your breasts. Your body trembled with the sound. — Fuck you real good… You will never have to beg, omega, we will spoil you with everything you need, everything you want… — His huge hands trailed up your body until they reached your chest. He squished them for a moment, enjoying how soft they were, and how pliant you were, looking straight into your dazed cockdrunk eyes. Imagining how your perfect pups will look like. Milk started coming out in small drops, so silent that he only noticed when it was dripping down his hand. His eyes shot down to assess the view and his knot started growing at the sight of your swelling breasts and darkened nipples, giving up milk for him, for him, so soft his fingers were digging and moulding the flesh, all while they were dancing up and down, bouncing, seducing him. You were seducing him. You were stunning, ravishing, perfect without even trying. He was happy his pack was the one tying you down to them, he wanted to kill someone just for thinking that someone else could have you like this. — … And you will give us everything we want…
He tentatively, almost hypnotized, leaned down and sucked your stiff nipple between his soft lips, sucking a small amount of milk inside, letting It rest on his tongue for a moment, savouring the taste, before swallowing.
You were sensitive, with a dull ache, but his suckling helped with the pain and sent waves of flickering pleasure against your body. You could feel him forcing his knot with each thrust to fit inside you as it gradually grew, and gasped, whimpering pleas for more. Begging him to keep going and stuff you full. You were both getting close to orgasm. Damian shut his eyes hard, overstimulated with the growing pleasure. He let go of your breast when he started feeling his canines getting more protruded, itching to bite your neck and claim you, his eyes also getting brighter, his inner alpha waiting to take ownership over you. Strip you off the life you had before. Forcing you to subjugate, until the smallest cells in your body knew who you belonged to.
He didn't hold himself, of course, and your first mark soon made home above your collarbone, your souls locking together and the intimacy going to an extraordinary level when you reached the peak of pleasure in tandem, while his knot swelled and made you stuck together, stopping any drop of cum from going to waste.
Every single drop was forced to stay inside of you, and Damian lifted your almost limp head, you both drunk, still coming down from the waves of pleasure, and forced your lips against his neck, his scent gland, and you, whose omega and heat had taken over since the moment his cock invaded you, didn't hesitate to mark him back, locking the bond completely.
— Good omega, good omega…
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samaraxmorgan · 5 months ago
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Your Roommate Sukuna Series Masterlist
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Pairing: Modern No Curse AU Sukuna x Reader
Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna!
Contains: frenemies to lovers, super slow burn, mutual pining, fluff, more specific tags on each part
Heads up! This is a series of oneshots and drabbles, not a completely cohesive chapter by chapter series!! Each part can stand alone so dont worry if you started in the middle!!
Status: on a temporary break
[Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!]
My Full Masterlist
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Sorted from oldest to newest!!
“That Time I Gave Him Covid” WC 1.08k
Contains: pure fluff, Sukuna makes you watch The Human Centipede but nothing is described in detail, pining at the end but he’s in denial
“That Time He Scared The Life Out Of Me” WC 1.4k
Contains: metal-vocalist!Sukuna, fluff, you’re both basically frenemies
“That Time We Went To The County Fair” WC 2.89k
Contains: pure fluff, frenemies dynamic, emetophobics be cautious (no one actually gets sick it’s just mentioned), Sukuna is trying so hard to be nice
“That Time His Older Brother Gave Him A Tarot Reading” WC 1.26k
Contains: brothers au, pure fluff, reader is not present, Sukuna is pining hard
“That Time I Caught Him In A Lie” WC 210
Contains: short drabble, metalhead!Sukuna, pure fluff
“That Time He Got Jealous Of His Twin Brother” WC 1.80k
Contains: brothers au, pure fluff, slight Yuuji x Reader but we all know who you’re really here for, Sukuna is down bad, narration is mostly from Sukuna’s POV
“That Time I Walked In On Him Working Out” WC 840
Contains: drabble, suggestive themes, mutual pining
“That Time He Sabotaged My Date” WC 1.78k
Contains: yandere(ish)!Sukuna, fluff but he’s kinda very toxic, stalking, fem implied reader (wearing a dress and heels), brief mention of a bomb (there aren’t any bombs present), narration is from Sukuna’s POV
“That Time I Wore Red Lipgloss” WC 358
Contains: short drabble, fluff, very mildly suggestive, Sukuna is pining bad, fem implied reader (wearing lipgloss, referred to as looking pretty)
“That Time We Got High And Almost Kissed” WC 2.63k
Contains: brothers au, fluff, frenemies dynamic, use of illegal substances (cannabis)
“That Time The Heater Broke On Christmas” WC 2.44k
Contains: frenemies to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning
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Banner commissioned from @crumplstiltskin , Dividers by @anitalenia
If you are on the taglist and not receiving notifications when I post a new part, DM me and I’ll try to send you new parts as they come out!!
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tonycries · 10 months ago
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Dream A Little Dream - G.S.
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Synopsis. For the strongest, it was a privilege to dream. Especially when his dream is you. 
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. fem! reader, established relationship, implied sex, fluff, soft and sleepy Satoru, very slight manga spoilers, just Satoru loving on you and your future together.
Word count. 0.8k
A/N. Probably gonna delete. Art by @_3aem on X.
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It’s times like this - when the quiet morning sun is just peeking in through your window, in the still haze of your naked body peacefully intertwined with his that Satoru allows himself to dream.
He dreams of everything - from the strawberry lollipops he snuck into the Gojo Estate as a kid to the time when he forgot Megumi at the mall. 
But mostly, he dreams of you.
Eyes still veiled with sleep, wandering the expanse of your face, a hand tenderly running along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Thumb softly catching on the corner of your mouth, slightly quirked up, he wonders what you’re dreaming of. 
Do you dream of him too?
Because Satoru’s favorite dream will always be the one with you. 
Your laughter in the morning light as he smothers you in kisses, how it rings in his ears and carries through his day. If there’s one thing Satoru knows, it’s that he would burn this entire godforsaken world down to keep it there. Even in the face of violence, his favorite song.
Reaching out to softly kiss your fingers, the hands which hold his heart and his future. 
Unhurriedly, he caresses that empty spot on your ring finger. Soon. 
Little black box burning a hole into that hidden corner of his dresser, Satoru absentmindedly wonders whether you would go for a flowing gown or more of a sleek design? He dreams of the delicate lace under his fingers, the gentle sway of the fabric and the blue bouquet to match his eyes. 
A huff of laughter, followed by a melancholic twinge of his heart, finds its way into the still morning air as he imagines the way Nanamin would have been crying very reluctant tears of joy.
Long fingers deftly run along the expanse of your body, drawing patterns on the marks he’s left to remember him by, resting on your stomach. He dreams of a world where he is there to see you run around with a few white-haired bundles of joy. All of them with your personality of course - he couldn’t handle having to fight with some mini versions of himself over you.
And they may be closed for now, but he dreams of the twinkle in your eyes as they meet his, the promise of a beautiful day ahead. 
He can only pray that they always look at him that way. Even when the shine of your eyes dim with age, the chapters of your story showing on your face. The dream where you two complain about your first gray hairs - him cackling about you finally joining the club. 
It might not seem like it, but in the blood and merciless gore of jujutsu, a part of the strongest always thinks back to the heaven he’s found in you. 
The heaven where you both cry over your kids leaving the nest, and later he’d fervently deny his teary eyes - secretly wiping the tears off his glasses. 
Where you spend quiet evenings on the porch, wrapped in blankets and reminiscing about the adventures of your youth. Did he ever tell you that story where he lost the tickets to a movie and had to sneak into the theater with Shoko and Suguru? Boy, did he get an earful from Yaga that day.
The dream where he’s surrounded by you and all your warmth. In the cold pain that comes with being the strongest, he can only hope that a day will come where his strength - rather than being used to kill - holds your future with ready arms. 
Ripping his eyes off of your face, they wander the room bathed in the soft morning glow. Mapping the empty spaces which you two would fill with pictures. The walls which would echo with laughter and whisper tales of serenity.
First days at school, graduations, all the friends and foes lost along the years - and one big picture of you in that beautiful white dress, right in the middle. All beauty and grace. His beautiful bride. A dream where his last name is a melody not a death sentence.
He dreams he’s there to fetch your walking cane to stroll through your little garden with a cup of his famous morning tea. He’d hold your hand as he always does, both trembling and frail with age. He dreams he would kiss the beautiful wrinkles on the corners of your eyes, only for you to push him away bashfully complaining about the grandkids seeing.
Blue eyes faded and the joy of the years showing on his face, not as strong or as vibrant as he once was, limitless nothing more but a trick to make his grandkids smile. Not a weapon, but just your Satoru. He hopes you’ll still be there to love him.
And he dreams he’s there.
He wants to be there. 
“Satoru?”
Satoru’s heart lurches as those beautiful eyes crack open, still foggy with sleep. A glimpse of that smile he found heaven in, and you pull him closer. Understanding. Skin heated against his, no one but you two in this quiet world.
All is well in your little heaven.
Today, the strongest will face Ryomen Sukuna, the fate of the world burdened upon his shoulders. But for now, Satoru is held fragilely in your arms.
For now, he is yours. 
He only dreams he can be forevermore. 
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A/N. Tony writing something that isn’t smut??? The world is coming to an end.
Plagiarism not authorized.
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yandere-daydreams · 4 months ago
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Title: Foxglove and Oleander.
Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).
Word Count: 6.0k
Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.
TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.
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Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.
That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.
From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.
It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.
He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.  
Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”
“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”
“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ‘Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but—”
“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”
“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”
He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”
He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”
In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”
“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”
He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.
Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”
He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus.  Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”
“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”
“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”
His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.
~
“How do you choose where to go?”
He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.
It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.
Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”
“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. “Tell me, then – what would please you?”
He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “What village were you born to?”
His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.
“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”
His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”
“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”
There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”
“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”
It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.
But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”
His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.
~
It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.
Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.
The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.
 It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.
You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”
The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”
“It would seem so.”
“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”
“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”
“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”
“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.
Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”
After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.
Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.
He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”
You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.
“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”
“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”
“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.
He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.
~
“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”
No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.
“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”
“Join me, then.”
Ah.
You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.
“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”
Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.
Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.
Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.
It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.
You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.
It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.
No, he wouldn’t dare.
The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.
“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”
To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”
“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.
Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”
You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.
~
The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.
The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.
An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.
That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.
You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.
It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.
Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.
He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.
“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”
The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.
You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.
You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.
With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”
For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.
“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”
As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.
~
Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.
You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.
You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—
You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.
“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”
 His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”
“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”
You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”
For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”
There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.
It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.
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gojonanami · 8 months ago
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“ A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME ”
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pairing: satoru gojo x reader
summary: you come home after a long day of work unable to find the person you call home anywhere — until you reach the bedroom.
warnings: 18+ suggestive, fluff, comfort, some angst, implications of the shinjuku showdown arc, implied gojo is no longer a sorcerer, gojo is your househusband, taking a bath together, taking care of him, copium really, satoru being a silly man
w/c: 1,184
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“I’m home!”
You call into your home, the clatter of your keys and shoes as you shedded the things that chained you to the outside to submerge yourself in your oasis and into his arms. But as you got no reply, you stepped into your living room, scanning over the kitchen, to find no one.
Now where was your home?
“Satoru?” you called, heart skipping a slight beat, he was always waiting for you when you got home, usually on the couch or maybe in the kitchen the clank of the knife as he chopped away. Or even the many times that he was waiting by the door to only ambush you with kisses. But this time, nothing.
You rounded the corner to the hallway and peeked into your bedroom to find him asleep. You crept closer, careful not to wake him, and yup, he was fast asleep. His pretty snow white lashes resting against his cheeks, his chest slowly rising and falling as the soft sounds of his breaths parted his lovely lips.
You could watch him sleep for hours. You knew he never did enough of it before, and you’d argue he still didn’t do enough of it now. He always said he was fine sleeping 6 hours since it was twice as much as he usually got — and now he was working at home, so he could be ease.
But even so, you know he needed more.
As if he senses your thought, he stirs, starry blue eyes finding yours as he flutters sleep from his gaze, “sweetheart?” He’s murmuring, voice still beautifully raspy from sleep, “when did you get home?” He’s shifting to get up, but you use gentle hands to ease him back, “I haven’t started on dinner yet, sweets—“
“I got it, Toru,” you’re running your fingers through his hair, “just rest, baby,” and a protest is already on his lips, “let me guess what you did today — cleaned the house from roof to floor, stocked us on groceries, cooked lunch for me for the week, and probably a million other things,” you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, “I think I can handle dinner for one night at least,”
He’s pouting now, “but you just got home from work, Princess, what kind of househusband would I be—“ and you can’t help but laugh, he loved his self appointed title of househusband, especially since it was one he had chosen for himself, and he took any opportunity — even now to call himself that.
“I think even the absolute best househusbands need a break, and should listen to their wives, since I’m the one you want to pamper so much,” and his lips party in protest, but you’re leaning down to kiss them and his pout away, “let me take care of you, Toru,”
He’s sighing, as he leans up to press his forehead to yours, “and does your offer include a bath, sweetheart?”
~~~
“Y’know sometimes I feel guilty,” and you pause in your massage of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, suds from the bath you’d drawn for him covering both of your bodies as he leans against you in your tub, back pressed flush to yours.
“Guilty about what?” you ask, holding your tongue on the million reasons why he shouldn’t.
“For so long, I was the strongest,” he gives a small chuckle, “and it was fun, sometimes. But it was mostly lonely,” he leans back to look up at you, a small grin on his lips, “except when I was with you,” your lips curl, “and now I get to be with you, and I get to stay home — and the worst thing I have to do are the dishes,” and you snort.
“I told you I’d do them if you hate them so much,”
But he’s shaking his head, “Sometimes I think trying to deal with our cast iron is worse than fighting Sukuna—“ and you roll your eyes, “but there’s always this urgency that I have to be doing more. Telling me to keep going, moving, fighting—“
“You’ve done enough, Toru, more than enough,” your fingers cup his cheek, “too much, honestly. It’s okay to rest now. You’ve done your part—“
“But—“
“Didn’t you or someone say jujutsu is like a marathon, a baton pass?” Your fingers run through his white locks, before you shift yourself to sit in his lap instead, “the marathon is over, racers have packed up and gone home, and the finish line has been crossed,” your fingers rest on the back of his neck, tracing his undercut, “and that’s because of you and all you did to fight and raise up the next generation,” you say softly, and he’s pressing his head to your forehead.
“Is it okay for me to rest now?” and you’re pulling him into your arms, hoping your touch conveys what your words can’t.
“Yes, it is, Satoru,” you’re pressing soft kisses to his neck, “you don’t need to be the strongest. You’re Satoru Gojo, and that’s all I want,” and he leans back, “you’re all I want,”
“Is that a proposal?” And you snort.
“We’re already married, weirdo—“ and his lips find yours, as they always did, his arms around your bare waist, as the water shifted and splashed, but you could barely feel anything except his lips against yours and the circle of his thumb against the small of your back.
He finally pulls away, a genuine smile on his lips, “And you married this weirdo,” and you chuckle, tracing his jaw with your finger, “you’re stuck with me for life,”
“Promise?” And he’s kissing you again in an instant, stealing your breath like he did the first time you met him all those years ago at jujutsu tech. And you knew you’d never love anyone else — not like him.
“Promise.”
Bonus:
Satoru’s arms wrap around you from behind as the two of you towel off after your bath, “what are we having for dinner?”
“Well someone insisted on me being in here with him, so I had to order out,” and he’s grinning, as he nuzzles your neck.
“Whoopsie, hehe,” and he’s humming, as he tugs your hips against his, the friction drawing a gasp from your lips, “can we have dessert first?”
“It is dessert. We’re having ice cream for dinner—“ and he’s kissing you again, but this time it’s languid and messy — all tongue and teeth, until he’s pulling away with a smirk at your breathless face.
“I want something sweeter, wife,” and you smile.
“Think you can finish before the delivery gets here?” And he’s already picking you up with ease in his arms, pinned under him in a moment, as his ocean blues flash with mischief from between your thighs.
“I can, but I don’t know if you’ll be done by then.” He says cheekily, as you only sigh.
If there was one thing that would always be true is that you would always be weak to Satoru Gojo — but not his abilities, but who he is.
Your husband.
“Let’s see, hm?”
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a/n: I’m real upset about the leaks and this is my coping. I needed this.
taglist: @staryukis, @cloverlilies, @asgoodasdead666, @strawmariee, @chuuyasboots, @forest-fruits-jam, @catsgomurp, @rat-loves, @hanlay, @risuola, @spider-fan72, @sunamatic, @difficultdomains
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