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gojoux · 3 months

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『 𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘 』

· Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

· Summary: Gojo is absolutely enamoured by you, even from the smallest thing you do, he’s always there to compliment you.

· CW: 5.2k // Fluff. Slight hurt/comfort. A bit suggestive. Being Gojo’s girlfriend means having a whipped boyfriend.

When you’re training by yourself.

You took a deep breath as you adopted your fighting stance, feet spread shoulder-width apart, knees bent, hands raised and ready. Focusing your cursed energy to enhance your physical prowess, you began your training regimen, flowing through the intricate movements you had practiced countless times before. Your body twisted and turned gracefully as you performed each strike and kick with perfect form, having honed your skills through years of diligent work.

Sweat dripped down your forehead as you moved through the rigorous routine, not allowing yourself to slow down. With each punch, you visualize an enemy being struck down. With each kick, you imagined yourself growing stronger and more agile. The exertion left your muscles burning, but you pushed through, determined to improve.

After finishing the last set, you finally allowed yourself a moment of rest, chest heaving as you caught your breath. A sense of satisfaction washed over you at having completed such an intense workout. You knew all that effort was making you a better sorcerer.

“Look at you go,” a whistle was heard behind you.

You turned to see Gojo walking up, an admiring grin on his face. Even with his eyes obscured, you could tell he was looking you over appreciatively.

“Thanks,” you said, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Just trying to stay in shape.”

“You kidding? You’re in incredible shape!” he said. “The way you moved was like watching poetry in motion.”

You smiled, flattered by his high praise, and happy to have your efforts recognized. As one of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers alive, compliments from Gojo meant a lot.

“I still have a long way to go before I’m anywhere near your level.”

“Of course,” he grins cheekily.

“But your dedication to training is really paying off, you know? Just look at how toned your arms are now,” he emphasized his point by gently grasping your arm, squeezing your bicep.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, swatting his hand away.

He laughed playfully. “What? I can’t help but admire my girlfriend’s incredible physique.”

You shook your head in amusement. Only Gojo would be shameless enough to fawn so openly over your body. But his compliments, as ridiculous as they were, filled you with motivation. Knowing he was watching and supporting your efforts spurred you to work even harder.

“Alright, lover boy, as much as I’d love to hear more about how attractive you find my sweaty post-workout look, I need to get cleaned up.”

“Need someone to wash your back?” he asked slyly, waggling his eyebrows.

You shot him a pointed look.

“Kidding, kidding,” he said, raising his hands.

You gathered your things and started heading towards the showers. As expected, Gojo fell into step beside you, seemingly not done singing your praises yet.

“In all seriousness, you’re really good. I mean it,” he continued earnestly.

Warmth rushed through you with his heartfelt words. “Thank you, I appreciate that,” you said sincerely. “But honestly, it’s not anything extraordinary, stop complimenting me too much over that.”

“Heh, I’m just calling it like I see it,” he replied. “My girlfriend’s a total badass who’s only getting more incredible every day. What can I say, I’ve got an eye for talent,” he added with a cocky wink.

You laughed, giving him a light shove. “You’re too much.”

“And you love it,” he retorted, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.

You leaned into him, smiling up at his handsome face. “Yeah, I really do.”

When you’re on your mission.

The dark alley was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the cramped passageway. Your footsteps were light and cautious as you scanned the area, senses on high alert. You were tracking a cursed spirit that had been terrorizing this neighborhood, attacking innocent civilians.

As a jujutsu sorcerer, it was your duty to stop threats like this.

Up ahead, you spotted your target—a grotesque, hulking creature with twisted features and elongated claws. It had a young woman pinned against the alley wall, ready to strike. With no time to lose, you leaped into action.

“Hey! Over here, ugly!” you shouted, firing off a blast of cursed energy to get its attention. The creature turned with an angry roar as you placed yourself between it and the cowering woman. Adopting a fighting stance, you are prepared to take it head-on.

The cursed spirit charged, swiping at you with ruthless force. But you were ready. With agile movements, you dodged and weaved, avoiding its attacks while looking for an opening. When you saw your chance, you struck—aiming your cursed technique at its chest sending it stumbling back.

Not letting up, you pressed your assault, pummeling the creature with your attacks. It tried to fight back but was no match for your superior speed and skill. With a final, devastating blow, you landed the finishing move, obliterating the cursed spirit in an explosion of energy.

Panting, you turned to check on the woman you had rescued. “Are you alright?” you asked gently to calm her down.

She stared at you with gratitude. “Th-thank you! You saved me!”

You smiled warmly, helping her to her feet. “Just doing my job. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

After escorting her from the alley, you headed off to report your completed mission, satisfied at having eliminated the threat and protected an innocent life.

As you walked, a familiar voice suddenly spoke up behind you.

“Great moves back there,” he grins, walking towards you with his hand in his pocket. Looks like he got it easy on his task.

You turned to see Gojo beaming at you proudly. “When I felt that burst of energy, I knew it had to be you kicking some cursed spirit booty. And I was right.”

You laughed at his dramatic phrasing. “All in a day’s work. I’m just glad I got there in time.”

“Let me guess, you finished earlier and spied on me ‘kicking cursed spirit’s booty’,” you crossed your arms playfully, earning a chuckle from him.

“Yeah, it was a good show.”

Gojo stepped closer, gazing down at you admiringly. “It’s also that compassion that makes you such an amazing sorcerer,” he said. “You’re always focused on protecting people, even at great risk to yourself.”

His tone turned a bit calmer. “Watching you throw yourself in harm’s way like that… it scares me sometimes.” He gently caressed your cheek. “But it’s also one of the things I love most about you. Your drive to help others.”

You placed your hand over his, touched by his heartfelt words. “I’ll always do whatever it takes to keep people safe. I just have to.”

He smiled. “I know. And you do it with such skill too. The way you took down that cursed spirit was awesome. Your technique control has gotten better.”

“High praise coming from the strongest sorcerer around.”

“I’m just being honest here. You would’ve given me a run for my money, I bet."

You quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? Care to put your money where your mouth is and take me on sometime?” you challenged playfully.

A devious grin crossed his face. “Is that a date? You know I love any excuse to get handsy with you.”

You laughed, giving him a light shove. Even after a tiring day, he could always lift your spirits.

“Maybe later,” you said, taking his hand. “For now, how about lunch? Fighting cursed spirits really works up an appetite.”

“It’s a date then!” he instantly entwined his fingers with yours. As you walked off together, he added, “You take my breath away, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “Aww, aren’t you my own personal hype man?” you teased.

“Always!” he declared with his usual wide grin.

When you’re dressed up for a date.

“Satoru, can you come here for a second?” you called out from your bedroom.

“Be right there!” Came the reply, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps. Gojo stepped into the doorway, a signature grin on his face. “What’s up?”

You turned to him with a shy smile. “I just finished getting ready for our date tonight. Wanted to get your opinion on the outfit before we head out.”

It was your anniversary, and Gojo was taking you somewhere nice. You had agonized over what to wear, trying on ten different dresses before finally settling on the dress you’re wearing right now with delicate jewelry and heels to complete the elegant look.

Gojo’s eyebrows shot up above his glasses as he took in your appearance. “Wow…” he breathed, staring openly. “You look… beautiful.”

Your face heats up at his praise. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely stunning,” he affirmed, moving closer. His hands came to rest on your waist, head tilting as if to see you better from all angles. “This dress is perfect on you. It hugs your body just right.”

One hand slid sensuously down your side to emphasize his point. You hold his hand still with flushed laughter. “Down. boy. Keep it PG for now,” you chided playfully.

He held up his hands in acquiescence, though the desire in his gaze was palpable. “PG. Got it. I’m just appreciating my gorgeous girlfriend’s breathtaking beauty.”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, but his compliments made your heart flutter.

“The way the fabric drapes over your body…” he continued to admire you, “It’s like each detail was designed to accentuate your natural assets.” His voice dropped an octave. “Truly mouthwatering.”

“Satoru!” You swat his chest this time from embarrassment.

He grinned unrepentantly. “What? Can you blame me for being so captivated by you? You’re a vision right now. I’ve got the hottest date in town tonight, that’s for sure.”

You smiled, mollified by his sincerity beneath the teasing remarks. No one could make you feel as special and desired as Gojo.

“Think you can control yourself through dinner at least?” You asked archly.

He laughed. “I make no promises. But I’ll do my best to keep public groping to a minimum,” he replied with a wink.

Taking your hand, he led you downstairs and out the door, ever the gentleman. As you slid into the car though, his composure momentarily slipped.

“You look unbelievable in that dress,” he blurted, eyeing you up and down. “The things I want to do…”

He trailed off with an exaggerated groan. You dissolved into laughter, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. Only Gojo could be so simultaneously sweet and shameless.

Dinner was an intimate, romantic affair. Gojo was on his best behavior, focused entirely on you. His compliments came often, praising everything from your smile to your witty banter. By dessert, you were practically glowing under his constant stream of adoration.

“Have I mentioned how stunning you look tonight?” He murmured, grazing his thumb over your knuckles. “Because you are dazzling, baby. I’m the luckiest guy here.”

You bite your lip, smile stretching wide. No matter how many times he said it, those words never got old.

The ride home was charged with anticipation. Gojo’s hands, so well behaved earlier, now roamed your body eagerly. Your pulse quickened as desire ignited.

Once inside, his control broke entirely. You found yourself pressed against the foyer wall, his mouth hot on your throat.

“I’ve been dying to get my hands on you all night,” he rasped into your skin. “This dress should be illegal… even the way you walk in it got me feeling hazy.”

You sighed blissfully as his lips and hands explored. When Gojo wanted you, he made sure you felt cherished, beautiful, and desired. It was intoxicating.

Later, lying enveloped in his arms, he nuzzled into your hair. “Have I mentioned you look sexy as hell in that dress?”

“Only about a hundred times tonight.”

“Well let’s make it a hundred and one,” he replied, rolling you beneath him to properly worship every tantalizing detail.

No matter the occasion, Gojo never failed to make you feel like a goddess. His passion and praise knew no bounds.

When you failed your mission.

The cursed spirit’s claws tore through flesh and bone before you could react. The young boy’s scream pierced the air, then suddenly went silent as his broken body hit the ground. Shock rooted you in place for a critical moment before rage took over. With a cry, you unleashed the full force of your power, obliterating the cursed spirit in an instant.

But it was too late. The child was gone, his sightless eyes accusing you of failure. Sinking to your knees, anguish crashed through you in waves. You were supposed to protect him. Instead, your hesitation had cost an innocent life.

By the time Gojo arrived, you were numb with grief. He assessed the situation swiftly before kneeling and enveloping you in his arms. You collapsed against his chest, finally releasing the tears you had been holding back.

He didn’t speak, just held you close and let you cry. There was no judgment in his embrace, only compassion. So you wept bitterly for the life lost, for your mistake, for the cruelty of this world.

When the torrent finally passed, Gojo gently wiped the moisture from your cheeks. “Talk to me,” he said simply.

Haltingly, you explained what happened. The guilt was a crushing weight on your heart.

“I should have been faster. I could have saved him,” you choked out.

Gojo gripped your shoulders. “Listen to me. This was not your fault.” His voice brooked no argument. “You didn’t hesitate from incompetence or cowardice. It was empathy. You saw a scared child and your first instinct was to protect, not attack. That compassion is what makes you an amazing sorcerer.”

You shook your head bitterly. “A lot of good it did him.”

“You can’t save everyone,” Gojo said sadly. “As much as we try, we can’t prevent every tragedy. What matters is that you care so deeply, that you refuse to harden your heart, even when it hurts this much.”

You wanted to believe him, but the stench of blood was thick in the air, a constant reminder of your failure.

Sensing your doubt, Gojo took your hands in his. “You have the biggest heart of anyone I know. Don’t let this make you afraid to keep caring. There are so many people out there who need that compassion.”

He tilted your chin up to meet your eyes. “This pain… means your humanity is still intact. That’s something to be proud of.”

A sob caught in your throat as you clutched his uniform jacket, anchoring yourself in his steadfast strength. The grief was still raw and raging, but his words lit a faint glow in the dark. Not of absolution, but of hope. That you could keep fighting and caring, without losing yourself.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’ll get through this. I’m here for you.”

The next few days were filled with more tears, self-doubt and sleepless nights. But Gojo remained your constant companion, providing reassurance when the shadows loomed.

His praise never wavered. Each time you began slipping back into despair, he was there with an uplifting word.

Slowly, the light began to return to your eyes. Gojo’s unrelenting positivity and belief in you provided a lifeline to cling to. He reminded you of your own strength, even when you doubted it.

Not long after that day, Gojo took you out to dinner. Upon returning home, he presented you with a single white lily.

“This is to honor that boy’s memory,” he explained. “But also to show you that beautiful things can still grow, even from tragic circumstances.”

You accepted the flower, eyes stinging with bittersweet tears. Looking up at Gojo, you found no trace of pity there, only love.

“Thank you,” you whispered, for this gesture, and for everything he had done to see you through the darkness.

He kissed your forehead tenderly. “You never have to go through anything alone. I’m always here.”

Clutching the lily close, you rested your head against Gojo’s heart.

When you’re happy.

You stared down at the official letter, reading the words over and over. You have been chosen by a revered sorcerer in Hokkaido for a mission that requires your skill. Better yet, you have always admired this sorcerer.

One in a million opportunity. It makes you feel special to have someone notice you to the point they requested for you because they need your skill. Just maybe, you’d have the opportunity to be trained by that sorcerer to improve yourself.

Hands shaking, you looked up at Gojo, seeing his face lit up with a brilliant smile. In an instant, you were swept off your feet as he spun you joyfully around the room. You clung to him, dizzy with euphoria.

When he finally set you down, he cupped your face in his hands. “I’m such a proud boyfriend,” he said. “All that hard training paid off, huh?”

Happy tears pricked your eyes. Having Gojo’s wholehearted support and belief in your abilities meant everything.

You can’t help but pull him down into a fierce, grateful kiss. His arms immediately enveloped you, lips curving into a smile against your mouth. When you finally broke for air, foreheads touching, the depth of emotion in his gaze took your breath away.

In the weeks that followed, Gojo went out of his way to celebrate your accomplishment at every opportunity.

There were bouquet deliveries to your door, with notes reading:

“To the future best jujutsu sorcerer!”

Gifts would arrive filled with your favorite treats:

“For my hardworking girlfriend who deserves something sweet!”

Even when you were curled up on the sofa, just spending a quiet night, he would randomly take your hand and announce:

“I’m the luckiest guy alive to be with you.”

His little displays of pride and support never failed to make you smile. Gojo genuinely reveled in your success as if it were his own. Your joy brought him joy, a sentiment you fully reciprocated.

On the morning you were to start the intensive program, Gojo made you a lavish breakfast in bed. As you ate, he detailed an elaborate training regimen to prepare you for the challenges ahead.

“And I’ll be your personal sparring partner of course. Have to keep those combat skills razor sharp!” He grinned. “I won’t go easy on you just because you’re my girlfriend.”

You laughed. “I’d be insulted if you did.”

His expression turned serious then. Taking your hand, he met your eyes earnestly. “You’re going to do amazing things, I just know it. And I can’t wait to stand back and watch you shine.”

Emotion clogged your throat. No matter how far you go in this field, Gojo will always be your biggest supporter.

“As cheesy as it sounds... as long as you’re by my side, I know I can handle anything,” you told him with a rather bashful smile.

He smiled softly. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”

Leaning in, he kissed you sweetly. When he pulled back, his usual cocky smirk was firmly back in place.

“Now finish up. Time to go show off why you’re the badass jujutsu sorcerer they’re lucky to have!”

When you’re sick.

A violent cough wracked your body as you huddled under the blankets, trying in vain to get warm. Your head was pounding, your throat raw, and your limbs heavy with fatigue. The flu had hit you hard and fast, leaving you miserable and bedridden.

A light knock at the door heralded Gojo’s arrival. He poked his head in, his usual playful grin replaced by a look of concern.

“How’s my girl doing?” he asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed.

You offered a weak smile. “Been better,” you croaked out before dissolving into another coughing fit.

Gojo rubbed your back soothingly until the spasms passed. “Sounds nasty. Let me get you some water.”

He returned swiftly, helping prop you up to take small sips. The liquid soothed your inflamed throat but did little for the chills wracking your body.

Noticing your shivers, Gojo piled on more blankets and slid in behind you, pulling you close. The warmth of his body enveloped you, finally easing some of the shudders. You sank gratefully into his embrace.

“There we go, just rest,” he murmured, one hand gently stroking your hair. You sighed, comforted by his presence.

Gojo wasn't usually one for tender quiet moments. His boundless energy and shameless mouth tended to dominate any interaction. But now, he was the picture of care and concern—keeping his touch light, his voice quiet and soothing.

You were moved by this rare glimpse of his gentle side. Having someone see you like this—sweaty, sick and pathetic—would normally make you self-conscious. But with Gojo, you felt safe letting your guard down completely.

“Sorry you have to see me like this,” you mumbled.

He tilted your chin up. “Nonsense. You’re beautiful no matter what.” His thumb lightly caressed your cheek. “I’m glad you’re comfortable enough around me to be vulnerable.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest, and not from the fever. Even wrecked by illness, he could still make you feel cherished.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you whispered.

He grinned. “I ask myself that every day.” Dipping his head, he placed a feather-light kiss on your forehead. “Now, hush. No more talking, just rest.”

You settled against him once more, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heart. Time passed in a haze of fitful sleep and coughing fits, but Gojo stayed dutifully by your side.

When the chills returned, he bundled you uptight, acting as your own personal furnace. He patiently fed you soup and medicine, made sure you were hydrated, and kept the tissues handy.

True to form, he also kept up a constant stream of praise and encouragement.

“There’s my tough girl, fighting this nasty bug off.”

“Even under all those blankets, you’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Look at you powering through these coughs like a champ!”

His little comments never failed to make you smile. Only Gojo could find something positive even in your current state.

After two days of attentive care, your fever finally broke. The aches and fatigue gradually receded until you were able to sit up without assistance.

Gojo beamed at you. “There she is! Knew you could kick this flu’s butt.”

Taking your hand, he pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, and his eyes shone with affection. “I’m so proud of you for pushing through this. You’re strong.”

“I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

He waved it off. “I just gave you a nudge. You did all the hard work.”

Cupping your face in his hands, he gazed at you earnestly. “Never doubt your strength, or hide your struggles from me, okay? Ask me anything, I’ll give them all to you.”

You nodded, heart brimming with love for this man.

When you’re annoyed at him.

“Satoru, I swear if you don’t stop messing around I’m going to—argh!” you yelled in exasperation.

The infuriating man just laughed, dancing easily out of your reach as you swiped at him. He had been pestering you all morning with juvenile pranks and teasing remarks, fraying your last nerve.

“Aww, is someone a wittle gwumpy today?” he taunted in a baby voice.

You saw red. Lunging forward, you tackled him to the ground. Caught off guard for once, he landed hard on his back with a grunt. You pinned him in place with your body weight, glaring down at him.

“Call me grumpy one more time and I’ll show you just how nasty my mood is,” you growled.

Gojo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

“Well, damn, baby. I love it when you get feisty with me,” he purred. His hands came up to grip your hips suggestively.

You swatted them away in irritation. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m still mad at you.”

Rolling off him, you crossed your arms with a huff. Gojo sat up, smile fading.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry for riling you up too much,” he grins. “Didn’t realize you were actually that annoyed with me.”

Your anger deflated at the apology. He may act like a brat sometimes, but Gojo is always quick to make amends when he crosses a line—well, only for you, at least. (Don’t tell Geto and Utahime about this!)

With a sigh, you uncrossed your arms. “It’s fine. I overreacted too.” Glancing over at him sheepishly, you added, “And I know I’ve been… prickly lately. The stress has just put me in a bad mood.”

Between juggling studying, missions, and training, you had been spread thin. Gojo’s antics had been the last straw.

He scooted closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for. I should’ve realized you needed me to dial it down and help you decompress.”

Leaning into him, you gave a tired smile. “Well, tackling you did feel pretty therapeutic, actually.”

Gojo’s laughter rumbled against you. “See? Violence solves everything!” he joked, squeezing you playfully.

You push his chest slightly, but couldn’t help chuckling too. Only Gojo could vex you one minute and make you laugh the next.

He pressed a conciliatory kiss to your temple. “Tell you what, why don’t you go take a nice long bath to relax while I make us dinner?”

The offer was extremely tempting after the high-stress week you’d had.

“That does sound really nice,” you admitted. “But you don’t have to cook, I’m sure I could throw something—”

He held up a hand. “Nope, you just focus on unwinding. Doctor Gojo’s orders.”

The mental image of him in a doctor’s coat and nothing else briefly distracted you. At your silence, he grinned knowingly. “I’ll take that as an agreement to my plan.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood and stretched. “Fine, you win this round.”

“I always do,” he retorted cockily.

True to his word, Gojo prepared a delicious meal while you soaked in the tub. The aromas wafting in from the kitchen made your stomach rumble eagerly.

By the time you made it downstairs, the table was set with your favorites. Gojo greeted you with a flourishing bow.

“For the lovely lady, a feast fit for a queen.”

You laughed at his antics, touched by the effort. Over dinner he kept the conversation light, making you laugh recounting silly stories. For the first time all week, you felt your tension finally easing.

Later, as you lounged together on the couch, Gojo spoke up softly. “Feeling more relaxed now?”

You nodded, snuggling closer. “Definitely. Thank you for all this, it was just what I needed.”

Strong arms wrapped securely around you. “I’ll always be here to take care of you, no matter what.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Even when you get grumpy and violent with me,” he added teasingly.

You groaned. “Ugh, I’m sorry for tackling you like that.”

“What do you mean? I loved it,” he said, weirdly eager about it. “Seeing you all fired up and feisty was incredibly hot.”

“You’re so weird.”

“You know you love me,” he shot back smugly.

Rolling your eyes, you stretched up to kiss him. “Hmm, you’re right.”

He just loves everything about you.

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”

Gojo’s voice boomed across the crowded hall, quieting the others in this luxurious restaurant he took you on a date with after high school graduation.

“Thank you. Now I know speeches aren’t usually allowed during meals, but I convinced the manager here to let me have the floor for a few minutes.” He flashed his most charming grin. “After all, it’s not every day a man gets to proudly proclaim the love of his life to a crowd.”

Your eyes widened in surprise as he pulled you up to stand up with him. Taking both your hands, he continued earnestly.

“This person right here is the most incredible human being I’ve ever met. Smart, strong, kind-hearted, and breathtakingly beautiful.”

Murmurs spread through the hall listening raptly. You felt your cheeks grow warm at the public praise. Trust Gojo to be so shamelessly romantic.

He went on, tone utterly sincere beneath the dramatics. “Her passion for helping others inspires me daily. The way she fights with skill and compassion in equal measure is a marvel to watch.”

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a folded piece of paper. “I could spend hours listing all the reasons she amazes me, which is why I wrote it down.” Winking, he unfurled the lengthy scroll with a flourish, clearing his throat.

“Ahem… ‘The top 100 things I love about my girlfriend, revised edition’. Reason one…”

Your jaw dropped as he proceeded to read the entire list out loud to the captive audience.

It was mortifying. It was ridiculous.

It was so utterly Gojo.

As he extolled your praises, you buried your flaming face in his shoulder. “You’re crazy, you know that?” you mumbled against his suit.

He just chuckled and kept reading. “Reason 37, The way she scrunches her nose at me when I tell a bad joke…”

Despite your embarrassment, warmth blossomed in your chest. Trust Gojo to turn a simple dinner into a grand spectacle of devotion.

When he finally finished, he rolled up the scroll with a flourish and grinned down at you. “Of course, the list could go on forever. But I think I’ve sufficiently made my point.”

Cupping your face in his hands, he said loud enough for all to hear, “You are the love of my life. My soulmate. My one and only.” Then he brought his lips to yours in a fiercely passionate kiss.

Catcalls and applause erupted from the watching audience you (and him) don’t even know. But you were deaf to it all, lost in Gojo’s embrace.

When you broke for air, faces still inches apart, he murmured, “I’ll spend every day finding new reasons to love you.”

Emotion clogged your throat. You had gotten used to his easy affection and endless praise over the time. But this loud, public proclamation was on another level entirely.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your feelings laid as bare as his.

Ignoring the continued hoots and chatter around you, Gojo lifted you effortlessly in his arms.

“Now then, I believe we have some private celebrating to do,” he purred suggestively in your ear.

“You’re terrible. What am I going to do with you?” You laugh in happiness.

“I can think of a few ideas,” he replied with a sly wink.

As he carried you out of the hall, you shook your head in amusement. Life with Gojo was never boring, that was for sure.

In between chaotic battles and daily life responsibilities, your relationship has grown into something truly profound. A partnership built on unwavering trust, passion, and laughter.

Gojo adored you loudly and unapologetically, just as you loved him.

And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Also writing this as a practice dump for my upcoming English creative writing competition lol

1K notes · View notes

ki-yomii · 2 months

Text

personal taste | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 1.3k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; established relationship, teasing, bent in half, premature ejaculation, implied cum play, implied oral (f receiving), inexperienced!jk ➥ summary | jungkook gets a little too excited and cums early, but he's more than happy to make it up to you. ➥ notes | ✌️idk man, its 2 am. i hope you enjoy lol

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It was safe to say Jungkook wasn’t the most experienced of lovers when you first get together. Idol life consumed his adolescence, and by the time he’s a young adult, too many eyes are on his every waking move.

A quick affair is rarely worth the effort, and the ones that are leave much to be desired. Relegated to liquor-soaked make-out sessions, and quick, dirty fucks that leave him filled with more sweat and regret than satisfaction.

You’d only been dating a few months when he divulged why he got so jumpy any time your hand grazed his thigh, why he broke off your kisses before they got too heated.

He was adorably shy when he expressed how anxious he was about his performance in the bedroom; how the reality might not live up to your expectations.

But he shouldn’t have worried, having more than made up for any shortcomings with his eager to please attitude and boundless enthusiasm.

The number of times you’ve had sex since getting together can be counted on one hand, but he’s leaps and bounds ahead of where he was when you first started being intimate.

It certainly helps that Jungkook is a dedicated student; throwing himself, as he does with everything in life, full throttle into any and all efforts to learn the secrets of your body.

A quick learner, it isn’t long before he can make you cum with a skillful twist of his fingers, a harsh rut of the hips that settles him so deep inside your pussy, your thighs tremble.

Not only is he able to wring orgasm after orgasm out of you, his stamina is insane. Almost to the point where you’re having trouble keeping up with him, having to take little breaks between rounds to gulp down water and catch your breath.

So… when it happens, it’s altogether unexpected.

But so fucking filthy hot you’re pretty sure you astral project to a higher plane of existence.

You’d been teasing him all day: the brush of your hand across his ass, the skim of your knuckles over the crotch of his pants, pressing close against the wide berth of his back and whispering soft, nasty little nothings into his ear.

Delighting in the blush that crept up the sides of his neck. The cherry red burn of his ears as he gulped, readjusting himself before shooting you a glare.

Jungkook lasts longer than you give him credit for, though that’s most likely due to his competitive streak. He breaks all the same; however, shoving you into his bedroom as soon as the door to his apartment closes behind you.

So needy and desperate he can’t wait any longer, even if the rest of the boys are due to arrive in an hour.

You only just got undressed, the bed creaking under the combination of your weights when he cages you beneath him. His chest flexes with every hurried breath, his ribs expanding with labored puffs of air. His cock bullies its way inside your pussy, hips slotting into place against yours.

“J-Jungkook,” you whine, your toes digging into his sides as your thighs fall open across his. “So deep, I - haaah -”

The fat head of his cock nudges against your cervix with every little rut, sparks of pain fissioning out and deepening the warmth fizzling behind your belly button.

Thick and long, he stuffs your pussy to the brim every time without fail, stretching you wide until tears cling to your lashes and your nails dig into his shoulders.

It hurts no matter how long he spends prepping you, but you like it better this way. The pain only enhances the pleasure; deepens, and darkens.

And knowing he has to force his cock those last few inches because your pussy can’t take it without assistance always riles you up.

Makes you needy and desperate to take everything he can give like a good girl.

“Mm, I know, baby,” Jungkook’s breath hitches as his teeth tug on his lip ring, his eyes - half lidded and greedy - shadowed by the sweaty curtain of his bangs, “Feels so ffuh - fucking good inside you.”

“Hhn!” Your fingers inch up the corded muscles of his forearms, caressing over the whorls of ink as they shackle themselves to his elbows as he bends you in half. “Right there, right there. Jus like - ohmygod! - like that.”

Jungkook grunts, rocking into the cradle of your hips harder, the shaft of his cock dragging almost completely out only to slide to the hilt in one thrust. His pelvis grinds against the swollen bud of your clit as he holds himself there, your slick smearing into his skin.

He curses under his breath when your walls flutter, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Shit! Don’t - don’t do that, baby. I can’t - hnggg - I can’t -”

And then his cock throbs hard once, twice.

A litany of soft, breathy exhalations of pure pleasure accompanies the slick echo of your bodies crashing together. Then his head bends low, the dark briar of his hair clinging to his temples. His jaw drops slack, and a devastated moan punches out of his throat.

Muscles ripple into a full body shiver, Jungkook’s sharp hips stuttering against the backs of your thighs. Sticky warmth floods your cunt, and his hazy, lust-blown eyes stare into yours as he pumps you full of cum.

You groan, blinking up at him, “Did you just-?”

Jungkook’s arms buckle.

Flopping down onto you, a sweaty, panting mess, he tucks his hot face into the crook of your neck. Moist breath puffs across your skin, a ticklish awareness skittering down your spine. Goosebumps rise along your arms.

His heartbeat hammers against your ribs.

“Yeah, I - I…” Jungkook huffs, his nose dragging over the length of your collarbone, tongue flicking over your skin when he licks his lips. “I did. ‘m sorry, baby.”

Breathing in through your nose, you card a hand through his sweaty hair. Swallow down the pleading whines sitting on the tip of your tongue. You don’t want to embarrass him any more than he probably is.

He hasn’t cum this quick since the early days, and you’d rather not ruin the evening by making him spiral.

So even when your pussy flutters, trapped on the edge of an orgasm as his cum leaks out of you, you bite down on your impulses. Resign yourself to being horny for the foreseeable future until you can sneak away and take care of yourself with a vibrator.

“It’s alright, Kook. It happens.”

Your eyes close, and you breathe through your nose, trying to calm the gallop of your heartbeat.

Relaxing seems almost impossible with Jungkook’s constant shifting, but you try your best to get your body on the same page as your mind.

Only for all efforts to go to waste when Jungkook shimmies down between your thighs. The tips of his hair tickle your skin, your lower belly jumping at the sensation.

Furrowing your brow, you peek down at your boyfriend. “Kook, what’re you--?”

Broad palms caress your hips, Jungkook using his thumbs to trace over the jut of bone. His chest glitters under the light, the muscles shifting under his skin almost mesmerizing as he settles on his belly. Forearms hook over the tops of your thighs, and his dark eyes flash with hunger.

His mouth pulls up into an impish smirk. “Can I?” he asks, dropping his gaze to the apex of your thighs. “Please?”

He giggles when he sees how flustered you get. Syrupy sweet, boyish; altogether too endearing for the current circumstances.

“...Are you serious?”

You can’t deny the fresh wave of desire the thought brings - Jungkook with his thick fingers, his tender mouth and soft tongue stroking over swollen, abused flesh - but flap a hand between your bodies in a vague gesture all the same.

“Isn’t that kind of - you just, y’know?”

You aren’t the only one affected by the idea, Jungkook’s cock jerking feebly where it rests against his thigh. A pink tongue flicks out to run along the length of his red-bitten bottom lip, toying with his lip ring as his teeth sink into the soft flesh.

He regards you with predatory anticipation.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I’ve always wondered what we taste like. Please let me.”

Well… who are you to refuse?

#jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #bts x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook fic

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theambitiouswoman · 10 months

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The quality of your life is directly related to the quality of your:

Thoughts: Our thoughts shape our perception of the world and influence our emotions and actions.

Words: The words we choose to express ourselves can affect our relationships, self-esteem, and how others perceive us.

Food: Proper nutrition and a balanced diet are essential for our physical health and mental well-being. The quality of the foods we consume can impact our energy, mood, and our vitality.

Sleep: Sufficient quality sleep is crucial for rejuvenation, cognitive function, and emotional well-being.

Fitness: Regular physical activity and exercise have numerous benefits for our physical and mental health. Fitness activities increase energy, improve mood, and contribute to our overall health.

Purpose: Having a sense of purpose and meaning in life provides direction and motivation. Identifying and pursuing our passions, values, and goals will enhance life satisfaction and fulfillment.

Environment: Our surroundings can influence our mood, productivity, and our health. Creating an environment that is comfortable, organized, and aligned with our preferences can positively impact our quality of life.

Relationships: Healthy and meaningful relationships play a vital role in our happiness. Nurturing positive connections, open communication, and positive networks will contribute to a higher quality of life.

#health and wellness #mental health #healthy living #wellness #healthy lifestyle #fitness #healthy relationship #personal improvement #personal development #personal growth #health is wealth

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sulieykte · 7 months

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𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒘𝒐 - 𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕

pairing: neteyam x na'vi!reader warnings: smut under the cut mdni, aged up character, semi-consensual somnophilia (surprise but prior consent given), oral f receiving, fingering, soft!dom neteyam, barely proofread word count: 700+ masterlist | taglist

“Neteyam?”

Your voice is less than a whisper as you rouse from a deep and blissful slumber. You had passed out with no effort made to redress yourself after a scarce night of intense passion. Each moment you were able to steal with each other was more precious since the birth of your second child. Neteyam had barely given you a chance to hand over your youngest to his mother before he was dragging you onto the back of his ikran.

Under the stars, you’d made the most of the time you had alone, Neteyam burying himself deep inside of you again and again until you were confident you’d be returning home blessed with another child. Spent and in a state of bliss, your eyes had barely been able to stay open as you watched Neteyam settle in for the night, cushioning his head with your ass.

You really should have known that he planned to wake you in your favourite way.

His response is a contented murmur that vibrates against your clit and has you pushing back against his face until a hand comes down onto your lower back, pressing you back into the grass.

“Just relax, paskalin. Let me take care of you.” He leans over you, placing a kiss on your forehead, your sleepy eyes taking in his breath-taking features, enhanced by your slick that already decorated his chin. You needed no more encouragement to rest your head on your folded arms and let your eyelids flutter shut.

He peppers his way down your spin with gentle kisses that have you sighing into the crook of your elbow until he reaches his destination. With two fingers, he spreads your folds, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air, admiring his view before he chases away the cold with the heat of his tongue.

His hand snakes under your body, wrapping around your stomach as he presses his face further into your folds, devouring you as if he was famished and it was all he needed for sustenance.

The harmony of your soft moans and the obscene sounds of Neteyam lapping at your cunt filled the silence of the forest and any lingering drowsiness was chased away as he wrapped his lips around your clit.

Your clench around nothing as the ecstasy builds in your core, Neteyam's grasp around your stomach keeping you in place, allowing you little more movement than a rock of your hips as you try to press yourself further against him.

With a look over your shoulder, you meet his eyes, the glint of satisfaction clear in them as he watches you unravel underneath him, your mouth open in a silent cry as he pushes two fingers inside you. With a curl of his fingers, you come undone on his tongue.

He doesn't need to say anything for you to know that you're expected to hold his gaze, even as your eyes water with the intense pleasure that has you clutching at the grass beneath you, your eyes never leave his hungry stare.

His grip around your waist loosens and gives you freedom to ride out your high as you rock back against his tongue and fingers until you can't take it any longer and collapse forward, his fingers still lazily pumping into you and his tongue lapping up your arousal until you whine and wiggle your hips free from him. He crawls over your body and presses a soft kiss against your neck before rolling onto his side next to you.

"Good morning." He greets you with a grin, pushing your hair behind your ear so he could see your face. His fingers trace the edge of your lips and you happily open your mouth for him, tasting your arousal as he presses them as deep as they can go, holding them there until he's happy that you've sufficiently cleaned them off.

“A very good morning.” You agree after you release his fingers with a pop. “You didn’t want to wait for me to start?” You ask with a laugh, snuggling yourself into his chest as he accepts you into his arms.

“Ah– Paskalin, you should’ve seen yourself. So beautiful.” He laughs, pulling you tighter into his embrace. “Waiting any longer would’ve been torture.”

taglist: (if your tag doesn’t work please check your settings) @pandoraslxna @teyamsatan @neteyamsoare @eyweveng @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @neteyamsyawntu @goodbird1 @avatarsslut @amora16447 @wonderfully-made-andi @blue-slxt @loaksulluyswife @multibishh @neteyamyawne @qweq-6802

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heavenlyvision · 1 month

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Hcs about reader giving the lin kuei brothers head for the first since?🌝

GIVING LIN KUEI TRIO HEAD 🌚 pairing: Bi-Han/reader | Kuai Liang/reader | Tomas Vrbada/reader wc: 1.4k warnings: 18+ only, smut, blowjobs, cum swallowing, gender neutral reader, no pronouns used !! <3 a/n; it took me a long time to get to this request, I'M SO SORRY >_> i have many and it's a little overwhelming but i hope you enjoy anon !!! <333 MDNI | SMUT UNDER CUT

BI-HAN ---------------

⟢ giving Bi-Han head for the first time would involve a lot of him taking lead and also being careful as to not push you too far ⟢ he feels vulnerable when like that, to be solely receiving pleasure would give him pause ⟢ not to say he wouldn’t enjoy it; he’d enjoy getting his dick sucked immensely ⟢ having your mouth wrapped around him, would make him insane, his cock would be twitching and leaking profusely for you, the sounds he’d make grunted and supressed, not wanting to show just how much you affect him ⟢ he wouldn’t push on your head, not the first time anyways, he’d have his hand resting against the back of your head or neck though, letting you know who’s in charge here, he has control, no matter how much you’re unravelling him right now ⟢ it’s not completely true, you’d lick at the tip of his cock a certain way and he could swear he’s seen some kind of deity, his mind falling apart the more you slurp and suck at him ⟢ the more you pull him apart, the more his words would escape him, he’d mumble all kinds of praises and encouragements to you, never wanting you to stop ⟢ you’d take him all the way to the back of your throat and hold him there, he’d nearly go cross eyed, fighting with himself to look down at you, needing to see the pathetic look on your face when his cock is so deep inside your mouth, he’d want to see the sloppy state you’re in, he’d have to see it ⟢ he’d still want to be gentle with you but his hips would be fighting the urge to thrust, twitching, wanting to fuck your face until you’re crying, wanting to see your cheeks stained in tears ⟢ having your mouth on him, it’s like a slice of heaven he doesn’t think he’s quite worthy of ⟢ to have you on your knees for him and taking his dick without any complaints, being so willing to please, it would fill him with a deep sense of satisfaction and happiness ⟢ knowing you trust him so deeply, enough so to let him have you this powerless for him, it enhances his pleasure by tenfold ⟢ the best part of you giving him head, for him anyways, is the intimacy, he wouldn’t be soft and caring but it’s an incredibly intimate act for him, to let you be the one rendering him this useless, is a vulnerable state and to him, that’s as intimate as he can really get ⟢ he’d also love how much of a fucking mess you’d be after he’s cum in your mouth, loving the way you swallow his load, how you’ve drooled all over your chin and how your eyes are all glassy and wet from just how deeply you got his dick in your mouth

KUAI LIANG ---------------

⟢ offering Kuai Liang head would make his head spin, he’d want to make sure you’re okay with it, that you’re completely willing, and once he’s sure of that, he’s more than ready to have you on your knees for him ⟢ your mouth on him would make him melt, he wouldn’t be able to help the way he almost immediately wants to thrust into your mouth ⟢ he’s verbal with how well you’re doing, his hand would stroke your head and cheek, cooing at you, telling you how amazing you look with his dick in your mouth ⟢ he’d let you have this, letting you choose your pace, he’d want you to pull him apart how you want to ⟢ it’s a shared act, he’d love how worked up it would get you, part of what he would love is how much it affects you ⟢ he’s a tease and he’s no different when receiving head, even if he’s a mess from your ministrations, he’d still huff out comments on how cute it is that you’re getting worked up from this ⟢ he’d hold off for as long as he could but at some point his hand is on the back of your head and he’d guiding you up and down the length of his cock, making sure you’re okay with it, needing communication even when you can’t reply verbally ⟢ he’s gentle about it but he also can’t help but be a little bit greedy, he’s worked up, dick ridiculously hard, he’s guiding you just a bit, to make sure you know just how he likes it ⟢ when he’s sure you understand, he’d loosen up a bit, letting you choose how you want to proceed, a moan ripped from him when you choose to slurp him all the way down and choke on him a bit, hand fondling his balls lightly ⟢ his whole body would short circuit and twitch for you, his mind leaving him, too lost in the feel of your mouth ⟢ his control would slip almost completely, you’d have rendered him speechless, his only ability being to moan and rolls his hips lightly, his pelvis grinding into your nose ⟢ his orgasm would be sudden to both of you, his cum spilling down your throat completely, his brows would be creased tight as you keep your mouth on him and just take his whole load ⟢ he’d love the scene of watching you slide your mouth off his cock, licking and cleaning him as you go, the view obscene and the noises worse, his gaze would be intense, carefully watching your mouth, your tongue, he’d never forget just how well you did for him ⟢ his heart would be pounding in his ears and he’d damn near go blind from how you lick up the mess he’s made of himself, the image is imprinted in his memories for life

TOMAS ---------------

⟢ Tomas would be hesitant; he enjoys giving more than receiving but he’s also willing to let you do whatever you want with him ⟢ he’d be complimenting you the whole time, his touch gentle and his comments encouraging, kind, complimentary ⟢ he’s careful not to disrupt you, wanting you to do what you want to do, he doesn’t want to ruin the pace you’ve set ⟢ his words would garble together, word slurring the longer you’d tease him, his thighs shaking and his abs tensing, hands clenching into fits at his sides, not wanting to grab at you, well he would want to grab at you, so badly, but he wants you to enjoy this too ⟢ he doesn’t mind giving you this control, he adores that you’re letting him stick his dick in your mouth, he’s elated about it even ⟢ his mind reeling with how he got so lucky, at some point he would even probably be thinking of what he can do after to return the favour, his pleasure heightened by thoughts of all the pleasure he could give you himself ⟢ knowing that you wanted to do this for him would drive him wild in a different way as well, knowing that you like his pleasure just as much as he enjoys yours would make his cock ache ⟢ he’d be messy, just a complete and utter mess everywhere, your mouth making it worse but he’d also be leaking so much precum that it’d make both your heads spin, his inner thighs sticky from it and your saliva ⟢ his head would lull on his shoulder, he’d be completely pliable, just letting you suck the soul out of him ⟢ the more far gone he’d get, the more his hips would jerk and the harder it would be for him to fight it off, his limbs feeling borderline boneless ⟢ he’d be so vocal for you, verbally and just audibly in general, the way you’d moan on him when he’d groan and whimper from the pleasure would have him loosening his lips a little more, still trying to please you, even when dumb from desire ⟢ he’d love staring at you the whole time, eye contact is huge for him and making sure you know he’s watching you is important to him, the only time he ever directs you, being to make sure you look at him ⟢ his balls would pull so tight and he’d be nearly disappointed he couldn’t last longer, never wanting this to end but also wanting to see how you look with his cum in your mouth ⟢ he’d almost be sad to see you swallow it all, obsessed with how it dribbles out the corners of your mouth and down your neck ⟢ he’d think, next time, he’s asking you to hold it in your mouth, just a little longer

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jilixthinker · 3 months

Text

blackholes

=͟͟͞♡ jisung × fem!reader

=͟͟͞♡ parallel universes au

word count: 7.4K

synopsis: you can delude yourself and wait for the paint to dry and take away the evil. but the only truth, unique and unchanging, is that pain only creates more pain. you can close your eyes and believe otherwise, imagine another ending. but when you wake up, jisung is still sick and his illness is eating him from the inside.

content warning: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), angst, depression, mention of suicide, drinking and smoking, sufference, eventual happy ending (?)

=͟͟͞♡ please, consider reblogging if you like my works!

A drop of crimson red paint is tapping on the ground at a regular rhythm. At first glance, to someone who is not trained to know how to observe, it might even look like blood. The fingertips from which the paint is dripping off are moving slowly over the paper, searching for the weak spot on the canvas. There is always one, where the fabric gives in and the color soaks deeper. The fingers probe its full extent until a small smile of intimate satisfaction appears in your face.

The breaking point is within the body portrayed on the canvas, right in the center of his forehead. It sparkles a little like an Indian diamond, and you dip the tip of your brush in the red paint that previously soiled your fingers. At the bottom corner to the right, near the tapered shape of the feet you have just finished painting, you trace a few words.

pain creates love.

The young man on the canvas is dazzlingly beautiful. His eyes are night onyx, deep as lagoons. His lips are the color of ripe cherries, swollen and tumid. He is portrayed nude, legs spread wide and arms outstretched toward the viewer. He exudes eroticism from every angle, yet he is far from vulgar. A few strands of inky hair hide the pale, flushed skin on his cheekbones. Slender, elegant fingers are stretched out to their full length as if to grasp the air. There is no background. The only foreign element to that body is the canopy on which the boy is slumped. The draped sheets caress his figure enhancing his nakedness without covering it. The only dissonant note in that marvelous sensual work, the only weak point, is the too-hinted blush on his forehead. It's almost not noticeable if you lose yourself in the full beauty of the portrait, but you see it, because you painted it and because it's part of the canvas, part of the subject. And it is singular, as him.

"It's a masterpiece".

The voice is off-screen, as if it's coming from another world. You don't turn to check who it belongs to, but you keep staring at your painting. The sound of small footsteps unravels in the air of the room. The parquet floor creaks at every inch.

"I am not fully satisfied with it".

You run the back of your hand over the fabric, as if the epidermis could erase the color and replace it with a different image. The voice approaches you from behind and blows a crystalline laugh as his shadow reflects off the picture, obscuring the white of the canopy.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. What's wrong with it?"

As you move your gaze from the painting to turn around, the exact copy of the boy portrayed on the canvas stands out in all his glory in front of you. His shower-wet hair frames his ephebic features like a wreath, and a tiny smile illuminates his face in a cascade of light.

"It's not like the original".

The boy shakes his head and time freezes. A few drops of water land on your neck.

"It doesn't have to be".

Sharpened fingers curl around the closed collar of your shirt and begin to loosen it. Button by button, the fabric slips off your figure and the young man in front of you kneels down to slip off your shirt and deposit hundreds of tiny kisses on your hands. When he stands up again, he approaches your body and touches it, appreciating every inch of it and covering it with attention. You lift you face and bite his cheek, losing yourself in the soothing smell of Sunday sex.

Pain creates love, you are quite certain of it. Loving someone who suffers means loving every single portion of their pain and making it your own. It is not easy to desire something so abstract, but there are people who try, with soul, body, bones and sweat. Some succeed, some fail, and some keep trying. You cannot identify yourself in any of these categories. You only knows that you love, unconditionally, without a specific goal. You love so much that the pain is now only the frame to a picture of yours, you love so much that the Indian diamond on the boy's forehead becomes almost invisible to your eyes. Almost.

You can delude yourself and wait for the paint to dry and take away the evil. But the only truth, unique and unchanging, is that pain only creates more pain. You can close your eyes and believe otherwise, imagine another ending. But when you wake up, Jisung is still sick and his illness is eating him from the inside.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You meet Jisung in the twilight of his nineteen years, when he is just a little lump of insecurity and imagination. He clutches a vanilla coffee in his left hand and a briefcase in his right, crammed with story incipits that he will never finish. He dropped out of school to become one of those freelance writers you see on the covers of magazines for intellectuals, the ones who live in unpronounceable French towns and smoke mint cigarettes while sipping aged cognacs. It must not be bad, he thinks, to be envied while basking in your self admiration.

When Jisung sees you, he is leaving creative writing school, and you are leaving art school. You have a white palette under your arm, open apron smeared with oil paints, and nose sniffing the air. In fact, Jisung doesn't really have time to see you, because fate plans to make him trip over you, causing his vanilla coffee to spill all over your pants.

With his face on fire and the excuse of dry cleaning to repay for the damage, you two get acquainted. Jisung discovers that you smoke mint cigarettes, like French writers. No cognac though, you say. You prefer gin. It goes down faster and helps me come up with new ideas for painting.

Jisung asks to see one of your works, but your condition is of him posing as a model for your next portrait assignment, because you had been looking for a face like his for months. Jisung lets you beg for a while, but then he capitulates in front of another coffee.

You live alone in a loft on the fifth floor of a suburban building. The apartment is a hellish mess and it almost looks as if a tornado has swept through the living room, bathroom and kitchen, mixing the different furnishings together. You invite Jisung to sit wherever he wants, assuming he can find a seat.

You silently eat two bowls of instant ramen and then dangle awkwardly in front of each other, thinking about what to say. After a few minutes Jisung breaks the silence and asks you to see your portraits. You dig through the easels piled against the wall before handing him a few palettes.

The portraits are not refined. In fact, that's the reason you are going to art school. You cannot seem to maintain proper proportions between the various body parts you draw. In the first painting you show Jisung, the woman's hands on the canvas are too big and stubby, in the second the eyes are exaggeratedly spaced apart, and in the third the legs are so crooked that they almost seem to belong to two different people. In spite of everything, Jisung fails to give those mistakes the connotation of flaws, because there is something that compels him to stay looking at them without speaking.

While Jisung stares absently at the portraits, you flip through the half-told stories you found in his briefcase and reads fragments of disconnected sentences with a lazy smile on your lips. Jisung reflects for the time of three cigarettes before looking at you and stating that he is ready to be drawn.

When you get up to gather your brushes and paints, out of the corner of your eyes you see the boy becoming pale and widening his eyes. A split second later, the canvas slips from Jisung's hands, crashing to the floor with a reverberating noise.

You don't have time to process what happened because Jisung runs quickly toward the exit, almost crashing against the walls. He runs down the stairs as fast as he can, tripping over his feet, hitting the steps with each step and leaving you, alone in your apartment, one hand extended toward the door, clutching the rarefied air.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"You remind me of someone I've seen before".

The second time you and Jisung met, he has the time to hide behind an alley, because it's easier not to be asked questions if you have something to hide. In this case, you happen to turn on that very alley and you find yourself in front of Jisung, curled in a quivering ball of shame. After assuring him more than once that you don't care if he broke the canvas and ruined the portrait, you convince him to have another cup of coffee together because you will never find a face like his for your painting.

You drink unsweetened black espresso, steaming hot to the limits of what is possible to drink. Jisung looks at you with an horrified look as he opens the third sugar packet and melts the grains inside his vanilla drink.

"Who?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure. Your hands".

Jisung glows and hides his flushed face behind his coffee.

"What's wrong with my hands?"

"They are vaguely erotic".

You lazily runs your fingers over Jisung's manicured nails.

"Thank you?"

"I'd like to paint those too. If you want to. You must promise not to run away and leave me alone like an idiot though".

Jisung stares out the coffee shop window and counts the drops that go condensed in the corners of the glass, Your voice is just a shade in the picture in front of him.

"Mh".

"Can I read something you wrote?"

"Didn't you already do that at your house a few weeks ago?"

"Jisung, come on, I want to read something serious".

"I'll pretend I didn't hear".

You smile andd curl your lips around your glass.

"You don't tell me that's all you wrote?"

"No. Of course not".

"Thank God. Those stories were really cheap".

You barely have time to shield your face behind your arms before Jisung's indigned look - along with his fists - dumps a shower of insults on you. It takes him a few minutes before he realizes that, hey I was just kidding, and he stops swearing.

You stand outside of the coffee shop shortly afterward, huddling under a horrible slime colored umbrella. You shove a mint cigarette between your lips and ask Jisung if he wants to try.

Jisung spends the next half hour coughing and cursing in all the languages of the world.

"You're not really suited to be a writer".

Jisung kicks you lightly and chuckles half offended as he watches you prance around on one foot yowling like a wounded puppy. Then you pull him by the hood of his jacket and smother your last words over his mouth. His comment on the kiss is anything but an insult. Jisung bites his lips and thinks that maybe you are right.

He doesn't tell you, though.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"What happened the first time at my house?"

"What are you talking about? "

"The painting".

"I thought we had already talked about that".

"Indeed. I'm not interested in the painting itself".

"It slipped from my hands".

Jisung looks down and you don't believe him for a second. You finish brushing the bluish sky and wipe your hands on the apron. You watch the canvas, but it's useless. You weren't able to paint decently for months.

"It doesn't matter. I couldn't paint anything anyway".

Jisung barely nods and closes his eyes. He squeezes his thighs together and rocks in his chair, absorbing the faint winter rays of light on his skin.

"Do blind people dream?"

You watch Jisung tensing his back like a cat and stretching slowly, making his spine creak.

"It depends. If they are blind from birth maybe they only dream of sounds".

Jisung opens his eye and observes you, illuminated by the light. He looks almost like a beam of the whitest sun, his hair is tousled and his lips chapped by the wind.

"What do you think is worse, being born without sight or losing it over time?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"I don't know".

You twist your mouth because Jisung tells that he doesn't know to a lot of things and you can never figure out if it's because he doesn't want to answer or because he really doesn't know. You pretend to be mad at it, but the facade doesn't even last two seconds. Jisung is like that anyway. You love his everything or you don't love anything at all.

"I think it's worse to never have the chance to see colors, or the sun".

He gets up from the stool and sits in your lap, staring at an indefinite spot on your face. You stand still for several minutes without speaking, then Jisung rubs his forehead against your cheek.

"If I couldn't see, what would you do?"

"I'd be painting with words".

Jisung kisses you and you end up flying outside the universe, navigating purple galaxies in the space constellation, running through the Milky Way and on a bridge leading to the end of the world.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"I don't feel like playing anymore".

Jisung, sitting on the wooden chair, looks at the window in an absorbed manner. He crosses his ankles and wrinkles his nose as if to chase away an annoying thought.

"I am bored. I've been sitting in this position for almost two hours".

You let out a soft grunt as you pick up a multitude of dried up tubes of paint from a ceramic jar.

"You are just being bratty", you comment, resting the brush on the coffee table and rubbing your hands against each other to scrape off the remnants of color on your nails.

"What do you feel like doing?" you ask as you look up at him.

Jisung smiles and gets up from his small chair by sliding down part of the sheet that covered his hips.

"You are dirty", he says, beginning to absentmindedly touch his lower lip with his fingers.

"I will take a shower after this".

Jisung shakes his head slowly. He moistens his index and middle fingers with his pink tongue, sticking out of his mouth.

"I don't think so".

Another handful of small steps and he is in front of you, already crushed against the bones of you pelvis. With his hands he brings your neck close to his face and licks the skin exposed by your shirt, from your ear down to the collarbones. There he stops and sucks just enough to leave you with a red bruise.

"I'll clean you up", he moans, biting the patch of skin at the nape of your neck, near your hairline.

You scramble to the kitchen chair, pushed by Jisung's hands that are slipping off your shirt, and it's pointless to tell him that I can't be dirty there because he is wetting a path of bare skin down to your belly button. He sticks his tongue out and he swirls it slowly inside of it, then continues on the dimples above your hip bone.

You feel your leg muscles contracting and you clasp your hands around Jisung's shoulders, pushing him down and allowing him to curl up on the floor, a hungry expression on his face.

Jisung spreads his legs and you let your head loll against the wall behind you as he bites your skin and removes your pants. You feel a tender, raspy tongue lazily sucking on the inside of your thighs and nibbling at them slowly. His fingers cup your already sopping cunt and start moving, circling your entrance and smearing the slick on the skin around it.

Jisung's mouth is searing and his black eyes bottomless. His saliva seethes on your flesh as you tense your legs with tiny spasms each time you feel him biting closer and closer to your aching pussy. Maybe he is sucking away something else, buried deeper somewhere inside you as well, but you have no strength to think about it when Jisung finally makes up his mind and sucks your clit in between his lips.

You hold your breath and all of your blood drains from your brain to focus lower, warming where the other's mouth failed. The wet sound is obscenely filthy as his lips slide up and down along your drenching pussy, lapping at the thin, swollen skin of your lips.

Jisung alternates between spitting dribbles of saliva on your cunt and sliding his fingers inside of you, massaging your aching walls for a long time. When he harshly sucks your clit inside his mouth, he lets out a satisfied meow and closes his eyes, completely enraptured by his own ego, fulfilled while listening to your moans. His fingers grab the tender flesh of your butt and he sinks his nose into your cunt, sucking as vigorously as possible on your puffy clit.

When he feels the walls of your pussy contract around his fingers, he starts to thrust them slowly and takes his time to give kitten licks at your hardened nub, sucking only the tip of it with undulating motions.

You squint your eyes, press your hands on the back of Jisung's neck and you finally cum with a dull gasp. Jisung presses his thumb against his own lips, smearing your release on them. He stares at you with vicious eyes and swallows slowly, wiping his crimson lips with his fingertips.

"You are clean now".

You kiss him, biting hard on his lips and licking his chin and cheeks to remove all of the traces of your slick from his face. When you inhale the smell of his skin, you thank whoever is above or below for allowing you to possess him.

"You are my masterpiece".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The spring of Jisung's twentieth year has the dull, bland taste of rain. It rains all the time, every day. Flowers fail to sprout and the few that succeed, eventually rot.

Jisung began to smoke, even though he gave up on his writing career. It wasn't really suitable, all things considered. He smokes your mint cigarettes and lets the fresh flavor fill his mouth before blowing away the residue. When he looks out from behind the window glass at the water drops tapping on the puddles, he sighs sadly.

You are splayed on the sofa with your legs curled on the floor. You snort, and your voice is hoarse as if you had just woken up.

"Would you like some tea?".

"Uh".

Jisung throws the cigarette in a jar filled with soil. He clicks his tongue against his palate and heads to the kitchen to boil tap water in the pot. He looks for the fruit tea filters behind the pantry doors when he stops all of a sudden, feeling the flesh under his skin instantly freezing. He tries to focus on something, anything. He stares at the wall, he opens his lips and, instead of a cry, what comes out is a whisper.

"Baby".

Jisung trembles and stretches a hand out in front of him. His eyes water and overflow like rain. He squeezes the air with his fingers and his veins swell on his wrists, pulsing his blood down.

"Baby", he slurs again.

You lift your head from the back of the sofa and look at your boyfriend's shoulders hunched forward.

"What's the matter?"

Jisung crinkles his eyes even more and doesn't hold back a tear that lines his cheeks and wrinkles his round chin. He squints, and thousands shades of colors disappear. His muscles relax involuntarily, and he hears the sound of shattering shards as if his brain had detached from his own skullcap to navigate inside of the the cerebral fluid.

"Baby, where am I?"

You sprint to your feet at lightning speed and you hold up Jisung before he can crash to the floor. His head, as an unconditional reflex, lunges forward and slams back against your forehead.

"Where are you?"

Jisung thrashes against your chest and continues to shake with convulsive spasms. He grits his teeth and tries to slip out of your tight embrace.

I love you say I love you and you see me I see you tell me.

"I am here. I am behind you. I won't leave you", you try to soothe him.

He turns around in deluded strength and fumbles with his fingers in search of you face. He taps lips, eyes, hair, cheekbones, squeezes knuckles and bites his own tongue.

"I don't see you".

Jisung's voice trembles. He opens his mouth two or three times, but his words dry up like a desert. A breath of wind, and he speaks feebly.

"I see nothing".

no no no no no no no

"The painting too. I couldn't see it anymore. It didn't slipped from my hands".

Jisung is gushing like a raging river and in a split second he becomes aware of herself, of you, of everything floating in his mind.

"It wasn't there".

say I'm there and you see me because I'm here and I won't leave you say that-.

"It was just a black hole".

please

"I lied to you".

I don't want to

"I never told you how my mother died".

"Jisung".

"No. You have to listen to me".

You feel your throat burning as if someone was smoking inside your stomach. You can feel the aftertaste of ash in the mouth of your esophagus and you try to swallow. But nothing goes down.

"Do you know what glaucoma is?"

"I don't think I want to know".

"It's a disease that affects eyesight. Your eyes accumulate water until the internal pressure is too much. You can't feel pain. That's why it is diagnosed too late. It's like your eyes are drowning in tears".

You die a little with each word, as if Jisung is spewing ink, and you are an inkwell collecting phantom waste.

"She couldn't stand the idea of not being able to see anymore".

"You could not have-"

"I have it".

You feel like falling. You stumble and fall. You fall for an endless time, and you fall into a dark well. You don't touch the bottom and keep falling into the cold. You try to scream but that requires oxygen, and your lungs contract, spitting out carbon dioxide because there is no more oxygen in you. So you cling to the walls, crawl your fingers and flay you skin. A cry rumbles out, but the voice is not yours.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The first time you make love, Jisung feels broken. Not in the external sense of the act itself. He feels broken in a deeper place, where you cannot touch and where he didn't even know he could feel something. This is the reason why, in the middle of the intercourse, he starts crying and wets the sheets with salty tears. He cries so quietly that you don't even realize it.

"Paint me".

"What?"

Jisung rolls up between the covers and straddles you.

"I wish you would paint all the colors of the world on me".

He moans and rubs his nose against the protruding bones of your neck. Tears dry on the skin of his cheeks. When you taste the salt on your tongue, you softly bite his chin.

"Paint is bad for your skin, you know that?".

Jisung bursts out laughing, and you laugh too in response.

"I know, but I would like a sun on my stomach. Or on my back".

You clasp Jisung's hips in your hands, anchoring him to your waist.

"You are bright already".

"And a meadow, too, all over my arms. And light, everywhere. Beams of light all over my face. I want to shine in the night".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"You'll be there right? After".

"Where?"

"On the other side".

You slide the brush over Jisung's shoulders, lying on the floor with goose bumps caused from the cold tiles.

"Don't move".

There are empty liquor bottles scattered on the floor, with a bittersweet smell lingering in the room and permeating the walls. No light. Many unlit cigarette everywhere, a few blood stains - or perhaps paint - on Jisung's feet. You keep painting without seeing where you are passing the brush.

"I will follow you everywhere, if I can".

"You know that it won't be possible for you".

"I know".

You kiss the colors on his skin and Jisung tastes like sweat and burnt wood.

"But maybe it's better this way".

Jisung reaches out his arm and tentatively finds the neck of a bottle, brings it to his lips and drinks the clear liquid, letting a few drops slide down his chin to his nodular neck. Jisung picks up the alcohol with his fingertips and brings it to his eyes, pressing a little. It stings at first, but then he begins to see stars in front of him, so close he thinks he can gather them in the palm of his hand.

"Do you want me to open the window?" you ask.

Jisung shakes his head and pushes you against him, causing the brushes to fall from your hands. He clings to your back and pet your hair, smelling it and tasting it with his tongue.

"Did you take your medicine?"

Jisung shakes his head and searches for cigarettes inside his pants. He manages to find one and places it between your lips.

"It won't be so bad".

You inhale the smoke and blow it out somewhere in the darkness of the room. You rest your lips on Jisung's without kissing him, the dry taste of tobacco invades his throat and he smiles with the corners of his mouth.

"I have to take you to the sea, near the cliffs. I can paint the waves on your cheeks. We can even jump from very high if you want. Or you can sleep on the sand and taste the water".

Jisung pulls the smoking stick from your fingers and takes a wide puff of smoke, holding it inside himself as much as possible, then pulls you against him and opens his mouth, breathing into you.

"It will be fine, Jisung".

Jisung laughs and feels his throat tighten in a thorny grip. He gasps and pushes the lit cigarette on the back of his hand. He grits his teeth.

"How come I'm not sure?"

You take his lips in between your fingers and squeeze them until they open wide, then you move closer and whisper everything to him. You whisper the world and the universe.

you are light you are white and red you are scarlet you are perfect you are alive alive alive you are not the rain because it keeps raining and I will always wait for you on the other side always because you are alive and you are here it will be okay

And it should be okay, it should be right. Jisung would have kissed you and said it's true, it's always okay when you're here. But no, he pushes you on the chest and shrugs, his eyes blazing and his lips frozen.

"Listen to me. Outside, somewhere in this infinite universe, there is a parallel world. I know for a fact that it exists, just as I know that in that world everything is right, as it should be here. There is a Jisung running across the grass on a sunny day, and you are chasing after him and falling down in an attempt to catch him. There's the two of us laughing and drinking until dawn, throwing ourselves on the ground and hugging each other so we don't get cold. We have flowers on the balcony and dew in our hair. It never rains. The sun always shines. This world really exists, and it's beautiful. But what you have to understand - what I want you to understand - is that this world, this one, it's not that. This is the reality that hurts, the one where you have to pay a price for your life. We can't run across a meadow here, because you picked me and adopted me out of pity. You even managed to fall in love with me, and that's the wrongest thing you could have done. Because you could really be bright, you could really shine, have flowers on the balcony and dew in your hair. But you chose me. And this is not the world in which everything is right. This is the world in which I am fading, the world in which I am losing the color that you are so desperately trying to put on me. But look what happen, look".

Jisung gets up and you can feel his small body clawing in the dark inside the room to open the balcony door and go outside. The apartment is suddenly pervaded with a gray light, reflecting the color of the sky. You look at Jisung, naked, stiff and trembling under the raindrops falling from above.

Jisung pulls his lips up in a distorted smile.

"See?"

Water runs down his back and the paint drips on the soles of his feet, sliding down to his short, pink nails.

"The color melts under the rain. It only lasts a few seconds before I come back to be as transparent as your canvas. And this is not the world where the sun shines. These are blackholes. Life, light, nature, they are all projections in my head. But you. You can still make it. You don't have to follow me. Don't follow my selfishness".

"Jisung, I have to".

Jisung trembles and the water rushes over him. The reality mocks him and everything he can love.

"No, you want to".

don't come with me you are my love

"Don't follow me to the other side. You will fade too".

You clench your fists and watch the drops wetting the ephebic figure in front of you. Jisung comes to you and blows desolate words into your face.

"When I ask you to paint me, don't. When I ask you to pity me, don't. When I beg you to come with me, please, don't".

"No. I must follow you. Everywhere. As long as there are black holes, I will be behind you. As long as this world sucks. As long as I breathe".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

One night you close your eyes and, instead of the sea, you see boundless steppes and barren grasslands. After what seems like miles and miles of dry lands, inside a small depression - almost a pit - you see Jisung, curled onto himself, all naked and with his limbs tangled together, hidden from the world. You don't ask yourself why you can see such a small body at such a distance, but your muscles set into autonomous motion and you find yourself running in that direction.

After endless minutes, you reach what seems to be the final destination, but the pit gradually moves away from you. However, for some reason, you can still see Jisung swinging himself with his face pressed into the dry earth.

You speed up your run and you begin to feel your throat tightening as the first drops of sweat make their way onto your forehead. Shadows cast themselves in the barren ground, but they are distorted by the shadow of your own body and of the dim, suffocating light of the sun. The image of Jisung blurs for a few seconds, and when it becomes clear again, those same shadows are catapulted onto him as well. You lift your head and you see dozens, hundreds, thousands of hawks flying in circles over Jisung's ditch, which tightens and lengthens as it becomes deeper.

The last steps of your run are slow, while the first hawk descends in slow motion on Jisung's soft face and begins to do something to his cheeks. You see Jisung's cheekbones become parched, almost to the point you fear that a gust of wind will blow them away. The second hawk glides beside the other, and you cannot get the soles of your feet off the dusty ground as it begins, slowly, as if it was foretasting a feast, to peck at Jisung's moist eyes.

Soft tears continue to gush, tiny raindrops that can nothing against the infecundity of the place where they stand. The thousands of hawks fly inside the pit and peck at the remnants of that dead body, tearing it apart with their hooked beaks. They chew the skin and swallow Jisung's life, paralyzed in his grave.

After what seems like centuries, they soar together in their cruel dance of farewell. Your feet finally unclench, but it's no longer necessary, because Jisung now stands in front of you, perfect. The tender, rosy flesh barely flushed on his cheeks and the slender, trembling body almost hairless, beautiful.

without

eyes.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Jisung is tired. June is an agony of dampness spent under the sheets, and you spend countless nights hoping that Jisung's sobs will cease and he will finally sleep. July is no better. The heat is starting to get unbearable and Jisung wants to keep the windows closed, hooked shut, so that not a single draft of clean air can penetrate into the apartments. Along with that, he stops drinking.

You keep opening the windows, even if Jisung screams and cries like a baby, and you force his lips open with the help of your fingers, making him swallow some liquids. August is definitely a torture when he stops taking his painkillers and his stomach turns over, forcing him to vomit all day and all night.

There is no turning back now.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"Tell me".

There is so much smoke inside the room that even if it wasn't that dark, it would be impossible to see more than an inch away from your face. You are lying half on the floor, half on Jisung's sticky thighs, smoking a cigarette that seems to be his only remaining foothold in his earthly existence.

"What?"

Jisung's voice is hoarse and distressing. It has changed exponentially in the past two weeks, since he refused to let you go outside to buy something to eat. You fighted against it, and he bit your hand viciously before starting to cry in shame.

"When you want to leave, tell me".

"You can't come with me. We've already discussed it".

"No, you have already discussed it. By yourself. You don't listen to what I say".

Jisung opens his lips and raises a graceful hand as if he was trying to slap you in the face. Eventually, the hand sags and the slap becomes a trembling caress.

"Jisung, please", you become pleading, tired and desperate. With your bandaged fingers you caress Jisung's thin knuckles, one by one.

"Just tell me. I won't follow you, I promise".

Jisung laughs. His head rests against the wall.

"You will follow me".

"Please".

Your lips meet in the compact darkness and they rub, dry, against each other in the memory of an old, worn-out passion.

"I love you, and you are a liar".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

When you manage to drag Jisung out of the house in September, you almost gave up. You don't know if it is because of the faint light or the clouds, but Jisung's once tan skin is now grayish, and it makes his figure looks unhealthy and contagious at the mere sight. You also brought out brushes, hundreds of them, and half-squeezed tubes of color.

"Why did you bring me here?"

The grass under Jisung's shoes rustles in response. You are in a park just outside the city, a destination for a few couples and students with nothing to do.

"You asked me to paint you".

"That was a long time ago".

You pick up the brushes from your bag and pull a forced smile between you lips.

"And you, quite a long time ago, told me you wanted to shine. Here, then".

The tube of yellow paint curls against the wooden palette and the brush bristles wet in contact.

"Lay down".

Jisung tries to deny it, but then he seems to see in you the edge of a precipice, and maybe he feels a rush of pity and compassion for both of you. He wonders how it is possible to have reached that point without someone having the heart to save you both. Or save at least you.

With an awkward movement he leans over the lawn and lies on his back, shivering from the drops of water trapped between the blades of grass. You kneel beside him and barely lift the edges of his shirt, uncovering his belly and round hips. Jisung closes his eyes and trembles when he feels your open mouth kissing the flesh near his navel. You begin to trace marks near that spot, dipping your brush occasionally into the color. When you finish that first step, you keep painting all around radially, as if the first object was the focal point of the entire image. With your fingers you caress his petite chest, the spots uncovered by the color, the skinny hips, and as much of Jisung as you can.

Once you are done, you lean forward. Jisung reaches out and gently touches your hair, entwining it between his index fingers and anchoring you to him. Jisung's entire chest is a cerulean expanse of sky. There is sky everywhere, interspersed with green tree foliage intertwining on the sides. Down, just above his pelvis, a clear sea joins the sky in a blue line of horizon. And in that small, hidden spot of the kiss, you painted a sun.

"Do you like it?"

Jisung opens his eyes and instead of your face he sees a black universe. He feels two tears sting and run down his cheeks, his chin and to his chest, wetting his lips folded into a smile.

"It's perfect".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

It's December when you think you feel Jisung moving on the bed and kicking off the covers. You also think you can feel his lips kissing you softly and his arms wrapping around your neck before sinking into the oblivion of sleep with his words in your mind.

remember you promised

But when you wake up, Jisung is not really there. The mattress is empty next to you and the sheets are tangled at the bottom of the bed. You snap to your feet, ignoring the dizziness and the fact that the room seems to be moving in circles around you.

"Jisung?"

You call him in a choked, shrill voice, a knot forming in your throat. You hear a ringing noise in you ears and you begin to search everywhere inside the apartment. You want to hope, you really do, that he just went out, but you cannot force yourself to believe in it because Jisung, by now, hasn't been out alone for months.

"Jisung?".

You look again, inside the shower stall, in the small balcony, under the couch, in the closet where you keep you painting canvas, inside the closet in the bedroom. But it's just when you are about to leave the house that you see it. On the living room table, between the keys and the fruit basket. A farewell letter.

You don't even understand how you actually got to pick it up, unfold it, and start reading it, that you tear it in two in your hands, teeth gritted and tears beginning to overflow from your eyes.

"Jisung".

You run outside without even closing the front door, engulfing the steps in trembling, messy strides. You reach the street and the only thing that you can think about is that I promised you, but you should have told me when you were about to go, you should have told me. You run on the road, crossing the roadway, risking getting run over, running on the sidewalks, running over people, running for hours. Until you see him.

For a moment you don't even notice him, caught up in the heat of your research. Yet it's him, standing in front of you. Perfect and naked, with a red dot on his forehead, like in your painting. Beautiful and full of life. As he has never been. As in an iconographic image branded in your head. And it's so perfect, and beautiful and full of life that you give in.

and yet you promised not to follow me

You close your eyes and take one step in his direction. Jisung smiles and spreads his arms wide, and so do you. An inch apart, and Jisung kisses you.

I love you.

You push back your tears.

"I am ready".

and you follow him.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You are 23 years old when you die. You are found in your apartment, lying on the floor, completely naked and smeared with paint. That's suicide, it is obvious, but nobody take a guess on why you decided to end your life.

When they take your body away, a dirty brush of yellow paint slips from your hand and ends up stepped on by the coroner.

Nobody finds dozens and dozens of canvases depicting the same boy. Nobody finds intact packages of painkillers. Nobody finds mint cigarettes and bottles of gin. Nobody finds a shredded letter saying "I am going". Nobody.

"You said you wouldn't follow me".

"You knew I would".

"I love you, and you're a liar".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Outside, somewhere in the infinite universe, there is a parallel world. There's a Jisung running on the grass on a sunny day, and you are running after him and falling down trying to catch him. There's the two of us laughing and drinking until dawn, throwing ourselves on the ground and hugging each other so we don't get cold. We have flowers on the balcony and dew in our hair. It never rains. The sun always shines. You could really shine, have flowers on the balcony and dew in your hair. But you chose me.

You chose me.

©️ jilixthinker, 2023. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

239 notes · View notes

dwindlinghaze · 5 months

Text

painted a picture

(remus lupin x artist!reader)

summary : for remus' birthday, you painted a portrait of him.

contents : tooth rooting fluff, remus is lovely, r is lovely

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

a blank canvas was set in front of you, ready to be used and littered with colours. you had this brilliant idea of painting your lovely boyfriend as a gift for his birthday.

you had a few polaroids of him just for reference all scattered around your room. at some point you considered painting the two of you together, but you decided not to because you wanted to focus on him.

you started sketching out his face and features, not forgetting about his beautiful scars and imperfections. you love every inch of him. sometimes you wonder how can he dislike himself so much when there's nothing to hate of.

picking up your oil paints, you mixed a good amount of primary colours to match his exact skin tone.

once the base is done, you made darker shades to enhance the painting. starting by his jaw, you brushed a perfect amount of paint to create the realism effect. then coming up to his ears, then nose, lips, hair, and eyes.

you added every little details of his eye. you looked at them enough to remember the small things of his irises. his soft and welcoming honey coloured eyes that you love so much.

making sure you added every scars and freckles, you finally got it done, smiling to yourself in satisfaction.

the once blank canvas is now replaced by the face of your love staring back at you. you were sure if anyone ever fall in love with a painting, it will be this.

you didn't change any of his features, leaving it perfectly just the way it is. you can't wait for remus to see your work. you were so proud.

his birthday finally came, it felt like the longest one week of your life. you had swathed the canvas with a navy blue silk before wrapping it up neatly to present it to him.

"happy birthday love," you said, kissing both of his cheeks affectionately.

"thank you, dove. is that for me hm?" he replied, pointing at your gift.

you smiled shyly, nodding in response. you didn't know why you're suddenly self conscious. you were literally jumping around in excitement the day before to the point where marlene had to stop you before you ruined your bed.

you handed it to him, saying a small you're welcome after he thanked you.

"don't be shy lovie. you know i love anything that you give me," he said to you, squeezing your knuckles.

"i know... open it up c'mon," you urged him.

he did just like you said. tearing the paper carefully. "what's this?" he asked, holding the navy blue silk in his hand.

"open it silly, i'm cruel if i give you a piece of fabric for your birthday," you said.

he chuckled before unwrapping it, breath hitching when he saw what was there.

"d'you like it rem?" you asked, fumbling with your sleeves. his face was a mixture of emotion. he didn't know if he wanted to cry or smile.

just the idea of someone taking that much time and effort to express how he looks through art is something that would never cross his mind. how someone is willingly able to focus on his every features and details of himself. not only are you thinking of him but you memorise him enough to put him on a canvas.

"i'm sorry if it's weird i can take it back and if you don't like it i can repaint so you don't have to feel weird about-"

"i love it," he whispered, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. how can he not? you've dedicated your time for him, although he didn't know for sure if he deserved it. "you're- i don't-" he tore his gaze away from the canvas and look straight to your eyes before he lovingly kissed you.

when you pulled away, remus was looking at you with his lower lip quivering and teary eyes. "you took your time to paint me?"

"i love you, i'd do anything for you."

"i love you too..." he said, his eyes travelling back to the painting. he smiled, looking back at you again.

"i want you to know that i love everything about you. i painted every little details of your face, not leaving anything out because everything about you are so beautiful."

"you added my scars," he whispered. thumb running over them.

"that's what makes you so strong. i couldn't leave that part out," you said, caressing his cheek softly.

he was speechless. what did he ever do to come across someone like you? someone that accepts him for who he is. even he doesn't.

"i want you to put it on your wall as reminder that- that man is the face of my boyfriend, the only man whom i love so much and if you ever think of hating yourself, you're hating on him. that poor man who doesn't do anything wrong," you pointed.

he chuckled, squishing you in between his arms as he fought his tears from spilling out. "i will put it up my wall, just like you wanted," he kissed the crown of your head. "as for the latter, i'll try," said remus weakly.

"it's okay remus, it takes time to love yourself i know that, but i'm always here to remind you that you are loved by so many people. including me. you're so special," you smiled.

"i love you too," he said before he leaned down and kissed you again. he really wished he can say something meaningful to you to express how much he loves you but nothing came to mind because no words can ever describe the amount of love and affection he has for you.

"hey! i want my own self portrait too! pretty please?" sirius, who just walked in pleaded.

"you'll be dorian gray 2.0," you said, chuckling.

"hey i'm not at all like him!"

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader fluff #remus lupin fic #remus fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader

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doodle-pops · 5 months

Text

Love Languages | Imladris

A/N: You can find the others over here: Feanorians | Gondolin

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` Elrond

• 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Elrond stands out as one of the most supportive individuals in all of Middle Earth, possessing a remarkable ability to lavish you with praise and compliments, capable of brightening even your darkest moments. Whether you're grappling with insecurity, depression, or simply overwhelmed by stress and sadness, Elrond possesses an uncanny knack for choosing the perfect words to convey his emotions and bring comfort and joy into your life. Despite the tumultuous events he has endured, he remains a true inspiration, driven by a fervent desire to prevent you from suffering as he once did. With unwavering determination, he will go to great lengths to bring smiles and laughter to your world.

• 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞: As a busy elf responsible for the administration of Imladris, a role akin to that of a grandparent to all, Elrond is keenly aware of the precious moments that can be lost in the demands of his responsibilities. Consequently, he strives to carve out time amidst his packed schedule to be with you. Whether it's a shared breakfast, a leisurely lunch, a quiet walk, or simply snuggling together, he exerts his utmost effort to ensure your time together is well-spent. On occasion, he may even dedicate an entire day solely for the purpose of being in your company.

• 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭–𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠: As the esteemed Lord of Imladris, Elrond has an abundance of resources at his disposal, and he is more than willing to indulge your desires. Initially, he may not have comprehended the significance of showering a beloved with extravagant or numerous gifts. However, with your presence in his life, he has developed an irresistible urge to provide you with everything and anything you desire, as long as it brings you happiness. Witnessing the satisfaction and delight that lights up your face when he presents you with a new item is a source of immense joy for him, and he is committed to maintaining this gesture of love and affection.

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` Erestor

• 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Erestor, though often reserved and seemingly distant, harbours a deep affection for physical touch, especially when initiated by you. He may appear a tad gruff or out of touch with physical intimacy, but once you draw him into a hug or share a kiss, his heart warms to the gesture. In this regard, he typically defers to you to take the lead in initiating any form of physical closeness. However, there are moments when his mood swings unexpectedly, prompting him to seek your presence and casually drape himself over you when you're in private. He harbours a strong aversion to the thought of someone intruding on your intimate moments, which is why he prefers them to be private.

• 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Erestor's scholarly and advisory background has endowed him with an impressive command of language. His vocabulary is rich, and he strives to employ the most eloquent words when describing your beauty or personality. As a meticulous and directive individual, uplifting your spirits is a profound duty for him. He recognizes that his words can be straightforward, and when he senses you're in a foul mood, he tends to be especially cautious with his choice of words, often opting for physical touch instead. However, on occasions when he indulges in a bit too much wine, he can become quite eloquent and flowery in his expressions, much to your delight.

• 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞: Erestor finds great joy in spending quality time with you, particularly in serene moments where you both relax together. He cherishes the times you lie side by side on the balcony or lounge on comfortable sofas, engrossed in reading. More often than not, he takes the initiative to read to you, his soothing voice creating a tranquil atmosphere that enhances the experience. These moments, where you are entwined in each other's arms with his soothing narration in the background, are the ones he treasures most in your relationship.

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` Elrohir

• 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭–𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠: Elrohir shares many traits with his parents, particularly his father, and he's exceptionally attentive to your preferences. During your cherished moments together, he listens carefully to everything you mention, creating a mental catalogue of your desires. A week later, you'll often find thoughtful gifts waiting on your doorstep, and he'll greet you with a small, contented smile and a slight dip of his head when he sees your happiness. His gifts are meaningful and simple, never extravagant or ostentatious, reflecting the depth of his feelings for you.

• 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Every moment spent with Elrohir is a treasure, and while he may not be as touchy-feely as his brother or mother, he finds great comfort in physical closeness. Simple gestures like holding your hand, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, or tenderly kissing the back of your hand are his way of showing affection. He's a romantic at heart, and his actions reflect this aspect of his personality. He's not one for overt public displays of affection (PDA) and prefers to save heavy kisses and cuddling for private moments behind closed doors. You might be pleasantly surprised by the passionate intensity of his touch when you're alone – longer, more heated kisses, sneakily affectionate pinches and touches, and a tendency to cling to you.

• 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Similar to his father in this regard, Elrohir has a natural way with words. A gentle smile and a few whispered words of love and praise have the power to melt your heart. His words are like a warm, spring sunshine that brightens your aura, making you feel lighter and elated by his expressions of love and compliments. He has a poetic and flowery way with words, and his charisma shines through when he speaks. The sight of his one-sided dimpled smile after he's poured his heart out to you is a sight to behold.

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` Elladan

• 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Elladan is exuberant and unabashed in expressing his love physically. He revels in showering you with affection, from sweet hand-holding to passionate kisses that occasionally earn him a scolding from his father. In private, he becomes an endearing, needy puppy who can't seem to get enough of your touch. He longs to be wrapped up in your embrace, cuddling with you for hours on end. You both enjoy evenings on the balcony, overlooking the valley, intertwined together, savouring those precious moments.

• 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞: Elladan possesses a spontaneous spirit and a yearning for adventure that sets him apart from his brother. He often embarks on orc-hunting expeditions, but when he returns home, he is eager to spend every possible moment with you. Whether you're an outdoor enthusiast or prefer indoor activities, he adapts to your preferences without hesitation. His primary goal is to be near you and witness your smile, leading him to plan a variety of activities to ensure you both have a great time. Even if it involves cosying up by the fireplace and reading to each other, Elladan is more than willing to oblige.

• 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Traveling Middle Earth with his brother, Elladan learns and enthusiastically experiments with various phrases used to express love. These phrases often blend elven and mortal languages, and they can range from charming to surprising to downright flabbergasting. While he may not always grasp the full depth of their hidden meanings, his intentions are rooted in love. His compliments are a delightful blend of sweetness, cheesiness, and warmth, guaranteed to bring a smile to your face.

Masterlist

Taglist: @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @mcwentfandomtraveling @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @a-tong @aconstructofamind

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mendeshoney · 6 months

Text

apple of my eye, take a bite

A/N: surprise surprise! this is a part two to "a taste of the devine," with a special little halloween twist! to my lovelies, @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech happy halloween babes! the title is inspired by lyrics from the song “eve” by precious pepala

Summary: You and Andrei go to the team Halloween party at a club, and it takes Andrei down memory lane.

Pairing: andrei svechnikov x f!reader

Word Count: 5,120

Warnings: five year age gap, older woman x younger man, fluff, previously established dynamics (including msub x fdom dynamics, switch, mdom x fsub dynamics), smut, semi-public sex (in a club), hints of biting/hickies, penetration, finish inside, unprotected sex

Russian terms used (bearing in mind the author does not speak Russian and definitely Google’d these) can be referenced here.

“I feel like this won’t make much sense,” Andrei quietly mumbles to himself, adjusting the ‘hat’ of his costume, his eyes casting to the side once he sees movement from inside the closet.

The sliding frosted glass door is closed, so he can only see your shadow as you move around, and he can feel himself start to get antsy.

You’d kept your part of the couples costume a shrouded secret from him, claiming you wanted to surprise him.

As far as surprises go, he typically liked yours a lot, but given his current predicament, he found himself a little more anxious than normal.

He glances at himself in the vanity mirror in your shared bedroom, running a cursory hand over the fuzzy material of his Halloween costume, and frowning a little at his reflection.

“Kroshka, I don’t-” He starts, cutting himself off and turning back toward the closet when he hears the sliding door open.

You finally emerge, body in an emerald green mini dress that you’d sewed fake vines onto so that they curled and twisted around your figure, enhancing your silhouette, vines trailing down your shoulder and around your arms until they rested delicately on your wrists. Those beautiful legs of yours donned a pair of thigh high velvet stiletto boots, the color matching your dress perfectly.

You looked a lot more like that character that Evgeny used to tease him for having a crush on when they were kids, Poison Ivy, than you did the biblical Eve.

Sukin syn.

Andrei’s hard in seconds, heart pounding furiously as his stomach flutters.

Babochki, he thinks. Butterflies.

He laughs suddenly, feeling nervous out of the blue.

“What do you think?” You ask, turning your body a little so he can get a better view.

“I think there’s butterflies in my stomach,” he says honestly, the words coming out faster than he can process, but when you flush deeply, he feels a twinge of satisfaction.

“You still have a way with words, don’t you?” You tease, trying to look anywhere else but him, and he knows that strategy.

Sometimes, when you’re not sure how to receive his compliments, you try to brush them off, but tonight’s not a night Andrei can let that fly.

He can feel his hands twitching at his sides, and his feet are moving towards you before he even realizes, that familiar gravitational pull too strong to resist.

“Ty vyglyadish' krasivo, lyubov' moya.” He murmurs. You look beautiful, my love.

You smile at his words, his hands coming to rest on your waist and pull you closer. “Spasibo, malysh.” You finally seem to take in his costume, and you giggle lightly. “You look so cute!”

He frowns, brows pinched together. “I’m glad you think so.”

You smile, giggling a little more. “Of course I think so.”

“Remind me again why I couldn’t just be ‘Adam’ for Halloween?” He asks, fingers playing with a fake vine on your shoulder.

“Because no one cares about Adam,” you remind him gently. “The story’s about Eve and the Apple. Adam’s just there.”

Andrei pouts a little, turning back toward the mirror and staring at the apple suit that covers his upper half, the red hat on his head with the apple’s stem and a little leaf, and the dark brown pants on his legs. “I guess so,” he laments, then turns his gaze back to you.

You know him so well at this point that when the corner of your mouth quirks up in a small smile, he isn’t even surprised, and just smiles right back at you. “Don’t worry, shchenok, everyone still thinks you’re sexy.”

“I don’t care about everyone,” he says without a second’s hesitation. “Just you.”

A small flush works its way up your neck and cheeks. “I still think you’re sexy, too.”

Andrei’s heart pounds then, that familiar disbelief that he was able to call someone like you the love of his life surfacing in his chest. He bends his head, pride surging through his veins when you accept his kiss.

“We should probably go soon,” you murmur against his mouth.

Andrei hums, shrugging. “Or we could stay home. Have our own little Halloween party.”

“Not an option, I’m afraid.” You say, and pull yourself out of his arms to head back into the closet. He watches, completely entranced, as you pull on a pair of thigh high velvet stiletto boots, the color matching your dress perfectly, and he can feel himself start to tent in his pants.

“Kroshka,” he tries again, the word nearly getting caught in his throat, “Are you sure we can’t just-”

You cut him off by standing, grabbing your small clutch and his car keys, tossing a curt “Let’s go, moye yabloko” over your shoulder as you head to the garage.

Andrei glances at himself in the mirror one last time, offering his reflection a long-suffering sigh, before grabbing his wallet and trailing after you.

His teammates don’t laugh as much as he expected, which he supposes is because out of all the costumes tonight, he looks the least ridiculous.

Jesperi, Teuvo, and Sebastian are dressed as Alvin and the Chipmunks - Jesperi was elected to be Theo against his will, Teuvo gladly accepted the role of Simon because it meant he was the smartest, which left Sebastian as Alvin, who claimed it was only fair since his last name began with an ‘A’ - Freddie, Anti, Jacob, and Brett dressed up as Michaelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, and Rafael from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Brent was dressed as Sully from Monsters Inc, and those were just the costumes he managed to figure out on his own.

There were far too many others for him to keep track of or understand and some were just a headache to look at, so he ended up focusing on the one thing he knew would keep his attention - the way your ass moved in your dress as you walked through club toward the VIP section they’d reserved for the team party.

The girls complimented you on your outfit and assured Andrei that he looked cute instead of silly, and it only made him feel marginally better.

He was still dressed as a giant apple for the night, after all, while his bombshell of a girlfriend looked like a walking fantasy.

After you’d said hello to everyone, the two of you ended up separated, the girls heading out to the dancefloor, some of the guys heading to the bar to grab drinks and snacks, and the rest settling into the VIP section.

Andrei plopped down between Jesperi and Freddie, removing his costume’s hat and putting it on the little table in their section, tuning out most of the conversation happening within the first ten minutes and instead finding himself focused on you and that beautiful dress out on the dance floor.

His eyes were glued to you as you danced, lost in the familiar way your hips moved and how carefree you were. Other people may have needed a little bit of alcohol in them to be so uninhibited, but you didn’t. You never had.

Watching you now, it reminds him of the first night he met you.

It had been earlier this year, when the guys had been having a particularly rough week of games, and they’d gone out to a club to relieve some stress.

You’d been there with some of your friends, and Andrei had been feeling a little bit too confident after a few drinks. He’d locked eyes with you barely ten minutes after he’d arrived and couldn’t take his eyes off you the whole night, couldn’t seem to find the need to wander more than ten feet out of your orbit.

He finally found the courage to approach you after Martinook had all but threatened to send Freddie after you first, pushing off the bar and heading over to you.

He tried the gentlemanly approach, introduced himself properly by taking your hand, and from that first touch there was this crazy electric wildfire of sexual tension that neither of you seemed to be able to deny. You didn’t seem disturbed by him being five years younger than you, and he couldn’t have cared any fucking less about you being twenty eight.

He worried for maybe half a second about you not being able to understand him through his accent, but you had no problems with it, even beyond the blaring music of the club. Then, he offered to get you a drink or a bottle of water - whatever you wanted really, he didn’t care - before asking if you minded if he joined you for a dance.

One dance became two, then four, then six, and then the next thing he knew, you both had locked yourselves in a storage closet down the back hall of the club and he had you pinned against the wall, his jeans and boxer briefs around his thighs, your dress hiked up to your waist, thong pulled to the side, and his cock buried so deep inside of you that you had to bite down on the meaty flesh of his shoulder to keep from crying out too loudly.

You’d fucked twice in that closet before you took him back to your place and fucked another two times. In the morning, you’d managed to contain yourselves in the shower, but Andrei lost all restraint and licked your pussy on your kitchen table until your throat grew hoarse and your legs shook so much your table started to squeak.

He managed to rein it in and take you on a date two days later, and then you invited him out for dinner another three days after that. After about ten dates without any sexual interactions at all, and about a month in total of you actually knowing each other, he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, and you both celebrated when you said ‘yes’ to him by locking yourselves in at his place and fucking like bunnies for about two days.

Andrei had learned everything about what you liked in bed in that first month, and you’d learned everything about what he liked.

You’d also learned enough about one another that Andrei was pretty sure he’d end up marrying you and having about five or seven kids within the next seven years, because there was no possible way he’d ever manage to find someone as brilliant as you ever again.

And at this point, you’d barely been dating a year.

He’d say he was probably moving too fast in any other circumstance, but he was pretty sure you were on the same page.

He feels a nudge in his side, and Andrei glances over, momentarily shocked because he’d completely forgotten his friends were dressed in costumes, and the orange fabric around Freddie’s eyes nearly scared him shitless for a second.

“You want another drink? The chipmunks lost a bet so they’re buying for the night.” Freddie says, gesturing to where Jesperi had gotten up and was now writing down orders on his phone.

“Sure,” Andrei says. “I’ll take one.”

Jesperi points to where you are on the dance floor and asks Andrei “One for her too, right?”, and when Andrei nods, Jesperi gives him a thumbs up before stalking over to the bar.

He has a feeling it’s going to take Jesperi awhile to put in the drink orders for the whole section, so Andrei resumes watching you, reminiscing on the day you first met and chiming in on the conversations around him every now and again.

You finally wander over with the girls once the drinks arrive, and Andrei immediately opens his arms, feeling content when you settle into his embrace and onto his lap. He hands you your drink, careful to keep your hair out of your face when you take a sip.

There’s a sound of fake retching, and you and Andrei cut your eyes to where Jesperi’s making faces at the two of you. You roll your eyes, settling into Andrei a little more, and he wraps his arms around your waist, securing you to him.

“Jealous, KK?” One of the other girls asks, and Jesperi’s nose scrunches.

“Hardly.” He scoffs. “I’m basically watching my older sister make out with one of my best friends. It’s disturbing.”

Andrei feels you stiffen in his arms, but Jesperi’s already turning away, and Andrei squeezes you gently. “Zajka?”

You turn to Andrei, a slightly stunned expression on your face. “I…does he really think of me that way?”

“What way?” Andrei asks, bringing a hand up to gently caress your cheek.

He can see the shock starting to settle in a little more. “Like an older sister?”

And though Andrei knows they’ve never really talked about it, because it’s not really a topic that would come up, he knows for certain the answer is yes.

Especially after the way you looked after everyone during the beach trip this past summer, all Andrei heard for weeks during training camp and preseason was how much everyone missed your cooking, people asking how you were doing, and demands for him to bring you around more.

Since you’d barely been together for six months at that point, he didn’t push you about it at all because he didn’t want you to feel pressured or rushed, even though he knew you liked everyone just fine. It was another thing he felt like would make it feel like this was going too fast, even though you’d probably be on the same page about this, too.

“I think a lot of them think that way.” He admits. “Pretty sure Freddie thinks of you as a younger sister. Burnsy too, to be honest.”

There’s a thoughtful look in your eyes now, and after a beat, you nod. “I didn’t know that.”

“Is that…is that okay?” He asks, slightly unsure. He doesn’t know that he’s seen you this…contemplative before.

You turn to Andrei, and give him that dazzling smile of yours he loves so much. “Of course it’s okay. Just took me by surprise a little.”

He nods, sitting up a little more so he can press a kiss to the base of your neck. “They love you as much as I do.”

Andrei’s surprised when his kiss makes you shiver a little, and he pulls back a bit, raising a brow at you.

You flush, suddenly bashful. “I just…” He raises a brow when you seem to be trying to find the words to say, and you gesture with your head towards the dancefloor. “Feels familiar, doesn’t it?”

Realization hits Andrei and he smiles, nodding. “It does, zajka.”

A sly, cheshire smile works its way onto your lips, and Andrei feels his heart begin to pound in anticipation. “Let’s see just how well you can tempt me a second time, moye yabloko.”

You’re downing the rest of your drink and getting up from his lap faster than he can blink, and then you’re heading back out to the dancefloor with the girls.

As Andrei watches you walk away, he catches the wink you send him over your shoulder before you disappear into the crowd, and he smirks to himself.

Da nachnetsya igra.

Let the games begin.

Drink in hand, Andrei makes his way through the crowd, his puffy apple costume coming in hand by parting the crowd a little as he moves - he even has the ridiculous hat on again - until he finally reaches where you are in the middle of the dance floor.

He taps gently on your shoulder, and when you turn around, your eyes look up at him curiously, a small smile on your face.

Andrei leans down so you can hear him better, saying “Hi, I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, and I thought I’d introduce myself and bring you a drink.”

It’s not exactly what he said that first night, but it’s close enough. So what if he skipped a few cheesy lines?

You lean back a little, staring at the drink in his hand before taking it with a small amount of hesitation. “Thank you,” you say back, leaning in like he had. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

“I’m Andrei,” he says, holding his hand out.

You take it, shaking it once when you tell him your name in return.

The nostalgia has those butterflies resurfacing in his stomach, and he tries his best not to smile like a total idiot. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” You say, then smirk a little at his costume. “You know, I’m pretty sure I was warned to stay away from you.”

He laughs a little, stepping closer into your space. Bending down so he’s right next to your ear, he rests a hand on your waist and says “One bite won’t hurt.”

At your responding chuckle, Andrei feels goosebumps ignite on his arms. “I’ve heard that before.”

“It’s different this time,” he promises. “It’s just us. And there’s no punishment.”

“Sounds a little too good to be true,” you say, pulling away a little and taking a sip of your drink, blinking up at him from under your lashes.

Andrei rights himself, shrugging. “Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” He gestures with his head towards a hallway that he’d confirmed about ten minutes ago had both a storage closet as well as what looked like an unused office full of boxes, but still came equipped with a couch and a perfectly solid desk.

He makes his way toward the hall, waiting for all of five minutes before you appear in front of him, the glass your drink was in now empty save for the cherry stem he already knew had a knot in it.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you joke, taking careful steps toward him.

He holds a hand out, pleased when you take it, and he leads you toward the end of the hall. The door to the storage closet is on the left, and the door to the empty office is on the right. He places you in front of him, his hands resting on your waist from behind.

“Pick a door, zajka.” He says softly.

You hum a little, taking a step forward. You open the door on the right first, but there’s a small noise that leaves you, and Andrei’s confused when you don’t take a step inside. You open the door to the left, and the second you see the closet, you spin around, smiling wickedly at him before pulling him inside.

He flips you the second he crosses the threshold, shutting the door and locking it before pinning you against the wood, placing his arms on either side of your head. “Didn’t like the office?”

You shake your head, tilting your chin up, waiting. “Not the same.”

“I would’ve liked fucking you on the desk.” He admits, the image of it still fresh in his brain.

“You didn’t fuck me on a desk till I moved in with you.” You remind him.

He smirks. “Oh I remember,” he promises. “Hard to forget the time you made me come so hard I almost passed out.”

You shrug. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

He drops one of his hands from the door only to bring it up between you, running a finger down the side of your neck, to your collarbone, your chest, before teasing at the neckline of your dress.

“If you rip this dress before you get me in your bed, moye yabloko, you’ll be sorry.” You warn, but even so, your back arches off the wall, pushing your chest into his touch.

Andrei smirks. He’s never been one to shy away from his punishments.

Instead, he trails his hand down your dress and to the hem, pushing it up your thighs until he can reach under it to bring his fingers to your core, pleased when he finds the fabric of your thong already soaked.

“May I, moya koroleva?” He asks sweetly, eyes focused on where his hand lingers.

You nod, breath hitching a little when he pulls your thong to the side and runs his finger between your folds. “I want it like the first time.”

Andrei blinks, eyes darting back up to your face.

That first night was intense - and beautiful - but also not the kind of sex the two of you have most often. He likes to please you, likes taking his time warming you up or worshiping you the way he’s learned that you like best. Other than the occasional quickie, you two rarely ever just get straight to it.

“Can you take me like this? Right now?” He checks.

“I can,” you say. You reach forward, fingers finding one of the belt loops of his pants and pulling him forward. “Please, malysh. I don’t want to wait.”

His heart beats hard against his ribcage.

It’s rare that you’re the one pleading for him, that you’re the one asking for it this way, and he can feel the way his breath starts to stutter as he tries to maintain his composure.

The second he nods in agreement, it’s a race to get inside of you.

In a hurry, the two of you work to unbutton and unzip his pants, shuffling them down his thighs along with his boxer briefs. His aching cock springs free, and before you can reach for him, he’s bending down to lift you up and pin you against the wall, helping to wrap your legs around his waist.

He balances you in one arm as you press your weight into the wall, reaching down to line his cock up to your entrance. The second he can feel it catch, he presses in at the same time that you angle your hips downward, and he pushes until he’s seated all the way inside and his hips press yours against the wall.

You take a gasping breath, head lolling back as your eyes squeeze shut, arms flying to his shoulders and nails digging into the skin as your pussy grips him tightly.

“Zajka?” He asks, worried. “Are you okay?”

You nod, breathing harshly through your nose. “Move, malysh, spasibo. I need you.”

Andrei has a sudden feeling he’s going to have a hard time trying to remember to breathe if you keep talking.

Carefully, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock rests inside, and then he pushes back inside in one brutal stroke that seizes the breath from your lungs once more.

“Just like the first time,” he reminds you, before setting a rough and steady pace.

Your moans fill the room in seconds, and Andrei doesn’t care anymore about who can hear you or who can’t.

Especially when he knows you couldn’t care less about it either.

This time, you’re not at Freddie’s house and worried about making a good impression.

You’re here, with him, pretending like it’s the first night you met all over again, except this time there’s less to be cautious of for both of you.

Although…

If you do want it like it’s the first time again…

“You can’t moan too loud, kroshka.” He says, pressing in closer to you as his strokes slow a little, dragging himself in and out of you with precision. “Don’t want anyone to hear how pretty you are when you’re dripping on my cock, do you?”

Recognition flashes in your eyes like a bright flame, and you capture your lip between your teeth, nodding obediently.

“Need something to bite down on, my beautiful Eve?” He murmurs, gathering you up in his arms and pushing until he’s flush against you, tilting his head to expose his neck. “Do it, it’s okay.”

You wind your arms around his shoulder and lean forward, and when Andrei feels your lips on his neck, his whole body shivers, groaning at the way he can feel your teeth bite down before licking over the wound, then sucking a bruise into the skin.

That’s another thing the two of you don’t give a shit about anymore.

Andrei’s all too proud to wear your marks like a badge of honor, so as you suck on his skin, feeling his pulse beneath your tongue, he knows you take notice of the way his cock drives deeper into you.

He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to manage a second round in this closet, too desperate to fill you up and then drag you home so he can do it over and over again.

When his hips stutter a little, you finally pull away from his neck, leaning back to examine your work, smiling proudly. “Such a pretty little thing, moye yabloko.”

Fuck.

It is just like the first night all over again.

Andrei remembers the dirty things you whispered to him then, too. He remembers how he’d never heard something so sultry, so sexy in his entire life. It somehow made him hornier, made him feel like he could go insane with how much it made him need you even more in that moment.

It was like you knew exactly what to say and what to do to drive him insane, to make him feel like he would do anything to prove to you just how good he could be.

“You’re the same good boy you were that first night, too,” You taunt again when he doesn’t respond, and a sharp hiss falls from his lips when you tug his hair harshly, prompting him to tilt his head up so he can look at you.

His knees nearly buckle, and he thrusts hard into you once in warning.

“You can’t say things like that,” he breathes out, focusing on fucking into you in deep, hard strokes.

“Why?” You breathe out, bringing your hands from his shoulders and tossing the hat of his costume off of his head before sinking your fingers into his hair.

He shakes his head. Any other man might be embarrassed, but that’s never been a thing between the two of you, and especially not when you’re being intimate.

“It makes me…u menya babochki.” Andrei admits, trying his best to stay focused. I get butterflies.

“Babochki?” You ask, tone just shy of a whine, slightly mocking him. “Do I give my pretty shchenok butterflies?”

He looks up when he feels your hand on his cheek, staring into your eyes, and he can feel himself getting closer to his orgasm just looking at you. You run your thumb over his lips as they part, resting the pad of it on his tongue before his cheeks hollow, sucking gently on the digit.

You smirk, eyes rolling back in your head when Andrei gives a particularly hard thrust, causing your back to arch a little more and your body to press further against his. He can tell you’re getting closer, can read all your little tells.

The way your chest starts to heave, how he can see your nipples starting to poke through the fabric of your dress, the way your body starts to go lax, thumb slipping from his mouth and hand moving to rest on his chest instead.

“You gonna come for me?” You ask, tone somewhere between taunting and begging.

Andrei nods furiously, welcoming the molten lava spreading across his spine as he finds solace inside of you. “Da, moya koroleva.”

“Gonna come inside of me?” This question is definitely a taunt. “Gonna fill up the pretty stranger the very first night?”

“I did it once,” he reminds you. “I’d do it again, but only for you.”

Your blinding, satisfied smile takes over your face and Andrei feels his heart fall to your feet in adoration. “Come with me,” he begs.

You nod, tilting your hips a little until he’s hitting that beautiful spot inside, and your eyes flutter shut, pussy squeezing tighter around him.

He loses all control after that, cock pounding into you in a frenzied, nearly manic pace, trying so hard to keep going for you while also chasing his own orgasm.

When he feels you lock him in that familiar death grip, your come drenching his cock and making the slide oh so right, his eyes squeeze shut, and a loud, satisfied groan leaves his mouth as he throbs, spilling inside of you until he feels like he can’t breathe right.

For a moment, the two of you can only remain like that - you slumped and sated in Andrei’s arms and his hips pinning you to the wall.

When he feels you begin to squirm, he carefully pulls out of you, then sets you back on your own two feet as gently as he can. He’s quick to locate a stack of paper towels behind him and grabs a few to help you clean up before pulling your thong back into place and tossing the paper towels into a trash can near the door.

“Do I look okay?” You ask, fussing with your dress.

Andrei nods, letting out a content sigh. “Beautiful as always. What about me?”

When you glance up at him, Andrei’s expecting the same, but then you blink, and a surprised laugh practically barks out of you. It startles him a little, and your hand is flying to cover your mouth, eyes glistening with delight.

“What?” He presses, starting to fuss with his own costume. “What is it?”

“Drei, how hard did you come?” You ask through fits of giggles.

“You said like the first night, so pretty hard.” He admits, unashamed. “Why?”

“You’re…you’re…” You can barely say it through your laughter. After a second, you take a deep breath, calming yourself, and then smile at him happily. “You’re as red as an apple.”

If he - apparently - wasn’t already red, he definitely would be by now.

“How bad is it?” Andrei asks, rubbing at his face absently.

You shrug. “No better and no worse than after a shift on the ice.”

He pouts, brows furrowing. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“It’s normal,” you explain. “It might be tough to explain away when we say goodbye to everyone in a minute, but it’ll be alright.”

“We’re going home?” He asks, already excited.

You nod, shrugging your shoulders a little. “Pretty sure that’s what we did the first night, too.”

He smirks, stepping closer to you and pulling you to him by your waist. “We did a lot of things that first night. And the next morning.”

Your own cheeks flush now, and you nod. “That we did.”

“Feel like a trip down memory lane, kroshka?” He murmurs, already leaning down.

You rise up on your tiptoes, lips brushing against his when you say “I think that sounds lovely, malysh,” before kissing him softly.

#andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov smut #carolina hurricanes #hockey writing #hockey fanfiction #hockey smut #mendeshoney masterlist

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another-lost-mc · 10 months

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MICHAEL x gn!Reader | 1.3k words | SFW

Content: Michael has a lot of secrets when he sneaks his way into the Devildom. He's determined to figure out your secrets too, but he's not prepared for what he finds.

Warnings: Spoilers for NB HM L20. Established relationship pre-Nightbringer. Mildly suggestive content. Angst with an ambiguously hopeful ending.

A/N: The implications of Lesson 20 are haunting me. I fudged some of the details and filled in some gaps with my own headcanons because who really knows what’s going on? (Not me.)

There’s something odd about you that Michael can’t quite put his finger on.

He came all this way to the Devildom wearing a false face just to see Lucifer and his fallen brothers again. He didn’t know what to expect when he arrived—he certainly didn’t expect Satan, but that wasn’t the only surprise. He was afraid they’d be monstrous, fully embracing their new demonic natures and indulging in sin. He was concerned that perhaps they suffered devastating wounds from the fall—ones that can’t be seen with the naked eye but cut through the heart just as deep, similar to the ones he bears now too.

What he found instead was family. Their unbreakable loyalty to each other, their love that forged the path that started all this, their unmatched stubbornness to seek out the happiness they want. He wishes it were with him, but perhaps one day he can accept this.

He didn’t expect to meet Solomon or the strange human sorcerer Solomon calls his apprentice. You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, if Michael ever saw one. His brothers are drawn to you. Damn it all—they all are. How can you bewitch them so effortlessly?

He feels some spiteful satisfaction when he realizes that the depth of their love for you is not reciprocated. You keep them at arm’s length, skirting away from their flirtatious gestures and denying their obvious attempts to woo you. You treat them like family but he can tell by their poorly-concealed disappointment that they long for something more.

There's a brief moment when he thinks Solomon might be your lover instead, but that’s also proven false. He lingers near Cocytus Hall discreetly to observe you—both of you—but he sees no proof that you’re more than friends living as roommates together in the Devildom.

Tonight he hides in one of the hallways near your shared accommodations with the pesky sorcerer. His enhanced hearing allows him to eavesdrop on your conversation, but it’s hardly needed right now. The muffled sounds of your fight with Solomon echo down the hall. Solomon sounds exasperated and you eventually fling the door open and storm towards the exit. He leaves a few minutes later, grumbling to himself about needing a stiff drink.

Once you're both gone, Michael lets himself inside and begins his investigation. Your accommodations are comfortable despite the faint scent of whatever Solomon last cooked in your shared kitchen. The sitting room is comfortable and clean, but it's too clean. Immaculate. Neither of you spend much time here.

The first closed door he opens leads him to your bedroom. He can detect the faint scent of the fragrance you like to wear, and some of your clothes are strewn across the floor. The bed is sloppily made, but it feels more welcoming than any of the other rooms he’s inspected so far.

There’s nothing unexpected or suspicious on the shelves. Your nightstand is bare except for a lamp and half-empty box of tissues. The small drawer underneath is slightly ajar, and he tugs on the handle. At first it appears empty except for a book, but he hears something rattle at the bottom of the drawer. He picks up the book and stares at the D.D.D. hidden underneath it.

He pulls his own D.D.D. from his pocket. The group chat with Simeon and Luke pings with a message you’ve just sent, something about picking up a surprise Luke baked for you.

If you have your D.D.D. with you now, then what device is this?

He picks it up carefully and inspects it, but his confusion grows even more. It’s a different size than the ones everyone else carries, and it doesn’t weigh the same, and the screen is scratched slightly. It looks worn, old, well-used. It has the wear-and-tear of someone who’s had it far longer than you’ve been in the Devildom if Solomon’s story about your arrival is to be believed.

He knows he can’t stay much longer. Solomon might be trying to drink himself into a stupor, but there’s no telling when you will return. That doesn’t stop him from sliding his finger along the side of the device until he finds the power button and turns it on. The KARASU OS logo flashes briefly on the screen, and even that looks different too. A small window for your passcode pops up, but Michael stares at the lock screen photo behind it. He would recognize that willow tree anywhere. He’s read underneath it, napped underneath it, and cried underneath it, because it’s in his private garden.

He should put this unwanted mystery back where he found it and leave, but he can't. An unfamiliar emotion makes his chest tighten. He feels compelled to keep looking. There’s an ominous feeling gnawing at his insides when his thumb hovers over the screen, but he taps the screen and unlocks the device. He’s not sure what worries him more: that your passcode is his birthday, or that he somehow knew it would be.

Sweat beads along his hairline and his throat feels bone-dry. He shouldn’t even be here but he can’t stop himself, not when your home screen photo is a picture of you and Luke in the kitchen of the Celestial Halls.

He taps quickly on the Messages app and picks one under his name at random. A video recording starts to play: this version of himself is in his bed in the Celestial Halls, lying comfortably against the pillows propped up against the headboard. He’s wearing linen sleep pants but no shirt, his long hair spilling loose across his bare shoulders.

“It’s late, little lamb. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I thought I would look over some paperwork I neglected earlier. It turns out that I sleep poorly when you’re not here.”

“I’m glad it’s not just me. I miss you.”

“And I miss you. How soon do you think they’ll let you get away for another visit?”

“They might complain since I only just got back. Perhaps in a couple of weeks? That should give you time to come up with a reasonable excuse.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“Me too.”

“As much as I don’t want to cut our conversation short, you should try to rest.”

“I’ve been tossing and turning for the past two hours. I’m not sleepy.”

“Perhaps…hmm…would you like me to help you?”

“Oh, do you mean a lullaby? I love it when you sing.”

“I think I’d rather make you sing for me instead, little lamb. Go on and lay down for me. Let me see you—yes, like that, that’s perfect. Now, lift up your shirt and slide your fingers across your—”

He nearly drops the device when the front door opens and slams shut. There’s soft footfalls across the carpet in the sitting room and a soft, tired sigh. Yours. He needs to get out of here before you catch him. He scrambles to close the recording before shoving your spare D.D.D. back into the drawer. He disappears just as the doorknob starts to turn.

He stands in his temporary accommodations and his mind races. He’s stunned, paralyzed with so many questions and not enough answers. If he’s lucky, the device battery dies on its own before you notice it was tampered with.

He tries to dismiss this as a momentary distraction from the bigger issues at stake. He doesn’t want to imagine a version of himself that loves you so dearly, or what power would be strong enough to send you across time away from him, or what might prevent him from finding you—

He can't go down this path. He can’t afford to be sidetracked now. He’ll simply bury it with so many other secrets he’s forced to carry deep in his heart.

He won’t confront you about it.

(He tries not to imagine what might happen if he does, good or bad.)

He refuses to dwell on it—not when you treat “Raphael” with kindness, and especially not when he notices the way your eyes look their brightest whenever his real name is mentioned.

When he returns home and considers the outlandish idea to attend RAD as himself, he’s tempted by selfish possibilities. He finally lets himself think of you once he’s alone in his garden, sitting underneath his favourite tree, and he smiles.

Obey Me! Masterlist

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me nightbringer spoilers #obey me michael #obey me michael x reader #michael x reader #obey me michael x mc #michael x mc #obey me michael x you #michael x you #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me fanfic #omswd fanfic #x reader #gn!reader

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your-eternal-lies · 1 month

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LOVE IS A CHOICE (chapter five - finale)

Main Navigation || Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.

PAIRING — Bucky Barnes x Agent f!Reader SERIES SUMMARY — In your experience, relationships only bring drama and heartbreak, and you want absolutely none of it. That is, until an act of sheer recklessness brings Bucky Barnes back into your life.

WARNINGS — Angst, more blood and injury, devastating revelations (but nothing we didn’t already know!), and if it’s any consolation, I concluded this on a happy note with some fluff and a non-explicit smut scene at the very end. That’s pretty much it!

LOVE IS A CHOICE

CHAPTER FIVE (finale)

Bucky’s metal arm whirrs with a barely audible hum, the vibranium plates shifting to optimize for combat as he steps into the fray. Bullets splinter the air, a savage symphony of chaos and destruction. His instincts, honed through countless battles, snap into focus as he catches a glint of danger in his periphery.

With one fluid motion, propelled by a potent blend of adrenaline and fear for someone other than himself, he lunges. The Hydra agents, clad in their nondescript tactical gear, might as well be faceless nameless drones, but each represents a threat to you and your safety.

And he can’t have that. In the shattered peace of the northern Canadian wilderness, he becomes the storm.

He runs out of bullets pretty fast, so he tosses his rifle aside and lets his fists do the rest. They come down on his enemies like iron, his movements a blur—a dance of destruction honed by decades of stride.

The air is filled with the clamour of combat, grunts and thuds of flesh and cracking bones, punctuated by the sharp cracks of splintering wood as his precious cabin bears witness to a battle between his indomitable will and a relentless tide of adversaries.

Bucky fights with the ferocity of a man who knows the stake of every punch thrown, every kick landed. Each surge of his enhanced muscles, every pivot and parry, speaks to a silent promise he’s made to the woman in the cabin behind him—a vow to protect, to endure, to never yield until the cavalry of red, white, and blue storms over the horizon.

“Come on, Steve,” he mutters under his breath, keeping one eye above the tree line. He can almost picture Steve’s disapproving frown at the recklessness he knows all too well in himself, but for Bucky there’s no room for doubt or hesitation.

He will not fall, not when the mission of his life is on the line.

“Stand down, Soldat,” one of the agents has the audacity to admonish him, pointing a rifle right at Bucky’s forehead. The latter practically growls, his chest swelling with a sense of satisfaction at the way the agent takes an uneasy step backwards.

“That’s not my name,” Bucky snarls, his metal hand darting out so quick that the agent doesn’t have the time to register the movement. He grasps the barrel of the rifle, easily twisting it backwards and rendering the weapon utterly useless.

His other arm then swings in a wide arc, his fist connecting with the agent’s jaw in a grim percussion of bone and sinew. His focus is sharp, each movement calculated, as he pivots and delivers a kick that sends another agent flying across the clearing.

Suddenly, his thoughts loop back to Alpine’s serene gaze, one that’s saved him so many times since he’s come here. To Steve’s brotherly admonition, ones that always made him roll his eyes but smile at the same time. To you; a vision of your gentle eyes, the melodic cadence of your voice, and the feel of your lips against his.

It’s for you, all of you—a feline’s contented purr, a friend’s unwavering loyalty, and a lover’s unspoken pact, all rolled up in the promise of warmth—that Bucky wills his body to endure, to become both shield and sworn against the encroaching darkness.

Blood slicks his knuckles, the skin there now split and raw, his breathes coming out in harsh drags, hot and ragged against the winter chill.

Keep them safe. Those three words are a mantra that pulses in his veins, louder than the ringing in his ears, more insistent than the fatigue that claws at his limbs.

But then a sharp pain blossoms across his ribcage, one Hydra agent having found purchase with a serrated blade. Bucky grunts, twisting away, pressing his hand against the wound. The sensation of being outgunned begins to settle like lead in his gut, and he scans for an opening, any respite, but finds none.

A searing heat lances through his thigh, a bullet finding its mark despite his enhanced reflexes. The force staggers him, and for a moment, the battle dims to a distant thunder. Bucky drops to one knee, feeling the warm wetness spreading down his leg, the coppery scent of his own life force spilling onto the snow.

He clutches at the wound, his face contorting in not just pain, but in a sudden, piercing fear.

It cuts deeper than any knife, more devastating than any bullet—the realization that he might not walk away from this, that the story he shares with you might end in a cold and lonely epilogue.

Bucky thought he had been prepared to die for you out here, if it meant buying the rest of the team enough time. But damn it, he almost laughs, he’s afraid.

After all this time, after all those days wishing he were dead, the will to live strikes him like a lightning bolt. He wants to finish this, to go back to you and reaffirm the words he’d been so scared to say to you in New York, but had come so easily in the moments just before he left you under the trap door.

He wants your mornings, your touches, to turn those dreams of his that always seemed so distant into reality.

And so he embraces the fear and pushes the doubt aside, buries it beneath layers of sheer grit and will, pushing against the ever-present spectre whispering of rest. He can’t stop here, not yet.

Bucky rises once more to meet the onslaught. The air is thick with the scent of carbon and burning flames, and although the odds are daunting, relief suddenly floods his veins. There is a rumbling just beyond the trees, the ground beneath him quaking from the force of an impending arrival.

A shadow sweeps over the battlefield, massive and imposing, a familiar silhouette of salvation. Bucky looks up through lashes wet with sweat and blood, just as the sleek shape of a quinjet cuts across the night sky, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos.

The Avengers are here.

Bucky continues to fight, not just for life, but for every memory yet to be made, for every smile you might grace him with, for every gentle touch of Alpine against his skin, all in a world where peace is more than just a fleeting dream.

For the chance to love again, without the shadow of grief and guilt looming over him. Because while there’s so much worth dying for, there is infinitely more worth living for.

The roar of the quinjet’s engines drown out the symphony of battle. Steve, of course, is the first to emerge, his shield a bright disk against the gloom, catching the light as if to banish the darkness that’s come to consume his friend.

Close behind, Sam soars under the cover his mechanical wings, a guardian angel clad in steel and resolve. Wanda’s crimson energy dances at her fingertips, her eyes glowing red as she rains hell down on her foes, barely a foot out of the jet’s doors.

Natasha’s movements are a silent ballet, deadly and precise, while Clint’s arrows never fail to find their marks. Even Tony Stark, encased in his gleaming red and gold armour, lands with a ground-shaking thud, his repulsors already humming with lethal intent.

Together, the team moves as one. Bucky watches, his breath hitching, the weight of his body dangerously tempted to yield to the exhaustion, as his comrades turn the tide.

Clint lands at his side, and despite the circumstances, cracks a smile. “C’mon, Tin Man, hold yourself together.”

“Ugh, you’re about damn fucking time,” Bucky groans. He will never admit it, but he’s never been happier to see Clint or his dumb little smirk.

“Tony, Sam, secure the perimeter,” Steve calls out, his voice a steady drumbeat against the turmoil. The two don’t need to be told twice before they’re flying off, taking down more agents on the way like they’re nothing more than falling autumn leaves.

“Natasha,” Bucky manages, his voice hoarse with exertion and urgency. “She’s in the cabin. Keep her safe.”

“Already on it,” she replies, her tone sharp and sure as the knives at her belt. She slips away like a wraith, darting towards the wooden sanctuary where you remain hidden from the carnage, her red hair flying in the wind behind her.

The fight rages on, but now with the might of the Avengers tipping the scales. Bucky feels the burden on his shoulders ease every so slightly, even as his body protests each movement. He fights with the knowledge that you will be safe, that Natasha will guard you with the same ferocity with which he’s been battling.

Together, the team turns the tide, the remaining Hydra agents falling one by one until the forest floor lays littered with the vanquished. Bucky stands amidst the ruin, his breaths coming out in shallow gasps, the world around him narrowing to pinpricks of light against a closing curtain of darkness.

His muscles tremble with the aftershocks of battle; each heartbeat deafeningly loud in his own ears, drowning out the distant calls and quiet chatter of his teammates as they finish securing the perimeter.

Bucky sways on his feet, battered, bruised, and spent, allowing himself a moment to lean on the strength of his friends. Suddenly, he lies sprawled in the snow, feeling the cool embrace of the earth beneath him. The edges of Bucky’s vision frays, pulling at the seams of consciousness.

Steve is at his side in an instant, eyes etched with concern as he implores, “Stay with us, bud.”

It’s then, among the invading shadows, that a piercing cry shatters the air—a siren’s call that claws its way through the haze.

“Bucky!” It’s you, your voice laced with terror and something that sounds a lot like love, a symphony that plays upon the most vulnerable strings of his battered heart. In that moment, before the void can swallow him whole, Bucky finds the strength in the resonance of your call.

He fights against the pull of darkness, wanting nothing more than to get up, to reassure you with a soft touch, a gentle word, anything. But his limbs betray him, heavy as lead and twice as cold.

“Bucky, I’m here!” He hears you again, his body jostled as you slide into the snow next to him. He feels your hands on his face, your tears splashing onto his cheeks.

And then, surrendering to the exhaustion, Bucky allows the darkness to envelop him, the echo of your voice a lullaby that carries him toward the uncertain embrace of sleep.

The sleek doors to the compound hiss open, revealing an expanse of a room that could swallow modest homes whole. There’s a hum in the air, the kind that smells like money and buzzes with gadgets that probably haven’t even hit the market yet. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls offer a greedy view of the Manhattan skyline in the distance, but none of that holds her attention.

Natasha Romanoff stands there, the sterile scent of antiseptic wafting through the dimly lit medical wing. She glides between the beds until she reaches your bedside, a tangle of wires and monitors attached to your unconscious figure. You stir, lashes fluttering as if you can feel her next to you.

“Bucky?” You ask, your first thought not for yourself but for him.

“He’s in the other room,” Natasha replies, her tone even, betraying none of the concern within her emerald eyes. “They’re patching him up. Super soldier serum works wonders.”

“And Alpine?”

“I’m assuming that’s the cat,” Natasha cracks a tiny smile, “Tony’s keeping her company. I think he’s taken a liking to her.”

The redhead sits on the edge of your bed, her posture impeccable, and yet somehow still conveying the weariness in her shoulders. A thick and heavy silence suddenly falls between you, and you can’t help but tense under her scrutiny.

“Natasha, I—” you begin, but she holds up a hand, interrupting the apologies you’re ready to spill forth.

“Going rogue on that mission,” she starts, her voice soft but firm, “because you did technically go rogue, kroshka, was more than reckless. Your behaviour’s becoming a pattern; I thought it’d be better to give you some space, some time to work through everything that’s happened, but it’s just getting worse.”

There’s a maternal edge to her admonishment, tempered by an understanding of someone who had once danced on the knife’s edge of danger herself. It’s why your gaze falls away, the heat of shame crawling up your neck.

You know you’ve made a mistake, that your impulsive decision had almost cost you everything. “I know,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, “and I put Bucky at risk too.”

The confession is a small surrender, the first verbal acknowledgement of the fragility that lays beneath your normally hardened exterior. Natasha reaches out, her hand resting lightly on yours, a silent reassurance on top of the regret.

“Almost didn’t make it out this time,” Natasha continues. The subtext is clear: she could ill afford to lose you, not to death, nor to the darkness that seems to claw at your soul.

“It won’t happen again,” you promise, looking her straight in the eye. She holds your gaze for a few seconds, and even though she has every right to, there’s not a single trace of doubt in her eyes.

“Good,” she says, squeezing your hand, her lips curving up into the smallest of smiles. It’s only then that you notice she’s holding a tablet in her other hand, cradled carefully in her lap. Her eyes follow your gaze and she inhales sharply, the air in the room shifting as her sisterly demeanour is replaced by that of an agent’s.

“What is it?” You ask, watching as her fingers dance across the screen. She angles it toward you, casting a pale glow against the sheets.

“We found this at the Hydra base,” Natasha says, turning her eyes away from the screen and back onto you. You watch, breath hitching as the grainy footage sputters to life. The video shows a hauntingly familiar corridor, and there he is—the Winter Soldier, a phantom from the past, his metal arm gleaming as he dispatches guard after guard with ruthless efficiency.

“Natasha, I can’t…” your voice trails off, strangled by the lump forming in your throat. The images of your own gaunt figure lying limp in Natasha’s arms comes into view, all the while the Soldier moved with a singular purpose, stepping into harm’s path so you can make your escape. “Nat, you couldn’t have known. We… we barely made it out of there as it was.”

“Should’ve known,” she retorts, more to herself than you. Her words are steeped in self-reproach; for the Black Widow to overlook the details was not something that occurred often. “He was there, fighting for us—for you—and I didn’t even sense it.”

“I guess even the best of us have our blind spots.” You try to joke, but it lands totally flat.

“I guess so,” she agrees, never taking her eyes off you, the underlying meaning of her words suddenly making you emotional.

“Were you ever going to tell me he was there?” She asks, but her voice holds no malice. In fact, you see regret in her eyes too, another reason for all those years of secrecy. Your heart clenches at the idea of stirring up ghosts that haunt Bucky, but it cracks under the thought that it might do the same for Natasha.

You shake your head, admitting you would have taken it to your grave if you could. Your sister looks crushed, one of her hands coming to rest against the side of your head.

“Why do you always suffer alone, little sister?”

“Because some secrets are worth enduring for.”

She doesn’t argue with you there. “You have to tell him, at least.”

You scoff, turning away and pulling your blanket over your head. She’s having none of it, yanking it off you with surprising force. “Hey, I’m injured here!”

“He needs to know, kroshka,” Natasha insists, her earnest gaze piercing through your defences. “He needs to know that not all of his past is soaked in blood. That even in the darkest of times, he did something good, something noble.”

Your chest grows heavy with sadness, the walls of the infirmary seeming to close in as the truth looms large over the both of you.

“How can I?” Your voice trembles, your eyes glazing over with tears. “After everything he’s been through, how can I dredge up those memories? They’re just echoes, Natasha. Echoes of a person he doesn’t even remember being.”

“Because,” she replies, her voice softening. “He needs to hear the truth, and he deserves to hear it from you.”

Right on cue, the door to the infirmary slides open with a hushed whirr, and your conversation falls into a startled hush. Bucky stands at the threshold, his posture the embodiment of recovered strength, the super soldier serum having mended his flesh and bones with uncanny speed.

His eyes, however, bear the weight of experiences that no serum could erase. Still, he tries to smile for you. “Hey there.”

Your heart stutters at the sight of him, every wound on your body protesting as you attempt to sit up. Natasha places a gentle hand on your shoulder, easing you back onto the pillows.

“Take it easy,” Natasha advises, a knowing smile gracing her lips. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“Romanoff,” Bucky nods in acknowledgement, his glance briefly meeting hers before settling on you with an intensity that seems to anchor you both to the spot.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Natasha says, her voice a mere thread of sound in the charged atmosphere of the room. Her steps are silent as she crosses the space between you, and before she exits, she pauses at the door, her hand lingering on the frame.

She turns to share a final look with you, a silent exchange fraught with meaning. You know what it means even without saying anything; it’s a look that implores you to embrace the vulnerability of truth, and a look that promises, no matter what the outcome, that she would never leave you to face the storm alone.

With one last nod, she steps out into the hallway, leaving you and Bucky enveloped in the aftermath of her departure. You watch as Bucky approaches carefully, his broad shoulders squared, his footsteps measured.

“Hey,” he says again, “how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” you reply as he sits down in a chair next to your bed. He reaches out and gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. “A little morphine makes everything a lot better.”

Bucky grins, but it falters after a second or two. “About what happened back at the cabin…”

I love you.

Sometimes, I get the strangest feeling that I have for a really long time.

You look away, the vulnerability in his voice making your stomach lurch. It’s only been a few hours, and yet it feels like a lifetime ago.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured to… to say anything. Nothing has to change,” he says, his gaze steadfast and tender. “But I want you to know I meant it. Every word.”

You remember how he was like the last time he was in New York, his always solitary figure against the chaos of the city, a man out of time seeking a place in a world that had moved on without him.

He’s stronger than you will ever be, but in that moment, emboldened by his admission, you reach for the tablet Natasha left behind. You activate the screen, before hesitating for another moment.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, sitting a little straighter in his chair.

Maybe nothing, maybe everything, you think, your throat tight as you hand the tablet to him. His eyes widen as the images play out before him—the Winter Soldier, relentless and lethal, cutting down Hydra agents with a precision that chills blood.

But there, in the carnage, is a sliver of humanity. He, usually the harbinger of death, had in a single moment turned saviour for two women ensnared by the same darkness that had once claimed him.

“But that’s…” Bucky starts, wanting to say that’s impossible. “I… I don’t remember this.”

“That’s you,” you say softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his face on the screen. “You saved us. You saved me.”

His hand shakes as he sets the device down, the wind knocked from his lungs as realization dawned. “How can I not remember?”

“Because they didn’t want you to,” you tell him, your own heart aching with the burden of his forgotten moment of heroism. “But it’s true. That was all you… the part of you that Hydra could never touch. Even then.”

For a moment, silence stretches between you, filled with the ghosts of a shared history. But then the dam bursts, tears betraying your formerly stoic facades, tracing paths down your weathered cheeks.

“Forgive me,” he pleads, taking your hand and pressing your fingertips to his lips, because while he had forgotten, you had remembered every agonizing second. “I should have known sooner. I should have remembered you.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” you tell him, but you can see the self-reproach clinging to him like a second skin. “I’m the one who should be ashamed. You’re always there, always pulling me back from the brink. And I—”

Your voice breaks, the weight of a confession years in the making pressing down upon your chest.

“I don’t deserve how you see me. You think I’m strong, capable, but I’m not. I’m just… broken.” The word falls from your lips like the final verdict of a long fought battle, more tears escaping your eyes and dripping onto your pillow.

“What? No—”

“I’m always the one needing saving,” you interject, a hint of desperation lacing your words. “You, Natasha, and even Steve. You’ve all saved me and I can’t ever do a damn thing for you.”

“You done more than enough.” Bucky’s brow creases with concern, his expression crumbling, his hand reaching out before resting on top of yours.

“How can you love someone like me? I’m nothing. I’m nobody. I don’t even have a name.” All the years of buried feelings, what was crammed into a tiny little box and shoved into the furthest corners of your mind, come rushing forth. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

Bucky looks into your eyes, watching as the last light from the setting sun is replaced with the twinkle of the night stars, the both of you searching for absolution in the other.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers, hearing your deepest fears and wishing he could take the all away. “You see weakness, I see strength. You see shame, but I see bravery. You think you’re broken, but to me, you are… everything.”

Damn it all. He’s smiling at you, really smiling, as if with each word the burden lifts from the depths of his soul. And while your rattled brain is constantly telling you that you aren’t worthy, that he deserves more than the mere remnants of a broken woman, your heart screams something else.

It calls for him. It tells you to stay. Because if you can’t trust the world to make him happy, then you would have to do it yourself. And wouldn’t that be the best thing? To know that you, of all people, a nobody from nowhere, could make him happy?

“I love you too,” you whisper, your hands stroking his face, your eyes shining as he presses his forehead to yours. “If you’ll still have me.”

He clutches onto you like you’re the only source of the air that he breathes, like he can’t bear to let you go.

“Ah, darlin’,” he says, leaning forward to press the achingly lovely curve of his lips to yours, his whispers muffled against your scared watery smile. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

And then he’s in your arms. You kiss him once, twice, and then a third time, and you know then that this is the beginning—or rather, the continuation—of something amazing.

As he whispers love onto your skin, he etches onto your heart that love isn’t about deserving.

It’s about choosing, again and again.

And no matter how many times you fall apart or have to put yourself back together, you will always choose Bucky Barnes.

. ONE YEAR LATER

You are stunning.

It’s the only thought Bucky has as he lies back against the pillows, your hands on top of his as he grips your quaking thighs. The cabin, now restored to its former glory and moved to a new secret location, is warm—he’s made sure of it, spent a good ten minutes stoking the fire in its stone hearth just a few feet away, but he watches in awe as his touch raises goosebumps all over your skin.

Your eyes are wild beneath your hair as you straddle his hips, drawing a shuddering breath from your sweet and always gentle lover. You slide up and down the length of him, your most intimate places pressed together, his grip on your thighs tightening just a touch.

He’s doing okay until you take him in, slowly, and then rotate your hips, head thrown back and your back arched in pleasure. Bucky gasps, sitting up in a flash and holding you tight.

“Too much?” You ask in a breathless whisper, your breath quickening as his hands stroke the base of your spine.

“Too fast,” he chuckles, his words muffled against the delicate curve of your shoulder. He kisses you there sweetly before pulling back enough to look into your face. He wants to make this last, even if it kills him.

“Then we don’t have to—” You start to say, but then he’s lifting you up… and then back down… so slowly, so deliciously glorious, you can feel your toes start to curl. Your hands grip his strong shoulders, moving with him at the pace he’s set, chest to chest.

“Do you want to stop?” He asks, mischief and mirth laced in his voice. You reach up to thread your fingers into his hair and pull, just hard enough to make him hiss, before looking down at him with a smile.

“If you stop, I’ll actually pummel you,” you laugh, the sound unfamiliar even to you, but a sweet warmth spreads through your veins. You didn’t know you could laugh again, after all that, but Bucky just has this way of tearing down your walls, of making you feel things you didn’t think you’d ever feel again.

“Whatever my darlin’ wants, my darlin’ gets,” Bucky grins as he tilts you back, following you down onto his linen sheets. He settles on top of you, pressing your knees to the bed. Only when you’re whimpering and clawing at his back does he thrust himself all the way inside, right up to the hilt.

With a cry of his name, you grab at his hips to draw him in, so deep you swear you can feel him right against your beating heart. Bucky buries his face in the crook of your neck, his moist breath gliding over the column of your throat as he speeds up his movements, but still carefully controlled, not stopping even as he feels you begin to spend.

It’s not until your arms squeeze him tighter, until a sweet scream falls from your lips, your muscles undulating like rolling ocean waves around him, that he finally lets himself go.

When he can finally feel his limbs again, he pulls back and you’re smiling at him. Tears, despite himself, well up as he presses a kiss to your lips. The sight is becoming more frequent, and each time you grace him with it, he has to admit it still makes him a little breathless.

Outside the cabin, his sanctuary that he now eagerly shares with you, the snow continues to fall silently towards the earth. You drift off to sleep next to him, your hand on his chest, right over his heart. He watches you for a few seconds, his own eyelids growing heavy. He blinks slowly, wanting to savour this moment.

He vows to make you breakfast in the morning, to make a batch of fresh rolls just as you are being pulled from the lulls of sleep, with Alpine watching almost protectively from her usual spot.

He promises to call Steve after, to let him know that you’re both settling in nicely in your new home, and that Natasha can stop sending him about a dozen daily text messages requesting status updates.

He swears that he will one day have the courage to take out the velvet box tucked away in one of the drawers somewhere, and ask you for a yes or no answer. But tonight, he’s content to drift off to sleep beside you—warm, loved, and happy.

When Bucky opens his eyes the next morning, you are still there, and he remembers this time. He doesn’t just know; he remembers.

And the sky is new.

Fin.

Taglist — @cjand10 @pbs-theundeadmaggot @nerdreader @crist1216

Notes — I said I was gonna wait until Friday to post, but eff that lol. I couldn’t wait to share this finale.

So, this story turned into something totally different than what was originally conceived. I don’t know why or how. It was always intended to only have five chapters though, and I supposed I technically could have stretched it out into six parts, but I ultimately decided not to. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you were expecting or hoping for, but I am actually pretty okay with how it turned out in the end.

Thank you to everyone who supported my first fic! 🥹 I hope you enjoyed the angst and the brief fluff at the end! And now I can work on bringing you my rom-com Steve story, You’re Stuck With Me. Stay tuned!! 💖💖💖

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #summer’s fics

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theambitiouswoman · 10 months

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Personal Fulfillment: What it is & what it isn't

Personal fulfillment is essential because it contributes to your overall wellbeing, happiness, and a sense of purpose in life. It provides you with a sense of meaning and direction, helping you align your actions with your values and aspirations. When people have personal fulfillment, it boosts their self-esteem, and self-confidence. It brings a sense of accomplishment, happiness, and fulfillment, leading to greater life satisfaction. Personal fulfillment fuels motivation, driving people to pursue their goals and dreams with persistence and resilience. It also has a positive impact on our relationships, as fulfilled individuals bring positivity and fulfillment into their interactions, resulting in healthy connections.

Conversely, those who lack personal fulfillment may feel lost, dissatisfied, and purposeless, leading to emotional distress, strained relationships, increased stress, and missed opportunities for growth and personal development. Pursuing personal fulfillment is crucial for living a fulfilling and rewarding life.

What personal fulfillment is:

Pursuing your passion: Engaging in activities or pursuing goals that align with your passions and interests. For example, if you love writing, starting a blog or writing a book can bring you a sense of fulfillment.

Setting and achieving meaningful goals: Setting goals that are meaningful to you and working towards achieving them. This could be completing a degree, starting a business, or making a positive impact in your community.

Building and maintaining meaningful relationships: Cultivating relationships with family, friends, and loved ones and investing time and effort in nurturing those connections can bring a sense of fulfillment and happiness.

Continuous personal growth: Committing to lifelong learning and personal development. It can be achieved through acquiring new skills, expanding your knowledge, or challenging yourself to step out of your comfort zone.

Making a positive impact: Contributing to the well-being of others or the greater good. This could be through volunteering, supporting charitable causes, or working in a career that allows you to make a positive difference in the world.

What personal fulfillment isn't:

Chasing external validation: It is not solely dependent on seeking approval or validation from others. It is about finding inner satisfaction and contentment rather than constantly seeking external praise or recognition.

Material possessions: It is not about material wealth or accumulating possessions. While material comfort can enhance certain aspects of life, fulfillment comes from experiences, personal growth, and meaningful connections.

Comparing yourself to others: Personal fulfillment does not come from constantly comparing yourself to others and measuring your worth based on their achievements or possessions. It is about recognizing and appreciating your unique journey and individual progress.

Settling for mediocrity: It is not about settling for a life that feels unfulfilling or unchallenging. It involves actively seeking growth, setting high standards for yourself, and striving for excellence in areas that are important to you.

Ignoring self-care: You cannot achieve personal fulfillment if you neglect your own physical, mental, and emotional well-being. Taking care of yourself, prioritizing self-care, and maintaining a healthy work-life balance are crucial.

#personal improvement #personal development #personal growth #self development #self esteem #self improvement #level up journey #glow up tips

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nahoney22 · 1 year

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I have a request that has kept me up at night. But the whole Batch’s reaction to seeing their s/o sunbathing nude.

Like they set up camp somwhere for a break from missions and they see that their s/o is missing and finds them a bit far from the others, laying on a flat rock, naked and enjoying the sun.

18+ or not you decide😍 have a lovely day!

Catching Rays***

All Bad Batch Boys X GN!Reader

warnings: gonna class this as only mild NSFW. Mentions of nudity, suggestive themes, established relationships, slight voyeurism but mainly fluff. Gender Neutral Reader.

Apologies about the wait @thesunwof - hope this is to your liking ♥️

Masterlist

Echo ☀️

As Echo stepped off the ship, two cold drinks in his hands for this luxurious hot day, his eyes scan for you but finds himself frowning at your disappearance. Asking the others where you went, Hunter gestured in the direction you dispersed off to and so Echo sets out to find you.

He tried to comm you, asking for your location but your lack of reply makes his stomach swirl in nerves. The panic of something happening to you was thick in his mind so much so he ended up in a mad sprint that had him abruptly coming to a halt, nearly falling at the sight that beheld him.

The area was quiet and serene, something you would find on a postcard but despite the beauty of the place - it was you who caught his attention.

Laid in the warm sun, your nude body glistened. A part of him felt relieved to see you fine but another part of him was jealous you didn’t ask him to join you. Yet a different part of him was quite aroused…“What are you up to?”

His voice woke you from your daydream, sitting up abruptly to see your other half standing in the tree line, a surprise yet pleasant look on his face.

“Just having a little bit of ‘me time’ but your free to join me.” You pat the spot beside you, waggling your brows at him mischievously.

“What if the others find us?” He approaches you but apprehension is in his voice as you rest your hands on his shoulders, pulling on his top teasingly to get it off.

“Then I guess it’ll be a fun little risk, won’t it?”

Echo chuckles but gives in. It’s been too long since he actually had the chance to lay back and relax with you. What better way to spend it too, in the nude under the warm sun?

Hunter ☀️

Hunter didn’t spot you right away, rather he smelt the intoxicating scent of your sweat - something he rather much loved.

He noticed your disappearance straight away and after tracking you down, his body tingles as your scent blows through the warm sun which lead him to seeing you; naked and not having a single care in the world. His mouth waters at the sight of you, his senses enhanced more so as your skin glitters in the sun.

“Well, well… what do we have here?” He speaks, making his presence known and you can only chuckle, sitting up on your elbows as you lead over your sunglasses at your boyfriend.

“Why? You like what you see Sarge?” You purr, eyes scanning his whole body and already being able to tell he was getting worked up.

“Of course,” he crosses the threshold until he can place a hand to your warm and exposed thigh, gently caressing your skin, “why didn’t you invite me along?”

Your eyes gleam in satisfaction. “I wanted you to find me, of course. And it looks like you already have.”

Hunter chuckles, and you can’t help but notice he’s already kicking his boots off as well as using his bandana to tie his hair back. “You going to join me?”

He pauses and looks down at you with a smirk. “How could I not?”

Wrecker ☀️

“WIT WOO!” You jolt at the sudden boom of Wreckers voice, breaking out of your tranquil state as you sit up with wide eyes, staring over at Wrecker who emerges from behind the trees. “All naked and sexy without me?” He mockingly pouts but his pout is soon followed by his laughter as he approaches.

“Hey big boy,” you grin at him, happy that he managed to track you down. After all, it would be painfully awkward if it was any of the others.

You don’t even have to ask but he’s already undressing, allowing you time to scoot across the rock you were sunbathing upon before he joins you, hands tucked behind his head before letting out a reliving sigh.

“Now this… this is how to relax.” He hums happily, a grin breaking across his handsome face.

Your eyes trail along his large and toned body, very much liking the sight of the sun shining down on every part of him. “It’s so nice, isn’t it?” You tilt your head to the side, resting your head softly against his shoulder as the two of you bathe under the sun and feel relaxation for the first time in a long time.

Tech ☀️

Tech scans the area, frowning just a bit when he realises that you were no where in sight. But when Crosshair told him you went through the trees to the north with a towel under your arm, Tech instantly realised where you went.

After he told you there were some beautiful places to sunbathe, Tech could only imagine that’s what you went to do. With the others settled and doing their own thing, he trudged along after you but finds himself using his datapad to track down your coordinates. Looks like you went on a bit of a hike too!

But as he steps into the clearing, his eyes widen in surprise at the sight in front of you. Clearly, you had been for a swim in the cool water beside you but as you lay on a rock, completely nude with your eyes closed, Tech was stumped on what to do.

He did admire you in silence for a small while, breathing ragged as he takes in your whole frame from your wet hair to the sun glistening against your legs. He was enamoured with you regardless as his significant other but seeing you calm and tranquil like this was perfect.

“Are you going to keep staring or join me?”

Your voice broke Tech out of his thoughts and he clears his throat with a small apology. “It seems to me that you are enjoying the sun.” He states as a fact, making you chuckle and raise your head to look his way.

“That I am. This is a pretty great spot to lay low for a while. And the sun? Maker, it feels so good!” You chime which lead Tech into talking about the benefits of the sun both physically, mentally and environmentally. To which, you listened in both amusement and intrigue.

“I don’t feel like getting undressed right this second but I do have another idea in mind…”

You raise a brow. “And what is that, my genius?” He gushes at the nickname before boldly telling you that he would like to record this moment. Of course, if that was okay with you.

“You want to take pictures of me?” You ask autopsied but a little excited at the prospect.

“I do. Only for myself to look at and admire, of course. Strictly between us.” He feels hot under his collar and he’s certain it’s not just the sun.

You think for a moment before nodding excitedly. Sitting up and brushing your wet hair back and strike a pose. “So, how do you want me?”

Crosshair ☀️

Crosshair and yourself hadn’t been dating for too long so when he sees you sunbathing naked, it was also the first time he had seen you, indeed, naked.

He leans against a tree, arms folded as he watches you catching the rays. There’s not a smirk on his lips, rather a smile at seeing you so at peace and not feeling at all vulnerable.

But, he wanted your attention.

When he purposely snaps a twig beneath his booth, he half expected you to jolt in surprise but you didn’t move an inch. Instead, you let out a soft exhale as a smirk flickers on your lips. “Hey Crosshair,”

He blinks in surprise but should know by now that nothing gets past you but still, he had to ask, “How did you know it’s me?”

“Who else would it be?”

He walks towards you until he’s towering over you but keeps his gaze on your face, “one of my brothers.”

You hum in amusement. “Oh, that would be a problem wouldn’t it?”

His eyes dance in a flicker of jealousy but also amusement too. “Yes, it would.”

“Jealous?”

“Naturally.” He replies honestly and smoothly which makes your heart flutter.

You pat the spot beside you. “Why don’t you lay with me?”

He tilts his head and let’s his eyes flicker gracefully over your body, a wanting look on his face. “I quite like the view where I am… you’re beautiful.”

You bring your hand up to push down your sunglasses to look at his face better, a heat flushing across your cheeks. “You think so?”

“I know so.” he breathes, his trained digits stroking your forearm, “How did I get so lucky?”

Masterlist

My ko-if (not a necessity but if anyone is feeling generous I’d be very thankful.)

tags: @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @theroguesully @equalityforcats @mustluvecho @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi i @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @crystal076 @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @blustalker @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @agenteliix @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @imalovernotahater @swiftiexstarwarssimp @the-good-shittt

#nahoney22 writes #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch one shots #the bad batch headcanons #the bad batch #tbb #tbb x reader

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