#I look at a picture of him for a little too long and burst into tears | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mysterymeatmunchr · 2 days

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Barkback Mountain By The MeatMunchr

Authors notes:

3.3k words, one shot, FTM MLM

This is basically my “If Brokeback Mountain was two trans male cowboys fucking raw and nasty in the woods” fantasy. Oh, and also they’re both into pet play.

Content Warnings:

Consensual Fighting/Impact play, Struggling/Struggle Fucking, Blood, Spit, Knives, Cutting, Degradation, Pet Play, Brief light CNC

Character Descriptions:

I didn’t name the characters because I want readers to be able to think of whoever they want, BUT I did picture what they look like to me. You can picture them differently if you would like to.

The Narrator:

FTM, bear, butch, short and stout, broad shouldered, muscular but not toned, beer bellied, full dark thick and curly body hair, full trimmed beard, chest length loose dark curls, wide calloused hands, dark hooded eyes, broad browed, and strong featured.

He wears a black cattleman hat, a dark denim shirt, dark denim pants, brown boots, and a silver bolo tie.

The Lover:

FTM, otter/cub, butch, short, muscular and toned, broad shouldered, full thick dark curly body hair, full overgrown stubble, brow length loose brown curls, brown soft downturned eyes, and soft featured.

He wears a tan cattleman hat, a blue denim shirt, blue denim pants, and tan boots.

————

As I stand in the clearing waiting for him to arrive, I wonder if he’s gotten lost again. I was sure to give him plenty of markers to look out for on the way, and it isn’t all that hard once you reach the creek, but for a cowhand he sure is poor at finding his way. I’ve waited this long to see him again, I’m sure I can wait moments longer until he stumbles upon the clearing. I find a stump to rest on while I wait with my thoughts to keep me company. The excitement and nerves tangle up my insides, but I can manage a stoic front.

It isn’t too long before a rustling comes from the trees and a familiar form appears. A man close to my height, a little more on the slender side compared to my burly stout build and beer fattened stomach, but still stocky enough to keep up with the other cattlemen. Unlike the others, we both hold the same secret. We knew from the day we set eyes on each other we were different from the others. It was an unspoken kinship, something in our eyes that screamed out to each other, ‘I know what you are.’ It wasn’t long before we started having our little… meetings…

As the other man approaches I stand to greet him, “Took you long enough,” His dark unkempt curls are spilling out from under his hat and his blue denim fit him well, starched like a gentleman for a special occasion. “You know I’ve never met a cowhand as directionless as you. It’s damn near shameful.”

“It’s nice to see you too,” he says with a smile.

“I wasn’t lost this time, I saw something a ways back by the creek and stopped for it.”

The man sets down his pack next to mine, then lifts his tan hat up revealing a white handkerchief tied up into a sack, peppered with deep dark stains. He hands me the parcel from atop his head. I untie the knots revealing blackberries bursting with juice.

“Well, this is mighty kind of you, thank you. I apologize for my comments.” I bit into a berry and he did the same, the dark juice pooling between his teeth like a beautiful premonition of what’s to come. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks me. His brown eyes glowing gold in the tree filtered sunlight.

“Of course I do, the hardest part is deciding whether or not I’m letting you throw the first punch,” I said, trying and failing to wipe a smirk off my face. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”

“I’m not,” his tone was serious. “I want this, and this time, I’m gonna win.”

“It’s cute that you think that pretty boy, we’ll see.” I take off my bolo tie and denim shirt, fold up the shirt and place it on top of my pack along with my black cattlemen hat. My partner does similarly and we head to the center of the clearing.

…

Blow after blow, noses and mouths bloodied, the metallic taste on our teeth fuels something deeply primal and terrifying within us as we spit and growl and scream at each other. The sweat, blood, and dirt on him fills my lungs. The smell is sickeningly sweet. He socks me square in my jaw. I roar before spitting out the blood. ‘Enough,’ I think to myself. I shove the smaller man to the ground, eyes aflame, no longer recognizing the beautiful boy I’ve bloodied, bruised, and beaten. My muscles ache, wrestling him into submission, our bodies woven together in a desperate battle for dominance. I finally pin him down on his back, straddling his hips, gripping both his wrists hard enough to bruise. He’s banging his head into the earth, thrashing his arms and legs, trying and failing to free himself from the heavy strength and weight of me. He howls out a deep, defeated, guttural scream. His teeth bared and snarling, with strings of bloody spit weaving through his hateful mouth.

I smile as he spits on my face. I look him in the eyes smug as I lick his spit off the side of my mouth.

“You’re disgusting,” he hisses through gritted teeth, knowing I’d won, knowing he wants me to dominate him and he hates me for it.

I hold him there still for a moment to take in my work. I need to see it, the hate and lust and defeat. Angry tears well up in his eyes as the blood rushes in and swells up my already leaky tcock.

I crash into his lips devouring him while he lets out little curses between each breath, he breaks my desperation with a bite to my lip. He gives me all the spite in his body until he draws blood. I smile, lip still caught between his teeth, as I grab his jaw digging my fingers into his bruised cheeks to release myself. I’m thankful for it, he just gave me a reason to pull away and strike his face hard with an open hand. I spit on his pitiful, beautiful, beaten face and strike him once more. I lap it up off his cheek along with the blood and dirt like a ravenous dog, unable to stop myself from grinding against his struggling hips. The degradation of him is burning up something hateful and angry and shameful inside me.

I move his wrists into one of my hands, keeping him pinned as I reach for my hunting knife. Savoring the fear in his eyes, I hold the blade to his throat.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” I whisper into his ear.

Keeping him at knife point I get up and hastily kick off my boots and tear off my jeans and drawers. I know I already have him, he’ll be good and stay put for me, but I’m just too impatient, I want to defile him so badly.

I crash back down to the earth to rip off his jeans. I can hear his ragged breaths through the leaves singing in the wind. I slash through his drawers with my knife, before tracing down his stomach with the blunt side of the blade. He knows what’s coming next. I press the tip of my knife into his thigh and drag slowly, his body tenses and he whimpers. The sound sends blood rushing to my pulsing heat. I’ve marked him with another tally, another loss, permanently scarred next to seven previous defeats. I don’t know when this part of the ritual began but I fell in love with how humiliating this is, especially for him, knowing my thigh bears only three marks and his now holds eight. A tear rolls down his soiled cheek as I force open his legs, pinning up one of his thighs before holding my knife back up at his throat. I look into his eyes hazed with fear and lust, without words, I’m commanding him, not asking, yet still he nods his head. It’s more permission than I needed to mount him. Dripping and hungry, I grind my boycunt against his. His defiance and anger is melting into submission, as he begins to match my movements. We rut into each other like dogs in heat.

One of his hands claws into my forearm just barely holding the knife at bay, and the other clutches the forest floor tight as we frot. Our cum soaks the earth beneath us. He desperately grinds his hips into mine, he can’t bite back his moans anymore.

“Please,” he whimpers like a dog, “Please, use your mouth, I need your tongue,” begging through gasps. He’s mine. He knows he’s mine. I dig my nails into the soft, hairy skin of his thighs, and he winces.

“How badly do you want me?” I challenge, my voice deep and rasped with breathlessness, “Show me,” I command.

Slowly his hand releases my forearm, leaving behind bloodied crescent moons and the beginnings of bruises where his nails were once buried. My nails embedded in his thigh follow suit, and I toss away my knife.

“Please,” he whispers, beginning to prop himself up. I nod and allow him to sit up, he brings his face close to mine and kisses me gently, then pulls away. “I want you so badly” he whines.

I feel the heat of his hand radiate down my big hairy stomach as he makes his way towards my swollen heat. He lays his head on my shoulder and I clutch his shaggy brown curls forcefully. A moan escapes his lips. His fingers begin to stroke my throbbing aching cock, and I can feel the cum dripping from my boycunt. I let a moan slip out, and he hesitates.

“Don’t stop, show me how badly you want me, how badly you want me to suck you off,” I say, my breath becoming uneven, “Show me you’re my pet now.”

He glides a finger against my messy hole, tracing back up to my cock rubbing against my throbbing heat in tight circles, pulling back and forth on my foreskin with each stroke. I buck against his fingers, and start to claw deeply into his back. His hand feels so good, I asked for this but I want to draw his blood for reminding me his touch can weaken me. He slides a finger down towards my cunt.

“Enough,” I release him, and pull his hand away from my crotch before he can enter me.

I push him to the forest floor and pry apart his legs, revealing his soaked pulsing tcock and cunt. I can’t hold back anymore. I’m starving for him. I look him in his eyes, and place my hand against his cheek streaked with dirt, blood, sweat, and spit. With lips barely parted, I kiss him, I drink deep the taste of his lips, his spit, his blood. I bite his lip before I move to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, biting, kissing, licking, I take in the soft sweet skin of his neck. I savor its flavor and scent as I leave behind a mark to tell him he’s mine, to tell the world he’s mine. I rip apart his undershirt so I can devour him in his entirety, as I make my way down towards his warm, throbbing boycunt. I want to consume him whole, and stain him with my hunger. My pet yelps and whines with each marking and cries out from each ravenous bite I inflict.

I pin down his thighs as I hover over his tcock. I can feel his heat on my face. I embed my nails into the tender skin of his thighs. My hot breath lands in his dark curly pubic hair. I press my lips against his inner thigh, nipping him lightly, a few warning shots, before biting down hard. He cries out to the treetops as he squirms underneath me, but I hold him down steady. I lick the bite mark and blow cool air over the tender spot, making him shiver. A hot insatiable feeling wells up from deep within my stomach and my cock aches and throbs. Finally, I envelop his cock in my mouth, sucking and stroking his pulsating bundle of nerves with my lips and tongue, drowning in the taste of him as he ruts into my face and clutches fistfuls of my long dark curls.

I release him from my mouth before sucking and teasing the swollen lips of his cunt. I want to taste all of him. My good boy grinds into me, begging for more with his puppy whimpers. I lap up his tcock with long broad strokes before quickening my pace, swirling my tongue around his raging growth. I dip my tongue down plunging into his cunt as he slams down his hips, fucking himself on my tongue. I switch between his cock and cunt, savoring both the taste of him, and the sound of his cries echoing through the forest.

I pull myself up to meet his face, and kiss him. I want him to taste himself on my lips. He looks up at me with his brown puppy eyes, and opens his mouth for me, tongue out, panting like a dog. I spit in his mouth and he takes it, swallowing and sticking his tongue out once more. I cup his face, letting him suck my thumb. I pull out and raise my hand to strike him, he flinches and I laugh. He wears such a sweet humiliated expression.

“How pitiful, be a good boy and wait here for me,” I say, petting his cheek before getting up, “and touch yourself while I’m gone mutt.”

I retrieve and don my prosthetic from my pack, as well as another piece of my leather work, a leather collar and lead. Making my way back to my pet, I take in the sight of him panting and arching his back as he strokes himself, and heat rushes through me. Filtered sunlight speckles his body. ‘My dog has spots,’ I think to myself, chuckling. His legs are open and ready for me. ‘What a pathetic mutt.’

I kneel between his legs, moving away his ‘paw’ and grind my prosthetic on his cock.

“Lift your head and stick out your tongue,” I order, buckling on his collar and lead. “You’re my dog now, my pet, my plaything. Never once were you anything but this.”

I place a finger on his tongue and pull his lead. He needn’t be told, he takes in my finger sucking and moaning, rutting himself on my prosthetic, and coating my finger with spit.

“Stroke yourself.”

I press my finger against the slick entrance of his cunt. I don’t even press in before he’s bucking his hips, fucking himself on my finger and panting. I curl my finger upwards and slowly fuck his hole, still pulling his lead. His hips are rustling the leaves beneath us, moving against my rhythm, trying to get more from me as he strokes himself faster.

“P-pl-please,” he stutters out, “another.” I cover his mouth with my hand, the lead worn around my wrist.

‘Dogs can’t speak.’

I thrust another finger in him, massaging the tender rippled flesh inside, rough and hard. I can feel his muffled moans vibrating under my rough palm. I want to hear him. I remove my hand and glide down his body until I grasp his hip. His cunt tightens on me, pulsating, milking my fingers for all the pleasure his greedy hole can get. He cries out, and I feel his warmth spray out from him onto my stomach and thighs.

“Don’t stop!” he begs, and I tug his lead sharply. He does not command me.

I pull out, spit into my hand, and coat my prosthetic with his cum and my spit. I plunge deep into him and he screams from the stretch. I slam into his cunt thrusting slow and hard, with no rest or reprieve for him to adjust to the size. His eyes roll back into his skull. He’s losing focus. ‘What a stupid dog,’ I think as I strike him with the back of my hand.

“Don’t stop touching yourself,” I growl. His hand speeds up again.

As I tug on his lead with every thrust, breathy moans escape him. I have him hold up one of his legs for me with his free hand, and the wetness spraying from his cunt soaks the harness of my prosthetic, and my stomach. I wipe it from my belly and slap him with it to punish my pet for the mess he’s made. He’s too fucked out to even wince. He moans for me at the impact. I’ve broken in my pet nicely.

The expression on his face, the sound of his cries, the sight of his throbbing swollen cock, the smell and taste of our blood staining my senses, and the base of the prosthetic grinding on my cock with each thrust lights a fire in me. I crash down on him, wrapping my arms under his shoulders and digging my nails into him. The weight of my body is pressed into his as I mercilessly fuck into him. He claws into my back and wraps his legs around my waist driving his hips into me as we howl like wild dogs.

I kiss and bite his neck as he gasps and pants in my ear. His nails in my back sting fiercely. He’s undoubtedly drawn blood. I cry out, but my pace is unwavering. My cock throbs and aches for release with every thrust. I can’t tell if the cum running down my thighs is his or mine. I use all the strength left in my body to lift him up off the forest floor. His legs still wrap around my waist and he clutches my shoulders. My ragged breaths and grunts pour from my mouth for the whole forest to hear. Hands gripping his ass, slamming him down on my prosthetic, I’m plowing up into him as he cries out. I feel his body tense and shake, his cries getting louder and louder, until he collapses onto me. I know he’s finished but I do not stop. My body aches, but I can’t stop. Pleading and sore he grasps me tightly once more.

“Please! Stop! I came! Please!” he begs, but dogs can’t speak.

I keep slamming my prosthetic into his cunt, grinding my cock against the prosthetic desperate to finish. My core tightens as I thrust into him faster, using his cunt as I please. My blood rushes to my head and cock, my heart pounds in my ears, my vision darkens, my body shakes, until suddenly, finally, I cum.

My legs buckle but I steady myself, laying my partner gently to the ground, and kissing his forehead before collapsing to the ground beside him. We’re breathless, sweat and cum soaked, and soiled with dirt and blood, but the breeze blowing through the trees cools us. I wince, noticing the sweat rolling down my face and soaking my back stinging all of my cuts and bruises. I turn to face my lover, and pull him to me. I cup his bruised face and wipe a tear stain with my thumb.

“Are you alright? Was it too much? How bad does it hurt?” The questions spill from me too quickly. How could I do all those awful things? How could I like all those awful things? He places a finger gently up to my lips silencing me.

“Yes. No. Could be worse.” He laughs, smiling at me, “It was good. You’re good.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask. My disregard for him from before is melting away into concern and shame.

“Just lay here a spell with me, then maybe you can roll me a smoke after we fix each other up.” He reassures me. He’s taken my shame and casted it away. I press him tighter to me.

“As you wish, you did so good for me. Thank you. Thank you.” I whisper to my lover. A tear stings my busted cheek.

I press my lips to his gently. We’re both bruised and aching with lips busted, but this gentleness and tenderness for each other overwhelms all else.

I hold him to my chest, petting and kissing his head, while he strokes my chest. We listen to the trees rustling, and a faint babbling whispering from the creek, and the steadily slowing beating in our chests. I don’t think of how long it will be before I can see him in this light, and in this clearing, or how long it will be before, in these secluded moments, I can scream to heaven he’s mine, the way I wish I could scream it to the world. In this moment time stands still, and we can stay here forever.

#mx meatmunchr #ftm cowboy #ftm pet #trans puppy #trans nsft #ftm t4t #ftm mlm #gay cowboy #struggle #ftm dom #ftm smut #t4t nsft #ftm puppy #nsft puppy #if i dont get to do this someday im gonna scream

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captains-price · 6 months

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Elliot Knight: *exists* Me: 😭

#he’s just so #I look at a picture of him for a little too long and burst into tears #you ever see a man so beautiful you start crying?#elliot knight #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty

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honestsycrets · 9 months

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mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it.

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free.

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.”

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--”

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--”

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.”

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face.

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets.

“She likes it.”

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.”

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar.

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.”

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.”

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,”

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face.

“As many as will make you happy.”

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.”

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?”

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for.

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father.

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.”

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable.

Low sperm count his ass.

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it.

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.”

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.”

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel.

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them.

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.”

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly.

“Sí, Miggy?”

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so.

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that.

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place.

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder.

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck.

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone.

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day.

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is.

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready.

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall.

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.”

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.”

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.”

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck.

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.”

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest.

“Who would come in?”

“Peter,” you answer.

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see.

“The balcony, then.”

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?”

“Maybe.”

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter.

“Bend over.”

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now.

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.”

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth.

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?”

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again.

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back.

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability.

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable.

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach.

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body.

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs.

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days. “Like… not this.”

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers.

“I’m open to suggestions.”

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.”

“Don’t start.”

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging.

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--”

“Let me guess. She told you.”

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?”

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe.

“Are you sure? I know--”

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.”

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?”

He leers. Peter scuttles away.

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

13K notes · View notes

hongjoongscafe · 4 months

Text

Peach.

One-Shot.

Pairing: professor!jungkookxcamgirl!reader.

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, forbidden au, uni au.

Summary: where his lust and admiration fell for a camgirl.

Word count: 15.4k+

Warnings: age gap (oc: 21, JK: 30), masturbation… lots of masturbation, sort of online bullying(?), kind of public masturbation, toys, name-calling, sir/daddy, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected sex (Namjoon will bonk your head if you don't use a contraceptive), spanking, spitting kink, cum eating, choking, overstimulation, a little bit of degradation, pussy spanking. (and that anime-ish picture has nothing to do with the fiction. Imagine the characters however you want!)

Masterpost

“Oh fuck!” Jungkook's voice trembled as he palmed himself through his sweatpants. The thin shining layer of sweat made his face look sexier. His teeth were gritting and his eyes could barely focus on anything but the screen.

He had sworn to make himself wait until he could not wait anymore. He wanted to tease himself until he felt like bursting through his high. He wanted the pain of pleasure to run through his muscles and explode when it was too much to fill his body.

His ears were red from arousal and his veins were popping from lust.

He waited for a whole day to end just to tune into his favourite girl's livestream and tease himself as long as she teased herself.

Through his screen, he admired how her legs were wide open with a camera between them showing her gushing core. The livestream only started about five minutes ago. And he was already so ready to burst in his pants.

He was packing (giddily) to go back home after his day was over at the university to watch her, he was smiling widely. However, his smile dropped when he saw Mr Jameson (the director of the university) standing on the threshold of his office room.

“Mr Jeon, kindly visit conference hall 2 for a staff meeting in ten minutes.”

His lips frowned but nodded and sighed thinking that he probably wouldn't be able to make home soon enough to watch his MissPeach.

The meeting went longer as expected. It was nothing but about exchange students. Jungkook had ten exchange students in total and about three in each lecture he was assigned.

He made it home just in time. While he was juggling the key in the keyhole, he opened the stream and it was on its final countdown till the stream started. He sighed with relief and finally went inside and jumped on his bed, not bothering to turn on his lights. The burnt yellow guiding lights in the hallway and in his room were enough for him which turned on automatically when the sun kissed the ocean through his window and the night began to fall.

“Today, I thought I must not make you all wait,” Miss Peach's soft voice finally speaks. “So I’m going to skip teasing and just jump right into it,” she giggled when the chat went crazy with thank yous and asking for more or some who loved to get teased were upset but so ready to see.

Jungkook’s cock twitched after hearing her seductive yet innocent voice. She never showed her face but he knew she was smiling.

“I’m tired today, so I will use my sex machine instead. I hope it is alright,” she hummed.

Jungkook quickly tapped his screen with a frown of worry.

Bigdaddyj: Baby, it's alright. Relax and just let go, yeah? Don't worry<3 If someone has any problem, Daddy will handle —$200

The ping on Peach's side made her look at the chat. “Thank you, Daddy,” she chuckled. “You are always so generous.”

Jungkook could see her pussy throbbing as she said daddy. He bit his lip and saw a fake cock attached to a machine. Peach rubbed the lube all over it and aligned it with her pussy. She started it at a slow speed.

“Oh,” she gasped as it slowly started to push in. “This feels so good.”

He whimpered imagining his cock pushing into her pussy. Lowered his pants and pulled out his throbbing cock and squeezed the head, trying to feel how it would feel if he were that fake cock. His cock would look prettier and feel better than that thing. But at the same time, he wanted to suck that toy and lick all of her sweet juices, too.

“You fill me up so good,” she rasped. “Please fuck me,” Peach panted as she raised the power and the thrusts got faster and wetter.

“Fuck,” he couldn't control and gave in. His fist picked up the pace of the toy and looked at her pretty pussy swallowing the toy. Her sweet moans and whimpers only fueled his desire.

Not much later, he came all over himself, ruining his white shirt and black pants. But it was worth it.

“That was quick,” she giggled as she panted. Her pussy was red and swollen just how he loved it. “I hope you all came as well… tomorrow I was wondering if we could do qna type of thing? Not the usual stream but just something. I kinda wanna talk. I don't get to do that enough so…”

Jungkook was quick to reply.

Bigdaddyj: aw Peaches I would love to talk to you, baby girl. It will be fun. ^^ –$300

Reading the chat he sent, she hummed cosily. “You think so, daddy? I'm glad. I'll be seeing you all tomorrow then.”

With that, the stream ended and Jungkook slumped against the headrest.

Jungkook used to share a staff flat on campus with two other professors. It was going fine until he found MissPeach. Watching her was becoming a huge task with the other two men in that small flat. It was always obvious whenever he would jerk off.

On many occasions, his roommates would catch him after looking at his flushed face after one of his “sessions”. They said that his face could never hide the fact that he just jerked.

He started to wear makeup but it was frustrating and ended up moving out and eventually purchasing his own apartment off campus. It was rather convenient.

His obsession, however, grew ridiculously embarrassing. And having his own apartment helped him live it. Whenever MissPeach would go live, he would watch without caring about someone disturbing or making fun of him.

Sometimes he felt utterly embarrassed whenever he sat in front of his gigantic TV in his living room with a football game, his one hand holding his mobile with MissPeach's livestream on it and the other hand wrapped around his aching cock. He couldn't miss either.

It all worked out for him.

…

The next morning, Jungkook walked into his lecture hall dressed in a black shirt and black pants, his feet clad in the infamous black boots that made him look professional at the same time a character out of a dark romance book.

“Good morning, class. I hope you all had a long night. I have a job for you all,” he cleared his throat. “I'll be handing you guys a worksheet. You have this whole lecture which is sixty minutes. Take help from your sources and complete it. It's been one month and four more to go. So I want you all to revise what we did this month. I think there is no better way than this. What do we say? Do we agree?” he asked with his bubbly smile that he knew no one could resist.

The students agreed. Soon enough, everyone had two sets of five-page-long worksheets on their desks. In this specific batch, he taught biology. But he had chemistry as well.

You loved biology. And even more now because Jungkook was your professor. You were an exchange student and joined this semester.

On your first day, when he walked into the class, you were positive that he was one of the students but when he stood behind the teacher's desk and started his lecture, your jaw was barely holding up. He looked ripped and broad. The buttons on his shirt were fighting against the monstrosity of his chest. You swore you saw his nipples poke through his shirt at some point.

Even now, when you are sitting in your seat you can't help but look up and steal some glances towards him. He was sitting on his chair, reading something on his laptop with his glasses perched up.

You felt your pussy tingling. Since the first day, you have been masturbating to him. But your pussy just wanted his finger, mouth, and cock.

He never noticed you. You preferred to stay at the corner at the back and just exist. Socializing was not your forte. You had one too many insecurities to even say hi to someone. Even when some of the girls approached you for you to join them around, you always politely declined.

And the rest were not as nice. The thing was that you were a scholarship student at a private university. You barely afford to live. And the others barely kept money in their banks but still had too much money. They were everything you could never be and sometimes they took it as an advantage.

So you preferred to stay away and not get involved with anyone.

You were focusing on your worksheet when Jungkook’s chair screeched against the floor, looking up, you saw him slowly walking around and inspecting if someone needed help. So far, it was not bad. He had taught everything perfectly.

You focused back on your work. You could hear his footsteps. Here and there, the girls asked him some silly questions. You wanted to ask, too. But your confidence was a bit above -200.

So no, you weren't going to ask.

Soon enough, the musky scent invaded your senses as Jungkook was closer to you. He stood by you and looked at your work. You hid your hands under the desk to hide the trembling. It was the first time that you saw him up close. He never took a round, most probably because it was never needed. On the other hand, there weren't any emergencies or something that would make you knock on his office door.

Your eyes met with his as he asked “Miss Park, do you need any help?”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice.

“As expected,” he smiled. He fucking smiled at you. You bit back a silly smile, cleared your throat and looked down.

He moved along and you finally took a breath. He is rather enchanting and you just couldn't rebel.

How could you? That big Professor was a god himself.

“After you are done, you can hand your sheets to me and leave,” he said and took his seat.

You had completed the worksheet about twenty minutes earlier but there was no way you were going to get up and attract any attention. So you started to go through Chemistry.

Chemistry was not your best subject but it meant another hour in Jungkook’s class.

Your concentration enveloped you and made you lose the passage of time. You slightly flinched as Jungkook called your name.

“Miss Park, it has been ten minutes since the lecture got over. You can take the worksheet home if you want and submit it tomorrow if you are finding it hard. Or I can help if you want,” Jungkook offered.

You looked around the empty class and back at your professor. “Ah,” you nervously chuckled and started collecting your stuff. “It is all done,” you said in a small voice and finally gathered everything.

You walked towards him and handed him the sheets. Awkwardly, you bowed and stepped away. However, Jungkook stopped you.

“Miss Park, please write your name and ID number over here, please,” he smiled… again.

You could feel your ears heating up with embarrassment. “Sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s alright!” as you were writing your name and ID number on your sheets, Jungkook took notice of your hands. They looked familiar. Way too familiar.

The images of his MissPeach flashed in front of his eyes. That glistening, pink pussy. His cock twitched in his pants. He shook his head to get the images out. “There are many similar hands, JK!” He scolded himself.

“How are you keeping up, here?” Jungkook asked to distract himself.

You slid the now-named sheets back to him. “Um, it's nice here.”

Jungkook’s eyes twitched at the familiarity of your voice as well. “That’s good. If you ever have any problem, you can come to me. We have two classes so feel free to reach out. You are already so far away from your home so don’t hesitate to ask for help.”

You looked him in the eyes and smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” with that, you finally left with a racing heart and wet panties.

Jungkook looked at the closed door. “Ah, I should stop watching her. She is messing up my brain. Y/n can't be her. She is too innocent for that… right?”

But who was he kidding, he was obsessed with MissPeach.

You felt embarrassed when you walked out. His mere smile and thick voice made your pussy clench around nothing and your panties wet. You could feel the wetness on your thighs.

He had an effect on you more than your body could handle without making you feel like his whore.

But you knew he would never look at you the way you wanted him to. To begin with, you were his student and if there was any chance that he would get involved with one, that certainly wouldn't be you.

There were many painfully beautiful girls around you who had maintained themselves like Queens. They had proper skin care, a pretty makeup routine before they came to university and a relaxing night routine. Whereas you, you splashed your face with water and soap and slapped basic cheap face cream on your face.

Most of your money from your “job” was sent to your parents and for your apartment rent. And not to mention, that where you came for an exchange programme, even farting costs money.

Sighing, you walked through the crowd of students and looked around. Everyone was busy with their stuff. In the canteen, groups of friends were sitting and enjoying the food. You brought your own meal but today you were running late and packed nothing. So you walked towards the cheapest of the options, a vending machine.

You bought some rice balls and a can of Sprite. Quickly, you left the canteen and sat on the empty staircase which rarely anyone visited which led to the abandoned old green room.

It didn't take time for you to finish your food. The thought of your hot, ripped professor was still fogging up your mind and probably the sane side of your brain, too. And the more it did, the more your panties became wet.

The image of his beautiful long fingers teased you. You wondered how his tattooed fingers would look while playing with your pussy. Oh, you just wanted just that.

His lip ring was the end of you. You wanted to sit on his face and feel the piercing over your pussy. You always paid attention to when he played with his lip ring with his tongue and just wanted to know how it would feel teasing your clit.

You couldn't take it anymore so you opened the secret pocket of your bad and took out a tiny bullet vibrator that you carried after realizing that Mr Jeon was a sexy man that you just wanted fuck.

Looking around the empty staircase and hallway above, you opened the button of your pants and slipped your hand inside your panties. You positioned the toy over your clit and buttoned up your pants back on.

From your mobile, you turned it on. The low vibrations of the toy shivered you up. You closed your eyes and rested your head against the railing, slowly turning up the power.

It was a perfect gift from one of your viewers who watched almost every stream, Bigdaddyj. You loved this toy the most. It didn't make any noises and was easy to carry around in your bag… or inside your panties.

Soon the vibrations got stronger, leaving your mouth wide open. Your hips thrust in the air and your legs trembled.

A strangled moan forced out so you slapped your hand over your mouth to make no noises. You imagined Jungkook between your legs fingering your hole and sucking on your clit. Thinking of him humming and moaning on your pussy sent you to the edge.

Not so long after, your body seized up and climaxed.

You whimpered at the sensitivity and turned off the toy. It was hard to bring your breath to normal but you somehow managed and stood up yet again questioning your existence.

…

“So I see many of you tuned into this live… I was not expecting this,” you giggled looking at the viewer bar. There were about one thousand viewers. They could only see your boobs clad in a black satin tank top. “Shall we start with the QnA?”

Jungkook was lounging on his sofa with a glass of whiskey. He looked at MissPeach’s boobs. He just wanted to squeeze them and pamper them with kisses and just… keep on worshipping her.

Bigdaddyj: You look fabulous, pretty. How was your day?

You looked at the chat, it wasn't as crazy as when you bare your boobs and pussy. Your heart fluttered when you saw the name of your regular who insisted you call him daddy. “Thank you, Daddy! I'm fine, just a bit tired. It was a long day,” you hummed.

Bigdaddyj: Aw, baby. You should rest. Drink something warm and sleep.”

You smiled at his chat. Playing with the top of your tank top, you replied, “I will. But I have some other things to do and study for a bit.”

Jungkook watched MissPeach play with the top. He couldn't help but pay close attention to the hands. They were similar, he was sure of that. However, he shook his head and paid attention to MissPeach’s chat.

Cummingdick: show face

Natehell: Do you meet in private?

She answered that question, “No, I don't meet in private.”

Then Jungkook asked the question that had been bugging him all-day.

Bigdaddyj: Baby, yesterday you said that you don't get to talk a lot. What is that? Do your friends don't listen to you?

You looked at the question. Your smile faded, lucky you never showed your face. What were you supposed to answer? But it was Daddy who asked it so you had to answer.

“Well, I'm not a very social person. Plus I moved to a different country recently. So I don't have friends here. I prefer staying by myself anyway. It works for me!” you tried to be enthusiastic.

Patrick: show tits, bitch

Fuckboi2000: it's always the quiet ones who whore around

Lovethatpus: I thought you had fucked the whole campus

Jungkook didn't feel good. He heard that strained voice and could tell it was deeper than that. He felt rage reading mindless chat, on top of that. He always saw that innocence in her. Even though she was a camgirl, her demeanour reflected the innocence that he wanted to protect.

Bigdaddyj: it's alright, baby. Try to get along slowly. I'm sure you will make a good friend. Don't be alone, my darling.

The chat from Bigdaddyj brought a smile to your face. Where everyone was requesting you to remove your top and spread your legs, he was making sure you felt heard.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Daddy.”

The chat progressively got disappointing and soon turned into a mess. The viewers dropped down when you didn't remove any clothes.

There weren't many questions, in fact, nobody asked a proper question except Bigdaddyj.

Cummingdick: this sucks

Fuckboi2000: Man, you wasted my time, you fucking stupid cunt.

Ridemycock: never turn up if you not gonna show that pussy

Hideme: You're not as interesting as your pussy

Lovethatpus: No wonder why you don't have friends, bitch. Other than your pussy and tits, you are fucking boring

Boobieman: I would just use you and throw you. Boring ass bitch

You sighed. Maybe you shouldn't have done this. What did you even expect? Talking on a porn website? You shook your head and just looked at the chat, not answering any questions.

Soon, there was only one viewer left. And you were certain who he was.

“Daddy?” you called in a low, soft voice.

Jungkook's eyes widened when MissPeach called him. He wasn't expecting her to know that he was still tuned in. Half of him was burning with rage because of those stupid assholes who had to degrade you instead of going somewhere else.

He quickly typed.

Bigdaddyj: yes, baby?

“Do you wanna know a secret?” she hummed.

Bigdaddyj: yes, of course, baby. What is it?

You didn't say something for a few seconds and then stood up. Taking a tissue next to you, you poured some micellar water on it. “Look here, okay?” you said and took a deep breath.

Jungkook typed a yes and looked where she had lowered her pyjama shorts, brought the tissue and pressed for a few. It was above her hip bone on the left side.

Slowly, the tissue swapped and showed a tiny coloured tattoo. It was a cute little pastel pink peach.

Jungkook's mouth parted and looked at the tattoo. He felt his cock twitch in his sweats.

“I got this when I turned nineteen. But I always hid it. It's tiny but I always feel like not wanting to show this to anyone. But I only put on concealer whenever I come live or when I wear cropped tops or something like that,” MissPeach said.

Again, Jungkook’s fingers tapped across the keyboard.

Bigdaddyj: That has to be the most adorable tattoo I've ever seen, baby. I wanna kiss it.

A soft giggle left her. “You can kiss it, Daddy.”

Jungkook smiled.

Bigdaddyj: Tell me, pretty. What other secrets are you hiding?

She sat down again. Her delicate fingers tapped the tabletop. “There are some secrets that I have that no one knows. Will you keep them as secrets if I tell you them?”

Jungkook didn't need to think at all.

Bigdaddyj: Of course, baby. I'll keep them for you.

At this point, Jungkook just wanted her to talk about things that she couldn't talk about or didn't have a friend to talk to. He loved this. Just talking and existing at the same time.

He knew he was fucked. How could he get attached to a faceless person like this?

“I used one of your toys today…” she rubbed the back of her neck. “At university at lunchtime.”

Jungkook’s cock hardened right away. She used his toy at her university.

“And you know what's worse? I've been taking it every day with me and using it often at the university. I keep it in my secret pocket in the bag. I always feel dirty using it,” she confessed.

“Fuck,” Jungkook cursed.

Bigdaddyj: You always feel that horny, baby? What do you think about when you use it?

She paused for a moment, “will you be angry if I tell you the truth?”

He frowned. “So not me,” he mumbled. “Why would she? She has never seen me before.”

Bigdaddyj: Not at all, pretty.

“Hm… I always think about my professor,” she revealed.

“Fuck me,” Jungkook moaned. Even though it wasn't him, the thought of her masturbating to a professor made his cock harder.

Bigdaddyj: You are one nasty little girl, baby.

“I can't help it, Daddy. I really can't.”

…

Your morning class was supposed to be Chemistry but Jungkook couldn't show up for the lecture. Instead, he sent the worksheet to the students through an adjusted professor.

The instructions were similar to what they were for biology. However, this was not easy for you.

It took ten extra brain cells to solve one damn equation. There was no way you were going to get this worksheet done in time. You scolded yourself in your mind for taking this ungodly subject just to spend one more hour with Jungkook who truly never noticed you.

Later in the day, it was your Biology lecture. And to your luck, Jungkook was present in this class and had brought back the worksheets with him.

“You all did an excellent job with this worksheet,” he said as he stood up and smiled at all. Oh, that fucking killer smile that you wanted to eat up. “However, there was one person who did an exceptionally great job!”

His eyes roamed around and stopped at you. “Miss Park,” he called, making your breath stop. “Not a single mistake. Everything was written so beautifully and accurately. I'm impressed by your work. That one diagram was drawn with perfection even in a limited time. And all those diagram with other processes were great addition. One could tell you know what you are doing. Keep working like this,” he gave you a toothy smile and thumbs up.

Your cheeks turned into rosy red. Not trusting your voice, you quickly bowed to him from your seat and gave him an awkward smile.

The lecture passed by with him starting a new chapter and passing on the introduction of sub-topics to make everything easier when studied in detail— one of his tricks for learning that was your favourite.

As the lecture ended, everybody started to leave and you were packing up as well. It was only 2:00 PM and you were planning to go back to your apartment.

“Miss Park,” Jungkook called your attention. “Do you have time for a moment? I've something to discuss.”

You nodded.

Soon, you found yourself sitting in front of your professor. The same one who made you masturbate in public and that you confessed to a stranger who watched your stream regularly.

“Miss Park, you did an outstanding job in Biology. I'm impressed, actually. When I was handed your performance chart from your university, I knew I didn't need to be worried about you. No one gets into this university without any reason. It's harder. You either need too much brain or too much money,” he said. “I was actually quite eager to go through your Chemistry worksheet.”

You dug your nails into your palm, knowing well that you had disappointed him.

“I can see that Chemistry is difficult for you. Or if I rephrase it, you are thinking that it is difficult for you,” he pulled out the worksheet. “You haven't answered all the questions and there are some mistakes. From the look of it, it seems you have a problem with your basics. I'm pretty sure it will be all right once the lab starts but I think it would be much helpful if you understand things in theory better.”

You fumbled with your fingers and avoided his eyes. Your body was tense and he could see right through it.

Jungkook removed his glasses, “Miss Park, May I ask why you opted for this subject? I see you only had Biology before. Why the sudden addition of Chemistry?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke up. “I'm sorry, Mr Jeon. I didn't mean to disappoint you in any way… I just took chemistry for extra credits.”

You lied. Oh, you fucking lied to your professor and you wanted to run away. Lying to him hurts you more than it should have.

Jungkook chuckled, “I’m not disappointed in you, Miss Park. I think with a little extra attention, you will be able to perform just as well as you do in Biology.”

You looked into his twinkling eyes. “I-I’m not sure if I can be that good in Chemistry. It's- it’s stupid, I should probably get it crossed. I think I still have time for that. Yeah, that, I'll do that,” the panic settled in.

Jungkook looked at you and found you a fragile little thing. He had never paid much attention to you knowing you were all good in your studies.

But right now, he wished he did.

You were a simple girl with a straightforward goal. He never saw you messing around or heard any gossip about you other than that you do not get mixed up well with others. Considering the fact that you had just moved out and still settling in, it was normal for not mixing up. It takes time.

“Miss Park,” Jungkook leaned in and patted your shoulder. “You don't need to panic. How about we try solving this problem for a couple of weeks and then see if you get any better, hm?

You sat frozen in your seat and just took in the feeling of his hand on your shoulder trying to calm you down. “What if I don't?”

Jungkook smiled, retrieving his hand and making you want more. “Then you can get it cancelled from your major.”

You nervously asked, “When can we start?”

“If you don't have any other class for the day, we can start right now! Do you have any classes?” you shook your head. “Alright, follow me to my office, Miss Park.”

Almost an hour since Jungkook has been focused on you. He was damn sure that your hands and voice were similar to MissPeach. He has been watching her for a month and he knows her perfectly. Her moans, whimpers, begging, sniffles, everything to the point she showed or let him see, he noticed.

However, he couldn't risk any false situations.

The picture of the peach tattoo flashed in front of his eyes. How MissPeach confessed to masturbating in university and that too while thinking about a professor… right into feeding his fantasies.

Not that he dreamt of that before but since MissPeach and you blocked his mind, he couldn't help but want this to happen. As forbidden as it was, you were a fully grown adult.

His pants started to tighten, his cock begging for a touch. But he pushed the need behind his head. He shouldn't think such filthy things while you are struggling to solve the equation in front of him.

He loved how your bangs caressed your soft cheeks. He wanted to caress your forehead to get rid of the tension lines you got while concentrating. He loved it when your nose scrunched up whenever you got stuck on a specifically harder equation.

He wondered why you had tiredness kissing your face. He hated that and wanted to take you in his arms and hum you to sleep in his lap.

Oh! He would do anything just to free your lower lip from the confines of your teeth and caress it with his thumb… kiss it with his lips and taste your pretty mouth.

His eyes widened at his wild thoughts. Fuck. He thought.

But something in his mind said that he needed to know if you were MissPeach or not.

Tattoo… he needed to keep an eye for it. She herself said that she always hid it whenever she came live or when she wore something like cropped tops.

…

It was the fifth day of the extra classes. You were waiting for Jungkook in his office with your notebook and textbook out as commanded by him. He informed you earlier that in this extra class, you will be joined by someone. You had no idea who this person was.

After about five minutes, the door opened. Along with Jungkook, another girl walked in. Margot.

There was nothing good about her. At least when it came to you, it wasn't. She was the only daughter of a realtor father and an advocate mother. Her nose was always high in the sky and her eyes looked down on people like you.

For her, you were not worth the hassle.

“Miss Park, Miss Bell was having trouble with the topic we are going to cover today. So I thought maybe we could work on it together!” Jungkook said as he took his seat in front of you and Margot on your left.

You nodded.

“Oh, well… I would have preferred this to be a private session, Mr Jeon. You know, it's better with personal attention and not,” Margot looked at you with a side eye, “share it with a scholar.” She spat the word scholar as if it were a pesticide.

Her voice was animatedly high-pitched and it annoyed you to no end.

“Really? I don't think so. Instead, I think that this is better. If you have any doubts, it can help Miss Park as well. And if Miss Park has any doubts, it can help you. Knowledge is never private, Miss Bell,” Jungkook sweetly said. You admired his thinking. He wasn't only hot and intelligent but also highly respectful as well. “Now without wasting time, let's start, shall we?”

It was only fifteen minutes in when Margot started to shit from her mouth.

“Mr Jeon, are you single?” she asked.

Jungkook looked up from his laptop and lowered his glasses. “Why do you ask?”

“You don't look single. There must be someone just as hot as you that you are dating,” your eyes widened at her choice of words.

Jungkook chuckled. “No, Miss Bell. I'm single.” His eyes stole glances at your face. You were buried in your book but he knew you were listening.

“Such a waste of hotness,” Margot tsked. “I think you deserve someone with pretty eyes, a sharp face and an intelligent mind, and money as well— ‘cause you know, there are many who would anything for money if they don't have it themselves! I'm sure you will go for someone who looks like a princess. With dusty blond hair,” At this point, she was just pointing out her own features.

“Miss Bell, I don't think you should be discussing such stuff. Plus, Miss Park must be getting disturbed,” his reply made your butterflies jump.

“Who cares? This is not all, you know? A girl must keep herself up to standards. No one will look at her if she keeps on being like this. A girl must wear good clothes, wear shoes that have solid soles and not hang by a single thread. Get a proper manicure done. Have some sense and class with good brands. And knows how to properly use make-up and not just use some cheap ass shit that cakes up,” you fisted your hands to hide your chipped nail paint as you felt the redness and shame crawling up your neck.

“Stop, Miss Bell! Thi–”

“I- I need to go,” you interrupted Jungkook and stood up. You messily collected your books and ran out without even putting them in your bag. You felt suffocated.

Jungkook could never be yours. You had nothing. You were average-looking, had no money to buy big brands, and had the most average life. and not to mention how you chose to bare yourself on the internet in front of strangers for money instead of going for an actual job.

You had nothing against people who did this with choice but you had never been this open-minded about it. Hell, you were still a virgin.

Long ago, your parents had a small business which earned enough for a healthy living. But because of your father's sudden illness, everything went to nothing. To pay the bills, your parents had to sell almost everything little by little and in that, the business went crashing. They sold the house and moved into a smaller house. It was still expensive. Hospital bills were stacking up. Most of your money went into that. It wasn't your choice to move away and stay like this. But desperate times bring desperate measures.

Why would Jungkook like you when you had too much shit to handle? He would probably walk away. Would he even look at you like you wanted? Never. You were his student, a twenty-one years old but still a student. While he was thirty years old successful professor.

…

It has been a week since MissPeach last came live.

You were kind of not feeling going on live after your qna. People, other than Daddy, made you feel like a worthless object that deserved nothing but to bare herself for the world to see. They had forgotten that there was an actual person with a heart that gets hurt as well.

So when you went live without any previous notice, you preferred to not talk at all and just release your stress. Plus you needed money to send it to your parents.

After coming back from your extra class with Jungkook, you could feel your arousal running down your thighs. Even though you weren't feeling good, your pussy had its own mind.

You were going to take care of your problem in private but you needed that money.

When the notification popped on Jungkook's phone, he quickly turned off the heat under the pasta and sat on the couch. He wasn't expecting you to go live but it was more than fine. He gets to talk to you.

The live started. You were sitting on your chair, wearing your underwear. A pastel blue set. Jungkook was quick to type the compliment and donate some money.

Bigdaddyj: My pretty baby looks so beautiful as always <3 –$300

He waited for you to say something but it never came. It was odd, you always replied to him.

You didn't say hi or ask how everyone's day was. Nothing.

Bigdaddyj: Baby? Everything alright?

You leaned back and sighed. Hooking up your thumbs with the corner of your panties, you removed them showing glistening folds.

Cummingdick: thank fuck this slut decided to show some pussy.

Randomdude: wanna fuck that hole so fucking bad💦

You slid your hand between your legs and teased your folds, not touching where you needed them the most. The slick was dripping down on your bed.

A blissful sigh escaped your throat when your cold fingers finally touched your throbbing clit. “Daddy,” you whimpered. It was your way to make him know that you acknowledge him and him only.

Jungkook’s cock hardened embarrassingly quickly. He knew something was not right and that MissPeach was feeling off but now when she moaned what she called him, he couldn't resist. He was sure that she was thinking of that professor but fuck he would be lying if that didn't just make him want to be delulu.

You picked up a lipstick and opened it. Dropping the cap, you picked another big blush brush with a metallic multi-coloured stick.

You pressed the button at the bottom of the lipstick and it started to buzz. Bringing it down to your clit, you gasped and moaned lewdly when the high vibrations buzzed through your veins.

“Oh my god, fuck,” you moaned.

Jungkook took out his cock from his sweatpants and stroked himself. This was one of his favourite toys that you owned paired with the brush wand in your hand. He always complimented her about it.

Bigdaddyj: Such a good girl, you are. Using Daddy's favourite toys. Hm? –$500

The ting of the donation made you look at the screen and made you moan knowing it was from Daddy. You turned on the brush and teased your hole with it. The double vibrations left you with your mouth wide open in a silent scream.

Slowly, you pushed the brush inside you. “Ah, Daddy please fuck me!” you screamed.

You closed your eyes and imagined Jungkook. He has been leaving subtle touches– not sexual. But they were enough for your weaker self.

You imagined his fingers rubbing your clit, spitting on it as his cock plunged into your filthy cunt. The vibrations against your G-spot made you see the stars.

It was embarrassing to admit that you had seen his huge bulge in the classroom sometimes.

You imagined how his hot cock would feel in your pussy as you rode him while his hands played with your tits, pinching your sensitive nipples. You just wanted him to wrap his hands around your throat and choke you as you lay under him with your knees touching your chin.

The overwhelming feeling of vibration from both the toys and the image of Jungkook ruining your cunt.

Jungkook matched the pace of your hand thrusting the damn thing in your swollen pussy. He was so close.

He had never seen MissPeach so out of it. He loved it.

His balls tightened, ready to burst anytime. Soon enough, his cock twitched and he emptied himself all over his white shirt when you moaned out loud and squirted. The brush slipped out of your cunt.

You dropped the lipstick thing and slapped your pussy as you squirted more and more with the image of Jungkook between your legs, lapping up your juices like the gentleman he is.

Your eyes and breath took time to adjust and when you felt normal, you turned off the live and sat there thinking about what just happened just like Jungkook who was hard again after seeing you squirt like a broken faucet.

You had never squirted in your whole life.

…

There was complete silence in Jungkook’s office. You were sitting in front of him, working on some theory. Your concentration was strong and you grasped everything perfectly.

Everything about you was quiet. You walked quietly, talked quietly, and even your breath was quiet. Not a single noise that you have ever made. However, you were even quieter after that class with Margot and that didn't slip from Jungkook’s attention.

Whenever you had any doubts, you would just slide your notebook or textbook across the table with a circle around the doubt.

He missed your voice.

Subconsciously, he noticed everything about you. You never talked to anybody. Never hung out in the canteen. Heck, he didn't even see you outside of these classes. It was as if you vanish after classes and only appear in the class.

Considering your age, he expected to catch you with a boy or a girl here and there. He had caught almost the rest of the students in such a compromising state. And he wasn't too old himself, just thirty years old, he knew what this generation's needs were.

He was, to say the least, concerned about you.

“Miss Park?” He called.

You looked up from your book and waited for him to continue. “I know it might come out as inappropriate but I couldn't help but notice how you are always on your own. Like, I've never seen you with someone else before and never outside of the classes. Is everything alright?”

You were wondering why he was suddenly interested in your pathetic life. “I don't think I get along well,” you whispered, thinking it should be enough and focused back on the book.

“Why not? You are smart and intelligent. I'm sure there are many who would want to be friends with you,” he said with enthusiasm to encourage her to have friends.

You just looked up at him again and shook your head and looked down again.

“That’s not the spirit, Miss Park. Trust me, friends come a long way. I have my childhood friends and other friends still in contact. Any need? They are right there for me,” he tried to reason.

You sighed, “Mr Jeon, I'm happy that you have such friends. But it's not everyone's thing. Not everybody is able to make friends. Sometimes it's better to be just… left alone. I would rather focus on studies, pass, and get out of here. I have no time for anything else.”

There were unspoken words left. Jungkook wanted to hear those. But he didn't press you much. He could see the wave of sadness that shifted on your face. He hated it.

He still blames himself for bringing Margot with him to the class. There was too much that these rich students (of course, not all but some) didn't understand. And he could see the maturity that you attained. He knew things were much deeper than mere relatability.

“Do you bring your lunch from home, Miss Park?” he abruptly asked.

You frowned but nodded.

“Did you bring it today as well?”

You nodded, again.

“Great! You should eat here. With me. I made some Jjajangmyeon and was wondering if I could have some company during lunch. It doesn't feel right without sharing… you can share your lunch with me!” he smiled, closed his laptop and placed the book he was going through away.

“I don't think you would want to have my lunch,” you nervously whispered.

“Oh, hush! Now pack up, it's lunchtime!”

Not even five minutes later, there were two bowls with noodles in it. Jungkook started to mix his bowl and pointed his eyes at yours with a smile, asking you to eat as well.

Jungkook had happily taken half of your sad American cheese sandwich and ate it with a huge smile. He had said that it was really good and you didn't believe him at all. But his following lines almost made you cry. They were— “You know, Miss Park, I always love food. It could be as simple as bread and butter or as complex as Korean BBQ. In the end, it's food. Not everyone gets to eat it. So I'm thankful for what I have and what I eat. No one should be ashamed of what they eat. As long as it fills up your stomach, it is good.”

This only added another reason why you loved hi–

Loved?

…

The moment you and Jungkook stepped into the library, he kept his eyes on you while you tried to find a specific book for your extra class.

Ever since he started giving you extra classes, he has paid more attention to you. And not from an academic perspective but as in you. He was hurt, to say the least.

You were alone. And he saw that right through your eyes.

Being away from one's home country and staying with ruthless rich young adults was not something as pleasant for someone from the working class. He felt for you. No details were needed to know that these people must have made your time here harder.

Since Margot, he had seen an utter decline in your health as well. Even in the stream, he noticed how your body had gone thinner.

Yes, he was certain that it was you, the MissPeach. But still, the odds were there.

After that lunch from yesterday, he had been thinking about you without any break. He couldn't even set the worksheet for juniors just because he was consumed by you. He kept seeing your tired eyes and the dark circles that stuck to them.

It took all the will to keep his fingers from caressing them and kissing them away. A strange wish to protect you and keep you arose within him that he never felt before.

It shook him, how much he had grown to care for you in just two weeks. He was afraid that you might break down at any moment.

You were this fragile little doll and yet so strong. He admired you. You were everything he ever wanted… scratch that, you were more than what he ever wanted. It was like he asked for an Apple but he got a basket full of apples with an apple pie. And love beside it.

Jungkook kept looking at you from where he was standing and smiled as you looked through the shelves of books to find what you needed. The tiny scrunching nose and your baby hair falling over your face… just adorable. He wished he could thread his fingers through them and tuck them behind your ears as his fingers brushed your nape, raising your goosebumps.

He smiled when he saw your eyes light up after you spotted the book you were finding. It was way above the shelf and you tried to reach it.

You looked too good to be true.

You tried reaching it with your right hand, and when failed, you switched to your left. As if that arm was longer than the other.

Jungkook chuckled and took one step to help you but instead, he froze in his place. His eyes wandered down and stopped at the naked skin just above your left hip. There it was. The pretty peachy peach sitting on your skin, taunting him.

His heart stopped for a moment and then ran faster like the wind in the thunderstorm.

Something feral ticked inside his guts.

You tried to reach for the book but it was too far up. Just as you were about to turn around and fetch the stool, a warm body pressed against your back and a hand rested on your covered right side. You didn't need to know who it was… that musky earthy scent was enough to make your heart beat like crazy knowing it was Jungkook.

You dumbly looked at his hand slowly grabbing the book and bringing it down to you. His hot breath fanned against your ear and his lips brushed against the shell of it.

And then he said in a deadly deep, low, and raspy voice, “I think, next time, you need to be more careful with your tattoo… MissPeach.”

The book dropped on the ground. Your eyes widened and your mouth parted open. Daddy. No one but Daddy knows.

Millions of haunting thoughts swirled in your head making you feel lightheaded. You were sure he was going to expose you and get you expelled.

“Meet me in my office, Miss Park,” he said and lightly kissed your ear. “Right now.”

The coldest warmth disappeared. So did your last brain cell.

You were doomed.

…

When you knocked on the door to the office, your soul almost left your body, trying to free itself from the humiliation.

The ever-soft “come in” made you realize that there was no going back. You fucked up.

How could he be Bigdaddyj? That shocked you to no end. You shouldn't have revealed that fucking tattoo of yours that night. But you felt a need to share at least one thing with that faceless stranger to feel something. To feel like you, too, had someone who knows your dirty secrets. Oh! The worst of all… the confession about masturbation.

Talk about sharing secrets. You scoffed at yourself.

Hesitantly, you opened the door and entered the room without looking up. You shut the door behind you extra tightly, making sure no one on the other side could hear anything. Unless they stuck their ears to the door.

Your body trembled as you stepped in front of his desk and stood there like a shivering statue. The inner screaming made you restless. This was too embarrassing to handle.

Your professor whom you have been crushing over since day one has seen you masturbate on the internet and the worst part is, he donated you good money as well.

He was going to ask for money, wasn't he? You cringed at yourself. How were you going to repay?

“Miss Park, I guess we both know what we are going to… discuss,” he started. You nodded. “Words… Miss Park.”

“Yes, Mr Jeon,” you whispered.

Jungkook stood up from his chair, “We had a nice talk in that stream, didn't we?”

The tears pricked your eyes so you kept your head down, keeping the sight of your face away from his expensive eyes.

He slowly walked around the table and stood behind you, caging you with his arms around you and placing his hands flat on the table. “It’s interesting, you know? To know that one of my students is a camgirl,” he whispered in your ear. “Do you want me to keep this dirty little secret for you, too?”

You nodded to you a few times, praying so that he could indeed keep this a secret. “Please,” you whispered in a weak tone.

“Hmm… but I want to know one thing in return, MissPeach…” his chest plastered with your back.

“Tell me one thing. Who is that professor whose thoughts make you wet, hm?” his jealousy made his brain fog up and let it out on you. “The one who gets you so fucking horny that you play with that pretty pussy in university with the toy that I sent you. Who is he? Is it Jimin? Or Namjoom? It has to be Namjoon. Big, ripped. He is the definition of hotness. I'm sure you imagine him licking your pretty pussy,” you couldn't imagine yourself. You felt dirty thinking about the image he was pasting. The only time you didn't feel dirty was when you imagined Jungkook and only Jungkook. The idea of being with any other professor made you cringe harder.

The more he talked about you being with some other person, the more tears dropped down your cheeks. You didn't want to admit that it was him. You promised yourself that you would let him paint whatever picture he wanted and never tell him the truth.

“Imaging his dick in your pussy? Isn't it? You would love that, wouldn't you? Having Namjoon’s dick in you and just ju—”

“You!” you screeched when he didn't stop. Into the well went the promise. It was too hard to listen to him.

Jungkook went rigid, “what?”

Your body trembled violently, “it’s you that I think about!” you let it out as your voice cracked.

“Y/n,” you felt his hands on your arms turning you around to face him. “Look me in the eyes, please.”

You looked up and he felt his heart break. Your face was red with tears running down. “Please, Mr Jeon. I beg you to keep this a secret, please! I will do anything you want. I-I’ll do better at Chemistry. But keep this to yourself. I can't– I can't afford to get kicked out. Everything will get ruined. Please n—”

Your words died when your face squished against his warm and hard chest. His one hand threaded through your hair and the other one rubbed your back.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he whispered. “I won't ever tell this to anyone, baby. There is nothing wrong. I may have– no… I definitely let my jealousy take over and act like an idiot. You have done absolutely nothing wrong.”

Your eyes were wide open but they relaxed. Your shaky hands reluctantly circled around him and hugged him back. You felt warm. Not only on the outside but inside as well. The ice of burden melted for a while with the warmth he gave you. His fingers caressing your scalp made your head feel better. His hand running along your spine calmed your inner screamings.

Strangely enough, he was all you needed at that moment.

You just wanted to melt into his warmth and become a part of him.

As ridiculous as it looked, it was magical. Healing even.

You felt his nose against your head and he sniffed before pulling himself away just a little to see your face.

Jungkook gently wiped your cheeks and tucked your loose locks behind your ears. Your soft gaze softened his heart and he kept looking into them.

His hands cupped your face and pulled you closer to his face. Your nose touched with his and his minty fresh breath fanned your face.

Without using any words, he asked for your permission. As much as your brain was screaming to push him and run away, your mind made your head nod.

His eyes smiled.

And then he let his soft lips be on yours. Everything about him was warm and soft.

His lips lapped yours in a slow kiss. It was not lusty or heated but the one where he expressed more than he could say. The care, the love, the admiration. He didn't only kiss your lips but your soul. Dramatic but made sense.

Your lips moved in sync.

Jeon Jungkook was your first kiss.

He was careful trying not to hurt you. He held your face as if it was made of glass. Your hands were clutching his shirt as if you let go, you might actually break. It felt like a fever dream, the one from which you never wanted to wake up.

Your lips parted away from his and your forehead rested against his. You opened your eyes unhurriedly and saw him already looking at you.

“Jealousy?” you asked.

Jungkook’s hands slid down and held your waist, “you might have stolen my heart, Princess,” he deeply whispered. “Let it be MissPeach or Miss Park… your both of those sides snatched my heart. You have no idea how bad I've been wanting to be with you, baby,” his thumbs drew circles on your waist. “At first it was the fascination of MissPeach but since I have started to get to know you, I've been dying to make you mine, Princess. You fucked up my mind… And I love it. I love it more than I should,” he breathily chuckled.

“How did you know it was me?” your mind was blurred with proximity.

“Believe me or not but it was your hands that made me realize and when you talked, I knew it was MissPeach,” he said and kissed the tip of your nose.

“My hands?” you frowned and looked at your hands. You turned them around to see what gave them off.

Jungkook chuckled and held your hands in his large ones. Bringing them closer to his lips, he pecked them. “Everything you allowed me to see and hear, I know them. A single look and a single noise of you will always make me know that it's you, Princess.”

You were at a loss for words. “But why would you pay attention to a girl who fucks herself for everyone to see?”

With two fingers, he lifted up your chin and looked into your eyes, “You are not just a girl, Y/n. You are my girl. And don't think of yourself any less just because you are a camgirl. I know you and know that you are better than anyone I have ever known.” You could see the concern swimming in his pebble eyes. “I want you to be mine, baby. Is that too much to ask?”

“You are my professor,” you voiced your fear. “What if someone finds out?”

“Not forever,” he kissed your forehead. “And no one will find out. Just one and a half more years, baby. Then we can be free and be ourselves. Give it a try, okay?”

You had nothing to lose.

“Okay.”

…

Little peeking and pecking kept going on between Jungkook and you. Small smiles and reassuring pats on the back were a new routine that the two of you followed.

There was no need for any extra classes anymore but it only felt right and it was the only way to spend some time without anyone interrupting or feeling highly alerted.

You were sitting on the chair, working through some practical problems on your own. Nothing was better than this. Sitting in your professor's office, studying peacefully, stealing some kisses and praises, and just existing together— no more existing alone.

Jungkook was leaning against the table next to you, running his fingers through your luscious locks. It was his newly found habit that he loved the most.

His fingers traced your forehead, moving along your temple down to your chin, he raised your head and looked deep into your eyes. His thumb grazed your lower lip. His eyes were taking in the softness of your lips.

Leaning down till your foreheads touched, he said, “Have I ever told you how fucking beautiful you are, Princess?”

“Like ten minutes ago,” you closed your eyes and took in the closeness.

“Really?” he gasped. “I should tell you that more often than that,” you giggled. Something in his chest warmed up. “You are the most perfect person I have seen, baby.”

“Yeah?” He hummed in answer. “But don't you think that other girls are perfect and I’m nothing in front of them? They have perfect features and perfect bodies. Their hair is always well-styled and their makeup is seamless. And their skin looks baby-soft all the time.”

It was odd to unfold your insecurities like this.

Jungkook inhaled, “look at me, baby,” he asked in the softest voice. When you opened your eyes and looked into his eyes, he began, “They are pretty and perfect. Just not for me. Everyone is pretty and perfect in their own little ways. And you, my darling, are the most perfect and breathtaking woman I've ever seen in my life. They are pretty in my eyes, but you are prettier. They might have the softest skin but I only want to caress your sweet cheeks. Their hairstyles take much effort, probably but yours are the ones that make my heart flutter. Everything you do is far better than them for me. So, never say that ever again. Of course, if you feel insecure, you tell me. I'll make sure to make you feel like the queen that you are. And if anyone touches you to tell you otherwise, they will be seeing a version of me that nobody asked.”

Your heart quivered. No one has ever made you feel the way Jungkook did. Older men like him always know how to be a gentleman. Nothing compares to him. You were sure that he was a cleaner version of Zade Meadows.

Something else has been bothering you. “Mr Jeon…”

“Yes, baby?” he caressed your cheek.

“I–I masturbate on live streams. Doesn't that bother you?” you looked everywhere but his eyes.

Jungkook straightened up and walked back to his seat and sat down. “Come here,” he patted his lap.

You stood up and shakily walked to him. His hands clutched your sides and made you sit on his lap, your legs on his either side and back against the table.

His hands rubbed your sides to calm your trembles. “Why do you ask that?”

“I don't know,” you whispered.

“You didn't go live since that day, baby. Why is that?” you rested your palms on his shoulders.

“I wasn't sure if you would like that, me going live after everything happened between us,” you hated to talk about this but it was necessary. And the sooner you talk about this, the better.

“Do you enjoy doing lives? Tell me honestly, okay?” he asked. His eyes held nothing but understanding. That made it easier for you. But you still took some time. Were you really into this whole ordeal? “Baby?” Jungkook shook you out of your head.

“I don't,” you blur out. Jungkook's eyebrows raised in half surprise and half question. “Well, not as much. I guess the more I did the more I became used to it. There are things I don't like about it. And if I had other options, I would have never gone this way.”

His hands moved to your back, and seeing your shiny eyes made his heart ache. He pulled you closer to his chest, your head resting in the crook of his neck. “Then why are you doing this, pretty? Why is there no other option?”

You inhaled his intoxicating scent before you began, “My father had a business. It had about two million worth of average turnover. It was going perfectly. My mother was a housewife. We were living a perfect little life like any other middle-class family. We had a two-story house in the city and two cars. Nothing else was needed. However, everything came crashing down one day…” Jungkook felt wet against his neck, it squeezed his heart but he kept listening as he rubbed your back.

“He was rushed to the hospital and we got a call. My father had a brain tumour. It was bad. It affected such parts of the brain that made his body non-functional. I was still a minor and wasn't aware of much. Things took a great turn and in a span of a few years, everything that my father built from scratch was gone.

His medical bills were amassing up. We had to sell everything. We sold one car. A year later from that incident, we sold our house,” you choked on your words. Your hands clutched Jungkook's shirt tightly in your fist. “We moved closer to the hospital but outside the city. It was a one-room apartment. It had no rooms. Just a space which had one kitchen and one door that led to the bathroom. Nothing else.

We lived there. My parents still live there. I worked hard every day to get a scholarship. I forgot what it was like to sleep or have fun. In that little space, three of us were… we were just there. Not really alive. But just three beating hearts. I passed my exam. I got the scholarship,” you took a deep shaky breath.

“I got into the University I always wanted. I maintained my grades so that I could change my and my parents’ lives. My professors there were impressed with my performance so they persuaded me to give my name in the student exchange program. I wasn't sure before but they said that it was only going to help me and make my resume look like a quote-unquote shining star

“Good things come with their own bitterness. Even if the fee was forgiven, I still had to reach here. We didn't have enough funds for that so we ended up selling our second car. I preferred to live off-campus. It wasn't the most sane idea but it was harder to be in a dorm.

“So when I came here, I found a job as a barista but that didn't pay any of my bills. And my parents needed money as well. My mother couldn't work because she needed to look after my father all the time. So, I took responsibility because they spent too much on me for me to come here. And I didn't want to be a burden.

“So the only option I was left with was live streaming. It pays my rent and the rest goes to my parents. For hospital bills and all. Nothing else earned me enough but this. So I had to do what I do now.”

It was a dead silence. Jungkook's hands on your back stopped moving somewhere in between. You wanted him to say something or at least run your back to comfort you. But when you raised your head and looked at his face, silent tears were running down his closed eyes. He was biting his lip so that no voice escaped him.

He wanted to comfort you by staying strong but it was harder than it was in his head.

“Jungkook,” you first time took his name. It made his heart flutter. He opened his eyes and just looked at you. You looked tired and it all made sense to him. You stayed away from everyone and closed yourself off just so you could work hard towards your goals and make something out of your life. To make a difference in the family and help them.

You took steps out of your liking and comfort zone just so your parents could have a little bit of ease on themselves. You were beyond perfect. You were more than an angel.

You were too good to be true.

He choked on his words, “I’m sorry, baby. I didn't mean to cry but I just can't help,” his last three words were almost inaudible.

Your heart clenched and fresh tears poured out of your eyes. Holding his face in your tiny hands, you wiped his tears and kissed the tip of his nose. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what, baby?” he sniffed.

“…just take it,” you kissed his cheek.

He smiled and pecked your glossy lips. “You know that I’m so proud of you, baby. And you just keep on making me prouder every single day. I admire your will and strength. There is nothing that can stop you from chasing your dreams, pretty girl. And I'll be right next to you to make sure that you have everything in the world you need to keep you happy. I'll take all of your tensions and work on them with you. You don't have to worry about anything. Let me know the bank details and I'll take care of your parents’ expenses from now on.”

“No,” you said. “I don't want you to do that at all. All I want from you is to be here. Let me take care of my parents, please. I don't wanna take anything from you. The only thing I want is you and nothing else,” you were aware of the blind money that this university paid to their A-listed professors and Jungkook happened to be one of them. But you weren't here for money but for him.

“I will be always here with you just like right now,” he whispered against your lips before joining them.

He bit your lip lightly making you gasp. The innocent kiss turned into a heated one. Taking the opportunity, he shoved his tongue inside your mouth. You let him explore your mouth as you did his. He sucked your lower lip and let it go.

Your jaw was littered with kisses and licks as he found his way to your neck. It took him two seconds to find your soft spot and sucked on it, making you hum. Your hands threaded through his hair and fisted them.

Your nails against his scalp made his cock twitch in his pants and it got harder the more you moaned. He looked into your eyes. “Baby, we need to stop before I do something else,” he warned you.

You whined, “No, please don't stop now,” you begged.

“But you are not fine right now,” he tried to reason.

“I won't be if you don't touch me! Make me forget everything but you, Mr Jeon! Make me feel free… Please fuck me!” you begged.

Something ticked inside him. His eyes went feral. The blood left his brain and rushed straight into his cock. He swiped everything from his table and dropped you on it. He hastily removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He came closer and attached your forehead with his As he looked into your eyes.

In a low, deadly voice, I’m going to fuck you senseless, baby. I'll make sure we leave this campus with you in my arms and not on your feet.”

Jungkook removed his shirt and shortly his pants followed behind. He lets you take in his body. Your jaw slacked open. He had a murderous figure. His chest was big and his abs were defined. What made your pussy throb like a bitch was his right arm which was adorned with tattoos. You knew about the hand tattoos but you never knew about the arm. He was full of surprises.

His thighs were big and stiff. You knew it. Every time he made you sit on his lap, you knew they had their own glory and you wanted to ride it anytime.

It looked like God himself— no, the Devil himself carved this man. There was no way that God would create something this sinful.

“Like what you see, Princess?” if you knew his voice could go any deeper, you would have controlled yourself better. But you let out a loud moan just by hearing his voice while shamelessly looking at his body. The outline of his humongous cock didn't go unnoticed.

“Oh my God,” you shakily whispered.

Jungkook didn't wait any longer, his patience was already running low. His fingers played with the hem of your blouse, waiting for you to give him the green light.

It took a shy smile and a nod from you for him to go wild. He removed your shirt and captured your lips between his. Your tongues fought for dominance.

The bra was next to go. Your sensitive nipples hardened as the cool air touched them.

Then his eyes fell on that little tattoo that made him untamed. That little peach above your hip teased him. “That is going to kill me someday, baby,” he grunted.

Jungkook cupped your tits and kissed his way to them. He pushed you down on the table and lapped on your left nipple. His left hand cupped your other tit and his right hand fondled with your pants button.

He opened it and slid his hand in your panties. His fingers touched your leaking pussy and slid lower to your hole. He brought his wet fingers to your clit and rubbed it slowly making you moan out his name.

He chuckled darkly, “Look at you, all wet for me,” he teasingly bit your nipple as his eyes were fixed on your face. He loved how your face scrunched up with pleasure.

He took the other nipple in his mouth and repeated the assault on them. Slowly, he kissed down your sternum. His warm lips hovered above your tattoo and then he kissed it. You thrashed under him as he kept licking and sucking the spot. He was satisfied when the pastel colours of your tattoo had a deep red and purple hue around it.

He waited for this, to see your face while the tremors of pleasure ran through your body. None of your lives could compete with the real thing that you had. And Jungkook worshipped it.

He pinched your clit and made your back arch, pushing your breast more into his hungry mouth. He loved how your body reacted to his touches. And the forbidden nature of the relationship made him hornier.

It was so wrong yet so right.

“This needs to go, baby,” he rasped. His hands impatiently removed your pants along with your panties. “Fuck,” he grunted.

No, seriously… the real thing could never match the screen.

Jungkook took a seat and pulled you closer by your legs. He dropped your legs on his shoulder, kissing his way up to your pussy. Your legs trembled around his head as he got closer.

Supporting yourself up with your elbows, you looked into his mischievous eyes. You had never seen such a look in his eyes. Your heart felt glad that it was that way. Not in a million years, you wanted him to give this look to someone else.

He teased your pussy by giving light kisses on your folds. But he gave in as you started to whine. The moment you felt his hot lips pressed onto your pussy, your eyes rolled back as you fell back. His lips wrapped around your throbbing clit and sucked it.

Your nails scratched the wooden table as his tongue played with you. He lapped your dripping hole and moaned as your sweet taste coated his mouth.

The vibrations of his moans made your legs wrap around his head harder but he slapped them away. “Be a good little kitten for me, baby.”

“Please,” you moaned.

“Please what?” he bit your clit.

“Please, sir.”

“Oh, fuck!” he grunted as he found out his new kink. His cock got harder, which surprised him. “What do you want, Princess? Tell me, baby. Tell your professor what your needy cunt wants.”

Another wave of sinful shocks travelled your belly as he talked dirty making you cry out in bliss, “Your fingers! Please, sir!”

He smirked at you and licked your clit just as he pushed two of his fingers in your cunt. Your brows scrunched up and your mouth fell open.

His long, thick fingers filled you up. They moved along with the rhythm of his tongue and did come hither motion, teasing your g-spot.

His fingers picked up the pace and fucked you. He could feel your climax coming closer as your pussy throbbed around his fingers. He didn't stop and soon enough, your back arched, your mouth opened in a silent scream, and came all over his fingers.

Jungkook almost came in his boxers when your needy cunt squirted all over him. He didn't stop sucking on your clit and plunged his fingers until he got everything you had for him.

He removed his fingers and looked into your eyes as he licked his fingers clean. He bent over you with his arms next to your head, “You taste so fucking sweet, Princess. So fucking pretty.”

You pulled him in and smashed your lips against his lips and tasted yourself. “You know, that day on live, it was my first time squirting and I was thinking about you doing exactly this.”

“Baby, you are going to fucking kill me,” he said as he cock twitched and begged to be released. He made a quick move in discarding his boxers and freed his cock as it smacked against your pussy.

You pulled apart and looked down at his angry, throbbing cock. Your eyes bulged out at the length and the girth of it. His cock was bigger and fatter than any of your little toys. You weren't sure if he was going to fit.

“I don't think that will fit in,” you whispered, still glancing at his monstrosity.

He chuckled darkly and pecked your lips, “Baby, my dick was made to serve your pretty little cunt,” he hummed in your ear as his hand slid his cock on your slit, making it slicker with your cum. “So, your cunt will take,” he aligned his cock with your hole, “this,” he pushed his angry head in, “fucking,” your eyes rolled as his cock practically ripped your insides, “dick,” he shoved it to the hilt.

His breath came out in pants. He kissed your lips as you got used to his size. “So fucking warm and tight,” he mumbled against your lips. ��It’s all mine… all mine.”

“More,” you gasped. “Fuck me like I’m your slut!”

Jungkook smirked as his cock twitched in your cunt. He slowly pulled out a few inches and shoved his cock back, making you moan. His veiny cock rubbed your walls perfectly and the curve of his cock made his hot head caress your G-spot.

It was an overwhelming feeling but in a good way.

Slowly he picked up his pace and fucked you. His right hand went between your body and rubbed your clit. “Oh my God!” you moaned.

He looked between your bodies where you were sucking him in. His cock twitched seeing how your pussy was all spread open around his cock. The velvety warm walls of your cunt made it harder for him to stay sane. He was trembling just like you.

“So perfect for me, baby. So perfect,” he whispered as he kissed your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you do good. I'm gonna fuck my pretty little slut so good that she forgets everything but me.”

“Jungkook!” your moan turned into a gasp when you felt a sting on your ass cheek. Jungkook rubbed the area where he had just spanked you. He looked you in the eye with a murderous glare. He stopped his thrusts.

“What do you say, slut?” he growled. “I think you are asking for a punishment. Hm?” you screamed when his heavy hand landed on your sensitive clit.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whimpered as another hard blow landed on your other asscheek. Your pussy clenched around his cock. He loved it. He loved how you took everything he gave you. Such a pretty little slut for him.

“You like being spanked, don't you?” His thrusts were slow and hard. Your tits jiggled with each stroke. “Look at you, your cunt is practically suffocating me.”

You cried, “Please, sir. I'll be a good girl. Please, harder.”

He leaned in, shoved his tongue down your throat and pushed your legs up. He picked up an animalistic pace and fucked you to oblivion. The sound of skin slapping got louder. His balls slapped your ass.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered.

Like an obedient little slut, you opened your mouth and slipped your tongue out. He collected the spit in his mouth and spat on your tongue. “Swallow,” he moaned as you clenched so badly around his shaft. You swallowed his spit and showed him your mouth. “Good Girl.”

He wrapped his free hand around your neck and squeezed it just enough for you to breathe properly but tight enough to make your pussy throb like a bitch.

“Such a perfect little slut for me,” he grunted. “So fucking kinky and dirty. Just as I love it,” he pinched your clit.

“Only for you!” you gasped.

“Yes, baby. Only for me. I'm never gonna let you go. Do whatever you want, pretty. Do as many lives as you want but only I can touch and fuck this pussy. Only mine,” he bit your lips.

Jungkook could feel you throb around his cock, telling him that you were close. “So close,” you whimpered against his mouth.

“Cum, Princess. Cum for Daddy,” your legs trembled and your back arched as let you cum all over his cock and helped your ride through it.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you screamed.

Jungkook held your legs and fucked you ruthlessly as he chased his own high. He could feel your cum coating his cock. His head felt light as he finally came inside your pussy.

His hot cum filled your pussy to the brim. You felt a small wave of orgasm hit you as he came.

He panted and hugged you closer. His head rested on your chest and listened to your running heartbeat. He loved it. He loved feeling you all naked on his desk. Your hands found their home in his hair as they caressed his scalp. “Baby, are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you panted. You took in the closeness and appreciated every moment with him.

After a moment, Jungkook pulled and looked at your pussy leaking your and his mixed cum. If it were someone else, the thought would never have crossed his mind but looking at your pussy, he wanted to eat it clean. It looked so delicious and creamy. It was as if she was inviting him and taunting him. He needed to eat you.

So he did that.

He sat on his chair and pulled you closer to him and without a warning, he licked your sensitive pussy from your hole to the clit.

You whimpered as he overstimulated your pussy. “Too sensitive.”

“Give me one more, Baby. Just one more. I know you can,” he said and shoved his tongue into your hot cunt and ate till you came on his tongue once again.

You were a trembling mess. You could still feel his cock in your stomach as he got up to clean you. When he gently wiped your pussy with a wet tissue, you flinched but he rubbed his free hand on your side, down to your leg, soothing you and getting you through this.

You looked at his face which was glowing and had an admirable smile on his pretty face. His cheeks and ears were red. He looked at you with stars in his eyes and felt like crying.

Nobody had ever looked at you the way he did. But again, nobody was Jungkook but him.

“Let's go to my place, yeah? I don't want to leave without you. I need you to be closer to me. We can cuddle, watch movies, have dinner, and do anything you want, okay?” he said as he cleaned his softening cock and got dressed up.

You thought for a moment, “Okay…” you didn't want to be alone either. You craved his touch and warmth. This was your first time, it only made you want him more.

“Let's get you dressed up as well,” he smiled.

Jungkook held your hands and helped you off the table but your trembling legs gave up. He caught you and hugged you against his chest. You looked up with your mouth open as you felt sore. He gave you a knowing smirk.

To say the least, he ended up carrying you out of the university to his car.

…

“Oh my God!” you sulked in the corner of the couch as you curled into a ball. “Someone could have walked in!”

It was amusing for Jungkook to watch you just realize that you two had sex in his office at the University. He wondered how only now you registered it and not before while he was buried in your pussy.

“I had my door locked, sweety. Don't worry,” he chuckled as stood by the dining table, mixing the chocolate cake batter.

“Some could have knocked or worse,” you looked up at him with eyes wide open and your expression morphed into horror, “heard us!”

He left the bowl on the dining table and sat beside you, pulling you on his lap. He cupped your pouting face and kissed your lips softly. “Nothing happened, right? So don't worry, my love. Come help me bake the cake and then we will have dinner.”

You hummed and pecked his lips. “Okay, Mr Jeon.”

“Jungkook. It's Jungkook for you, Princess… or Daddy. The choice is yours,” he winked, making you laugh.

Later that night, Jungkook kissed every inch of you. He started from your forehead to your toes. He loved the idea of having you in his bed. He lent you his shirt that was too big for your frame. You wore nothing else under that shirt. He fanboyed over you and worshipped you.

“You look effortlessly beautiful,” he mumbled as he kissed your jaw. “You have me wrapped around your pinky finger in just a couple of weeks, hm.”

You giggled as you rubbed your hand along his tattooed arm. “I never knew you had tattoos.”

Jungkook laid beside you and in his arms and looked at his right arm. “I never show them in the University. When I had recently joined, everyone used to stare. It was a distraction so I started wearing full sleeves.”

“Of course, they will be distracted. And now I will, too! Now whenever I'm going to see you, I will see what's beneath your clothes,” you said.

Jungkook smirked, “Yeah? You will imagine me naked in the class now?” he teased. “I’m your Professor, Princess. Have some shame.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Where was your shame when you ripped my pussy with that sinful thing you call your dick?”

His chest rumbled with a laugh, making you smile. “Touché… I can't really complain, can I? I'll be seeing you naked, too,” he kissed your lips tenderly. “You fucked me up, Princess. I thought it was just lust for MissPeach but fuck, I would be lying if I didn't say I feel more than that and feel like protecting you from everything… Thank you for giving me a chance, love. I'll make sure that you are happy from now on. I'll take care of you from now on.”

“But—”

“Shh,” his finger on your lips shut you up. “I know that it is too soon but please move in here with me, yeah? You don't have to worry about the rent, I own this place. I don't feel good about letting you live alone. It is too soon but you can try, please. As I said before, you can stream as much as you want and support your parents. But let me take care of you. It hurts me to see you tired and not taken care of. So, let me do it. And if someone suspects something. Just say that I rent you a room in the apartment and if they still have any issues, bring them to me and don't hide if someone is rude to my pretty girl, okay?”

“I don't deserve your kindness, Jungkook,” you smiled with watery eyes. “But I'll be selfish for once and take it.”

He smiled and kissed you again. “That's my good girl,” he whispered and turned you around.

Your back was plastered with his warm chest. His arm circled your body and his hand pathed its way between your legs. He cupped your pussy and shoved his two fingers in. His other hand slid under your shirt and groped your breast.

You gasped, “what…?”

Jungkook kissed your shoulder, “you will sleep better. And I get to be closer to you,” he whispered. “Now sleep, Princess.”

You bit your lip and melted in his chest. Your insides exploded with giddiness. It did indeed feel good to have his fingers in your pussy as you fell asleep.

It was the best night ever.

“You deserve all the kindness in the world, Baby.”

…

Epilogue.

12 years later.

The heel of your red bottoms tapped on the floor as you walked down the corridor and you reached your apartment door.

You weren't supposed to go but there was an emergency at the hospital where you were an Oncologist. Luckily, everything was under control and you got to leave sooner. But it was still late.

You entered the passcode and opened the door. However, you were left surprised.

The lights were off but the living room was blooming with candle lights. The floor was covered with roses. There was a lingering scent of your favourite candle along with the mouth-watering aroma of the food.

You walked in and saw Jungkook standing in the middle of the living room. His face was glowing with a perfect toothy smile. “Happy 10th anniversary, Princess.”

You dropped your bag and ran into his arms. He chuckled as you jumped on him. He caught you, spinning you around. Yours and his giggles filled the happy place.

“Happy anniversary to you too, love,” you whispered in his ear. “You didn't have to do any of this.”

“But I wanted to,” he smiled. “Did I tell you that you are gorgeous?”

“About billions of times,” you giggled.

“Ah, still not enough,” he kissed your lips with passion. “I need to tell you that even more.”

“You will go crazy,” you cupped his face.

“I went crazy the day I actually looked at you, Baby,” his nose touched yours. “I love being crazy for you. I love being crazy in love with you. The day you let me have you was the day you made me go insane. I still cry thinking about how the fuck I got so lucky to have you. You are so intelligent, smart, and strong. You did everything for your parents and I don't know how I got you but it's all I ever wanted. Being in love with you makes me realize how addicting you are. All I want is you for me to settle my cravings.

A shy smile tugged at your lips as your eyes watered. “I love you so much, Jungkook. I have no words for it.”

“I see it, Love. I know it,” he hugged you tightly. “Come on, dinner is getting cold.”

In these years, you have come so far. You were no longer a streamer but a well-known Oncologist.

You worked hard towards your dreams and Jungkook stood by your side and supported you. You had nothing to worry about because he was there. Everything fell into one place.

Your father got operated on. Things turned out to be better. He was recovering. But he was fine. When you were settled enough, you asked them to come here. They did. It was the best feeling ever.

Through physical therapy, your father was able to move his body and showed a huge difference in a small amount of time. However, he was still suggested to keep the wheelchair around outside. He was weaker but better.

They were living at the apartment where you lived with Jungkook in University. Along with them, Jungkook’s parents moved into that apartment to help them around. It was fun to have them around, all four of them. They formed a perfect bond in a blink of an eye.

You both bought a new apartment when you found out about your pregnancy four years ago. Jungkook was over the moon and stuck by you like a monkey. He took care of you and the baby.

Two years later you gave birth to another baby. It was a complete family and nothing else was needed.

Jungkook always wanted two kids, a girl and a boy. Now that you had them, he was satisfied with his life. He bragged about you and the babies to everyone. Even at University, he would show baby videos to all of his colleagues.

He proposed to you for marriage right after you completed your degree. He was excited to make you his. He spent hours planning for the wedding that you both wanted.

Everybody teased you about how crazy he was for you.

In the beginning, everyone was disgusted and unaccepting of your relationship. However, everything settled when they saw how genuine you two were. It was as if you two couldn't breathe without each other.

When you became a Doctor, Jungkook cried happy tears and told you how proud he was and that he knew you were going to do big things in life.

That night he showed you so much love.

“Where are Seol and Jae?” you asked about your kids.

“I dropped them at our parents’. I wanted to have you all by myself. In the end, it is our anniversary,” he winked at you with a devilish look on his face.

“Is that so?” you smirked.

“After dinner, be a good girl and go into our room… naked and ass up for me,” his hand grabbed your ass and squeezed it as you looked at him with a slutty look.

“Yes, sir.”

…..

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes @chimmisbae

Have a nice day/night💓

#bts #bts smut #bts jungkook smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff

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peachesofteal · 5 months

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Light On - single mom/neighbor fic Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, soft smut, praise kink, size kink, breeding kink, daddy kink Simon Riley/female reader

If he could choose a way to die, this would be it.

He would choose to die right in this moment, where you're laying on your back in front of him, legs spread wide, chest heaving with the exertion of your second orgasm, limp and pliable, sweet as sugar. He'd choose to die in this room, with your name on his lips, the feeling of your body against his, your muscles seizing and hips jolting under his touch, the smell of your cunt in his nose, taste of your arousal on his tongue. He'd choose to die from happiness, elation, euphoria, the feelings so strong they feel like they might burst free from his veins and flood this room, spill from his heart like it's exploded.

He's mad for it. Mad for you. Allowed his madness to guide him, take over, control his vocal chords, his limbs. He's like a marionette, strings being plucked by none other but yourself, though you're none the wiser.

"Simon?" You whisper, very quiet, careful. You're nervous, he can tell. You've been nervous since he got you home and sent Johnny on his way, nervous ever since he laid you on your back and stripped you bare, ran his lips over every inch of skin possible, every pretty little lightning bolt, every single part you tried to hide.

"I'm here." He answers, taking your wandering hand with his own, squeezing it for good measure. You're floundering, wondering, eyes wide and a little lost, anxious at the lapse. "Just lookin' at you." He says, fingers stroking across your belly, following them with his mouth. "Don't think I've ever seen something so beautiful." You giggle, and it's soft, like the chiming of bells, the kind of music that angels would make, he thinks.

"Should I-" you turn to roll, like you're going to go facedown, or maybe up onto your hands and knees, and he stills you, forearms coming up to frame your face, thumb stroking along your furrowed brow line.

"No." He shifts your hip, settling you into a better position, and then strokes his cock, nudging it against your entrance. "I want to see your face." He wants to see your face, your eyes, your mouth, more than anything else in this world. Wants to see it everyday, wants to see it crying with bliss when he makes you come around him, wants to see it when he goes to bed and when he wakes in the morning. He wants to see it on a little paper picture, tucked up into his tac vest when he's away, wants to see smiling, giggling, content... happy. Safe. There will be plenty of time for the other stuff, for when he bends you over the couch, bends you over his knee, fucks you in the kitchen, in the shower, on the table. He hovers for a moment, soaking you in, blood thundering in his veins, through his ears, throbbing into his cock, and he's so hard it nearly hurts, but he can't rush this. He has to get it right.

"Simon." You whine, hips flexing, thrusting up so he feels the heat of your body, the wet heaven of your cunt. He grits his teeth.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He grunts, and then pushes, your eyes going wide, matching the round o of your mouth, fingernails tightening into his back, fluttering pussy trying to accommodate the stretch. He's big, bigger than you in many ways, he knows, and when your back arches, legs involuntarily folding, knees lifting, he traps you there, holding them steady so he can look down and watch the way he sinks into your body, cock disappearing inch by inch.

"Ohmygod ohmy- it's too- you're-" you gasp, and he leans down, slicking his tongue against yours, stealing your whimpers and moans, greedily drinking them up.

"I know, I've got you." He thrusts a little deeper, getting closer and closer to his hips being flush with yours. "You can take it." He goes slow, working you open, getting you used to him for as long as he can stand it, watching every little expression that falls across your face, every moment of bliss. "Is that good, sweetheart?" He noses at you, and you nod with a gulp, still holding onto him, arms trembling.

"Y-yeah. So good, so so good." You babble, nearly incoherent, cock drunk, and it feeds the reckless, hungry drive inside of him, encoraging him on, faster, until he's fucking into you with enough power that you're starting to inch up the bed moaning out nonsense vowels.

He gets lost, for a second, thinking about if you didn't have an IUD. Thinking about what it would be like, if he was breeding you, filling you with his come every night until it took, until you were growing his baby, round belly underneath a sweater, cradled in his arms in bed, giving Emmaline a sibling, making you a mama again, with him, for him. It shatters across his brain like the ricochet from a gun shot, white hot light searing inside his eyes, nearly making him come inside you right there until he pulls out with a deep breath, letting the head of his cock rest just inside your body as he collects himself, and then thrusts back in.

"Fuck!" You gasp, a little too loud, and you wince, eyes shocked. He puts his hand over your mouth, kissing your nose between where it pokes out between his thumb and forefinger.

"My good girl." He thrusts, and you moan, licking the salt of his palm. "My good," He's so deep, can feel where you end, where he's pressed against your cervix, and your eyebrows crinkle, tears gathering on your waterline. "sweet, mama. Doin' so good, taking this cock." Your eyes roll, and he drags himself along the silky heat of your walls, before plunging back in. "Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? This what you needed?" The word daddy almost slips, almost falls out like- 'is this what you wanted, for daddy to take care of you? Is this what you needed, for daddy to take you home and take care of this pussy- but he holds it in, reels in back just in time for you to nod as answer to his voiced question, and he pulls his hand away, rubbing his thumb against your bottom lip. "Tell me."

"Yeah, oh- Simon, yes-" you pant, a little squeaky, tear rolling down your cheek. You saying his name like this, with him so full inside you, fills him with fire, roaring heat racing through his muscles, and he grinds his hips against yours, making you groan, bucking against him when he finds your clit and glides his thumb across it, over and over.

"Do you wan' be my good girl?" He asks, pumping harder, pushing you the limit, and you cry out against his hand, nodding frantically, which he rewards with a smile, and another swipe across your clit. "Come for me. Let go sweetheart, I'm right here." He coos, still swirling your swollen bud in a circle, your legs practically steel around him, eyes brimming with tears. He'll take care of you. He'll give you everything. He'll never let you go, he swears, he swears, he swears... he doesn't stop, just keeps going relentlessly, fucking you as deep as he can as you come around his cock, exploding like a bomb, silently screaming into his palm. He's following you over the cliff of your orgasm a second later, nose pressed to your cheek, whispering insanity into your skin, half praying you won't be able to make sense of it. Whispers and vows of love, and protection, of care, promises and secrets, until the two of you are limp against one another, basking in the glow and heat of your bodies.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Just for a second, just to take a deep breath, preparing to pull out, to move on to what's next, cleaning you up, getting you in a bath or a shower, making sure you're comfortable, you're cared for, you're cherished as you ought to be. He closes his eyes, and it's just long enough for him to feel the shaking of your chest under his. Just long enough to hear the sniffle, the hiccup, his eyes opening in confusion, concern, cradling your face between his palms. "Sweetheart? What's wrong, what is it?" Panic stirs in his gut, and when you don't answer, his mouth goes dry, fear dousing him in a cold sweat. "Did I... did I hurt you?" When the only answer is the sound of your sobs, fat tears that stream down your cheeks, his heart cracks wide open in his chest.

Maybe he could very well die in this moment. But not from happiness. From agony.

#lmao #peaches writes #light on #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader

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luveline · 10 months

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel assumes you're mad when you stop initiating kisses and tries to get back on your good side —featuring grumpy but lovelorn miguel and his head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Gàn de piàoliang!" cheers the puppy at the bottom of your screen. Well done.

You smile at him and slide your finger across a lilac candy to make another three-match.

The music playing from your phone quietens as a text lines the top of the screen. You click it as soon as you recognise the contact picture beside it, your handsome Miguel with a filter over his face that paints rosy pink hearts over his high cheeks.

Finished. his text says.

Miguel is a man of little words. Over the phone he talks even less, easier to draw blood from stone than harness a conversation with him that isn't in person. His text demarcates the wall of messages you sent him earlier, not wanting for a reply but bursting to tell him things as they happened.

You put your phone down carefully. It's one of your most treasured possessions, shimmering and high tech, you can fold it down the middle to fit in your little spider suit pockets, though the amount of charms and beads hanging from it now impedes that particular functionality.

Miguel gave it to you as a gift without any fanfare around the time you started staying in his apartment in the society, and while your bunking with him was supposed to be temporary, the phone is for keeps. You've decorated it accordingly.

The best charm is a beaded translucent jellyfish, and not solely because it's beautiful: Miguel has a matching one that he showcases shamelessly.

You rush into his neat bathroom and lean heavily on the counter, propping your hand on the faucet to hold your weight as you assess your reflection in the mirror. When you turn your face, your nose shines in the light.

You decide it's best to wash up. Miguel will be back soon enough.

You get distracted by skincare, toner pads resting on your cheeks when you hear the door opening. A waste to take them off prematurely, you pat them flat to your skin and meet Miguel in his bedroom half ready.

"I can see why you didn't text me back," he says, giving you a quick glance from the corner of his eye as he walks past the bed and your waiting phone. He beelines for the kitchenette and disappears around the corner. "What do they do, the squares?"

"They're calming, I think," you say, following his path from the bathroom to the small kitchen.

His apartment is big but not huge. The main room is his bedroom, with enough space for a couch and a TV he never uses that comes out of the wall. To the right is a utility closet for storage and a walk-in wardrobe, and to the left lies the kitchen and the bathroom. It takes you all of ten seconds to be by his side.

Bottles rattle as Miguel opens the fridge. He grabs sparkling water for himself and a fruit tea concoction for you. You hadn't followed him for that, but you accept it anyway.

He looks tired. Tilting his head back to drink, you eye the stiff set to his shoulders and the way he rolls his arm out, orchestrating an offer for a massage in your head.

Miguel squints at you. "What?"

"What?" you ask back.

He doesn't explain. He screws the lid back on to his water and closes the fridge.

With his empty hand, Miguel reaches for your face. You stay very still in anticipation of his touch, imagining how he might take your cheek in his hand and pull you close, or perhaps curl thick, long fingers behind your neck and guide your chin up. He can be rough in odd ways, as though he's unaware of his strength.

"It's slimy," he says in disgust, pulling a toner pad from your left cheek.

"It's going to make my skin clearer."

"There's nothing wrong with your skin." True or not, you know it's Miguel's way of being sweet. He takes the second toner pad too, tossing them in the trash with a huff. "That's better. You look normal. Or, as normal as possible."

"Jerk!" you say through a smile, thinking now's the moment.

But Miguel hasn't peeled away your skincare to kiss you. He pats a spot of dampness on your cheek away with the back of his hand and turns on his heel, gunning for a change of clothes and a shower, if you know him. "Drink your tea. Did you eat? Me preocupo por ti."

You sigh and trail after him. "I was waiting for you to come back. It's Vietnamese week in the cafeteria, they're making cá kho tộ. Do you like that? It's sweeter than hake."

"It's fish?"

"Catfish. Caramelised catfish." You sit down on the bed, flipping your phone open to play your game while he decides.

That, and to ignore the inkling of doubt blossoming like mould under heat in your chest. An achy sort of worry…

Does Miguel not want to kiss you?

"What's the other option? I don't like sweet foods."

You knew that already. "You could make pasta?" you suggest.

"You'd love that."

"Are you teasing me?"

Miguel pokes his head out of the wardrobe, and with it comes his naked chest. His muscles are insane, lean tanned stretches of cord pulled taut as he grabs a shirt. "I'm making an observation. You like carbs."

"Everyone likes carbs, Miguel, especially Spiders."

"I know, but I don't make anyone else dinner." He's definitely flirting now, his voice playful and soft. "I'll make you pasta if you want."

Why hasn't he kissed you? Offering to make you dinner, smiling at you just as soon as his face has been pulled through his t-shirt. He's acting as affectionate as a man who'd like to kiss you without pulling through.

Well, maybe you kiss him too much. Come to think of it, you initiate the vast, vast majority of kisses, and you must kiss him twice a day at least. Miguel clearly favours you, but it's possible he isn't interested in as much physicality as you and hasn't had the heart to say. He likes watching vintage movies at night and half the time you're not interested in those. You haven't said a word about it because things between you are new and you like his being happy watching the things he enjoys. Miguel could be doing the same, allowing hugs and kisses he doesn't necessarily want in order to avoid hurting your feelings.

A favourite phrase of his cuts through your thinking, "¿Alguien en casa?" Anyone home?

"Oh, sorry, were you not getting enough attention?" you ask him, pretending to be more nonchalant than you are as you open the match game on your phone.

The puppy barks hello.

"Ah, you're a cómico now." Miguel sits on the bed beside you in sweatpants, reaching across the sheets to give your arm a shake. "I said, I'll make you pasta if you want pasta."

"I want what you want," you say honestly.

He stares at you. You're not sure what he's confused about. "Alright. Did you want it now?" he asks.

"Yes, serf," you say, laughing when he knocks your phone out of your hand and stands in a dramatised annoyance.

You play a couple levels of your game to give him space. He's quiet as he washes his hands and gets out the cookware, but he appears curious in the door, rag between his hands. "You're not gonna come and sit with me? I really am your maid."

Eager for an invitation, you join him in the kitchen. You brace yourself behind you to hop onto the counter and find his hands on your hips, helping you up.

Miguel meets your eyes as he does, not close but enough to beckon down for a kiss. You think about doing it. He might let you, his straight lashes pointed with his gaze, his eyes a heavy weight where they trace your features unhurried.

"How come you didn't text me back earlier?" he asks.

"Oh, I didn't know you were expecting me to. I'm sorry, handsome, I was kind of grody–"

"Grody? I doubt that–"

"–I figured I'd wash up before you got back."

"So you were busy?" he asks, returning to the chopping board at the left of the stove. He picks up a glinting-sharp knife. "Not something else?"

"No, why? Was I supposed to do something today?"

Miguel begins slicing into a tomato, red skin splitting to reveal greener insides. "No. No, just wondering."

You lean back against the wall, crossing a leg over your thigh. He's being kind of off. Your first impulse is to try and kiss it better but that directly fights your new theory. Being nice physically is far from your only weapon.

"Did you have a good day?" you ask, and here's where you'd pull him close or sidle up behind him and twist his hair around your finger. "I was thinking about you a lot. Did the strike mission go okay?"

"Fine. You didn't come see me, but it was fine."

You eye him from the corner of your vision. He's still cutting up tomatoes, a pan of olive oil and minced garlic simmering between you.

"I sent you all those photos," you say.

One of the Peter's you hang around with got his arm stuck in a window after he said, "Is that a bad idea, do you think? I really wanna try," and Hobie said, "They can't stop you."

The 'they' being unknown, Hobie was right. No one could stop Peter once he started climbing, but the window could certainly stop him from getting down. You'd sent Miguel pictures of his dangling body up in the atrium like a dark splodge, as well as a blurry photo of your face when you'd accidentally turned the camera. He responded to that one with a heart but the rest he didn't touch.

"They got him down eventually," you continue, "but I had to stay for moral support! And to feed him popcorn so he didn't starve. Was it peaceful without me?"

"You know I like when you visit me, right?" he asks carefully.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah?" he mimics, waving his hand at you. "Can't deal with you. Get the cream from the fridge."

You eat dinner as you and Miguel tend to do —you talk your way through it happily, smiling and joking, and he puts extra helpings on your plate when you aren't looking.

The alien quality of what you're doing rears its head briefly. He's trying to stop the quasi apocalypse. You're willing to help, though you'd been more interested in Miguel and getting to know his enigma than your responsibilities. Weird how love makes you want to be better.

"What was your course like?" Miguel asks, when the dishes have been set aside for washing and you've showered for the night.

He's talkative tonight.

"They taught us how to wield a baton," you say, climbing into his bed with a tired sigh. "One girl was crazy about it. She kind of looked like me…" You yawn, looking for his waist as he settles in the sheets and pillows next to you. "You're lucky I got my claws into you when I did. At least I'm not murderous. Much."

Miguel covers your hand on his ribs. He squeezes your fingers together gently like he's collecting them under his palm for borrowing.

"You didn't get your claws in me. I'm not easily led."

"Course not," you snort. You actually agree with him, but he said it too seriously for bedtime.

Miguel abandons your hand to pull you in, encouraging your head and upper chest onto his, hand coasting up and down the length of your arm lovingly. Firmly, like a massage, but adoring nonetheless. You languish in his touches and rub your lips, still tingling from spearmint, against the collar of his shirt gently. As indirect a kiss as you can manage, practically sick with longing after a day unkissed.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks into the quiet.

You pause, fingers with a mind of their own as you take a long strand of hair that curls under his ear between them, combing it flat. "Why, have you done something?" you ask, hiding your confusion with a delighted lilt.

"I've been trying to work that out." Frustration seeps into his voice, roughened syllables drawn tight, "But you're evasive."

"I'm evasive," you say softly, tilting your head back to meet his eye. "Miguel, why do you think I'm mad at you? I'm not mad."

Miguel glares at you. Brows furrowed, an especially formidable downturn to an otherwise pretty mouth, he looks as though he wants to start a fight with you, and as though he doesn't believe it.

"I'm not mad," you insist, sitting up a little.

"Then…"

You scrunch your brows at him. "You've been thinking I was mad at you all day? Why didn't you say something, handsome?"

He might roll his eyes at your pet name if he weren't knee deep in relief. You didn't know being mad at him was something he'd be sad with, and yet there he is lying beneath you, blowing a big enough exhale to ruffle the hair from his forehead.

Miguel takes your face into one hand. Your eyelashes flutter against his palm like a shuddering butterfly wing as you lean into his touch, more than happy to offer him whatever relief it is he needs while enjoying in the feeling of being close to him.

"You haven't kissed me all day," he says quietly. "I thought I must've pissed you off, 'cos you're more piranha than girl sometimes, but you weren't acting any weirder than usual beyond that."

You roll your eyes and hide your face in his hand. He's kidding around, and his thumb rubs over your skin tenderly to prove it.

"You're not mad?" he asks again.

You kiss his palm. You kiss his wrist, happy when he knows the moves like a well practised dance, his fingers sliding behind your ear to steady you as you dip down for a kiss.

It's a good kiss. Warm mouths vying for one another but trying not to seem desperate, Miguel's hand behind your ear growing harsher as you pull a breath against his lips. You press your hand into his pec too hard.

"Sorry," you murmur, stealing another fast kiss and pulling away.

You barely feel how uncomfortably you're skewed, you're that happy.

"Is there a reason you wouldn't kiss me?" he asks.

"I'm, like, always the first one to initiate and I kinda got it in my head maybe you didn't want me kissing you that much…" You grin at him. "The whole time you're playing twenty questions with me wishing I'd lay one on you. You know you have a voice for more than yelling at people, right?"

Miguel gets this look in his eyes then, rolling his jaw a touch at the supposed audacity of what you've said. The tip of his tongue works at his canine tooth, his eyebrows rising as he asks, "Oh, is that how you're talking to me tonight?"

"How else should I talk to you, Miguel?"

He doesn't bother with swiftness nor a show of strength as he rolls you onto your back. He settles above you with measured movements, a pleased smirk playing on his lips now. His eyes are dark, pupils wide as dimes.

"With compassion, mi cielo," he says.

"Have some sympathy for me," you implore him, wrapping your arms around his waist. It diffuses the tension, though neither party minds, evidenced by Miguel's easy relaxation and your ecstatic mood. Happiness bubbles up like carbonated bubbles, your chest awake with a fizzing excitement. "You really thought I was mad 'cos I wasn't kissing you?"

He avoids the question. "You think you're the only one who initiates?" he asks genuinely.

"Why didn't you kiss me, then? When you came home?"

"Your face was wet."

"And after when we were eating dinner?"

Miguel smiles at you. No sarcasm, no stress. He leans down to kiss you chastely, pulling away to say, "I thought you were definitely mad at that point."

"A kiss would've made me feel better."

You realise how quiet your bubble of the world really is for that handful of seconds, Miguel holding himself above you, your hands loose behind the broad stretch of his back.

"You know you can just ask me, yeah? You don't have to worry and wonder how I'm feeling. I'll tell you how I'm feeling if you want to know."

"Cariño, I always want to know," he says.

You breathe out slowly. Miguel takes your face into his hand for another kiss, or so you think —he pinches your cheek.

"And I always want to kiss you," he says quickly, climbing off of you.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a drink."

A break from sincerity. You don't mind that he needs to walk it off as long as he comes back. You stretch out on your back and cover your face with your hands.

"People think I'm the weird one," you say into them.

A hand clamps around your ankle and tugs you down. You shriek with startled laughter and climb away from him as he lands on top of you, a cold water bottle held to your bare neck.

"No!" you laugh.

Miguel laughs in tandem and presses it further down.

"I really am going to be mad at you if you don't quit!" You yelp as condensation wets your collar. "Miguel!"

"You're a wimp," he says with a bright smile.

You push him with some enhanced super strength and manage to get the water bottle off of your neck, but Miguel makes up for any differences in strength with enthusiasm and muscle alike, shoving you down.

You're laughing and pleading at the same time, "Please, Miguel, stop, it's sooooo cold."

Miguel laughs, dropping the bottle somewhere above your head, covering the cooled stripe of your skin with his big hand. The sound is warming enough, but you let him sweat for a second, content to be doted on.

He gives you a once over. "I'll kiss you first more," he promises.

"Starting now, please, handsome. Mi cielo."

Miguel groans and digs his arms under your back. You don't fight it as he drags you back to the top of the bed. In fact, you quite enjoy it. You lay back to receive his sorry pecks and his all encompassing hug, forgetting what you'd been worried about one damp crescent moon of a kiss at a time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

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harrysfolklore · 3 months

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hi bestie,, idk if u take requests buttt have u seen kieran culkin speech after he won his emmy & then him asking his wife for another baby on stage 😁🤭🤭 idk i thought that would a cute h blurb

that kieran speech was SO CUTE i just had to take this request !!! happy one year of grammy winner Harry for those who celebrate! i hope you like this as much as I do

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

The night had been one for the books.

Harry became a Grammy winner for the second time within the first 30 minutes of the ceremony, getting the award for Best Pop Vocal Album, and your heart bursted with joy and pride and you watched him collect it.

He also delivered an amazing performance even though he had a stage malfunction that was out of his control, and after a few minutes of pep talk backstage, you convinced him that he should be proud of what he did no matter what.

Nights like tonight made you look back at your journey with Harry, from getting frustrated each year when the Grammys refused to give One Direction a nomination, to consoling him when his debut single Sign of the Times got overlooked and celebrating when they finally ave him his long overdue nomination for Fine Line. And now, being one of the most nominated artists of the night and a winner already.

Harry was not an artist that let awards or numbers define his career at all, but you knew that deep down he appreciated getting a nod and recognition for the hard work he puts into his music.

"What's on your mind, honey?" Harry asked and he noticed that you had been quiet for a few minutes, the show was on a commercial break so you could talk freely.

"Just thinking about how am I getting a picture with Beyoncé before the night ends," you joked, making him laugh along, "I'm also thinking about the bub, do you think she's okay?"

Harry couldn't help but smile at the mention of your daughter. Little baby Styles had been welcomed into the world a year and a half ago, looking like an exact carbon copy of Harry with curls, dimples and charming green eyes.

It's safe to say that she became Harry's entire world from the moment he saw her for the first time.

"I bet she's fast asleep by now after snuggling with mum for hours," you smiled at the thought, "You know she's obsessed with mum."

"She just loves her nana," you almost cooed, "And her Grammy winner daddy, even tho she doesn't have any idea what that means."

"You know," Harry began, and by the look on his face you knew he was up to no good, "She could become obsessed with her bay brother or sister too, if we decided to give her one."

The smirk on Harry's face after his statement was almost devilish, making you look him with wide eyes and a grin on your own.

"Are you asking me for another baby in the middle of the Grammys?" Harry shrugged, the smirk not leaving his face, "You're a menace. But, maybe if you win, I'll think about it."

Before Harry could reply, the lights dimmed signaling that commercial break was over and it was time for more awards, more specifically, the most important award of the night: Album of the Year.

Trevor Noah, the host, talked about the importance and meaning of the award, the fans the production had invited to support the nominees stood beside him in a line.

You could barely focus on what was being said because your eyes were fixed on Harry's hand gripping yours tightly, and you felt like throwing up from nerves if you looked at the stage.

And the Grammy goes to…” Trevor spoke into the mic, making a dramatic pause that felt way too long and made you finally look up no the stage, noticing that he was standing in front of Reina, Harry's fan.

And that was the moment you knew, the Album of the Year was Harry's House.

“It’s you!” both you ans Jeff whisper-yelled in unison, looking at each other with shocked faces and making Harry give you a confused look.

“What do you-” and before he could even finish his sentence his name was being called out and the trumpets from Music for a Sushi Restaurant filled the place.

Harry immediately covered his face in disbelief, shaking his head and taking in in the moment. You couldn't help but stand up and jump in your place, adrenaline and excitement, but mostly pride, running through your veins.

"My love, you won! Harry's House won!" you said into his ear when he finally wrapped his arms around you, pecking the side of yiur head repeatedly before kissing your lips quickly.

"I love you," was all he said before getting rushed into the stage along with his collaborators and friends.

"Shit!" was the first thing that came out of his mouth once he had his Grammy in hand, making everyone laugh, “I mean,shit! I’ve been so, so inspired by every artist in this category with me. At a lot of different times in my life I listen to everyone in this category when I’m alone,” he took a breath,"I think on nights like tonight, it’s obviously so important for us to remember that there is no such thing as best in music. I don’t think any of us sit in the studio thinking, making decisions based on what is gonna get us one of these.”

You stood with your hands clutched to your chest, your eyes filled with happy tears and nothing but love and admiration for him.

"I'd like to thank my mom and my sister for being my biggest supporters and giving me a great childhood, I would be nowhere without you," he paused to look directly at you from the stage, his eyes immediately watering again, "And of course my beautiful wife, YN. Thank you for sharing your beautiful life with me and giving me an amazing daughter who is the reason I do what I do everyday,"

You were unaware of the camera focusing on your and catching the moment you mouthed an 'I love you' to him from your place.

"I love you both so much, you mean the world to me. And YN," he paused, the devilish look from earlier making his way to his face again, along with a teasing raised eyebrow that told you that he was about to do something major, "I want another one."

The entire arena erupted into laughs and cheers, Jeff clapped and whistled from beside you and you couldn't help but cover your face in shock and embarrassment, astonished by Harry's anctics.

"You said, maybe if I won, and I did!" the crowd laughed even more, "I love you, so much. Thank you for this, I'll never forget it."

Harry got off the stage and you met him backstage to congratulate him properly, after a final performance the night came to an end and everyone headed outside the arena to celebrate.

"Do you feel like partying tonight? The label is throwing a celebration but if you feel tired we can skip it," Harry said as you both sat on the back of his Range Rover.

"Honestly, I just want to go home, kiss our baby goodnight and celebrate with my Grammy winner husband in private," you smiled at him teasingly, "Maybe get started on that second baby making."

The smile that appeared on Harry's face after hearing your words was bigger than the one from winning a Grammy.

"Home it is, then."

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles fake instagram #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles headcanon #harry styles fic #harry styles au #harry styles fake social media #harry styles story #harrysfolklore #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles grammy #1k

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steddiealltheway · 11 months

Text

It's El's birthday, and she gets a Polaroid camera. It's from Jonathan but funded with the help of Steve who tells him not to tell her, but after a little negotiating, Steve agrees to say the film is from him and the camera is from Jonathan.

Some people are a little weirded out by the whole thing since Jonathan and Steve were never really close, but Steve had been adamant about how he wanted to help in any way possible with the party. When Jonathan had voiced his concern about how much the perfect gift was, Steve immediately chipped in putting down any protest Jonathan had.

And there El sat with the Polaroid in her hands, gazing down at it with such wonder and joy that Steve couldn't help but know he had made the right decision - even if he was digging into some of his savings from Scoops, but no one needed to know that.

Only, Eddie leans over and nudges him as El is thanking them and moves on to unwrap the next present. Steve turns to him and furrows his brow. What? Eddie raises his eyebrows and tilts his head toward the camera. That's not a cheap gift. Steve just shrugs as nonchalantly as possible, but Eddie shakes his head with a smile and squeezes his knee. You're unbelievable.

And that's the thing about Eddie, ever since the Upside Down, it was like they were inseparable when put in the same room together. He somehow always knew what Steve was thinking and could communicate with a few looks.

And everyone thought this was way stranger than the whole Jonathan and Steve buying a joint gift thing.

Dustin was especially exasperated by the way they would sometimes look at each other and just burst out laughing, yelling at them to stop talking about him in front of him. Steve and Eddie would argue that they had no idea what he was talking about especially since they hadn't said anything (but most of the time it was about Dustin).

After El gets through the rest of the gifts, she grabs her camera and asks Jonathan how to work it as everyone starts to scatter a bit. Steve finds himself on the couch next to Eddie as Robin and Nancy talk about the latest thing Nancy had written for Hawkin's Post.

Steve is telling some random story from work when there's a bright flash to his right. He flinches but recovers quickly when he sees El smiling as the picture develops. She glances up at Eddie and comments, "You have a very pretty smile." Then, she goes on to Nancy and Robin, waiting for the perfect candid photo opportunity, but Steve can only stare at Eddie.

He's staring off at El with a slight blush on his cheeks and a bashful smile. Steve can't help but think about what El said. He had never really thought about that before, but she was right. He has a very very pretty smile.

The party goes on, and Steve can't help but try to make Eddie smile as often as he can which isn't too hard considering Eddie seems to smile at anything Steve says - even his lamest jokes. But eventually, the party is wrapping up, and Steve is in charge of taking Dustin and Robin home.

Eddie says a quick goodbye to Steve and gives him a hug that Steve tries to linger in as long as he can before he fondly watches Eddie pull Dustin into a tight hug that makes the younger kid shriek. He feels like he's bursting at the seams with joy.

He gets tapped on the shoulder and turns to find Jonathan looking at him and waving him to the side. Steve follows him quickly. "I just wanted to thank you again for your help with El's gift, and I also wanted to congratulate you, man."

Steve's brows furrow in confusion, and Jonathan claps him on the arm. "Eddie's a really great guy. And, hey, I talked to El, and I thought you'd want this."

Steve is a bit confused by the random mention of Eddie until he looks down at what Jonathan is handing him. It's the Polaroid picture from earlier with him smiling at Eddie, going on about something as Eddie fully smiles back at him, leaning toward him with his hand on Steve's knee. How had he not noticed how close they were before?

The picture sends a wave of warmth through him and his heart beats a bit faster, but he thanks Jonathan and puts the photo in his wallet. The two linger and Steve kind of thinks to hell with it and hugs Jonathan before saying goodbye. Maybe all the bad shit can just be pushed behind them.

He turns and finds Eddie staring at him with a smile that looks forced and tight, but he when tilts his head, Eddie just shakes his head. Nothing.

Steve continues to look at him but decides to shrug it off. Eddie knows he can always talk to him, but Steve can't help but hope his genuine pretty smile will return soon.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Steve finds himself pulling the photo out of his wallet a lot. Especially when he's having a bad day or feeling down. It's used as a kind of secret happiness drug. All he has to do is pull out the picture and look at Eddie in it to get a burst of joy and energy.

The problem is that people start to notice. And by people, he means the kids.

It happens when they visit Family Video a couple of times, and Steve finds himself longing for Eddie to be there with the group, so he'll hide his wallet behind the counter and pull the picture out where the kids - and Robin - can't see it.

But one time, he finds himself staring at the picture for too long and Dustin demands to know what he's staring at. Steve brushes it off as nothing, and Dustin narrows his eyes at him for a moment before letting it go.

Steve vows to be a little more careful after that, but that leaves him wondering why he's being secretive about this picture of him and Eddie. And what does that mean?

-:-:-:-:-:-

It's a few days later when Steve rushes into the basement of the Wheeler home, trying to get Dustin to leave before he breaks his curfew. Dustin begs him for five more minutes which Steve grants him, but he can't help but wonder if he would've gone quicker if Eddie was there.

Thinking about it leads Steve to wander off away from the kids so he can open his wallet and look at the picture. He instantly gets that surge of warmth that has him biting his lip to keep from giggling. He nearly rolls his eyes at himself since he's acting like a middle school girl with a crush. He takes a few moments to try to fully memorize the picture when it hits him.

A middle school girl with a crush.

He puts the picture back in his wallet immediately and stuffs it in his pocket. He looks at Dustin who is already looking at him. "Whose picture do you have in your wallet, Steve?"

Steve turns bright red and it only further confirms his feelings. Oh god, he has a crush on Eddie Munson and has a picture of him in his wallet which he uses to feel happy. Oh shit.

Steve just says, "Come on, Henderson."

As the others start yelling at him asking who it is, Steve snaps that it's none of their business which only makes them pry further. He ignores them all the way to his car, and once he gets in, he tells Dustin, "Bring up the picture again, and I'll make sure to drive under the speed limit the entire way home."

Dustin glances at the clock and mimes zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing the key away. It only reminds Steve of Eddie.

The rest of the drive is fairly quiet as Steve thinks about the new development. He has a crush on Eddie. That's fine. That is definitely fine. It is all good and fine.

When he gets to Dustin's place, the boy turns to him and asks, "The person means a lot to you, don't they?"

Steve looks at Dustin and catches the seriousness of his look. He nods confirming what he said.

Dustin smiles. "Well, I can't wait to figure out who they are."

With that, he gets out of the car and jogs off to the front door, waving before he gets inside.

Steve drives away after a minute of making sure everything is okay and is left with his thoughts again.

Everything is not fine. And he doesn't know what's happening, so he goes to the only place he knows will help.

He parks his car and gets out, rushing to the side of the house to knock on the window. The light comes on and the curtains open. "Steve?"

The window is quickly lifted up and Steve climbs through. "Hey, Robin."

Then, he promptly has a meltdown of confusion and confesses everything to Robin. He pulls out the picture and hands it over.

Robin takes a few moments to stare at the photo before she hands it back to him. The two sit in silence until Robin finally says, "Oh my gosh, you have a crush on Eddie Munson."

"Yeah," Steve says in response.

And before he knows it the both of them are laughing loudly, trying to muffle it so they don't wake Robin's parents up which only causes them to laugh harder.

Steve says through the laughter, "Am I gay?"

Both of their laughter dies down, and Robin answers, "Probably bisexual."

"What that?"

"When a person likes men and women."

Steve sits in it for a second and nods. "Yeah, that makes sense."

And for some reason, this has them both laughing again. Steve can't help but hold up the picture and stare at it again. He really really likes Eddie Munson.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Two days later, Steve is trying to determine how much longer he can avoid Eddie. It's not exactly avoiding him when they just don't happen to run into each other, but pretty soon, it might turn into purposeful avoiding.

It's just... Steve doesn't know how to act around Eddie anymore. And he knows that when he has feelings for someone he's all or nothing and extremely obvious. And all the kids are a little too smart for their own good.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't know what he's going to do.

The doorbell rings, and Steve sighs again. Better not be the kids.

He opens the door and is not prepared to find Eddie Munson at his front door.

"What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you, too. I thought I'd stop by, have a little chat," Eddie says with a smile but sounds extremely suspicious.

Shit, he might know.

Eddie tries to slip past him, but Steve steps in his way. All this does is get Eddie way closer to him than Steve can handle at the moment but he manages to ask, "What are you really doing here?"

Eddie's eyes deceive him and Steve clearly sees there's an ulterior motive. Eddie throws his hands up. "Fine! I was sent here on a mission."

Steve crosses his arms and steps back. "A mission?"

Eddie nods with a small smile. His eyes flicker past Steve, and that's when Steve realizes he messed up.

Eddie shoots past him and up the stairs. "Munson!" Steve calls after him slamming the front door close before racing after him.

Steve finds Eddie in his room with his wallet in his hand. Oh shit.

Steve stands in place, trying to feel out where Eddie is going next. "Give it back now. I'm serious, Eddie."

Eddie holds the wallet up high and slowly walks back. "I've been tasked... to find out who is in your wallet." Steve slowly steps forward, hoping to corner Eddie as he talks. "Now, the kids were worried that maybe it wouldn't be an appropriate picture if you know what I mean. So, I graciously accepted because I, too, am curious. Who has caught Steve Harrington's eye and given him a picture to remember them by?"

By now Steve is only a few steps away and ready to take the wallet back. Steve waits for Eddie to open his wallet before darting at him, but Eddie instead does the unthinkable.

He charges at Steve and somehow tackles him onto his own bed. Then, he climbs on top of him, straddling him and holding the wallet up high.

Steve's brain goes slightly fuzzy, so the only thing he can do is yell, "Please, you don't want to know!"

But Eddie opens the wallet and easily plucks out the picture, and all Steve can do is watch as he's trapped under Eddie. "I told you you wouldn't want to know," Steve mumbles, flushing red.

He watches as Eddie stares at it with a blank look on his face. A few moments pass and Steve quietly requests, "Can you at least get off of me?"

Eddie looks down at him and finally says, "No, I'm not going to let you escape." He makes it a point as he fully sits back on Steve's thighs.

Steve runs his hands over his face.

"Where did you get this?"

"Jonathan gave it to me after El's party," Steve answers staring at the ceiling, not wanting to know what Eddie's reaction is.

He feels him shift above him. "And... And this is the picture you've been staring at?"

"Yep," Steve replies immediately.

"Oh," Eddie says in a tone that Steve can't begin to describe.

"Yeah. Oh," Steve repeats back.

A few moments pass and Steve risks glancing at Eddie, but he's still staring at the photo. "Steve?"

Steve sighs, preparing for the letdown. "What, Eddie?"

"So, you know?" Eddie asks nervously.

Steve props himself up on his elbows. "Know what?"

Eddie shakes his head with a laugh. "Come on. You've stared at this picture long enough to read me." Eddie turns the picture around as if proving a point.

Steve feels that same heat as he stares at the photo, he lightly smiles at it. "You look happy. And El was right, you have a pretty smile."

Eddie groans as if frustrated with his answer which causes Steve to fully sit up until he's practically nose to nose with Eddie. "You asked me to read you, and you already figured out my feelings, so why are you mad?"

Eddie groans again and thrusts the picture between them. "You're able to read every look of mine except this one. Come on, Steve. Look."

So, Steve looks back at the photo. At the way Eddie is leaning into him, the hand on his knee, the big smile, the way his eyes are lit up. Then, Steve does something he hadn't thought of before. He looks at himself.

He looks at the way he's staring at Eddie, looking for that approval but mirroring him in his look. Steve looks back at Eddie as he seems to be hanging on to every word he's saying, not even paying attention to his surrounding. Neither of them are because...

Eddie has feelings for him, too.

The realization hits him quickly, and he can't believe he never saw it before. He loves the picture so much not only because of the way Eddie looks in it but because of the way Eddie is looking at him in it.

The picture slowly moves away and Steve breathes out, "Holy shit."

He refocuses his gaze on Eddie and sees that same look. The look that's always been there, but the only one that Steve has been unable to read. Eddie slowly smiles, and Steve can't help but mirror him.

Then, Eddie's eyes flicker down, and Steve knows exactly what that look means. But Eddie looks back into his eyes searching until he raises his eyebrows Can I? Steve nods, and they both surge forward closing the already small distance between them, kissing like there's no tomorrow.

Steve breaks away for air and asks, "Can I get a picture of this, too, for my wallet?"

Eddie laughs and replies, "As long as I get one to match." Then, he kisses Steve again, and Steve feels the same way he does whenever he looks at that picture - bursting at the seams with warmth and happiness.

Luckily when Dustin goes digging through Steve's wallet days later, he only finds the picture of them on the couch and doesn't notice the picture behind it of Eddie winking at the camera as he kisses Steve.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #stranger things

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anton-luvr · 7 months

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Heyy could u do a fic where boyfriend!Anton makes out with fem!reader for the first time and is really shy but likes it and doesn’t want to stop, like really sweet and a little suggestive 🥹💖Tyy

# FOREVER.

𖦹 bf!anton x fem!reader | fluff & suggestive | college au 𖦹 note ; THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA ARGHH thank u anon i hope u like this + reqs are open!

You love being close to Anton.

You love how soft his hands feel in yours; you love the way his eyes sparkle when he looks at you; and you love how gently he kisses your forehead each time he says goodbye.

The evening had started out as usual: going back to your place after classes, Japanese takeaway for dinner, and an episode of your favorite sitcom, The Office.

But you could tell something was on Anton’s mind tonight. He seemed nervous, and he kept spacing out.

“Is everything okay?” You asked softly, concern evident in your tone. Anton immediately nods, flashing you a shy smile. “Yeah, just thinking about something," he mumbles.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Do you wanna talk about it? You can tell me anything.”

He bites his bottom lip nervously at this, glancing hesitantly at you.

“Anything?” he echoed.

"Anything." you repeated, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

The curly haired boy lets out a sigh, burying his face in his hands and groaning a small, “This is so embarrassing.”

“But you won’t laugh at me, right?” He asks. You chuckle at this, shrugging. “I’ll try my best.”

Anton nods, slowly scooting closer to you on the bed. “So. I was wondering if we could... m-make out?”

Now, you love your boyfriend, but the moment you heard his question, you couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“Hey, you said you wouldn’t laugh!” he splutters, his face burning a crimson red.

“I’m sorry!” You gasped, still laughing.

“I just wanted to ask because I’ve never done it before, but I also want to kiss you, but then again I didn’t know how to bring it up, and I-”

“Sure,” you giggled, cutting his rambling off and softly pushing him down on the bed.

“We can definitely make out.”

Anton’s heart was already racing a mile a minute, but the moment your lips connect, he feels like his heart could jump right out of his chest.

His eyes fall shut, and all he can feel is how right and how good it feels.

Your soft vanilla-flavoured lips against his, a shudder running through his body when you slip your tongue against his.

“Is that okay?” you whisper, slightly breathless. Anton nods readily, biting his tongue to hold back a whimper.

“Y-Yeah, keep going." he stutters.

He groans when your lips meet his again, his hands now under your shirt and caressing your waist.

Like puzzle pieces, your lips fit against each other perfectly.

Your bedroom fills with the sound of soft and airy moans, and Anton wonders why he waited so long to do this with you.

When you finally pull away from each other, you wish you could take a picture of how gorgeous your boyfriend looked.

His black unruly hair messy from your hands running through them, his lips swollen as he catches his breath, and his cheeks dusted a light pink.

“God, you look so pretty." you sigh.

He shakes his head as he tries to pull you back. “Don’t care, I wanna keep kissing you.” he mutters, drunk on the feeling.

You place your hand against his chest, stopping him. “If we keep kissing, you’re going to end up home by midnight.” you chuckle.

To your surprise, Anton tugs at you again. “Really don’t care,” he mumbles against your lips. “Wanna kiss you forever, s'feel too good.”

Your heart flutters at his words, smiling into the kiss.

“I’ll kiss you forever."

#anton-luvr asks!#kpop fics #kpop fluff #riize #riize anton #riize fics #riize fluff #riize smut #kpop #anton riize #riize eunseok #riize icons #riize moodboard #riize seunghan #riize wonbin #riize shotaro #riize sungchan

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skzdarlings · 2 months

Text

chill | the threesome series ; skz ; hyunjin/reader/jeongin

masterlist.

threesome series part 4/4. long awaited finale lol.

summary: when a lie about a fake boyfriend spirals out of control, your friends take it upon themselves to help.

pairing: hyunjin/reader/jeongin content info: friends to lovers romcom. fake relationship trope. sharing a bed trope. lots of teasing and bickering and indignant exclamations. some bossy dom!hyunjin and sweet jeongin. reader is described with a bigger chest. kissing w people watching. sex toys, dacryphilia, no mention of protection, threesome, explicit sexual content word count: 8440 words.

enjoy <3

Your bottom lip is already wobbling when you click call. You sprawl on your belly, front-down in a frilly pink bed in your childhood bedroom. You are visiting your parents in the countryside, miles away from your apartment in the city and miles away from your best friends.

You are calling them now, desperate for their friendly faces. Your boys are the first ones you call in any crisis. You don’t know what you would do without them. Just the thought has you sniffling despondently.

After a few more rings, Jeongin and Hyunjin answer one right after the other. Your phone is filled with three little squares of faces, theirs smiling and yours utterly miserable.

You look at those smiles and promptly burst into tears.

“Ahh!” Hyunjin wails.

“Ohh, whoa, what!” Jeongin says.

Both of them look concerned, all scrunched up brows and frowning faces. At least you think so. It is hard to see through your tears.

“Baby, baby,” Hyunjin says. At the same time, Jeongin asks, “What’s wrong?”

You cry a few more weepy sobs, then you grab the closest teddy bear and wipe your eyes on it. You sniffle and pout.

Even though you want their comfort, you can’t bring yourself to look at your friends when you admit, “I’ve been lying to my parents for months.”

“What?” Hyunjin asks.

“Huh?” Jeongin says.

You blink away your tears and look at them properly. They are the very picture of concern. They have such striking faces so their emotions are always so plain, their features sharp, with thick dark brows and sloping cheeks and full lips. Jeongin dyed his hair a fairer auburn a while ago, but Hyunjin is dark, both of them so handsome it makes you hiccup on a caught breath.

These thoughts make you feel even more pathetic. Here you are, gawking at your best friends while everything falls apart around you.

You drop your face and cry some more. They watch helplessly through their screens, saying your name and trying to calm you down.

“What happened?” Hyunjin asks when your tears have slowed.

“Remember a few months ago, when I went out with that guy who works at the coffee shop?”

“Yes, I hated him,” Jeongin says in a clipped tone while Hyunjin scoffs.

“Me too,” Hyunjin says. Their sour faces speak volumes.

“What!” This distracts you from yours tears for a moment. “You guys told me you liked him!”

“Yeah, only because you did,” Jeongin says. He is in his bedroom and he flops back on his bed, his mop of hair forming a charming halo around his head. He grins that dimpled, mischievous grin at you. “But now you don’t like him, so we hate him.”

“I always hated him,” Hyunjin says. He is sitting at his desk, lit so prettily by lamplight that it looks like a dreamy filter. He props his face in his hand and pouts dramatically. “You didn’t need him anyway, baby,” he says. “You’ve always got us.”

At the same time Hyunjin says this, Jeongin tucks a hand under his head. He is wearing a sleeveless top and his bicep flexes where his bare arm curves. Between Hyunjin’s pretty face and prettier words, and Jeongin looking like that, it is no wonder how quickly heat rushes to your face.

You bury your face in the blankets and shriek, frustrated with everything in your ridiculous life. They are still looking at you with concern when you surface.

“Sorry,” you say. “The point is, my mom would ask about him. You know what my parents are like and how much they want me to be in a relationship.”

You love your family, you do. You do not regret using visiting your parents. The dinners and tea times and game nights have been a delight. You have been proud to catch them up on your life in the city. You are happy with your life, your education and your job and your friends. Your parents are proud of you.

They just cannot help but poke that one little detail, snagging like a loose thread on a nail and unravelling your careful composition with their obvious judgement.

You are not in a relationship. You have never been in a relationship.

Oh, sure, there have been dates scattered here and there, but nothing serious. You are fine with this but your parents consider this cause for catastrophic levels of concern.

You try to show grace. Your family is only nosy out of misplaced worries, convinced that if you do not have a boyfriend then you must sobbing yourself to sleep every night. Which is not true. Well, sometimes it’s true, especially because your two best friends are the ones making your heart race, but most of the time you just eat cheese toast in bed.

To assuage the worst of their concerns, you maybe exaggerated the truth a teensy tiny bit.

“Well,” you say, “They were so happy that I went on more than one date, so it got them off my case for a while. After we went our separate ways, I sort of just… kept telling them… I was still seeing him…”

“Uh oh,” Jeongin says. Hyunjin grimaces. Yeah, your friends know you well. They have never met your family but they know the stories and they can guess where this is going.

“Yeah, uh oh is right,” you say. “My mom invited me out here for their summer party. They throw one every year to start the season. They invite the whole family and all their friends and their friends’ kids. It’s huge. I wasn’t even thinking when I said I would come because I always do. Only when I agreed did my mom tell me to bring my boyfriend for everyone to meet… at which point I remembered…”

“That you don’t actually have a boyfriend?” Jeongin asks with a quirked eyebrow. Hyunjin laughs, covering his mouth with a quick slap of his hand to hide it.

“Don’t laugh at me!” you say with a miserable whine. “It’s not funny. I messed up and now I don’t know what to tell them!”

“What did you tell them so far?” Jeongin asks while Hyunjin tries to get his face under control.

“I was going to tell them the truth when I got here,” you say. “But then they were so disappointed that my boyfriend wasn’t with me. I couldn’t disappoint them even more by saying he didn’t exist at all in the first place!”

“So you told a bigger lie instead,” Hyunjin says, tilting his head questioningly. “What did you say exactly?”

“I just said he was busy with work,” you say. “And they were really upset about it so I tried to cheer them up. I said he was going to try and make it to the party at least.”

“But he’s not real,” Jeongin says.

“Yes, Jeongin!” you squeal. “That’s the problem! And also—” A flood of tears return, blurring your vision again. “I know it’s so stupid. We’re all grown-ups now. But I was the youngest out of all the kids growing up, so I was always the dumb little tag-along. My mom has told everyone I have a boyfriend coming and if I make up an excuse tomorrow, they’re all gonna see through it. They’ll be nice to my face because we aren’t kids anymore but I already know they’re gonna talk about me and how pathetic I am.” You start crying again, looking around at the bedroom you grew up in, still filled with the books and clothes and toys you left behind after moving. It makes you feel like that little girl again. It only worsens your angst. “Tomorrow is going to be the worst day of my life,” you say.

“Aw, no, no, it won’t,” Jeongin says.

“Hey, baby, don’t cry,” Hyunjin also says. They both speak in the sweetest tones imaginable, gazing so lovingly into their cameras it makes you melt.

“You know you’re better than that,” Jeongin says.

“Yeah, who cares what they think?” Hyunjin adds.

“I care,” you say in a small voice, looking away again because you feel so embarrassed. “At least a little bit. I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not,” Hyunjin says. At the same Jeongin says, “It is but it’s fine.” They both scowl at the camera as if frowning at each other. It makes you laugh through your tears. You wipe your eyes on the teddy bear again.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now,” you say. “I just have to face it. It’s my own fault. Maybe if I could just get a boyfriend for real, if I didn’t suck so much—”

“You’re perfect,” they say in unison. It seems to make all three of you look flustered at once.

“Seriously,” Hyunjin says while Jeongin clears his throat. “You’re our girl.”

“Yeah, everyone is else is just stupid,” Jeongin says.

“You only need to listen to us,” Hyunjin says.

“Listen to me, not him,” Jeongin teases. “He’s kinda stupid too.”

“Excuse me,” Hyunjin says in a perfectly catty voice. Jeongin sticks his tongue out.

Their antics make you laugh. You rest your cheek on the teddy bear and kick your legs behind you, smiling into your screen.

“Okay,” you say. “In that case, just distract me until I go to bed. It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

They both smile at you. They waste no time obliging, launching into stories and playful bickering, making you forget about everyone and everything else. They are your boys. They are all you need.

You go to bed with a smile on your face.

That smile is gone the next day. You are a bundle of raw nerves all morning. Despite the food being prepared, you cannot imagine eating, so sick to your stomach with anxiety. Your parents ask about your boyfriend and you answer in vague replies and half-promises. You claim he is still working but you are optimistic. You cry your make-up off only once, which is ten times less than you thought you would.

At least you look pretty. You bought a new dress for the occasion, a pretty floral piece that sweeps the floor with a delicate swish. If you are going to suffer, at least you will suffer beautifully.

You are standing in front of the mirror, practicing lines and excuses and grimacing at all of them. You are interrupted when your mother calls you downstairs, the first of the guests arriving.

Here goes nothing, you think.

You take a deep gulp of air and descend the stairs, plastering a big fake smile on your face as you greet the party guests.

They come in waves. Cousins, aunts, uncles, neighbours, friends. You greet everyone pleasantly. There are so many people and so many conversations that you manage to sink into the background of every discussion, batting queries about your own private life with questions for someone else.

You start to wonder if you worried for nothing, then someone directly asks about your boyfriend. Not just someone, but one of the girls in your age group.

“Your mother didn’t know much, she said you were quite evasive about it!” she says. She is not being unkind because she currently has no reason to believe you are lying. It will be later, when everyone realizes this mystery man is not manifesting, then everyone will start to gossip and draw conclusions. This is just the beginning of a long, agonizing party. “Is he going to be here?” she asks. “I can’t wait to meet him! He’s your first boyfriend, right?”

You love your mom, but she really is such a blabbermouth.

You laugh awkwardly, fidgeting with the skirt of your dress.

“Ha-ha, yeah, I was, um, just waiting for the, uh, right person, you know,” you say.

Someone else opens their mouth to ask more when the doorbell rings.

“Oh, I better get that!” you say and leap out of your seat. You give no one a chance to protest, scampering around bodies to get out of the backyard and into the house. You run past your father who is ambling to the door, telling him you got it. You want to let the guest inside then stand in the front yard to catch your breath. Hopefully, by the time you go back, the conversation will have moved on.

You swing open the door, a polite greeting on your lips. It catches when you see who is standing there.

“Jeongin!” you exclaim.

Your best friend is standing on your porch, grinning that big cheshire cat smile. He is an absurdly sexy vision. Jeongin is a tech guy but he takes modelling gigs on the side, fashion a personal hobby to him. His auburn hair is neatly styled around his face, a slash of colour in an otherwise all-black look. It makes him look long and fit, loose pants and a dress shirt over a sleeveless top, topped with a leather jacket. A silver chain sparkles around his neck.

He swoops in and kisses your cheek, giggling to himself.

“I heard someone needed a boyfriend,” he says.

You laugh a little hysterically, all the joy returning to your body in a rush. You slap your hands on your hot cheeks and look him up-and-down.

“Oh, wow,” you say. “You shouldn’t have. But you look really good.”

Your eyes are on the tip of his black boots. He is looking at you too, his eyebrows lifted as his gaze travels down your body.

“Yeah,” he says on a breath. “You too.”

Flustered, you cover yourself then swat at him. It makes him grin again, cheek dimpled.

“Stop that,” you say. “You’re not allowed to say things like that to me. And I’ve been sweating like a stuck pig under here. I feel like I should do the grown-up thing and come clean and send you away, but I’m not gonna do that. Come on.” You loop your arm with his elbow and drag him through the house to the back yard.

Seconds before joining the party, he leans in to whisper in your ear, “Then as your boyfriend, I’m allowed to tell you that you looking really fucking good. Okay?”

You very literally fall into the yard. Fortunately, Jeongin keeps his balance and yanks you upright. You stumble into his open arms, your back plastered to his chest. He is probably smiling that big grin at everyone as he keeps his arms around you.

“Hi,” he finally says and offers a little wave.

“Ahhh!” your mother screams more gleefully than a clown horn. She immediately starts hollering for your father.

“He’s inside getting some food ready, mom,” you say, covering your face in embarrassment as she scuttles up to you.

“My goodness, my goodness,” your mother says, all but throwing you to the side to get to Jeongin. “Oh, I’ve heard so much. No, actually, that’s not true, I haven’t heard anything. Tsk, crazy girl. Always with her secrets. But look at you, oh my, you’re so handsome! Look at those dimples.”

“Mom!” you wail. “Stop pinching his cheeks!”

Someone sitting nearby tugs your skirt. It is the girl from before and she is grinning. He’s hot, she mouths very blatantly, winking at you. You smile an awkward, too-wide grin, still more embarrassed than not. Everyone is chattering, looking at you and Jeongin. A couple others smile and give you a thumbs up. You pretend to be very preoccupied with a speck on your dress, focussed on scratching it off so you do not have to meet any eyes.

In the midst of all the madness, the doorbell rings again. You hear your father inside, shouting that he will get it.

“Oh, hurry up!” your mother shouts. “You have to meet—oh goodness, what is your name?” she asks, even while she has a hand in his hair.

“Ha, ah, Jeongin,” he says, managing to politely extricate himself. He takes her hand and pats it affectionately. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says, then winks at you. Your mother looks at you with a delighted smile. You refrain from smacking your forehead.

At least things can’t get worse, you think, right before things get worse.

Your father steps into the yard, smiling a big smile.

“Ah, my little girl!” he says, waving at you. “Your boyfriend is here! Everybody, this is Hyunjin.”

Your heart was racing with adrenaline a moment ago. Now, it freezes solid. It feels like a cement block dropping right into your gut. You are not sure if the entire party actually goes quiet or if your ears just give up to protect you.

You are helpless, standing stock still as your other best friend steps onto the deck behind your father. Coincidentally and preposterously, he is dressed almost identical to Jeongin, all in black with a black leather jacket. He is wearing sunglasses, though, which he pushes onto the top of his head when he sees Jeongin.

Jeongin stares back at him, then he looks at you. Hyunjin looks at you. Your mother looks at you. Everyone looks at you.

“Um,” you squeak.

Wow, that speck on your dress really is so very interesting. And why is it so hard to swallow? Where is your tongue again? Oh, why did you ever have to tell such a stupid lie, just for a few moments of convenience.

You clear your throat and look up. Your voice comes in a croak when you say, “Hi, Hyunjin.”

“Hyunjin,” your mother says, looking at him. He blinks at her. Jeongin is handsome but Hyunjin is the definitive pretty boy, an artist behind the camera but just as suited to a life in the spotlight. His artistic soul really shines through in every capacity. Even his smile is a work of art, delicate and sweet as he looks at your mother. He would have made a perfect fake boyfriend if you didn’t already have one.

Somehow you went from no boyfriends to two. No, not even, because they are fake. You went from no boyfriends to negative-two boyfriends. That must be a feat.

“Ohhhh,” your mother suddenly interrupts the silence. She starts giggling as she tip-toes to Hyunjin like a panther about to pounce. “I see what’s happening,” she says, looking slyly between the three of you. Then she grabs Hyunjin by the cheeks as well, shaking him around like a baby rattle. “My little girl has TWO handsome boyfriends!” she cries out ecstatically. “Oh, that’s just like her too. You know, she was a late bloomer in every respect, but always caught up and surpassed everyone after the fact. Struggled at school when she was little, then grew up and got herself on the dean’s list at university. You know she didn’t even grow breasts until she was eighteen then ballooned right up, the biggest you’ve seen!”

“Mom!”

Jeongin and Hyunjin look at your chest at the same time. You wrap your arms around yourself and frown, making them both clear their throat and look away.

“Oh, sweetie,” your mother says, finally freeing Hyunjin. He and Jeongin stand together, rubbing their cheeks. They watch as your mother takes your hand. “I understand now why you were to hesitant to give us any details. But it’s a brave new world. There’s all sorts of different loves out there. I’ve been reading books!”

“Exactly,” your father says, joining you in the middle of the party. “We would never judge you for who you love.”

“That’s great,” you say. This conversation would be really sweet if it wasn’t about your negative-two boyfriends and happening in front of fifty people. “Thanks,” you say.

Your father is holding barbeque tongs. He claps them in the air and smiles.

“Great!” he says. “Who’s hungry!”

It isn’t until much later that you get a second alone with Hyunjin and Jeongin. It is well after dinner when the sun is starting to set and the party has dispersed to different corners of the yard. Your parents are with some friends, seated around a fire, so you drag your fake boyfriends into the house and upstairs to your bedroom.

You slam the door shut.

“Seriously!” you shriek. “You didn’t think to tell each other you were going to show up to be my fake boyfriend?!”

They both look chagrined, Jeongin with his arms crossed and Hyunjin rocking on the balls of his feet. They look at each other with a grimace, then try to smile at you.

“Don’t give me that look,” you say, then groan, leaning against your closed door. You cover your face with your hands. “This is insane. My life is a joke. Hwang Hyunjin, don’t even think about touching anything.” You point to Hyunjin even though your eyes are covered. You don’t need to see him to know he is reaching for something, always sticking his gossipy nose in places it doesn’t belong. When you drop your hands, you catch him hovering near your head table. He smiles nervously. “Sit down,” you say, unamused.

Jeongin and Hyunjin plop onto the bed at the same time. They look rather ridiculous in the black and leather, contrasted to all the pink and white lace of your old bedroom. Ridiculous, yes, and definitely not stupidly sexy. The contrast between two sexy bad boys and your floral cuteness is absolutely not a turn-on. It’s not. No. No. You refuse.

“Sorry,” Jeongin finally says. “We should have checked first. With you, at least.”

“Yeah, baby, seriously,” Hyunjin says, shaking his head. “I feel really embarrassed. You know we would never want to hurt you, right?”

“You were just crying so much,” Jeongin says.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep at all last night,” Hyunjin says.

They keep speaking in their defense. You start to pout, feeling guilty, because they are so sincere in their apology. It is very obvious they did not do this to embarrass you. The complete opposite. Your friends love you so much and it is obvious in everything they do. From the day you met them, Jeongin and Hyunjin have happily dropped everything to help you with anything. No task has ever been too big or too small. If it’s for you, they will do it. You are the exception to every rule and the first call every time.

They are your boys. You are their girl.

“I’m sorry too,” you say. “In fact, I’m even more sorry. This whole thing is my fault, after all. I should have never lied in the first place.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jeongin says.

“Yeah, we all do stupid things,” Hyunjin says.

“It’s not like you knew it would get this bad,” Jeongin adds.

“I definitely don’t think she predicted this,” Hyunjin quips, looking at him. It makes Jeongin snort and Hyunjin grins.

It makes you laugh as well, though you cover your mouth to hide it.

It’s no good. Once the first giggle escape, they are relentless. The three of you laugh until there are tears in your eyes, doubled over as the silly situation washes over you. When the laughter has somewhat subdued, Hyunjin holds out a hand in offering.

“Come here,” he says.

You take his hand and he tugs you towards them. You find yourself squished between them, framed between their bodies like a little flower. Jeongin puts a hand on your lower back and Hyunjin brushes his knuckles over your cheek. Both touches are innocent but the combination has your face heating.

Not just your face. Heat rushes everywhere, cascading down your chest, swooping in your belly and lower. Your toes even curl.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Hyunjin says. He smiles while holding your gaze. “You know we’ll help you no matter what, okay?”

Jeongin kisses your shoulder and you cannot hide your shiver.

“Okay,” you say in a small voice.

There is a moment of tense silence after this. You look between them and they look at you.

You all jump when there is a knock at your door. Hyunjin falls right off the bed, sprawling in an ungainly clatter of long limbs on the floor. Jeongin scoots to the side, less dramatic but still surprised. You sit straighter. Hyunjin groans and rubs his head.

The door opens and your mother pokes her head inside, smiling.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “But sweetie, there will be time to be alone with your boyfriends later, since I assume they’re spending the night. But right now we have company. Come spend time with the guests. Some of the others are using the hot tub and pool. Do you boys need swim trunks? Yes? I’ll go find some, give me a second.”

No one gets an opportunity to even answer. She closes the door and disappears as quickly as she came.

There is another beat of silence, then Jeongin says, “We’re spending the night, I guess?”

“Ow,” Hyunjin says. “I think I bruised my elbow.”

“Oh my god,” you say.

You putter around the poolside until the sun fully sets. When it gets dark, the pool lights start to flicker in rainbow patterns so the others gravitate there, splashing through the luminescence.

You and the boys wander to the hot tub while it is empty. Jeongin sinks right in like he does not even feel the heat while Hyunjin has to make a dramatic show about every inch of skin that touches it. You and Jeongin look at each other with matching quirked eyebrows. You smile affectionately.

“What? It’s hot,” Hyunjin says, finally sitting.

“That is how they work,” Jeongin replies.

You giggle but also drop your gaze. Your mother managed to find swim clothes that would mostly fit the boys. Jeongin is shirtless in swim trunks, his wet hair slicked back, that handsome face and all those lean muscles on display. When did he get so damn fit? He was always athletic in a subtle, svelte way, but his arms and back ripple with definition now.

Hyunjin is in a wet suit, one that stops at the knee and elbow. He is more covered but the solid black swimsuit makes him look so long and lean. His hair is also damp. You watch as he rakes his fingers through it, tucking it behind his ears. He really is absurdly good looking.

You blame the heat under your skin on the jets.

“Psst,” Jeongin suddenly whispers. His foot nudges yours under the water. “Is that them?” he whispers.

You try to be subtle, turning your head to see who is there. A few younger people are sitting in some pool chairs under a torch, chatting and occasionally glancing in your direction. It is a few of the people you grew up with, the ones you told the boys about.

You nod at Jeongin, smiling shyly. You look down at your legs through the rippled distortion of water. You are wearing a simple one-piece, just as pink and floral as your dress, still a contrast to your boys.

You look at them in time to catch a mutual nod. You were spread around the hot tub, a reach of space between your bodies, but they slide until they are pressed up on either side of you. You look between them, curling your hands in nervous fists on your chest.

“What is it?” you whisper.

“We’re your boyfriends,” Hyunjin whispers with a smile. “Shouldn’t we sit close to you?”

“Oh,” you squeak. “I suppose that’s true.” You swallow, looking at him then at Jeongin. Your heart is pounding against your hands. The combination of heat and desire is making you more than a little dizzy. “Wh-what else should we be doing?” you ask before thinking twice. Vocalizing your internal thought only intensifies your fantasies, your mind supplying plenty of mental images of what you would be doing in this hot tub if they were really your boyfriends.

Oh, you are definitely getting dizzy, but it is not just the jets.

Hyunjin and Jeongin look at each other, both of them surprised by your forward question. Jeongin laughs because that is his instinct, that dimple never shy. Hyunjin has more of a smirk than a smile. He pokes his tongue into his cheek and lifts his eyebrows when you look at him. It is a teasing expression. It makes you dissolve into nervous giggles, sinking lower into the water.

He grabs you before you can disappear under the surface. And it is a grab. Between Hyunjin and Jeongin, you always suspected Hyunjin would be a gentle lover. He is so gushy and romantic while Jeongin tends be more frank about things. But it is Jeongin who gently strokes a hand down your arm, who laces his fingers with yours and squeezes.

Hyunjin reaches right under the water, stopping your descent with a hand on the back of your neck. Your eyes widen as he yanks you up, not choking but certainly in control. Your mouth falls open with surprise. Much to your embarrassment, you moan before he even kisses you, the sound escaping of its own volition as he tilts his head and leans in.

Oh, his mouth is gentle even if he is not. His hand is on your jaw, firm, holding your face where he wants it, but his lips are so soft and warm. He kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth and sighing against your lips. You steal a breath as well, your mouth open against his. That breath catches when Jeongin kisses the nape of your neck, then your shoulder.

They both have big hands, long fingers, slender but strong. You melt between them, all heat and need.

You turn to Jeongin, breathless with desire. His eyes are dark, lids heavy. You have never seen such intensity on his usually smiling face.

You are ready to kiss him when some playful shouts erupt from the audience you forgot about. “Get it girl!” someone shouts.

“Oh my god,” you say. Distracted, you reach behind you, grasping for nothing in particular when you find something, indeed. Jeongin is rock hard in his swim trunks and your hand brushes the very decent length of him.

You snap your hand back to yourself, jaw dropping.

“Why are you hard?” you whisper harshly.

“What do you mean, why am I hard?” he whispers back, just as argumentatively. “We’re all making out in a hot tub. Of course I’m hard.”

“Hyunjin’s not hard!” you hiss.

You look over your shoulder. Hyunjin is staring up into the air at nothing, looking a little too inconspicuous.

“Hyunjin!” you cry.

“What?” he returns, also whispering sharply. “Are you saying you’re not turned on?”

“I—hmmph—you—no!”

“No?” he asks with a sharp tilt of his head.

“So,” Jeongin says, drawing your narrowed gaze back to him. He just smiles at you. “If we put our hands somewhere here,” his fingers skim your upper thigh and you jump, “we wouldn’t find…?”

You sputter helplessly but it does no good; you have no retaliation whatsoever. You look at Hyunjin but he’s no help, just smirking at you. He wiggles his fingers in a little wave and you feel flushed again.

“I’m leaving now,” you say and finally sink under the water while they laugh.

You step into your bedroom at the end of a very long day. The guests have all gone home. Your parents, for reasons your mother strangely explained, are staying at the neighbour’s house tonight. You are very aware of the privacy it offers, the air rife with possibility.

Your boys are in your bed, wearing boxers and sleeveless shirts and bickering about the size of the quilt. They stop yanking on the blankets when you appear.

You did not bring much sleepwear. You figured you would wear the old shirts left behind in this room. You have outgrown most of them, but that wasn’t a problem with you were sleeping alone. Now you are wearing old gym shorts that sit very high up your thighs, a little shirt pulled taut across your ample chest, and your friends are staring at you, their previous conversation completely forgotten.

You cross your arms and stomp to the bed, feigning indifference. You crawl over a startled Hyunjin to get to the middle, flopping into the little column of space they left for you.

“Good night,” you say.

Hyunjin turns off the bedside light. The three of you are laying on top of the covers, on your backs, stiff as boards. Your arms are still crossed over your chest in a totally unnatural position. You refuse to look around, counting every little popcorn freckle in the ceiling design.

“You kissed him,” Jeongin says, his voice so loud in the silence.

You feel Hyunjin look over, hear the turn of his head on the pillow. You cast your eyes to either side but do not turn your head. There is already a skip in your heartbeat and you cannot encourage it.

“What?” you ask.

“You kissed him,” Jeongin says. You feel him roll onto his side, facing you. “You didn’t kiss me.”

You brace yourself then turn your head, looking at him with every intention of telling him that you did it in the heat of the moment. But he is gazing you, his head propped up on his arm, that god-forsaken bicep flexed again.

You shake your head and look at the ceiling.

“Yes, I did,” you say. “What should we do about it?”

“Kiss him,” Hyunjin says. You look at him. He is also propped up, leaning back on his elbow. He looks at you with an expression that offers a challenge, asking, Well? What are you waiting for?

“Fine,” you say, then slowly turn to Jeongin. “Only because that’s fair.”

Jeongin does not hesitate. He is not as firm Hyunjin but he does not need to be. Long, steady fingers slide across your shoulder and cup the back of your head. He draws you into him, kissing your cheek before your lips.

You quickly lose yourself. Your eyes close and it feels like taking flight, or maybe falling. Yes, falling helplessly head over heels. You have been for a long time.

You cannot help but make a few wanting sounds. Jeongin’s body is so different to yours, all hard planes and firm muscle against your softer spots. His hand finds your waist and he pulls you even closer, kissing you long and slow like he is pacing himself, like he plans to kiss you for hours.

That hand wanders from your waist, sliding lower until he is cupping your ass. Your breath catches and the kiss breaks. He is quick to dive back in, kissing you deeper the second time, his tongue touching yours.

You grab his arm, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. When he leans in again, Hyunjin reaches out and shoves his shoulder. Jeongin blinks up at him, surprised.

“That was two kisses,” Hyunjin says. “My turn.”

Hyunjin grabs your shoulder and pulls you onto your back. You land with a soft thump, still intoxicated from kissing Jeongin.

You blink up at Hyunjin, your chest heaving with breath as his eyes roam down your body. His fingers follow the same trail, knuckles at your chin then the curve of your chest. You arch your back instinctively. Everything seems to throb when his fingers brush the front of your shorts. It is a momentary touch, then he is cupping your cheek and turning your face and kissing you.

Just last night, you were in this bed alone, fantasizing this very thing. You ended the phone call but you were wide awake, so you put on some music and grabbed your vibrator and lost yourself to the impossible fantasy now entering reality.

In your fantasies, one or both of them was on top of you. But Hyunjin surprises you with the opposite, taking hold of your hips and tugging. You follow his direction clumsily until you are straddling his lap. He is hard between your legs, holding you there against him while he cups the back of your head and kisses you.

You can’t believe you thought Hyunjin was a romantic little angel. He is an absolute demon, rolling his hips under you with the same unhurried pace Jeongin used. You are so wet and turned-on, so delirious with need, for a second it feels like there is nothing between you, just the hard shape of him against your softness. But no, there are thin layers of fabric between you, stretched so tight it is like they are not there.

Jeongin curves his hand over the shape of your ass. Your shorts are riding up from your position. He could get an eye-ful at the right angle.

“You’re so…” he says, but his breath catches like there is no word to do you justice. It makes you look at him, your eyes locking in intensity.

It ends when Hyunjin rolls, laying you onto your back again. Then he sits back, leaving you there in a breathless pant.

“What do you think about?” he asks.

You make a noise back at him. It is supposed to be a question but it comes out garbled. You shake your head, then manage to ask, “Huh? Think about?”

He sits up and reaches into your bedside drawer. You come to coherency when he takes out your vibrator.

“Hyunjin!” You cannot help but scold him. “I told you to stay out of there!”

“You know I like to investigate,” he argues. “I can’t help it.”

“Oh my god,” you say, slapping your forehead. “I swear to god, it’s like being friends with a crow.”

Jeongin sits up too, laughing so much he has to cover his face. He shakes his head as he comes up for a breath, pushing his hair out of his face.

“Stop laughing,” you say, even while a few giggles escape.

Jeongin just grins at you, then he reaches out and touches traces his thumb across your smile.

“Are you going to answer?” Hyunjin asks.

You look at him and snatch the vibrator back, clutching it possessively to your chest.

“That’s none of your business,” you say.

“It could be,” he says, expression getting darker by the second, a playful smile turning to a dirty smirk. He runs his teeth across his bottom lip then bats his eyelashes. “If you think about us,” he finishes.

“I—no—you—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “It’s normal. I think about you.”

“Hyunjin,” you gasp. You go to whack him with the vibrator then remember what it is. You hold it against your chest again, embarrassed. Hot in the face and everywhere else, you sputter more indignantly than you feel, “There’s nothing to think about with me.”

He looks at you like he can’t believe you are serious, his eyes dropping down your body then back up. He laughs, covering a hand over his mouth.

“Last night I thought plenty,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I wondered if you could come so hard it would make you cry. I bet you’d look pretty.”

You swallow hard. Your hands are getting clammy, clutching the toy. You cannot even fake any indignance, so turned on it is making your head spin.

“That’s rude,” you say in a rasping voice, “I was crying and you were—”

“I waited to touch myself, thank you,” he teases.

“Jeongin wouldn’t do that,” you say, looking back at him. He is staring up at the ceiling, blinking too quickly and too innocently. “Jeongin!” you exclaim.

Hyunjin laughs some more, a gleeful little cackle behind his hand. You huff dramatically, trying and failing to frown at them.

“My friends are perverts,” you say.

Hyunjin is reclining in an insouciant slouch. Jeongin is sitting upright behind you. You look between them as they look at each other, seemingly conversing through nothing but a series of blinks. Jeongin smiles first, winking at you when you meet his eye. He is holding your gaze when Hyunjin moves, smooth and quick. They crowd you, one on either side, each with a hand on your thigh.

You make a noise, a surprised little whimper as you spill onto your back. You clutch the toy for dear life as Jeongin strokes your inner thigh and Hyunjin’s long fingers trace your waistband. You gasp when Hyunjin slides right in, under your shorts but over your underwear. You are so turned on that there is no hiding it, the fabric wet under his searching fingers.

“Takes one to know one,” he says with a smile. “Maybe that’s why we’re friends.”

“I don’t think we’re just friends,” Jeongin says while sliding the toy out of your hands. He turns it on and your clit pulses under Hyunjin’s fingers, trained to react to the noise.

Hyunjin laughs, his breath on your neck. He moves his hand while Jeongin presses the toy between your legs, over your shorts and panties but nonetheless immediately effective. You squirm a little. The onslaught of sensation has your thighs twitching to close.

The boys shuffle quickly. You find yourself sitting between Jeongin’s legs, your back against his chest. Hyunjin kneels in front of you, holding your legs open so you cannot escape the toy’s blissful torture. You can feel an orgasm winding up ridiculously fast. You have not had a proper relationship but you have fooled around, but it was never like this. Even by yourself with a toy, an orgasm would take time. You have a breath to realize you are going to come, hard, legs spread for your boys.

It hits you quickly but deeply, rolling vibrations of pleasure that have you rearing up. You start to cry out and Jeongin covers your mouth even though you are alone, catching the sound in his palm. He holds the toy with his other hand, keeping it in place while Hyunjin holds your legs so you feel every tingling second of aftershocks.

When you whine into his palm, Jeongin lets you go and turns off the toy.

The room feels very quiet when the toy stops. You come to reality, remembering you are in your parents’ house in your old bedroom. Your parents might not be home but it still seems wrong to get down and dirty with your old teddy bear staring at you.

Hyunjin follows your line of sight. He grabs the bear and turns it around.

Okay. It’s fine now.

You twist around and grab Jeongin, kissing him roughly. He holds you as desperately, kissing back with the same fervour. Hyunjin gets his hands on your shorts and tugs them down. They are only off one leg, dangling around your knee, when he dives in and starts kissing your pussy through your underwear.

You are still sensitive from your orgasm, moaning into Jeongin’s mouth while Hyunjin torments you with his. When he moves the material out of the way, your legs start shaking again. Jeongin reaches down to touch you too, his fingers brushing Hyunjin’s lips. Hyunjin sucks the taste of you off his fingertips then dives back in.

You are caught by surprise when you come again. Jeongin catches your cry, covering your mouth again as you shake in his arms. A tear spills loose just from the sheer sensation of such rapid orgasms. Your body feels like a live wire, all lightning and electric energy.

Hyunjin kneels upright, looking at the tear running down your face. You whimper into Jeongin’s hand when Hyunjin licks it off your cheek.

“Knew you’d be pretty like that, baby,” he says.

You pry Jeongin’s hand off your mouth. It goes easily. In the end, they follow your lead. You know your boys. They would do anything for you. They would start. They would stop.

You do not want them to stop.

“Fuck me,” you say, so quietly it does not even penetrate the silence. Even so, Hyunjin slides his hand between your legs and slides two fingers right inside you, so easily because you are so wet. Jeongin squeezes your breasts in his hands, over your shirt then tugging the fabric up and over to get his hands on your bare skin.

“What was that?” Hyunjin asks. He brings those wet fingers to his lips and licks your wetness off them.

“F-fuck me,” you say, still a whisper but clearer. “Please.”

“Well,” Jeongin says, kissing your temple. He smiles at Hyunjin. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You all tumble over, laying on your sides. Jeongin is nestled behind you, Hyunjin in front of you. Jeongin lifts your shirt over your head while Hyunjin finally removes everything below your waist. You slip your hand between your thighs while they whip off their shirts and boxers.

Then it feels like their hands are everywhere. Yours too, reaching forward for Hyunjin, reaching back for Jeongin. You hold his hip while he rocks against you, his cock gliding along your backside.

“I’ll go first,” Hyunjin says, manhandling you onto your back then getting up between your legs.

“You kissed her first,” Jeongin argues, shoving him. Hyunjin shoves him back.

“You’re bigger,” Hyunjin says, nodding to his dick. “I’ll get her ready.”

You did not actually get a good look at Hyunjin’s dick before he put it inside you. If Jeongin is bigger, you are almost worried, because Hyunjin is bigger than anything you have had down there. You make a keening, high-pitched noise, mouth open as he presses inside you.

Jeongin lays beside you, reaching down to rub that still-tingling bundle of nerves. It helps, your eyes closing and head falling back. Jeongin kisses the exposed line of your throat while Hyunjin starts moving inside you.

“Ohh—” you say, your hands moving all over his chest. You clutch one shoulder and reach for Jeongin with your other hand. He guides it to his dick, helping you find a rhythm, stroking his length while Hyunjin fucks you.

It goes on for a time, then Jeongin curses, squeezing your hand around him. He nods to Hyunjin.

“Move,” he says. “My turn.”

Hyunjin, panting, pushes some hair off his sweaty forehead. He moves backwards down the bed, stepping right off. You yelp with surprise when he grabs your legs and yanks you down the bed. He grabs your hips and flips you over, then gestures to Jeongin.

“Your turn,” he confirms. They switch places, Jeongin kneeling behind you while Hyunjin kneels in front of you. You get up on your elbows, lifting your hips while Jeongin thrusts in. He wastes no time, evidently already on the brink from your ministrations. It means your gentle lover is suddenly pounding into you, your fingers forming fists in the bedsheets, yanking the covers everywhere as you pant and moan.

“Sooo pretty,” Hyunjin says, cupping your face in both hands. You know what he wants without asking, opening your mouth eagerly. You doubt it is the best head ever, especially considering half your attention is on Jeongin, your body moving where he wills it. But you manage, savouring the moment and already imagining every variation of position for the future.

You look up at Hyunjin, kissing the tip of his dick then saying in a rough voice, “I want both of you one day.”

“Fuck,” Jeongin says and immediately comes, grinding deep inside you. Hyunjin grabs you by the neck and puts you back on his dick, murmuring a string of expletives just as colourful until he comes.

You think it is over when Jeongin pulls out. Cum is dribbling out of your mouth when Hyunjin sits back. He wipes his thumb over your lips, pushing them closed.

“You can swallow,” he says. His touch is a suggestion, not forceful, so you could ignore it. But you gaze up at him and swallow.

And while you are doing that, Jeongin grabs the toy and puts it back between your legs. You almost scream, bucking when it comes to life on your dripping pussy. Hyunjin cups your face in his hands again, stroking your cheeks while you ride the pulsing vibrations. Another couple tears spill and he wipes them away with his thumbs, cooing sweet nothings at you the entire time.

They wring three more orgasms out of you before you basically collapse, exerted and sweating and panting.

“God,” you rasp, laying on your side, still breathing hard. “I’m gonna need to get in shape for this. Two boyfriends is no joke.”

The three of you laugh, then you get to enjoy the spoiled princess treatment that is having one boy to cuddle while the other fetches water and a towel. When you finally get to sleep, it is nestled safely between your boys, murmuring sweet words at each other in sleepy tones until you fall asleep.

Your parents return at lunch the next day. While Jeongin helps your father grill and Hyunjin sets the table, you help your mother prepare a side dish. She is practically beaming at you.

“Do I want to know why you slept at the neighbour’s last night?” you ask.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” your mother says. She kisses your forehead. “I heard you on the phone the other night. I know you lied about having a boyfriend.”

“What?!” You look at her with alarm and surprise. “But – but you didn’t say anything! You acted like Jeongin was my boyfriend the second he arrived!”

“Of course!” your mother says. “Look my dear, anyone can find a boyfriend. Walk onto the street and throw a rock, there’s one with his head out the car window like a dog. Easy. Not everyone can find a man who shows up to a party and pretends to be her lover, expecting nothing in return, and doing it just because he loves her. And you found two.”

Your mother wraps you in her arms. You are still surprised but you hug her back.

“I’m sorry I made you feel so pressured,” she says. “I just worried about you all alone in the city, but now I see you’re not alone. But, you know, I am a mother, and I saw how those boys looked at you, so I figured… well…”

“Mom!” you cry, a little mortified she intentionally set you up.

“Did it work?” she asks with an eyebrow wiggle.

You are laughing helplessly, shaking your head, which only makes her laugh.

“I knew it,” she says. “Sometimes fate just needs a hand. Maybe two.”

“We’re not talking about this anymore,” you say, walking away.

“You are glowing this morning. Maybe I should get another man too.”

“Mom, please!”

#hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #yang jeongin smut #jeongin smut #hyunjin x reader x jeongin #hyunjin x you #jeongin x you #hyunjin x you x jeongin #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader

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mayearies · 8 months

Text

… ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

.. ❛ nailed it ❜

genre: suggestive | warnings: implied making out, suggestive speech ->summary: miles gives you a prize

꒰ঌ a/n ໒꒱ needed to spice up shi a little bit since i havent in a while lmao i didnt feel like adding pictures to this one (ty @/q2ie for letting me steal ur format 😊 i might not keep it tho LMAO)

miles and you were doin' your nightly routine—facetiming each other for 3 hours before you actually went to sleep. you two would talk about anything and everything. drama at school, shit at work, etc. but you wanna see him in person. you would drop that in the convo for a while.

"then this bitch down the street was lookin' at me sideways n' shit, i swear to god-" "i wanna come see youuuu"

he broke, bursting out in full on laugher and rolling around in his bed out the frame. all your other attempts landed in him letting out a breathy laugh or a small chuckle.

"okay but no seriously! you haven't came over in foreverrrr" "we saw each other last week, mi vida?" "that's too long! what can i do to make you come over?"

it didn't take him long to think about a possible challenge. the smirk on his face told you all you needed to know. "you can try that one filter goin' around."

"which one? the hammer one?" "yeah." "hmm. you make it seem like it's that big of a challenge." "knowing your timing skills, yes. yes it will be a challenge for you." "what's in it for me?"

miles held his face in his palm while he looked to the side, making a humming noise. "i'll come over and kiss you."

"make out, you mean?" "i mean... it depends if you pass or nah."

you sucked on your teeth as you moved over to tiktok and got ready to win the little prize he had for you. you didn't even tell him that you started. you just went at it. he saw your focused ass self through your camera and he was snickerin a whole lot. "yo, shut up or i swear to god."

miles sat up and took a deep breath before saying in a mocking tone: "yo, shut up or i swear to g-"

"STOP"

once the timer hit zero, you had landed around 14. still bein' salty about not being able to get at least two because of his sabotagin' ass. you mumbled a curse under your breath which he knows for certain was for him. "awww.. you mad, ma? estás molesto conmigo?

"shut up." "you're too cute, i can't." "you didn't even tell me how many i had to get!" "... 15."

you stared at him with unamused which only made him feel amused. you swear, this boy plays too much. but that's one of the reasons you love him. the other reasons? well... that's another story.

"i'm jokin', ma. unlock your window."

once you heard your window slide up, you stopped shaking your leg. you had been waiting a whole 10 minutes. far too long. he came in his prowler pajamas, which was cute and it matched your spiderman one. "took you long enough."

miles held your chin with a playful smirk on his face. tilting it upward a little so he could plant a little kiss on your neck. "y'know. i wonder if you taste as salty as you talk, ma."

"just kiss me already."

and so he did. rather passionate, you would say. he knew everything you liked when he kissed you. what you didn't like, and what you loved. what made your face warm. what made your heart flutter. all of it. it's one of the other reasons you love him.

"i know just how to make your knees weak, amor." "sad but true." "what is that supposed to mean?" "you always make me fold. it hurts my back."

he let out a small giggle while cuddling up under the covers with you. he was proud to be able to tease you so much. even if you might get sick of him. "i love you so much."

"wish i could say the same." "damn. you still got that salty ass mouth after all that? thought i carried all my sweetness over to you. you want me to do it again?"

©hiimayee

#miles morales #miles g morales #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #miles morales blurbs #e!42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales earth 42 #miles 42 #42 miles morales #earth 42 #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #e42 miles #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader

1K notes · View notes

meiieiri · 3 months

Text

water’s edge | 03

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ author’s note: please don’t kill me omg this took too long. also, thank you to the warmest of messages, it really helped a lot. <33 i’ll see this through to the end. and thank you for sticking by me all this time. rbs are appreciated<3

₊˚.༄ warnings: physical harm/abuse, references to theft, adultery.

₊˚.༄ masterlist

He doesn’t want to wake up.

Not right now, when everything feels so real, so painfully tangible that he could make out her voice, her gentle breath, her plumose touch grazing his flesh as she leans in. “Satoru?” The woman in his dream whispers his name, and light seems to burst forth from that sound alone. It’s her; she iswas here, Satoru could almost touch her if he searched hard enough. If he imagined her face with just a little more effort, maybe she’d become real and not a figment of his guilt-ridden imagination. “Satoru, wake up. We can’t stay.”

I’ve missed you, I’ve missed who I could be when I’m with you.

Suddenly, he is brought back to light-hearted days when he used to sit underneath the imperial palace’s cypress, his fingers absentmindedly flipping through a book he found in the imperial archives while the love of his life sits beside him. His orbs gaze up at the chemtrails that paint the canvas of the turquoise summer sky.

He doesn’t want this dream to end. Shaking his head, he refuses her request the same way he did back then.

How cruel could she be to ask him to leave her again? He’s left her once, he wasn’t about to do it again. He hasn’t even begged for her forgiveness yet and now, she was telling him to wake up from this fantasy world his troubled mind created and to confront reality.

Don’t make me go, he begs her. Weren’t they happy here being together after being forced apart by those around them? Why would she want to go another minute without him being by her side? Did she still resent him? Stupid question, Satoru thought bitterly. Of course she does, after everything he’s put her through-

Suddenly, the hand that was reaching for her falls slack against his side. He doesn’t deserve her forgiveness, nor the very privilege of claiming to love her when every action he has ever committed said otherwise. Then, like a clock striking at midnight, the dream abruptly vanishes in a cloud of smoke.

Gojo’s eyes flutter open with a start.

“Shit,” he clutches his still asleep shoulder and sits up, looking at the empty room. How long has he been asleep? He looks at his watch — he’s an hour late — but he doesn’t really seem to care about the time. Immediately, he sends a quick text to Himiko asking where she is, only to receive a text with a picture attached of the cathedral. It seems she went ahead thinking it would only stir up more trouble if they arrived at the venue together.

Gojo’s mind wanders back to the dream before it is inevitably forgotten. Like a movie that he wants to watch over and over. He gazes at himself in the full body mirror with an empty gaze. All that is in his mind is to smash the reflective material into pieces, knowing that this is not the man his love wanted him to be: a prisoner in his own skin. When is all of this ever going to end? He huffs, slipping on his shoes and shrugging on his navy blue sash.

Not wanting to delay the inevitable any further, he turns on his heel to head to the cathedral reluctantly leaving the traces of his now corroding past behind for an even bleaker future with you as his wife.

“…Where’s Satoru?”

The entire nation is silent when only moments before, they were happily celebrating this supposedly joyful day. A reporter trains his video camera on you as you stand there motionless before an empty altar. Pretty soon, other members of the media who would get a huge scoop out of this travesty follow in his example as if you haven’t been humiliated enough by your groom who couldn’t even bother to show up at your wedding.

The empress who is seated right of the altar shoots you an apologetic look; she didn’t realize that Satoru could stoop this low. This wasn’t anything less of a transactional marriage and you thought that the prize that Satoru was promised he would get for marrying you would be enough for him to at least be civil with you. And here you thought that the earrings he gifted to you were a sign that things would eventually settle down.

Without warning, as the VIP guests start to chatter amongst themselves about how pitiful you looked, the woman you dreaded seeing bounds over to you, a solemn expression on her face. You would have believed that, despite the quiet rift between you and Chief-of-Staff Himiko Zenin, she felt a little sorry for you but her choice of wearing white on your wedding day says otherwise.

“Ms. (Y/N). I’m sorry there must have been a problem with the schedule, if you could follow me please—“ she begins to lead you to one of the cathedral’s private holding rooms before the grip on your hand tightens.

“—Suguru?” you looked at Suguru with a sad and confused expression. His heart clenches in his chest when he gets a good look of the damage Satoru dealt to you. He looks like he wants to throw something at the press for making a dogshow out of your agony — his hands are clenched into fists, his knuckles white — he takes a few deep calming breaths before he does anything rash.

At Himiko’s persistence, Suguru’s gaze hardens and he gently pulls you away from her as your feet remain planted firmly on the marble floor of the cathedral, leaving you frozen in place at Satoru’s betrayal. He hopes what he’s thinking isn’t true, but that’s proving to be a challenge since he doesn’t miss the hickey on Himiko’s neck which had been conveniently hidden by her long brown hair. Maybe she had a part in all this mess? She and Satoru had a history together after all and judging by the way you looked at her with apprehension — he doesn’t want to consider it — but perhaps you already knew that.

You are blinded by a camera’s flash and Suguru springs into action. Turning to the nearest guest, he politely asks, “Excuse me? May I borrow your suit for a second?” When the guest agrees, he shields your face with the Zegna suit to conceal you from the hounding eyes of the press who must be having the time of their lives right about now. Just one picture of the Crown Prince’s crying bride could sell for a good buck but not on his watch.

Not on his fucking watch.

Suguru looks at his father, and then his stepmother, and he couldn’t bring himself to be surprised to see them frozen in their places unable to do anything, much less act like they care. Their priority was to look good in front of all these cameras that were terrorizing you, not to comfort their future daughter-in-law. “Hey, it’ll be okay,” Suguru begins to urgently lead the two of you back to the car, his arm protectively around you while you hold the suit over your head.

“Will it?” You probably sounded like a child, begging for reassurance that all this was some sick dream but at that moment, it didn’t matter. You need someone - anyone - to tell you that everything will be alright. The question makes Suguru’s heart sink. In all honesty, he doesn’t know, but he didn’t need to make you feel even worse if he spoke the truth. So, he nods, choosing to lie to spare you from even more pain because he couldn’t count on anyone in this goddamn cathedral to do the same. He’ll have to talk to Satoru later on, this is a bad start to any marriage - no, bad would be an understatement, this is a catastrophic omen of what’s to come.

Pretty soon, Suguru requests that the roof of the car be reinstalled to hide your desolate expression. “Put it back up, please. The princess must be protected!” In his panic, he accidentally refers to you as a princess even before you are formally crowned Princess of Japan. The imperial household agents quickly get to work and pretty soon, Suguru helps you back into the car, putting up the tinted windows.

You can’t feel a thing. You don’t even know if you should harshly laugh at your foolishness or cry now that you’ve just been humiliated in front of thousands of people all across the world. Shrugging off the suit over your head, Suguru is surprised to see that you weren’t crying. You simply sat there, blankly staring at the ring on your finger.

“(Y/N)? Come on, say something…” He’s desperately trying to get you to express the tiniest bit of emotion, somewhat unnerved by your silence.

Turning to look at him, you wonder if he had been surprised by his brother’s behavior today or if a part of him expected this to happen. “He hates me.” You were numb. “I don’t know if you already knew but—“

“—-It’s arranged, I know.” Suguru scoffs under his breath, almost in disbelief that he didn’t figure it out sooner when he first heard about your engagement. Just when he thought his family couldn’t stoop any lower than they already were, they just had to drag a naive girl into their royal messes. His father and stepmother always preached about modernizing the monarchy but, their archaic ways such as actively banishing a woman of the imperial family should they marry a commoner and having some sort of proclivity for disastrous matchmaking through arranged marriages only say otherwise. “Fuck,” he buries his face in his hand, the thought of this predicament was making his head hurt.

You remove the tiara from your head, somehow feeling that a weight has been lifted when you do so. In a span of mere seconds, Suguru now appears exhausted. “I thought he’d at least wait until after the wedding to ignore me for good,” you muttered sadly. “That was fine, you know, him acting like I don’t exist; I know I never stood a chance…against her.”

You recall the way Gojo’s lips locked with Himiko’s in a searing kiss, and the way your heart seemed to disintegrate in your chest as you drove off that day, your eyes on the rearview mirror, heartbrokenly watching the both of them as you convinced yourself that you had no right to feel bad. And that is precisely what makes this situation so difficult; you feel like Satoru is cheating on you when in fact, he isn’t because he never once told you he loved you. You should be angry, furious, crestfallen at your fiancé’s betrayal, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Himiko,” Suguru nods in understanding.

He knows her well, and while he doesn’t exactly have any hard feelings towards her, he acknowledges that having her around in the imperial family is a misstep on Satoru’s part; he’s seen her many times before cajoling Satoru into ditching his royal duties for the two of them to spend time together, he has witnessed how she blatantly disrespects the emperor and the empress, he has also been made aware of the many lustrous gifts she has received out of his younger brother’s pocket.

“Yeah.” Your shoulders slump in defeat. “I never asked him to love me, I’m a lot of things but I’m not a thief.” You begin to shed tears as you try to convince yourself that you were perfectly fine with Satoru never loving you. You were so confused. Did you want him to love you? Are you now finding yourself craving for his ocean eyes to gloss over with an emotion other than hatred, an emotion similar to love?

Suguru watches you intently as these silent questions fly over your head. “You’d never ask him to love you but you love him…otherwise, why would you be on the verge of tears all the time whenever we talk about something remotely related to him if you didn’t?”

You swallowed harshly. “Is it so wrong though? To feel cheated on knowing we were never together in the first place?” You’ve been wondering about that since the day of the public announcement of your engagement and you’ve searched your heart for answers from the minute you wake up to the moment you fall asleep on your tear-stained pillow.

Suguru looks pensive for a moment, taking a deep breath before he speaks. “No, there’s nothing wrong with that. The heart wants what it wants, it’s pointless to even try to understand it.”

“But I don’t want my heart to want him.” You shook your head. You were going to be in for a world of hurt if you even entertained the idea of falling in love with Satoru Gojo. “He’ll never forgive me for it.”

A sad smile creeps up your face at the thought of Satoru admonishing you, one day, for saying you loved him even at his worst. Being in your early twenties, this was the age of recklessly falling in love, like a car speeding on an empty highway showing no signs of stopping, while you desperately look for the brakes.

A larger hand eventually finds its place above yours, his thumb gently rubs your knuckles that have turned white as you clenched them into fists to stop you from crying and making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“It’s not your fault. To be loved by another is a privilege most people overlook.”

You glance over at Himiko again, and then at yourself: you wore the dress but you weren’t the bride. You had the ring but not his affection. Feeling your gaze, Himiko looks at you for a brief moment and an exchange of sorts occurs between you and her: two women desperately envying one another. You had the vote of the people, yet, she had his heart. Almost in condolence, she offers you a curt nod before turning away.

“You are exactly the kind of girl he needs, (Y/N),” Suguru offers you his handkerchief to dry your tears with. “He’ll need you.”

“He’ll never want me.”

At exactly 2:35 in the afternoon, two hours and five minutes after you set foot at the chapel, Satoru arrives in a proxy vehicle, disguised as some foreign dignitary who arrived late. He steps out of the car behind yours and a collective sigh of relief washes over everyone. You craned your head back to see him dressed in the attire you first saw him in, a blank expression on his face as he was approached by his courtiers who instructed him on what to do.

Suguru looks in the direction of your gaze and he hurriedly steps out, squeezing your hand a final time as he does. A confused expression flashes over Satoru’s face when he sees Suguru step out of the bridal car. What was he doing there? According to the protocol sheet, wasn’t Ijichi supposed to be the one to accompany you today?

“Suguru,” Satoru greets his half-brother. “How’s she doing?” He suddenly asks about your well-being which causes Suguru to be taken aback for a second.

“She’s been crying but I think she’ll be fine now that you’re here,” Suguru informs him, looking back at the bridal car where you were. The older of the princes pulls the younger aside for a bit. “Where were you? She’s been waiting for more than an hour and—is that—?” He suddenly stops mid-lecture when he sees a bruise on the corner of Satoru’s bottom lip. Then, he recalls the hickey he saw on Himiko’s neck. “Satoru,” Suguru bites his lip to stop him from scolding Satoru.

What irks Suguru is that Satoru doesn’t even bother to hide it with the palm of his hand or even show a scintilla of regret. Did he really just fuck Himiko on the day of his wedding? “It was a farewell gift,” Satoru shrugs. “Besides, I’m here now, does it really matter?”

“Yes, it does,” Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve no idea the amount of trouble you caused (Y/N) today, how are you even going to begin to make it up to her?” Not like Satoru plans to make it up to you. In his eyes, you should be on your knees thanking him for showing up at all.

Satoru clears his throat, fidgeting with his left epaulet. “I did nothing wrong.” He believes every word he says. He did nothing wrong, he has nothing to make up for when it comes to you. He never betrayed you, there isn’t a relationship to ruin in the first place. “Himiko did nothing wrong to her and still, she’s suffering the consequences of my actions which shouldn’t be the case since, if I can remember correctly, if it weren’t for her intervention, if she hadn’t stepped in at the last second, you’d be visiting your own brother in jail.”

“Well, if you deserve it, I’ll even bring some snacks,” Suguru counters, earning a harsh warning glare from Satoru. He takes a second to steady himself before continuing. “Look, Satoru, what you did that night isn’t something that’s easily made up for like your little affair with Himiko.” Gojo scoffs in response to that. “You didn’t just hurt our family this time, or that man you brutalized, you hurt the entire nation. And you have to at least make some effort to clean up after yourself—“

“—By making my life a living hell without the woman I love? Forced instead to be with the likes of her? How is forcing the two of us to marry for some shitty publicity stunt any more evil than everything I’ve done in the past?” Isn’t that what they all thought of him?

“—She’s not doing anything evil, she did nothing to hurt you—“

“—She did everything to hurt me by forcing me into this marriage, ripping me from the future I dreamed of with Himiko, so you don’t dare make her out to be some saint because she isn’t.”

A hush descends on the two brothers: one who’s made it his life’s mission to despise you and one who’ll vouch for your integrity. The two stare each other down, wondering how it was possible they shared a father yet they couldn’t be more different. Perhaps, it’s the fact that Suguru was never the empress’s child, rather, he was born of a common woman – a reluctant homewrecker, which would explain, at least to Satoru, why he’s so protective of you. A whore’s son will defend a whore.

Geto doesn’t see you step out of the car, you must have heard the commotion outside the car when Satoru arrived. You blankly stare at Satoru for a good minute who seems to have just finished up a heated discussion with his brother. He looked angry, but why should that surprise you? Some of the imperial household staff encourage you to re-enter the car until the prince has made his way to the altar, but you couldn’t listen, you were simply at a loss for words.

He was here.

Almost three hours late, but he's finally here.

Satoru scowls when he sees you. He’s tried his best to be civil with you, but from what he’s heard from Suguru just now, you were clearly turning everyone against him. Sensing his anger, you tilt your head down for any crime you could have committed whether knowingly or unknowingly, but it seems more like the latter since he always finds something new to hate about you, an act that came so effortlessly to him.

“I don’t want to hear another word about (Y/N) from you.” Satoru turns his wrathful gaze to his brother who simply matches his death glare with a bored and disappointed look. Suguru lets out a tiny ‘tch’ at Satoru’s command, his hatred for you is an established fact, after all, and not just some rumor he’s heard from a jittery bride — the very sound of your name was like nails on a chalkboard to him.

Suguru couldn’t believe this. Satoru has been the one willfully hurting you ever since the two of you had that under-the-table arrangement with the empress yet, he had the sheer nerve to act like he was the one being wronged. While he understands his brother’s sentiments, you didn’t want any part in this in the first place, and whatever has driven you to this point of gambling your entire future on a man who doesn’t love you must be something that could persuade you to put up with this torture. “Is that a request or a command?” Suguru says flatly, the two men watching you get briefed by the floor director like some actress for a commercial shoot.

“A command from your emperor.”

“Fortunately, you’re not the emperor yet.”

Suguru promptly leaves to take his place beside you, nodding to Satoru to get moving and head to the altar already. You shakily take Suguru’s hand, waiting for the doors to open to restart the ceremony. “He looks angry.” You watch your groom storm to the back of the cathedral. Suguru wants to kick himself, the last thing you needed was Satoru to take out his anger on you once the two of you are alone.

“Sorry, I’m sure it’s just another one of his tantrums. He’ll cool down.” You sincerely hoped that was true. The last thing you need is Satoru getting even with you by suddenly walking up to Himiko and obscenely reciting his vows to her, though you were unaware that the two of them had indeed made a vow to continue loving one another earlier today whilst you were being publicly humiliated by domestic and international media for your failure of a wedding day.

You watch as Himiko scurries to the back of the cathedral as well, and you feel bile rise in your throat at the mere thought of what they could be doing behind closed doors. “Don’t even think about it, (Y/N). Don’t,” Suguru says firmly. “Just keep your eyes forward, and concentrate on taking one step at a time.”

“I can’t. I just can’t.” You can’t shake them out of your head no matter how hard you try. “The more I try to forget about them, the more I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Think of something else,” Suguru suggests. “Anything else.”

The last thing you need right now is imagining Himiko and Satoru obscenely murmuring whispers of love to one another, assuming that that’s the worst they could do. But from what Satoru told him earlier, Suguru might need an anti-hypertensive, enraged at the thought of those two literally screwing one another while you were out here on the verge of an emotional breakdown waiting for a groom who can’t be bothered to show up on time.

“Five minutes ‘till the doors open. Everyone, please stand by now,” Ijichi peeks out of one of the cathedral’s entrances, eyeing you particularly, as the great double doors slowly creak open, again revealing the majestic interior of the cathedral. Ijichi holds up a hand, signaling you to wait for the Trumpet Voluntary to start playing. You hold your breath then at the sound of the first chord, you and Suguru begin to walk down the altar.

It’s a long way to the front but the sheer distance between you and him couldn’t dull Satoru’s inimitable contrarian beauty, a prose you simply can’t understand. “Don’t look anywhere else. Focus on the act, focus on what you can see,” Suguru reminds you but really you get what he’s trying to say. Don’t go looking for Himiko.

And the only person you can see right now is him, Satoru, the man you are falling for at such a dangerous acceleration that if you were in a car on the freeway, you’d crash and burn in a heap of scorched gasoline in your crazed attempt to outrun these shittyass feelings.

You gulp as you continue on. How is this taking forever? Step by step, you are racing to your own demise. You just know it. But the doors are closed behind you, forever separating you from your past, there is only him. A bitter future.

“Suguru,” The two of you reach the nave of the cathedral, and just a few meters away from the altar, you stop on cue and wait for Satoru to lead you up the steps, towards the altar where the Archbishop of Tokyo is standing. “Thank you for being there for me.”

“Well, it was either me or Ijichi.”

Satoru begins to descend down the steps and a look of annoyance passes through his features when he sees you and Suguru chuckling to one another like you’ve been friends for the longest time. But then again, he can’t really seem to complain, having you off his back because you’re all too busy being chummy with Suguru doesn’t seem to be too bad. Satoru casts a glance towards Himiko and then over to you.

“Let’s go.” Satoru takes your hand and you are surprised at how he doesn’t seem to have any intention to drag you towards the archbishop. Nodding, you follow your groom’s lead. The ceremony is foreign, no other imperial couple has ever been married in a Christian ceremony so, even Satoru, who has been born to know all the imperial customs, is left trailing off and even, stuttering at some points during the entire affair.

Eventually, the two of you tide miraculously through it and in just one hour, you aren’t (Y/N) (L/N) anymore, but instead, you are Princess (Y/N) Gojo, the wife of the crown prince. The usual kiss between the bride and the groom is omitted to preserve the usual custom for an imperial Shinto wedding. As the archbishop and the other key religious figures in Japan gather behind you and the prince, your maid of honor, Utahime, solemnly bows before you with your bouquet in her hands. You turn just a bit to greet her and something catches Satoru’s eye now that your veil was no longer obstructing your features.

It can’t be.

The Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra begins to play the recessional and you and Satoru bow before the emperor and empress, traveling down the aisle, your hands interlocked. Somewhere halfway through to the cathedral doors, you feel Satoru gripping your hand a little more aggressively than usual. “Satoru?”

He’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Surely, you wouldn’t. How on earth did you find those earrings? Unless, someone had snuck into his room and nabbed it while he was asleep earlier. Something in Satoru tells him that you probably didn’t know and that you probably didn’t do it intentionally — stealing from him — but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re wearing it like it’s yours when clearly, it didn’t belong to you.

Satoru never thought he’d see it again, having kept it locked up in his drawer of memories past their due date to be completely forgotten. He never thought it would ever see the light of day again. But here they were, still in mint condition, reminding him of everything that has slipped through his fingers and everything he has destroyed thus far.

“Not here,” he hisses, glaring at you and that’s enough to get you to shut up.

Satoru has been indifferent up to this point, and sure, he may be seeing someone else but he is normally civil with you, with a few occasional snarky comments muttered under his breath, but he has made every effort to keep a handle on his emotions. Not once has he ever seemed as angry as he is now. But the scary thing is, you don’t even know what you’ve done other than wrench him away from Himiko and even that was unintentional on your part.

You make it to the car and he slides up the privacy shutter so the driver doesn’t hear a word. It’ll take a few minutes for the convoy to get moving en route back to the Asakusa Palace, the imperial palace that had been originally built to serve as the crown prince’s chief residence before it was turned into a state guesthouse by the National Diet.

Settling into the seat next to you, Satoru’s breaths are ragged trying to control himself from choking the life out of you. His voice comes out, a dangerous edge to it. “Where’d you get those?” He asks this question like one wrong move or syllable could cost you dearly.

“What—?” And as expected it does when you don’t reply quickly enough, not exactly knowing what he’s talking about.

With one swift movement, Gojo abruptly yanks off the earring off your right ear causing you to gasp in shock as it shatters in his grip. “I-I don’t know what you mean…!” you pleaded with him.

“You little thief,” Satoru stares down at the crushed earrings for a while before flinging it onto the car floor. “When did you steal this? Who did it for you?” He hits you with a fusillade of accusatory questions and you whimper in fear. Just like a kicked dog, Satoru rolls his eyes at you. “Answer me!”

“I didn’t steal them!” you protest your innocence. “Please, you have to believe me!”

Satoru punches the window of the car next to you, cutting off any more of your pleas, they’ll fall on deaf ears anyway. “Did you order one of the servants? Maybe Ijichi? Who stole this for you?” He asks again.

“N-no one I swear!” you inched away from him.

A huff escapes his lips when he realizes he isn’t getting anywhere with this and Gojo finally relents after what seemed like an eternity of him holding your head underwater. Your breath comes out in shaky huffs, utterly afraid. You look even uglier now with that expression, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.” The monarch sneers at the horrified look on your face. “Like you don’t deserve any of this.”

You wanted to speak against that but he’s right. You should have known that every one of your actions wouldn’t go unpunished on Satoru’s watch when, as he unfailingly implies every time the two of you are within ten feet of each other, you’ve single-handedly ruined his and Himiko’s entire lives.

“You’re right.”

He feels a wave of annoyance at how pliant you sound, struggling to remain calm after lashing out on you like that. He looks over at you, his mind filled with a mixture of anger and just a tiny bit of remorse when he sees your pained expression. He’s aware that what he did was out of line, and while he normally gets into spats with others, he’s never one to lay a hand on a woman much less even think about doing something of that magnitude.

“You know, when you ran away that night when we met at that restaurant, you should have gone straight home.”

That way, you’d be spared from all this despair. He almost sounds regretful for what he did and what he will continue to do, but he really didn’t mind if he never knew your name in the first place.

“That would have made the most sense, yeah.” It’s quiet in the car despite the thundering cheers outside. Satoru looks pensieve, his lips pursed into a thin line. “But there weren’t any taxis that night and the empress is pretty agile for her age.”

“What did she say? Did she offer you money?” Satoru casts you a disgusted look.

You wonder if you should tell him. You doubt there’d be another chance for you to tell him the real reason you agreed to marry him. There won’t be another vulnerable moment like this, you just know it. Satoru deserved to know why you’d kill yourself over and over again in your ill-fated quest to love him, to accept him.

Somehow, you can’t help but feel you’re so dishonest compared to him, at least, Satoru had the decency to be casually cruel and brutally honest about Himiko to you, making no attempt to hide the plain fact that he doesn’t love you and he never will. But at the same time, you don’t want to make things even more difficult for him by burdening him with the truth, so you settle on maintaining your silence. He could believe whatever he wanted to believe, not that he’ll ever change his opinion of you.

“You’re not even gonna deny it?” Satoru sneers.

“Even if I do, you’ll never believe me.”

How could he? All you’ve done and all you will do from this point on is lie, lie, lie. Lie that you married him without accepting any personal favors from the empress, lie that you don’t deserve half of what’s happening to you right now, lie that you don’t feel physically sick when you see Himiko — the very woman you’ve trampled on, the woman closest to his heart — lie that everything will eventually turn out alright, lie that you’re not dying every second a hate-filled syllable falls from his lips, lie that you could ever stop this mad freeway chase of loving Satoru Gojo.

But the freeway is empty, your opponents long gone, the stoplight to doomsday is perpetually green, and all that’s left is a husband that wishes you were dead. You dejectedly take off the earrings’ pair and set it down on the seat in between the two of you, returning another thing you unwittingly stole from him.

Eventually, the convoy reaches Asakusa Palace and on the historic balcony of the 19th century Western-style palace, he takes your hand as the members of the imperial family wave to the crowd, thinking this day to be a hard-won triumph. Satoru meets your lips for the first time, you are left taken aback at the forced gesture, but there is warmth in that eternal split second that you felt his hot breath against yours, maybe some affection even.

But then again, you are known to be a delusional optimist who still believes her mother who has been in a coma for almost three years now will one day wake up.

Satoru pulls back his eyes that have been wide-open during the kiss scanning over your face and he sees nothing. Nothing at all worth loving. You were just simply you, and that in his eyes, is your biggest crime. You don’t show up to the wedding reception.

That same night, Satoru doesn’t show up to your room either. Instead, he sits in the dark of his office, staring at the earrings he recovered from you under the yellowish light of his desk lamp. His fingers brush over the ruined bejeweled earrings; no one will be able to use it now. Somehow, he feels he should apologize to you for scaring you like that. You should, he could almost hear her say.

He sighs deeply, looking over at his ashtray. Not bad, he expected he would finish an entire pack tonight, but he’s only made it to four before he started coughing. She never really liked his habit of smoking anyway.

The door to the study creaks open breaking the silence, but Satoru doesn’t look up, only one person would be brave enough to intrude in his office past dark. The crisp floral smell of top-shelf whiskey fills the air. “Got you something to drink.” Himiko sets down the glencairn on the desk, planting a kiss on Satoru’s lips which he surprisingly doesn’t return with equal devotion much to her dismay.

Her eyes then fell on the jewelry piece Satoru was holding. “Did someone else go into my room today?” That alone could explain how the highly-revered Golconda diamond earrings fell into your hands. It wouldn’t be hard to steal since the night before, whilst he was searching for a lousy wedding gift he could give you, he accidentally left the earrings outside its dedicated safe.

Himiko stiffens at the question, but she quickly recovers her composure. A hysterical woman like you could never hope to win Satoru over the same way she has. “I don’t know, I didn’t see someone on my way out,” Himiko shrugs.

“Did you at least see them still sitting on my nightstand on your way out?”

“I didn’t notice.”

Somehow, Satoru finds that a little difficult to believe but he knows she wouldn’t lie to him. “I saw (Y/N) wearing these earlier today.” He places the earrings back in their respective box, tucking it away, and making a mental note to chuck it in the safe later tonight before he goes to bed.

Himiko’s throat runs dry as she wracks her head for a response. “Oh?” She moves to sit on his lap, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. “I’m guessing you got pretty angry.”

“I did,” Satoru sighs. “But I just can’t wrap my head around one thing.”

“What’s that?” Himiko asks softly. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The last thing she needs is for her little plan to get Satoru to be angry with you on your wedding day to backfire. “Look, haven’t we already established that she’s a golddigger? Are you really that surprised she stole them?”

Satoru shrugs.

It doesn’t add up.

He understands that you might have shown interest in it, and maybe it did cross your mind to steal them, but how could you have known these pieces existed? It’s not like you ordered one of your ladies or retainers to specifically steal the Golconda earrings, it just didn’t make sense to him, even then, some of your retainers might not even be aware that such a thing existed especially since most of them have only been recruited by the Imperial Household Agency recently.

“Look, why don’t we just forget about it, hmm? We could sneak out and go for a drive somewhere. I’m sure (Y/N) won’t mind,” Himiko presses open-mouthed kisses up Satoru’s neck, her hand coming up to fondle him through his slacks. “Come on, you need some cheering up.”

“I’m not driving at this hour, we could stay here.”

Satoru’s eyes flutter close at the sensation, his hand gripping Himiko’s slender waist, allowing her to continue her ministrations. He did need some cheering up after today’s dismal affair. But at the same time, he can’t stop his thoughts from wandering away from how Himiko is unbuttoning his shirt. Damn it. Satoru can’t focus on her, it’s like his normally calculated mind descended into a valley of fog.

Himiko grimaces at Satoru’s lack of attention. She quickly stops her futile attempts at intimacy. “Just stop thinking about them. You got them back, didn’t you?” she says, a hint of frustration laced in her voice. “Besides, even if (Y/N) did steal them, it’s not like you’d have any use for them anymore.”

Something stirs within Satoru and before he could stop himself, a flash of anger appears on his usually calm and flirtatious demeanor when he’s with Himiko. “That’s not the point. You know very well what those earrings mean to me.”

He’s shared it with her before. She knows everything about him, more so than anyone who has ever known anyone else on an intimate level before. There exists a version of Gojo that only Himiko knows, and keeps like a sacred prayer. Which is exactly why Satoru is livid about her downplaying the importance of everything he keeps in his safe, his personal mausoleum of the warmest spring of his youth that he would have longed for still had it not been for Himiko.

Himiko, for once, allows herself to be vulnerable even if for just a bit. And a look of pure hurt takes over her lovestruck demeanor earlier. But that is instantly replaced with anger. Anger at Satoru for continuing to hold onto things that should have no meaning anymore because she’s here now. Loving him is a dangerous game, what else could she expect from a man who is caught between the past and the future?

“Forget it.” Satoru stands up, shrugging Himiko off his lap. “I’ll find out one way or another. You should go home.”

Himiko painfully picks up on the fact that Satoru told her to ‘go home’ and not ‘head to bed’, meaning she won’t be sleeping with him tonight. Satoru runs a hand through his mop of white hair, calling Ijichi. He knows it’s late but Ijichi should still be in the premises right now.

“Ijichi? I’m heading out.”

“What now? It’s two in the morning. You still have a ribbon-cutting ceremony to go to with the princess tomorrow.”

“Just get over here right now, I won’t take long.” He’ll still show up to that stupid ribbon-cutting at the Tokyo University of the Arts with you tomorrow. Speaking of you, he should probably refrain from doing such things again. He begins to think of ways he could, in a way, make it up to you for his behavior but that doesn’t mean you’re out of the frying pan just yet.

Just because he’s suspicious about these circumstances doesn’t mean that he believes your desperate plea earlier that you didn’t attempt to steal an integral part of his past. No one could replace the person whom those earrings first belonged to. Not even the woman standing in front of him right now, the object of his desires, the source of your pain.

“What? You’re going there again? Don’t tell me you’re still hoping she’ll answer for once.” Himiko’s nostrils flared in anger at the thought of Satoru leaving.

“Don’t push it, Himiko.” Satoru takes a dangerous step towards her which causes her to somehow, for the first time in her life since she met the prince, shrink in fear. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re already hurting me!”

What Satoru says next is like a bullet being fired through a thin sheet of glass.

“(Y/N) is enduring far worse than you and not once have I heard her complain or throw a tantrum like you’re doing now.”

Satoru leaves immediately after, ignoring Himiko’s angry cries. He comes back at about eight o’clock the next morning to see your newly framed wedding photo shattered on the floor next to a crumpled up picture of another person whose name Satoru couldn’t even speak without bursting into bitter tears midway.

How ironic it is to be married on the day he lost her.

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