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1kook · 3 years

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crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast.

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office.

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5.

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses.

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful.

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.”

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.”

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.”

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking.

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever.

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours.

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together.

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.)

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be.

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you.

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber.

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend.

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary.

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days.

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.)

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like.

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites.

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?”

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.”

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind.

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into.

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway.

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin.

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear.

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass.

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you.

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak.

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead.

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat.

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts.

They go like this:

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really.

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively.

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once.

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you.

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome.

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek.

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts.

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.”

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles.

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild.

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums.

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again.

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning.

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.”

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment.

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him.

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned.

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.”

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.”

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.”

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.”

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“—

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear.

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer.

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole.

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips.

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise.

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath.

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes.

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue.

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger. “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…”

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?”

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles.

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over.

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more.

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them.

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub.

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face.

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention.

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock.

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand.

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane.

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh.

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be.

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds.

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter.

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic.

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock.

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you.

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip.

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl.

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully.

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin.

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said.

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away.

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself.

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you.

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once.

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth.

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets.

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever.

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries.

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you.

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question.

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest.

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

#networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #Jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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spencersawkward · 3 years

Note

hi i love your writing sm, could u do something w having sex w mgg in his trailer🦋

oh yes i can most definitely do that. i just did a blurb that included something similar but i have a whole other fantasy for this one that i think would be so hot. this is just like filthy smut i might have done a lil too much lol.

summary: reader goes to visit her friend, Matthew, on set. when he catches her doing something dirty in his trailer, he offers to help.

word count: 4.2k

relationship: Fem!Reader/Matthew

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, masturbation, dirty talk, face-sitting, degradation, Cocky Matthew, some semi-exhibitionism.

masterlist

my toes curl over the sheets and I let out a dissatisfied groan as I throw the abandoned vibrator onto the side table. ever since flying home from visiting friends in New York, I’ve been absolutely, embarrassingly... horny.

usually, my trusty toy is able to work wonders; this week has been rough, though. maybe it’s something to do with my stress-levels or maybe my body just doesn’t feel like cooperating. it doesn’t help that I have about an hour before I’m scheduled to visit my friend on the set of his show.

I haven’t seen Matthew in almost a year. between his shooting schedule and my own job getting more demanding, spending time together really hasn’t been possible. I miss his laugh and the way our conversations always flow so easily. whenever we hang out, it’s like we pick up right where we left off. and now, as I give up on trying to get one off before seeing him, I start to wonder what to expect. a tour? meeting his castmates?

to be completely honest, I don’t really want to do any of that. I’m sure they’re all very nice people and we’d have a good time, but the last week in the city was so full of group interactions that I’m really hoping to sit across from each other and just... talk.

there’s no point in speculating, though. instead, I glance over at my disappointing toy and sigh. maybe next time.

when I get there, Matthew texts me to wait for him so he can bring me to his trailer. everyone is bustling around, moving according to their own chaotic schedules. a couple golf carts occasionally roll through the space, toting actors and other personnel. it’d be overwhelming for anyone who isn’t used to it.

“Y/N!” Matthew’s voice cuts across the din of the set as he waves. he’s leaning out of the side of a golf cart that he’s driving, which makes me nervous as he pulls up to me. I raise my eyebrows in surprise as he stops the cart and hops out to wrap me in a hug.

he smells good, like expensive cologne and cool air. as he withdraws, he sets his hands on my shoulders and grins at me.

“you look great! how are you?” as usual, he’s talkative. I smile back, though, and take in his appearance. he’s always been handsome, but right now Matthew is looking especially good: the breeze has swept his curls, he’s got on a colorful button-up short-sleeve with parakeets on it, and there’s some stubble growing on his face that’s new. he looks older, more mature.

kind of sexy.

“I’m really well. cool ride you’ve got.” I nod to the golf cart and Matthew laughs.

“you wanna know a secret?” he smirks. I raise my eyebrows and he leans down a little to reach my height. “I’m not supposed to drive that.”

“how’d you get it?” I frown. knowing him, he probably managed to charm his way around the rules, but I’m sure there’s a funny story behind it as well. he’s full of weird anecdotes.

“one of my cast mates distracted the guy who runs the warehouse where they keep them.” he winks, then gestures for me to follow him. I slide into the passenger seat and before I can really process what’s happening, he’s swerving in a wide circle and speeding off.

“I’ve been meaning to call you,” he practically yells over the sound of the motor. “but I know you’ve been busy.”

“yeah, I actually just started writing for this new show.”

“you’re downtown, then?” he glances over with a smile and then we’re slowing to a stop. an enormous trailer sits among rows of other enormous trailers, presumably for his cast mates. he turns off the cart and turns his body to face me while I talk. zeroes in on me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

“for right now, yeah.” I can’t help the smile. it’s been a while since I’ve worked in Los Angeles; I was working as a writer on one of Matthew’s independent films when I got an offer in New York and decided to relocate. and even though it was amazing there, I missed California sunshine and I missed him. we were inseparable before I left.

“so, what I’m hearing is that you’re now legally bound to hang out with me.” he grins in that dazzling way of his. I laugh and nod, climbing out when he does. he opens the trailer door for me. “I have to go back to work in about twenty minutes, but afterwards I wanna take you to dinner.”

“oh, I could have come later. I’m sorry.” I turn to apologize, but he’s quick to wave it off.

“it’s fine. as long as you don’t mind spending an hour in here, it shouldn’t be too torturous.”

I peer around the space, noticing the little ways in which Matthew has made this place his own: aside from all the complimentary gift baskets and notes, the trailer is occupied by strange trinkets that he’s collected, random books and notebooks that scatter the couch and what looks like an attempt at a desk.

“wow.” I say. he sidles up next to me, sighing and realizing that it’s a bit cluttered.

“sorry about the mess. I haven’t really had time to clean up.”

“no, no, I meant ‘wow’ in a good way.” I walk over to the couch and sit down, patting the spot next to me. he smiles, pushes an acting theory book out of the way, and sinks into the cushions a safe distance from me.

“tell me about this job, then.” he immediately starts. I shrug.

“it’s nothing huge, just a teen drama. everyone I work with is brilliant, though.”

“that’s amazing. have you had a chance to work on your art?”

I think back to all the times when Matthew and I would spend free afternoons doing doodle competitions of the crew, usually on random scripts. they were judged by other cast mates, anyone who would take the time to look. I don’t think I was supposed to be on set as much as I was, but it was worth it.

“I wish. my schedule is so busy now, I barely have time to make dinner for myself.” I laugh. he leans back into the corner of the couch, resting his arm on top of the back. I pull one leg beneath me and mirror his actions.

“that’s too bad. I was looking forward to seeing some new stuff.”

“I don’t think any of my co-workers would particularly enjoy the representations I do of them.”

“sour sports.” he says. the strangeness and vehemence of the sentiment makes me snort and I glance at the notebooks around the room.

“how about you? any new masterpieces?”

we go on like this for a while, just catching up and slipping into our inside jokes and memories as if they aren’t from a different time in our lives. although I was excited to see him today, there was a lingering nervousness about it going as planned. sometimes you try to reconnect and the spark is just... gone. but Matthew is still Matthew, and I’m still me.

he ends up leaving to go shoot sooner than I can believe, time passing quickly, and tells me to feel free to read any of his books or look through his sketchbooks. he never hides anything, and it’s admirable.

once he’s gone, I settle onto the couch with a used Ray Bradbury anthology that I found beneath a bag of sour candies and start to read.

my mind wanders, however, as I try to concentrate on the page. I think about how Matthew looks now, how the stubble makes his jaw even more defined. those wide, hazel eyes that always seem to glitter with enthusiasm. I don’t know if I’m still frustrated from the unsuccessful session with my vibrator earlier, but the thoughts begin to turn over in my mind and mingle with other ones.

there were moments with him that I remember, quiet ones where we’d be about to say goodnight or moments where he’d fall asleep on my shoulder in my apartment, where I’d look at him and consider the possibility. we get on so well, and he’s arguably one of my best friends. distance hasn’t changed that. there are things I would tell him that I haven’t told my other friends.

and when he’d brush against my skin, or grab my arm to get my attention, and my imagination would run wild. heated kisses and closed doors. finding the way to my bed in the dark, his hands on my waist while he crawls on top of me. things that never happened but that I imagined as if they were real memories seared into my mind.

and now, sitting in this trailer with this book and on this couch that smells like him, those feelings return like something lost, then found: rushing, feverish, overpowering. the images come in a flux, his weight on top of mine and his teeth dragging over my tits. on this couch, that’s all I want.

there’s a blush on my cheeks as I drop the book on the floor and undo the button on my pants. it won’t take me long; I can feel how wet I’m getting and I haven’t even thought that much about it. the pent-up excitement from earlier will overtake my senses. he said I have an hour, and this might take ten minutes tops.

as my fingertips brush over my panties, I close my eyes and imagine they’re his. curious, gentle, teasing before reaching below the waistband and cupping me. I whimper, starting to trace over the wet folds of my entrance with an eager hand. it feels good, right, and the heat of my body tells me that this time, it’ll work. my head is full of thoughts of him, and I dip a finger in, clenching around the digits. the heel of my palm presses into my clit and I moan, starting to work myself.

I imagine Matthew coming in here after he’s done and kissing me like he’s wasted enough time waiting; like he can’t wait another second to be with me. my pace quickens at the memory of his hands, veined and strong and sure, pumping into me. taunting me.

“Matthew...” I whine, removing my fingers to circle my clit with a hurried pressure. every second burns across my skin, reminding me that what I’m doing is wrong. I shouldn’t be touching myself in his trailer while he works, especially not when he’s coming back soon.

but it’s hot, too, and the rhythm I create is impossible to resist. I switch between fingering and toying with my bundle of nerves while clenching my free hand in the couch cushion. my eyes are squeezed shut as I get closer to orgasm, the knot in my stomach tightening with every moment.

“o-oh my god,” I hum. “Matthew--”

the sharp intake of breath makes my entire body freeze. my eyes fly open to see the bastard himself standing there, lips parted. he can’t seem to figure out where to look: my face, which was just contorted in pleasure while I moaned his name, or my pussy, which is almost completely on display now that I’ve managed to push my jeans down to my knees.

“oh my god.” I stutter, immediately removing my hand and sitting up. my cheeks are on fire and everything around me seems surreal. this can’t be real. “y-you weren’t supposed to be back for an hour.” I say stupidly. shit ton of luck that hour did me.

“we, uh, wrapped early.” he averts his eyes, then glances cautiously at my face. “I promise I walked in here before I knew. I never meant--”

“no, it’s fine.” I pull up my jeans, still too shocked to make any sweeping movements. he doesn’t seem quite sure what to do with himself, and I speak to break the silence. “sorry, I know I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wonder what you’d have done with an actual hour.” he says it like he’s attempting to lighten the mood, then winces as he realizes that he shouldn’t have said that. “sorry, bad joke. I’m just-- surprised.”

“Matthew, I’m so sorry--” I start. there’s literally no other direction to take this conversation. I feel like I’ve ruined our friendship within the span of a few seconds.

“were you saying my name?” he asks, eyebrows slightly raised. I would like to sink into the floor and never come up again, I think.

“well, the thing is--” I take a deep breath. “I don’t normally, um... do that in people’s trailers?” my frown makes him smile a little as he relaxes. now that I’m fully clothed, he doesn’t seem so daunted. I scoot up on the couch and glance between the open spot and him to get him to sit. standing only makes it weirder.

he obliges, watching me pull my knees into my chest before I start to explain. guilt is building in my chest now, so much more real after being caught.

“I don’t wanna make this even more awkward than it is, but I feel like I should make it clear that there’s a reason why I was doing it in here and I’m not some freak who, like, contaminates people’s space. like, I was just gonna be super quick about it and be done because-- and now I’m justifying it, which is even worse--”

“hey, Y/N, relax.” Matthew reaches out and touches my wrist, his fingers soft as they pull my attention to his. when I finally muster the courage to look him in the eyes, he’s got a small smile on his face. “I’m not mad or anything.”

“okay.” I sigh, spine going a little less rigid.

“you were moaning my name, though, right?” he smirks. my eyes widen.

“don’t get too cocky,” I try to play it off. “I haven’t been able to get off for the past few days and I only tried it to see if it would work.”

“looks like it did.” he glances between my flushed cheeks and the hand that was playing with myself, which is now sitting on my jeans. how is he being so fucking smooth right now?

“whatever.” I turn my face away, knowing that anything else would be damning.

“are you still... frustrated?” he asks. his voice is low. my face snaps up, jaw dropping. one of his hands is covering the crotch of his jeans, trying to hide something.

“why?”

“I can help you out. only if you want to, of course.” he says this in complete seriousness. my gaze passes over his features once again to make sure I’m not absolutely dreaming. every line in his face, the intensity of those pretty irises, feels too real to be fake.

“like...” I think about his hands, about what he’s offering. it’s heavier than just sex, but also maybe not. it doesn’t have to be; we’re adults. our friendship wouldn’t be shattered by one encounter.

“like I’ll eat you out right now and fuck you until you can’t take it anymore.” we’ve moved closer on the couch, our faces inches apart while he says it so quietly that I wouldn’t hear it otherwise. the way he licks his lips, stares at me, tells me that we’ve already passed the point of no return. there’s no use in holding back anymore.

“mhmm.” I nod. if I say anything more, I’ll reveal more than he wants to know. that I’ve wanted this for a while, even though I tried to forget the way he makes me feel.

“come here, then.” he beckons me forward and I impatiently crash my lips to his. he responds immediately, threading his fingers through my hair and pulling me to him. he’s greedy, but not in a way that overwhelms. like he’s trying to enjoy the moment. his nose brushes my cheek when he deepens the kiss, my hands looping around his neck. he begins to bite on my lower lip, tugging to get me to moan. I let him explore me, those features that he’s seen so many times but has never touched.

we’re hopeful in our embrace, and my mind feels like spring and how I imagine the earth feels when it’s in full bloom. excitement in my veins as we get more heated. when his fingers unbutton my jeans, he pulls away to take a moment.

“sit on my face.” he breathes out, feverish. I nod, getting up to shrug off my jeans. he watches, licking his lips when I pull down my panties and step out of them, then take off my top and bra. he leans back as if to sink down onto the couch for me, but I shake my head.

“take off your clothes first.” I tell him.

“you wanna see me naked?” he knows the truth, but wants me to say it. the smirk on his face makes me annoyingly aroused. I just start to go for the buttons on his shirt.

“yeah, I wanna see you naked.” I reply. this makes him grin and he helps me out by working on his jeans. we strip him down and then we’re both there, looking at each other.

“c’mere, beautiful.” he grabs my hip and pulls me closer until I get on the couch and position myself. he lies down flat, gesturing for me to scoot up his chest until my core is right above his face. “perfect.”

I’m about to poke a little fun at him for being so confident when he reaches up, wraps his hands around my thighs, and pulls me down against his face.

I yelp, overwhelmed by how he moans against my heat and starts to eat me out. his tongue moves expertly, lapping at the wetness that’s gathered between my legs before teasing my entrance. I release a series of noises that are downright sinful, but the red marks he’s leaving in my thighs tell me he’s loving my reaction. his nose brushes against my clit and I start to roll my hips against his face, falling apart already as he switches between sucking, licking, and sliding his tongue inside me. I grip onto his hair, mumbling like a prayer.

he takes the opportunity to quickly slap my ass before returning to my thighs, burying his face and working with a divine acuity. I can’t believe how good it feels, throwing my head back and arching my spine while I hold my tits. Matthew moves my hand and massages one while he stares up into my eyes, lust evident in every sound and motion.

“Matthew, please--” I gasp. “don’t stop.”

he groans, running his nails down my stomach while I ride his face. I’m needy for him, only uttering his name and more pleas for his tongue. and the sensation of him holding me down like he can’t get enough makes the knot from earlier return easily. I lean back a little, swirl my hips, and then it comes like a white-hot wave.

“oh my god—“ I can barely get it out, moving with abandon. “it’s so fucking good.”

he lets my body slow to a reasonable pace, drawing out the high until I’m swallowing all the air I can get and pull myself away from him. Matthew’s grinning, mouth glistening while he sits up a bit.

“such a wet little pussy.” he tells me, licking his lips. I’m pretty much resting on his chest and I start to move off of him when he quickly straightens himself, wraps his arms around my waist, and pushes me so I’m laying on my back at the other end of the couch with him leaning over me.

I brush his curls out of his face, appreciating the hunger in his face. he craves more of me, and the erection he’s pressing into my inner thigh is proof. I look up at him.

“you’re good.” I concede. he shrugs, smiles. butterflies.

“I just think about it a lot.” the response is simple, but it’s the right one. I blush and he grabs his dick, pumping it a few times before lining it up at my entrance. I search his eyes, those widened pupils, as he shoves into me.

“shit.” he moans, jaw dropping once he’s reaching the hilt. “give it to me, baby.” I can feel him deep inside, cock twitching against my walls as he settles. one of his arms is over me, supporting himself on the arm of the couch, while the other holds my waist.

I don’t speak, only bite down on my lip and whimper through the initial shocks of him. it isn’t until he pulls out that I get more vocal. he starts to roll his hips, never breaking eye contact while I arch my back and moan.

“harder.” I whisper. he tightens his grip on me and slams himself inside. my body instinctively moves up away from the pressure, but he brings me right back down.

“is this what you were thinking about?” he breathes out. “me fucking you like a slut?”

I nod urgently, but he uses an index finger to tilt my face back to his.

“tell me who you belong to, little slut.” his tone is low, laced with lust when he bites his lip and watches my reactions to his cock.

“you.” I whine quietly, grabbing his shoulders for stability while he plows into me.

“louder, sweetheart. you were plenty sure before.” he mocks, pausing after to moan in my ear like he’s absolutely losing it. he roughly tugs me further against him and the sensation makes me cry out.

“y-you-- fuck!”

“c’mon, baby.” he pants. we’re definitely rocking this trailer with the way he’s ramming my body right now. I can feel him like he’s in my ribs.

“Matthew, oh god--”

“show me how you cum, Y/N. lemme see you fucking break.” the final word is punctuated by him bottoming-out within me, his noises their own stimulation to my senses. I’m trying to breathe but it’s so hard with all the thoughts firing in my brain. he doesn’t go easy on me.

“I’m cumming.” my hips jerk up into his, pussy fluttering like it’s trying to push him out. but the tension only makes him thrust harder, further, chasing his own release as I claw at his back and squeeze my legs around his torso.

“can I fill that tight little cunt up, baby?” he moans into my ear, our bodies like undulating waves. I nod and buck against him, which drives him mad as his thrusts get sloppier. we’re filthy together and it’s otherworldly. “good girl.”

he lets out a whimpering sound while he stills inside my body and cums. I feel him twitching, shooting his load into me. I’m writhing while I clench around him, both of us falling apart. for all his cockiness, he’s lovely when he’s orgasming-- mouth open, eyes rolling back into his head before focusing intently on my face, a sheen of sweat that glows on his cheekbones.

when he finally withdraws, leaving me naked and panting on his couch, his eyes run over my body appreciatively.

“that help?” he smirks as he straightens. I glare at him, kneeing him in the ribs, and he leans down to kiss my cheek, giving me a tender look. “I’m joking. are you okay?”

“more than okay.” I smile. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, closing and opening his mouth as if debating whether or not to say something else.

“you’re really beautiful, you know that?”

“thanks.” as if this man hasn’t already fucked me senseless, I blush, look away shyly. he grabs my clothes from the floor and hands them to me.

“do you want some water?” he’s worried about giving me space. there’s a question lingering between us that I’m afraid to ask, especially now that he hasn’t. Matthew has always been the more bold between the two of us.

“uh, sure.” if it means he takes his eyes off me long enough for me to regain my bearings, yes. I watch him pull on the rest of his clothes before standing and going over to his mini-fridge. I’ll need to clean up soon.

“so...” his voice is measured, hazel eyes slipping over my form.

“so.”

“dinner? and then breakfast?” he suggests. my eyebrows raise at the second question, one that he hasn’t mentioned until now. the implication makes me laugh.

“you think you’re getting this again?” I try to act nonchalant, as if I’m not already imagining it.

“oh, wait--” he frowns, hesitates. “that’s not what I meant.”

“what did you mean?” there’s a grin taking over my face, hopeful as I await his response. I guess we’re about to answer that question after all.

“I wanna finally take you on a date.” he smiles softly, surprisingly shy. I don’t even hesitate to answer.

“I’m in.”

#mgg smut #mgg #matthew gray gubler #rpf #criminal minds #mgg oneshot

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lazywonderlvnd · 4 years

Note

Hi, if you are still taking prompts; A magically powerful Harry not noticing that his magic does things to make Draco happy. This can be pre-relationship or established relationship. Like it starts of with his tea being exactly as he likes and always the right temperature. Then evolves to rooms changing colour or weather changing or people being unable to invade Draco’s personal space due to an invisible barrier or something ridiculous. Btw Draco doesn’t notice as well.

anon.....you really killed me w this one. i’ve been so emo over this wyugeahrwiw might end up writing smth longer tbh bc this concept is literally the only thing that matters to me!!!!!!! i hope u enjoy i had so much fun with it ❤️❤️❤️

“Harry, you do it. Please.”

“No.”

“Please!”

“We’re fucking watching something, Draco!”

“So just pause it!”

Harry grabs the pillow on his lap and slams it onto the sofa next to him. Hermione can see dust rise in its wake. He pauses the telly.

“Are you doing it?” Draco asks hopefully. Harry scowls at him.

“Well you won’t shut up until I do, will you?”

“Definitely not.”

Harry disappears into the kitchen and Draco sits there looking smug.

“It’s kind of sick how you get off on bossing him around,” says Ron, his tone one of simple observation. His fingers are idly playing with Hermione’s hair, but she doesn’t think he notices he’s doing it.

“If I’m not mean to him a few times a week I break out in a rash, Weasley,” Draco says blithely. “Besides, he makes it perfectly. I don’t know how he does it, it’s always exactly the right temperature and sweetness and all that. I s’pose his years as a house-elf for those Muggles gave him plenty of time to perfect the art.”

“You’re a twat,” says Ron. “And my mum makes tea better than him.”

“Well you’re just a pitiful little mummy’s boy, aren’t you, Weasley? We can hardly trust your opinion.”

“Hark who the hell’s talking,” Ron scoffs. “Least I’m not twenty-three and still calling my mum ‘mummy’ like the world’s biggest bloody ponce.”

Draco splutters but before he can retort Harry’s coming back into the room hovering four cups of tea that float placidly to each of them. Draco looks exactly like a satisfied cat as he takes his and Harry drops back down onto the sofa next to him. Not too close, but certainly not too far, either.

“Literally exquisite,” Draco declares after he’s taken a sip. Ron rolls his eyes.

“It’s just tea, Draco,” says Harry, and he grabs for the remote to turn the film back on. “You’re such a demanding little brat. Merlin’s fucking tits.”

But Draco looks happy and Harry looks suspiciously content as well. Ron turns to her and makes a silent gagging face. Hermione snorts and puts a finger to her lips. They’ve decided not to say anything yet.

“Wasn’t this place a lot … uglier last time?”

“What?” Harry says absently. He’s not listening — he’s got all his attention zeroed in on a stack of parchment he’s holding. They’d only barely dragged him along to lunch; earlier the captain of the English National Team had apparently owled him a great number of brand-new Quidditch plays and required Harry’s extensive thoughts and notes before their next practise, which was tomorrow morning.

“Uglier,” Draco says emphatically, and Ron mutters something she doesn’t catch. “Remember? The walls were that tragic egg-yolk colour.” He shivers. Hermione thinks it might have been an honest-to-god shiver of revulsion. She also thinks she knows what’s happened, even though the extent of it surprises her.

“Maybe someone heard you whingeing and changed it,” Ron apparently can’t stop himself from saying with a snigger. Hermione elbows him hard and he shoots her a glare, mouthing, he doesn’t know!

Harry would usually be the one to take the lead and get them a table when all four of them go out to eat together but today he’s too wrapped up in his Quidditch plays, so Ron steps forward and does it, which makes Hermione’s chest flutter pleasantly. He’d blush down to his bones if she ever said it aloud but he’s quite capable of being a leader in Harry’s absences.

“Whatever happened,” says Draco pointedly as they’re led to their table, “it’s a great bloody blessing, I was genuinely unsure I’d have the mental fortitude to survive another assault like that on my delicate senses. And, I mean, this —” he gestures to the walls, which are now an admittedly pleasing dark teal above a white trim “— is stunning. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Is it? So weird they picked your favourite colour completely by coincidence,” Ron says, and Hermione elbows him again. Draco notices nothing and neither does Harry, although he does finally set the plays aside once they’re seated at the table.

“Are you complaining about the wall colour again?” he asks drily. They would both be extremely displeased to know they sound like an old married couple. Draco snatches haughtily at the paper napkin on the table and unfolds it to place over his lap. The first time he’d ever done this at a regular, decidedly not upscale restaurant Ron had taken it upon himself to spend the entire meal adopting a posh accent to match Draco’s and saying things to the waiter like “Don’t you have crystal?” while holding up a glass cup full of Pepsi and then commenting “These aren’t real silver, you know” after making a show of inspecting the titanium utensils.

“I can complain about hideous design choices if I want to,” Draco tells Harry with his nose in the air. “Thankfully they’ve rectified it this time.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Hermione sees two employees talking, one of them gesturing at the wall with utter bewilderment. She doesn’t point it out.

“Twelve o’clock,” says Ron, nodding past Draco’s shoulder. “Some bloke staring you down hard, Malfoy.”

Draco looks excitedly behind him, but what Hermione takes more notice of is the way Harry’s face falls a little. She can’t help but wonder if he even realises it’s happened. She’s almost certain he’s aware of his feelings for Draco even though he still hasn’t said anything to her (and she’s been waiting months now, the effort of holding her tongue growing only more difficult by the day, and she knows Ron’s always seconds away from shouting at him) but she doesn’t think he knows how obvious he is. Draco doesn’t seem to know either, but she thinks that’s because Draco feels exactly the same way. She’d have called them morons, but she remembers too well how long it had taken her and Ron.

“What the fuck, Weasley,” Draco hisses, turning back around with a scowl that makes Ron laugh and Harry perk up again a little bit. “He looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks.”

“Now, now,” says Ron, “mustn’t judge books by their greasy covers.”

“Then you go shag him if you think he’s so fit.”

“Maybe I will,” Ron says airily, as if he really is considering it, and Hermione can’t help chuckling and kissing his cheek. Then his expression changes to one of wicked amusement, which makes all of them look round to see the bloke coming their way. Hermione glances at Harry to find that — oh yes, he looks flustered and vaguely upset.

“Hullo,” says the greasy bloke to Draco as he comes up beside him at their table. He’s really not terrible-looking, but if she’s learned anything about Draco in the last couple years it’s that his standards amount to models and Harry Potter, so this man has almost no chance.

“Hello,” Draco drawls, reminding her fiercely of his younger self at Hogwarts. “I’m not interested.”

“Right little narcissistic bugger, aren’t you?” the man says. And now, finally, he’s begun to look as revolting to Hermione as he’d done initially to Draco — a repellent personality can do that. “Maybe I just wanted to come and have a chat.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at any of the rest of us?” Ron asks, sounding halfway between amused still and a little put off.

“Can you leave, please?” Draco interjects, cringing away from the man encroaching slowly on his personal space. And suddenly, as he looks on the verge of antagonising Draco further, he shifts his feet and slips, landing right on his bum with a yell of surprise. All four of them get to their feet to see, but there doesn’t seem to be any liquid or even slimy food for him to have tripped on.

“The fuck ...?” the man says, getting back to his feet. But when he moved towards Draco, he only slips again, on absolutely nothing at all. Something clicks and Hermione looks at Harry: he seems as confused as anyone else (if obviously pleased).

She looks at Ron then, who catches her eye and lifts his brows like he’s thinking the same thing.

Draco’s suitor gets up once more and steadies himself, looking a bit dazed. Some deep animal instinct seems to tell him to stop trying, and with a wary glance at Draco he finally leaves.

“Well that was a bit of a fucking scene,” says Harry. Draco, coming out of his own startled daze, laughs.

“Yeah,” Ron says sarcastically, “wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

“I really thought it was going to rain,” Draco mopes where he’s standing at the window. It’s grey outside but it definitely doesn’t look like rain and Draco appears so upset about it that Hermione actually feels badly, even though she’s quite glad for the clear weather.

“Just shut the curtains,” Ron suggests from his place on the floor. He’s sorting through Harry’s collection of VHS tapes, trying to decide on a good Halloween movie. Not that he’s ever seen any of them, and Hermione suspects he’ll end up choosing whichever cover he likes best.

“It’s not the same!” Draco wails. “The thunder and lightning is all part of it, you uncultured pillock! The atmosphere is all wrong.”

“It’ll be just as good when we shut off all the lights and draw the curtains,” she assures him, but it doesn’t remove the look of disappointment from his face. It’s a pouty sort of thing that echoes the brattiness of his youth; she imagines a five-or-six-year-old Draco giving his parents similar looks when he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

At that moment the front door opens and Harry walks in carrying two grocery bags, one of which contains alcohol, which Hermione can tell by the way the plastic is bulging around the cans.

“The fuck are you all doing here?” he says by way of greeting.

“You said eight o’clock, fuckhead,” Ron tells him without looking up. “But it’s fine, I’ve had time to pick a film and Malfoy’s had time to moan about the weather.”

“What’s wrong with the weather?”

“I wanted a storm!”

At that exact moment, a flash of lightning lights up the sky behind Harry where he hasn’t even closed the door yet. Seconds later a downpour begins, and then there’s a rolling crash of thunder.

Hermione’s eyes widen and once more she finds Ron’s gaze, who looks about as shocked as she feels. Draco, meanwhile, has his hands over his mouth and looks like a child on Christmas morning.

For the first time since his magic had begun picking up on Draco’s wishes and granting them of seemingly its own accord, Hermione sees Harry look suspicious. He peers behind him at the storm suddenly raging outside his house before slowly closing the door. When he turns back he looks directly at Hermione, who looks away quickly.

They set up the food Harry had gotten — all kinds of Halloween-themed sweets — and once everyone has their drinks (“Make mine,” Draco tells Harry, “you do it best”) and is comfortable on the two sofas in the room (Harry and Draco are, as usual, as close to each other as they can get without actually touching) they start the movie: The Thing, which Harry swears is one of the greatest horror films of all time.

Funny thing is, an hour and a half into it she looks over and, with a jolt, realises the two of them are kissing half-covered beneath a blanket. She elbows Ron, who positively beams when he notices.

“Fucking finally, dear sweet Merlin,” he whispers, the sound muffled by the continued rain and thunder. “I nearly hit him upside the head when he made it rain, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Shh!” Hermione hisses, though she’s smiling. “They’ll hear you. We’ll rag him about it tomorrow.”

A soft sound of laughter comes from the other sofa that Hermione identifies as Draco’s, and when she risks another peek after a moment she sees that Harry has a hand on Draco’s jaw, and that he’s smiling.

#anna writes #this prompt rly sent me into a tailspin of emotion #Anonymous

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river-bottom-nightmare · 4 years

Text

relationship dynamics

because i felt like it

Birdflash: Their relationship dynamic is like the cutest thing ever. “I’ve noticed that we’ve slowly begun to phase the ‘B’ out of our bromance.” Have done the spiderman kiss and will continue to do the spiderman kiss. SO. MANY. PUNS. They’re CONSTANTLY in a pun war. In a drive thru: “Hey can you tell the guy in the car behind me that he’s cute and I’ll pay for his drink?” “Um….okay sir.” “Your total is $10.59. Also the guy in front of you said, um, he said to tell you that he thinks you’re cute and he’ll pay for your drink.” “*rolls eyes with a fond smile* that’s my husband, he thinks he’s romantic,” but the best part is that it works for either one of them. Birdflash Culture is the word “babe.” If you don’t think they had a bubble machine at their wedding then you’re lying to yourself. Eating junk food whenever and wherever they want,. “Oh my god just get in the fucking blanket fort already.” Where you go, I go. SO MUCH FOOD OH MY GOD ALL THE FOOD SO MUCH FRIGGIN FOOD. Police/crime lab aesthetic bc I have a headcanon that they’ both work with the police department (Dick’s a detective, Wally’s the lead CSI). Photo booth strips. Them being impressed by each other all the time. F R E C K L E S. Stopping halfway through the middle of sex because they just realized something about Star Trek season 3 episode 8 and they really need to pull it up on the tv to make sure they’re right. Re-enacting fight scenes from martial arts movies in the living room of a tiny apartment. Have i mentioned the babe thing because they toss around the word babe all the friggin time, not baby that’s gross, just plain babe along with bro and dude those three are interchangeable. “I called shotgun infinity when I was twelve.” The glass is always half full. Them playing video games at home eating pizza counts as a “date” but also they’ve been doing the same thing for years.

Jayroy: “don’t worry I know what I’m doing” “not even god knows what you’re doing.” Sharing cigarettes. Desperate messy kisses. Constant fast paced insult war that you can’t keep up with if you’re not quick witted enough. “My family had to put up with me but you? You’re the idiot who chose me as a best friend.” pet names galore but like edgy ones not gross sweet ones (my personal favorite is jaybird bc it’s awesome and also canon), very very kinky sex, will murder rapists and drug lords in the most painful way possible without giving a solitary fuck but will go to a nursing home the next morning and be as respectful as possible to the elderly. Tattooossss. Baseball hats. Say “fuck you” as “I love you.” Hair ties everywhere. m u s c l e s.

Timkon: Classic love story. Like, switch one of their genders and you’ve got a old school romance movie in the making. Photo shoots with a pride flag and merch. Pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks. Tim wearing Kon’s clothes to the point where practically his entire wardrobe except for his fancy clothes and red robin suit consists solely of Kon’s stuff. The Neighborhood vibes. Holding hands on a date at the carnival. Pride bracelets and pins. 90s vibes. Kind of the type of Destiel feeling where you can’t really have Destiel without also having Sam being the overenthusiastic shipper/supportive brother? That but with the rest of the Core Four. Polaroid pictures. Gay and Tired. Flannel + Leather + Denim. they go on dates with other people (before they realize they’re in love) and spend the entire time talking about their other half. Skateboards. A high school romance.

Damijon (aged up obviously): constant constant constant bickering and arguing, like we’re surpassing married couple status here. “I’m older” “I’m taller” starts out as a biting insult, falls into teasing joke, then becomes something they say with a mischievous fondness and an inside-joke smile. Country + Pop Taylor swift songs. Wandering together through the city. "Be kind to animals or I’ll kill you.” Sitting on the roof together. Kryptonite blades that Jon trusts no one except Damian to wield. “I hate you” “happy to hear it” turning into another inside joke. Sleepovers. Never growing up. “I trust you with my life unconditionally but I do not trust you to get my order right remember the time you betrayed me and everything I ever stood for?” “Oh my god dami I forgot the sauce onCE.” Don’t lie to yourself, habibi is totally a thing. Damian wearing Jon’s varsity football jacket over dark colored/black turtleneck shirts. Damian sketching Jon either late at night in the light of the moon or early in the morning by the light of the sun. Classic dark vs Light. Running down the street tugging the other behind you while holding hands. Red converse + Combat boots. TEAMWORK. “Clark, your son is annoying, loud, clumsy, entirely too tall, hopelessly optimistic, and way too naive. I trust him with every cell in my body.”

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shadyteacup · 3 years

Note

May I ask a scenario with ADA dazai who falls for an agency member and she's really strong both mentally and physically and is loved by everyone in the agency? She also used to be a soldier in that war so she has seen plenty of things and she's not afraid of dark thing etc... Hope I wasn't so demanding have a nice day (forgive me for my English)

Heyyyy :>

This was such a good ask, I went all out and wrote a bit too much. So I'll be posting it as two parts. :)

And don't worry, love, you're English is immaculate!

Do lemme know if you like this... I'll probably be posting part two tmrw or in some hours... I just need to do one final touch up :D

Partners (part 1)

Dazai x gn! Reader

Tw: Lots of action and fighting, a little blood, implied death.

If u can handle bsd fight scenes, then u can read this... dw, it's not gory or too violent..

"I have your back, go!", you say as you shoot at the enemy hiding behind the car.

"Got it!", Dazai says, as he jogs to the adjacent safe place.

You two were assigned a job, one that you had initially thought was a simple task: Find the missing girl.

You hadn't expected any foul play. Apparently, the girl in pursuit wasn't kidnapped. She had run away from her home. She had a record of disappearing out of the blue, so you had figured she was just taking some time away from her family, like she usually does. The parents approached the ada when the police were unable to find her. So you guys concluded that she was kidnapped. There had been no calls for any ransom, so you chalked up the possibility of her kidnapper being a sex offender, a sadist, or a cult member. You knew you had to act quick before he hurt her. You and Dazai had worked together to collect all the breadcrumbs, and had triangulated the location of a criminal who had just gotten out of prison. He had served 6 years for various sexual assaults and rapes. You had concluded that this must be his doing. It was too much of a coincidence for a girl to get kidnapped just one week after a criminal had been released.

You both had walked right into the enemie's trap.

The man, Ito Sōta, held the girl at gun point at the center of an abandoned warehouse. The warehouse belonged to a small criminal group. He must have joined this group after being released.

The group, a small organization in need of monetary support, wanted to impress the mafia. They had arranged for this ploy to defeat a few members of the ada and hopefully get in the mafia's goodbooks.

They had used Ito's criminal record to lure the ada into the warehouse, and rain fire upon them, hoping to defeat them.

"That's the most logical explanation", Dazai had said, when you two had been ambushed by ten or so men and their many bullets.

Dazai hid behind a cargo container.

"We have to move fast. I manged to neutralize them, but I'm pretty sure there are more on the way, and some more protecting Ito.", you say, leaning against the box.

Dazai hummed.

"So, what's the plan?"

He thought for a second, then said,

"You are good at combat, so why don't you take them on, and clear a path for me.."

" I see.. I distract while you sneak an attack on Ito."

"Exactly."

You change the magazine of your glock,inserting a fresh one.

"Sounds good."

At your count, you began running towards the guards ahead. You had a shielding ability, allowing you to shield yourself from bullets, fire explosions, and prevent it from touching you. Ofcourse, you couldn't control heat, so if you were to be near an explosion, while the fire wouldn't burn your skin, the heat radiating from it would definitely hurt you.

Your ability only worked when you activated it. It wasn't always activated, and would take quite a lot of your energy if you kept it on at all times.

A few men had noticed you, and had started shooting you. The bullets bounced off your shield, falling to the ground. You continued charging towards the center, aiming at the men that were in Dazai's path. Taking them down was easy enough; they were just meat and bones that could shoot, and desperately lacked a brain. If bullets don't work, shouldn't they try hand to hand combat? But no. These idiots were so hopelessly dumb, that they kept shooting you, standing tall and proud, and presenting themselves as easy targets for your bullets.

'Well, it works for me... so keep being stupid, guys!' You thought as you shot a majority of them down.

Dazai hid behind the containers, jogging over to the center. He handled a few men that were in his way, as you cleared almost all of them for him.

Soon enough, you approached a man and two women, clad in suits, that charged at you with an assortment of weapons. They dodged your bullets, and tried to attack you.

'These guys are smart'

The first bulky guy swung his dagger at you. You dodged; the knife brushing past your cheek in the process. It was OK, you were a master in martial arts, afterall. Taking them down wouldn't be so difficult.

You grabbed his arm, jumping off the ground and twisting your torso midway to land behind him. His arm was now twisted, and you swiped at his legs, resulting in him falling to the ground. You swiped the dagger from his palm, stabbing him in the knees and his dominant arm. The spots you had targeted were sensitive points, that paralyzed his limbs.

Moving on to the woman charging at you with a club, you threw the dagger at her. She twisted to dodge it. The dagger plunged in her shoulder. She cried out in pain. You had tricked her by throwing your own dagger a split second later, aiming in the direction of her reflex duck.

The other woman had used her partners as a distraction to sneak up behind you. She held a thick metal chain, that she wound around your neck, choking you. You tried prying it off, but she was too powerful. So you slammed back into her, your head hitting her nose, pushing her back and effectively loosening her grip on the chain. Grabbing the front, you slipped your fingers between the chain and your neck, crating some space to breathe. You then yanked it forward, bruising your neck in the process. Slipping out from the chain, you wound it on your palm, halving it. You used it as a whip on the woman, drawing blood from her nose. She dodged your next swing, punching you in the gut. She was really strong, that's for sure. You spit out blood from the impact. You were about to stab her when a bullet hit her head.

"Thanks.", you say to Dazai, who had shot her from his position; very close to Ito.

He nodded, continuing his journey towards the girl.

Fighting your way through, you finally reached Ito. You stood right opposite him.

"Well done! You successfully defeated fifty of my men!"

He said, pressing the gun against the girl's temple. He wanted to play a game with you. He wanted to make you choose whom he should kill; the girl, or you.

"But, alas, you won't be able to save her."

Ito felt a cool sensation on his head, and heard a click of a gun right behind him.

You smirked.

"You sure about that?"

He grit his teeth, raising his arms in defeat.

Dazai pushed him on the ground, handcuffing him.

"It was quite a smart plan. It wasn't elaborate, though. Such a pitiful organization you have. No wonder you're desperate for the Mafia's attention."

Dazai said.

"Did you really believe you could trick the armed detective agency?"

He glared down at the man, his face adorning a menacing look.

"If the mafia hears about this, you will be dead before you can even think of the word 'escape'. Whoever breaks the peace between the Mafia and the A.D.A, will have hell to pay."

You scoffed.

"If you had half a brain, you would know to never mess with the two organizations. Did you really think you could use us?" You laughed.

"How naive!"

You heard a whimper.

You looked at the girl, noticing her fearful expression. You deactivated your ability, now that the job was done. The girl whimpered again, but it sounded abnormal. It sounded artificial. Something didn't feel right.

"Hey, it's alright now. You're safe."

You say to the girl. She looks at you with wide eyes.

"It's all under control. We're here to take you back home. This guy can't hurt you anymore."

You move closer to her, crouching down to her level.

"Tell me. Did he hurt you?"

You place a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

She stared at you for a second, then grinned. All the fear had vanished from her eyes. They now held a malicious gleam.

"You fell right in!"

She cackled.

"Right in the rabbit hole!"

She giggled, snapping her fingers.

All you heard was a sharp sound. A ringing in your ears. And a scream. Was that Dazai? Or was it you? Who knows.

You look down to your torso, and notice a dark red stain on your shirt.

Suddenly, you felt it. The pain was overwhelming. You had been shot before; you were a part of a war, afterall. But it was always in the shoulder, or limbs. This was your first time getting hit on the torso. You had probably broken a rib or two. You could feel your lungs being filled with something. It felt heavy.

Blood? Yeah probably. You couldn't think straight. You remember feeling tired. You didn't even register your knees giving away, or the pair of strong arms that caught you right before you fell.

175 notes · View notes

souryogurt64 · 2 years

Note

well my last anon message wasn’t right. i meant what songs do u think r about patrick. sorry i’m on drugs

what songs i think are about patrick/fob? theres a lot so im not gonna offer in depth commentary about them because it would take too long, ppl can ask me about individual songs if they want though. i dont think this is what you wanted but this is what i wrote <3 i think pete is kind of a self-centered songwriter (neutral) so i think a lot of his songs are kinda about fame and the band and how they affect his sanity and relationships so i think things kind of blur together in my interpretations

five tired boys in a worn out van / fellowship of the nerd is one of my favorites, its super cute and not many have heard it because it sounds like trash but has a certain charm. the bridge makes me really emotional, its a love song to being in a band before they had any sort of fame or notoriety

hand of god is obviously about being in the band but its more meta, austin we have a problem is the same

i am not really sure why because the lyrics to 7-9 legendary are pretty explicitly romantic/referring to a relationship, but the melody reminds me of the band for some reason, like i suppose it has the same taste as kids arent alright etc to me.

iirc centuries was not written by the band but i suppose it could be construed that way

immortals too kind of deals with the manic superstar feeling that he explores through a lot of songs that i think represents both feelings of manic episodes as well as how hes always viewed fame-- when he was 20 or 21 he wrote this kind of disturbing rant and posted it online and he refers to “demigods of rock and roll,” and i think thats something he explores frequently in his songs so i tend to associate those songs with the band, especially since he often uses “we” pronouns

“from now on we are enemies” is exploring his relationship to patrick through the relationship between mozart and salieri

twin skeletons is often construed as a peterick song but ive never interpreted it that way. i think people associate it more with the band than a girl because of the album art they put out making it a symbol of the band, so many people think that means the two frontmen, pete and patrick. but for some reason the song itself makes me think of his failed marriage, not sure why.

the original version of dance dance has a longer prechorus including the lines “we will own your thoughts we are the song stuck in your head well leave you kicking and screaming so you can thank us in the end” has always resonated with me as being about fame and the sort of darkness he sometimes writes it with, like the “dance like were shooting at your feet” line. i wish i could come up with a less corny term than dark power but i think thats what he writes it as a lot, like its something sinister and kinda evil yet like... positive somehow? idk thats another essay

i dont care is obv about fame

americas suitehearts has the classic coke line which always makes me think about how many of the dcd people officially or unofficially got addicted to drugs

coffees for closers is about the band and the fans imo

what a catch is obv a patrick song

wams is supposedly something else but i think part of it is about fame/the band

pavlove is about fame/misery which i suppose has to do with the band

our lawyer is about the band

so is sophomore slump v obviously

thriller is about the band and the fans

arms race is pretty self-centered but about being famous, mmrs touches on it too

a lot of pax am days uses “we” and “us” pronouns, but demigods really stands out to me as being about the band

alone together hasnt struck me as being about the band specifically but more about like a scene or whatever, phoenix and young volcanoes a bit as well

a lot of tttyg mentions the band but nothing too strongly imo

music or the misery is about fame/the band

i know the saturdays alright for fighting is a cover of an elton john parody of a rolling stones song, but its always really reminded me of like, the saturday video and release the bats and stuff. i guess because its deliberately very reminiscient of “the outsiders” type stuff and i wrote a 10 page essay on that lmfao

about half of mania is about the band and being famous IMO

young and menace is about being so famous you feel immortal

wilson/expensive mistakes has always struck me as a patrick song

heavens gate is about the ppl you love being better than you which.. patrick

bishops knife trick is about the band and chicago

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prfctethereal · 3 years

Text

bad idea. | remus lupin

thank u, next x marauders

alexa, play bad idea by ariana grande

pairing: remus lupin x reader (rivals to lovers)

summary: you and remus are rivals. after james and sirius find out about your fear of werewolves, they use it to exploit you, and help remus

word count: 4,393 (i'm sorry)

warnings: violence, language, mentions of trauma

a/n: haven't worked on this series in a while but whatever lol. this piece took my like two months from when I first started it because I kept changing it but oh well, enjoy - kennedy

***

Nothing felt better than being top in the class academically. Seeing the perfectly round ‘O’ at the top of a paper after getting it back was one of the few things that made me truly happy and proud of myself. I always thought that getting all these excellent marks would place me first place in my class, but I guess I was wrong. Unfortunately, I wasn’t first place. I was first equal.

Remus Lupin: the only person who could give me a run for my money. Every day in class was a battle to see who would win the unspoken competition. Subtle glances, snide comments, rolling eyes, you name it. It was even harder with the fact that Remus was a lot of the time my work partner as most teachers had the same idea of pairing up their brightest students.

I didn’t necessarily hate the guy. There was just something in my guts that made me nervous around him, something disguised as a disliking. He was just too friendly, it didn’t make sense why out of everyone, he didn’t like me.

***

Another day, another frustration. Potions class had started and it was brewing day. The classroom was stuffy, making it hard to breathe through my tightly collared shirt. My hair was pulled off my face as I tried desperately to cut up fluxweed into manageable. The swimming fumes of the half done potion was flooding my senses and making it hard to see or perceive anything that was going on. It was roulette for the cutting knife and my finger.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Remus muttered under his breath, bringing his attention to how I was preparing the ingredients. Huffing, he pulled the cutting board towards his side of the work bench and held out his hand, asking for the knife silently.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” I scowled, reluctantly handing over the knife to the rough looking boy. My eyes lingered a little too long over his delicate skin, mentally tracing each and every one of his mysterious scars, until my thoughts were cut still by Remus shoving the cut weeds in front of me.

“I hope you know how to put them in the cauldron.” There was a hint of cheek in his comment which I glossed over, poking my tongue out of my mouth and turning away from him, doing what he said. One by one, I carefully dropped the fluxweed into the bubbling concoction.

Grabbing my wand, I mixed the potion, watching Remus out of the corner of my eye. He seemed fixed and concentrated on cutting the leeches up, ignoring my presence completely. It wasn’t unusual to get the cold shoulder from my potions partner, but somehow, it still hurt like the very first time.

“Add these in now.” Remus commanded nonchalantly, pushing the cut up leeches onto the bench for me. Rolling my eyes, I brought my forefinger and thumb to the nearest leech and picked it up, feeling the grimy texture on my skin. All of a sudden, I felt a burst on pain ripple through my finger, my vocal chords letting out a loud yelp, as the leech’s teeth bit deep into my forefinger. Looking down, a thick line of blood was dripping down my finger, the leech still connected to my skin.

“Are you okay?” Remus must’ve heard my cry and immediately turned to me. He brought his hands to mine, gently cradling my bleeding wound. There must’ve been some poison in the leech’s venom as my finger started to discolour and turn a worrying shade of black. Even my head was feeling lightheaded. Trying to keep my balance, I placed my nondominant hand on the workbench to help keep me up, but it failed, falling into Remus’ arms.

“No.” I croaked out, the pain almost unbearable now. The veins on my hand were red and livid, with a dark, black bruise circling the bite mark. The leech was removed from my finger, probably by Remus, and my wound was on clear display. To top it all off, blood must’ve dropped into the ongoing potion as it was hissing angrily, turning a deep purple, not the soft yellow colour that it should’ve been. “You said you cut all the leeches. Why was that bloody thing alive?”

“I’m sorry.” Remus helped to sit me down on a chair but I was failing to keep my weight on my feet, toppling over at the slightest change in balance. My head was swarming with pain and white splotches danced in the corners of my vision. “I thought I cut them all. I didn’t realise I had missed any.”

By now, Professor Slughorn had come to see what the commotion was all about and had seen me barely conscious on a stool. He was trying to communicate but all I was focused on was the infection spreading up my hand. All the veins on my hand were now brick red, throbbing desperately. Shooting tendrils of pain were spiraling up my arm; a one way track to my heart and lungs. The only thing keeping my tethered to reality was Remus’ tight hold on my body, keeping me up right and conscious.

“Take her to the infirmary.” I could just make out what Professor Slughorn was saying by the way his lips moved and the vague sounds coming from his mouth. My lips involuntarily squinted as I felt myself being hoisted up and forced to walk out of the classroom, Remus’ tight grip around my waist never faltering.

He seemed desperate to keep a conversation with me going, talking to me the entire way to the hospital wing, trying to keep me from passing out. We were just about halfway there when my feet got caught up in the ground and my eyes succumbed to the white light ebbing my vision. My eyes rolled back into my head as I passed out in Remus’ arms.

***

“She just passed out?” Sirius asked, almost incredulous as Remus retold his encounter with Y/N from earlier in the day.

The four marauders were sitting in the grand hall, slowly munching away at their lunch. Guiltily, Remus took small bites, feeling remorseful as he knew Y/N wouldn’t be able to spend her lunchtime in the grand hall too. She was still in the hospital wing being treated for something Remus did.

“Flabbergasted leech! I forgot that they were deadly venomous. I should’ve been more careful when cutting them up.” Remus stabbed angrily at his salad, twirling his fork in exhaustion, his eyes never looking up to meet his friends.

“It’s not your fault, mate,” James tried stepping in to calm him down, placing his hand on Remus’ shoulder in a calculated manner. “Anyway, I thought you hated her.”

Remus scoffed, taking a bite out of a stray lettuce leaf. “I don’t hate her. She just gets on my nerves. Always trying to get top in the class. I don’t even care about being top, it just pisses me off that she tries so much.”

“But why?” Peter shrugged, a confused look on his face as Remus pondered the question.

In all honesty, Remus had no idea why he had such a negative attitude towards Y/N. Something about her always riled him up in a way he never expected. He just had to get on her nerves and annoy her. It was like he craved to come out better than her.

“I don’t know. I just really want to knock her down a peg. I’m not sure if it’s the full moon talking but I just want to annoy her in some shape or form, y’know?”

“Let’s prank her. Rile her up a bit.” Sirius suggested playfully, poking Remus with the fork in his hand, prodding at the thinking boy.

“Maybe. She’s already pretty pissed at me because of the leech situation. I don’t want to get her even more annoyed.” Remus looked quickly between the three other boys, who already seemed encapsulated in another conversation. “Whatever, I don’t care. Prank her if you want. After the full moon tonight though.”

Sirius’ face lit up with delight when he heard those words fall from Remus’ lips. “Alright! That’s more like it.”

Clapping Remus on the back, James nodded eagerly, mischievous looks bouncing between the three of them. Remus couldn’t care less. All he could think about was if Y/N was okay.

***

Stumbling through the halls, I managed to find my way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. I had just been discharged from the hospital wing, with Madame Pomfrey advising me to stay longer. I left though; I hated missing class. Also, Professor Merrythought said that it was going to be a practical lesson today and I didn’t want to miss it.

Apparently, there was still a little bit of poison left in my bloodstream, but according to Madame Pomfrey, it would be all out of my system by tomorrow morning. I just had to be careful that I didn’t injure myself anymore.

Standing outside the door, I swiftly knocked and entered the classroom. I wasn’t entirely late; class had only started ten minutes ago. Everyone seemed to be crowded on one end of the classroom, so I easily blended in with the group of students. Without acknowledgement, Professor Merrythought continued on with her lesson, only a slight look in my direction to tell that she was aware that I had shown up.

“Can anyone tell me what is in this wardrobe?” Professor Merrythought asked the class. Annoyed, I realised that I couldn’t answer the question as I hadn’t been there for the start of the class and had missed all the introduction. Scowling, I noticed Remus’ hand shoot up in the air. “Yes, Mr Lupin?”

“It’s a boggart.” Remus started, blissfully unaware that I had arrived in class. “A boggart doesn’t have a permanent form and takes the shape of what fears you most. No one knows what it looks like when it isn’t in the form of a fear.” He finished smuggly, a cocky grin smothered all over his face. Unknowingly to him, he had forgotten a crucial detail.

When Remus finished his monologue, I raised my hand up from behind him, a sly smile also on my face. Professor Merrythought caught my hand with her eye and nodded sweetly at me. “Yes, Miss L/N?”

Remus spun around. His brows were knitted together and he looked annoyed, that cheeky grin wiped off his face. Winking at him discreetly, I continued with what I was going to say. “The incantation to eradicate the boggart is Riddikulus, though it won’t banish the boggart indefinitely; only disarm it temporarily. While saying the charm, you must think of an element of fun as the only thing to get rid of a boggart is to get rid of the fear itself.”

“Exactly.” Professor Merrythought began addressing the class. “Now, I would like you all to go off and practise saying the charm for ten minutes. Then we can reconvene and practise on the actual boggart.”

Leaving the group of students, I went off to a quiet corner, muttering “riddikulus” over and over under my breath. Pointing my wand and waving it with the right hand motion, I practised the charm, until I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, waking me from my daze.

“Remarkable work, L/N. I see hospital life wasn’t treating you too well? You’re back sooner than I expected.” Remus quipped, obviously trying to start a quarrel with me.

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to miss a lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts, would I? Then I wouldn’t get to see your darling face.” I replied sarcastically, a fake sickly sweet undertone in my voice.

“You’ve seemed to mistake my friendliness as infatuation. I must change my attitude towards you immediately.” His voice was trying to come out dauntingly, but it was quite cute.

“You’ve must’ve interpreted my words incorrectly. You see, it wasn’t my longing for you that made me turn up to class. It was actually because I didn’t want your ego to get too big, thinking you were the top student. I came to class to put you in your place.”

The sternness in his face seemed to let go as he noticed how serious my tone was. I admit, it was quite harsh but I didn’t care now. My message went across loud and clear. Unfortunately, our conversation was interrupted by Professor Merrythought calling us students back to the wardrobe.

“So,” Remus said, starting a conversation, “what’s your biggest fear?”

I chuckled slightly, turning to look at Remus’ genuine face. “Honestly, I have no idea. I wouldn’t know where to start when thinking about my fears. Maybe failure? I’m not sure.” I let the vulnerability fall from my lips, forgetting that it was my biggest rival that I was talking to. “What about you?”

“Same. Haven’t a clue.” Remus said as we arrived at the group. Remus walked slightly away from me, back towards his group of friends, so I walked up to some nice Ravenclaw girls that I had always gotten along with and listened to Professor Merrythought speak.

“Alright kids, I’d like for you to make a single file line. Miss L/N, Mr Lupin, since you two have the most knowledge already about boggarts, can you please start off today?”

Nodding, I walked to the front of the line, Remus getting in behind me. Behind us, the rest of our class formed a line, ready to get their hands on a boggart.

“Now, Miss L/N, what’s your biggest fear?”

Reiterating what I had said before, I informed Professor Merrythought that I had no idea what my boggart would turn into.

“Not to worry dear. You are very smart. Just, think of something funny, first thing that comes to mind. Now, I’ll open the wardrobe now,” Professor Merrythought walked closer to the wardrobe and placed her hand on the doorknob. “Are you ready?”

I nodded, my firm grip on my wand never wavering. As the wardrobe door swung open, the boggart emerged from the wardrobe in the form of a werewolf.

A werewolf?!

All of a sudden, memories start swarming in from my childhood. I started remembering all about the night where my younger brother was attacked by a werewolf, barely making it out alive. Tears started spilling from my eyes as my arms shook. As the werewolf darted forward, all I could remember was the night where our family was cornered. I had had nightmares for years afterwards. Subconsciously, I fell to the ground, unable to cope with the intense emotions anymore.

My head was feeling heavy and for the second time today, I felt like I was going to faint. It didn’t help that I still had poison in my veins, fogging my head from being able to think properly.

There was movement around me as I could vaguely hear Professor Merrythought say the incantation herself, putting the boggart back into the wardrobe. I was minutes away from collapsing onto the ground, the only thing keeping me up were two strong hands gripping onto my arms.

It became too much and for the second time that day, I fainted into Remus Lupin’s arms.

***

Sirius and James had watched what had happened in Defence Against the Dark Arts today, and they had taken notes. They had noted down how Y/N reacted to werewolves and a plan had formed collectively in their mind.

Tonight was the full moon and they both knew that meant Remus was going to transform into a werewolf himself. What better way to shake up poor Y/N then to let her meet her greatest fear.

***

Coming to, I woke up in the hospital room again, a pounding in my forehead. It seemed that waking up in the infirmary was becoming quite a familiar thing for me. Annoyed, I pulled the covers off my body and started for the exit, before being stopped by Madame Pomfrey.

“Miss L/N, please, just stay here overnight. You’ve dealt with a lot of trauma today and it would be best for you to rest here until morning.”

I knew where she was coming from but there was nothing worse than sleeping in one of those uncomfortable hospital beds, so I shook my head, giving Madame Pomfrey a grateful smile.

“I think it would be best for me to continue resting in my own dorm.” I pulled myself out of Pomfrey's grasp and opened the door, stepping out into the corridor. “Thank you for your concern though.”

The corridor was less stuffy than the hospital wing and the fresh air did wonders for my forehead. I felt like I had just been born again as I walked out of halls and into the outside world. The sun had just set over the horizon and the full moon was peeking up over the hills. It looked beautiful tonight, the bright light shining in the sky, reflecting on the black lake. The stars stood out against the moon, the constellations telling stories I couldn’t even decipher. I felt at peace in the night air.

Deciding to take the long way back to my common room, I disregarded the curfew rules, opting for a peaceful stroll instead. Walking out of the clock tower, I made my way through the courtyard, the light breeze sending ripples of goosebumps onto my skin. It was slightly chilly but nothing that bad, so I continued my journey.

The grounds were quiet tonight. Hagrid must’ve gone to sleep early tonight as there was no light shining from his cabin. It was an unusual sight but it made me realise how dark it was actually getting. Knowing that since I had already had two sleeps today and I probably wasn’t going to be able to sleep right away, I decided to stay out longer, muttering “lumos” under my breath. Immediately, my wand lit up, letting light shine into the night.

That’s when I heard rustling from the bushes. Cautiously, I spun around, my wand pointing directly at the direction of the noise. Squinting, I tried to make out what was coming from where the noise came from.

Was that a person?

All of a sudden, I could make out the face of Sirius Black, absolute terror replacing his normal dug grin. His eyes looked frightened and he was a stuttering mess.

“Oh merlin, Y/N, I’m so glad you’re here.” He was panting, stopping to catch his breath. “It’s Remus. He’s hurt.”

It was as if all my negativity towards Remus dropped in an instant. All I felt was concern for my self delegated rival. Immediately, I went off running from the same direction that Sirius came from, with Sirius eventually coming up at my rear, running beside me.

“Quick, towards the shrieking shack.” He stated and I nodded along. There was noise in the air tonight. I couldn’t tell if it was a dog howling or an owl hooting, all that I knew was that it made me sick to the stomach.

We stopped running when we reached the Whomping Willow. My heart stopped as I looked up the tree branches, somehow immobile. My gut was telling me to run away, but I looked back at Sirius, a pleading look in his eyes, and remembered that Remus was supposedly in there, supposedly injured.

“Lead the way.”

I gestured to Sirius and he beckoned me to follow him, kneeling down as he crawled through a hole at the base of the tree. Nervously, I followed, taking out my still illuminated wand and holding it close to my body. Only the light from my wand was lighting up the tunnel as Sirius and I walked further and further into the darkness. As we walked, the more and more concerning sounds I heard, including whimpering and some howling. My skin was itching but I fought the urge to run and we were suddenly at the entrance to another area.

Carefully, Sirius opened the door, leading us into a run down house. The walls were scratched up with claw marks and there were shreds of fabric littered all over the ground. A dingy smell of body odour and flesh was filling the room and I noticed how bloody hot it was in this shack, common sense telling me to pull off the sweater I was wearing.

Suddenly, Peter burst in through one of the rooms, always wearing a panicked look on his face. “Quick. James is injured here.”

I paused for a moment, my head spinning. I thought Remus was the one that got injured? But I didn’t have much time to think as a deer randomly sprinted out from one of the rooms, racing past me, it’s prongs slicing past my arms. I hissed as blood sept slowly from the wound, a stinging sensation flooding my arm.

Creeping in the direction the deer came from, I emerged into a room, stopping as I noticed the creature in the corner of the room. A huge werewolf was standing there, panting loudly, whimpering from its mouth. It’s paws were paling anxiously at the wall.

Then, it spun around, it’s nose twitching with excitement. It pounced forward at me, obviously being able to smell me from the other end of the room. I was too scared to move, the mouth agape as I watched the werewolf corner me against the wall.

It’s claws came swiping at me, cutting deep into my chest. One of the sharp talons cut on my neck, the wound bleeding much more than the others. The pain washed over me as I felt a tug at my arm, pulling me into another room. The door locked behind us, leaving the werewolf alone in the room.

Sirius was looking down at me as I fell to the ground. I couldn’t do anything anymore. Exhaustion caught up to me and I passed out for the third time today. The only thing different was that it wasn’t in Remus’ arms.

Oh shit.

Remus.

***

It wasn’t unusual for me to wake up in the hospital wing now. It seemed to be late morning, as sunlight was streaming in through the window. I felt groggy but I mustered up another courage to prop myself upright on the pillow and scanned around the room. Directly in front of me, I could see James lying down on one of the hospital beds, a deep wound on his arm, bandaged up.

Next to him was Peter. All he had was a bandage over his head and a black eye, but he seemed to be completely asleep, as he didn’t wake up to when Sirius started talking to James next to him.

Sirius didn’t look nearly as injured, although he had a few bruises littered on his legs. He seemed to be in a furious conversation with James and someone else. With all I could, I listened in to the conversation, trying to grapple on to what happened.

“We shouldn’t have brought Y/N to the shack.” My heart dropped, remembering what happened. There was a werewolf that attacked me last night. It must’ve attacked all four of the marauders. That’s why Sirius was looking for me, because Remus was attacked. That’s why Peter said James was injured. He must’ve also been attacked by the werewolf.

Keeping my consciousness a secret, I slipped out of bed, avoiding the prying eyes of Sirius and James, and darted to what I assumed to be Remus’ bed.

His bed was surrounded by a curtain for the most privacy of the five of us. I didn’t know why until I looked inside and saw how battered and bruised he was. He must’ve been attacked the worse by the werewolf.

There was a gash, cutting across his face, slicing up his eyebrow. His chest was bare as a bandage was covering what seemed to be a deep cut, as it was already bleeding through the crème coloured linen, turning it a scarlet red. Remus did seem to be awake though so I approached his bed.

Sitting beside him, I reached out for his hand. I startled him, as he turned briskly around but melted at my touch as he saw my face. A look of guilt was spreading through his eyes.

“I’m so sorry Y/N-”

I cut him off. “There’s no need for you to apologise, Remus. You were also attacked by that werewolf last night.”

A confused face appeared on Remus before it contorted into something else. Contentment. “Right. I was attacked by the werewolf.”

“And you seem to have gotten the worst of it. You look terrible.” I tried making a joke and ease the tension, but making Remus laugh only seemed to cause him more pain as he clutched his rib.

“Y/N…”

“Remus?”

“Why are you afraid of werewolves so much?” He asked. I sighed, knowing there was no avoiding this question now.

“My family was attacked by a werewolf when we were younger. Well, I say my family. My younger brother was the target and he suffered a lot. I just feel so upset and guilty because of it. It should’ve been me. He was too young.”

“I’m sorry.” Remus said, reaching out so his other hand was touching mine. “That’s a horrible thing to go through.”

“I’m sorry for being so horrible to you.” I finally admitted, looking Remus dead in the eye. “I’ve always been so cruel to you for no reason and there’s no excuse for it. Like today, you helped me when I fainted twice. You had no need to do that, yet you did. Thank you.” Remus started talking but I cut him off. “Seriously Lupin, you mean a lot to me. I’m sorry our little rivalry got to me.”

Remus stayed quiet as his finger rubbed gently against the back of my hand. It seemed like he didn’t know what to say next so I decided to break the ice and end the awkwardness. Leaning forward, I pressed my lips gently to Remus’ cheek, watching as a pink tint flushed to the surface. I pulled away from his grasp, walking to the curtain.

“Again, thank you.”

And I walked away, hurt that he never said anything back.

#harry potter #marauders era #marauders #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin angst #remus lupin imagine

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Note

heyy, can you write feysand as something like roommates or just friends but then rhys walks in on feyre getting off thinking of him and everything changes? thank u and your stories are amazing ❤️

BESTIE YOU KNOW I LOVE A ROOM MATES AU. Let's do a 2-shot.

Just Fantasy pt 1

Feyre is an early bird and Rhys is a night owl.

For the most part, this suits them just fine. They share a small apartment and they are never trying to use the bathroom or kitchen at the same time.

Rhys does weights in his room every day at 9pm. Feyre supposes this is some sort of afternoon for him, since he tends to wake up around noon. She herself is usually climbing into bed around this time, but does not mind the rhythmic clanking of the weights. Particularly because on nights she can’t sleep, there’s one thing that cures her insomnia, and it helps to know that Rhys is not going to knock on her door while she does it.

Feyre prefers reading erotic fiction to watching video porn, and this is convenient because it is silent. She has a library of short, filthy stories on her iPad, which never runs out because Mor sends her new ones periodically and then squeals about them over coffee.

Feyre’s summer routine is to get up early, go for a run, then work in the living room. She works from home most days, and is able to sit on the beach in the afternoons if she finishes on time. Rhys works free lance and has an office in the city, but by no means keeps regular hours.

Feyre is glad Rhys is often out of the house, because she’s starting to find Rhys slightly distracting. There’s just something about hot weather that always seems to make her a little more... excitable. And after months of thick sweaters, she’s suddenly looking at her room mate a little too long these days. She can’t remember if he’s always been this attractive, or if she’s only now noticing.

This week the season is tempestuous, and it has been alternately been storming and baking them alive in their apartment. Feyre has been trying to work, but can barely think straight in the heat. It does not help that Rhys has started walking around the house shirtless, and he seems to always be slicked with sweat. One day Rhys comes home after being caught in the rain, and his t-shirt is plastered to him in a way that is worse than when he is not wearing one at all.

“Hello Feyre darling,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Hey Rhys,” she says, ignoring the tingling sensation where his lips touched her. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Sorry,” he responds, and grabs an apple off the kitchen counter. He takes a large bite as he disappears into his bedroom, and then emerges a minute later in dry clothes and towelling off his hair.

“Real bad storm brewing out there,” he comments.

“Yeah, no beach for me today,” Feyre replies, and then feels this is a dumb thing to say. She hurries on. “Where have you been today?”

“Was supposed to be on a shoot, but of course it was a disaster with the weather,” Rhys says. “I’m just happy none of my equipment got destroyed. Gonna flick through the photos now and see if we got anything worth keeping.”

He rummages in the fridge and gives Feyre a wink before going back to his room with an armful of food. Feyre smiles at him, then turns back to her very blank computer screen.

By the evening, the building is shaking in the grip of the thunder storm. Feyre is very grateful that she is in the living room when there is a loud crash, and both she and Rhys rush toward the sound to discover that Feyre’s bedroom window has been smashed in. They rush forward and try to move things out of the way as water torrents in, but there is not much else they can do with the glass gone.

In the end, the storm blows over and most of Feyre’s things are okay. It takes two days for the landlord to fix up the window, and Feyre stays at Mor’s. When she gets back, the debris has been cleared and the window is whole, but the carpet is wet and it smells like damp. Feyre collects her things and sleeps on the couch.

Rhys offers to sleep in the living room so she can have his bed, but Feyre declines. And so she finds herself lying in the dark trying to get to sleep while Rhys potters around hours from his own bedtime.

Feyre is a creature of habit. She finds it difficult to sleep in the wrong place, and after a half hour wide awake, she wonders if her usual trick for falling asleep is feasible here in the lounge room. After all, she can hear Rhys lifting weights in his room so she knows he isn’t going to walk in.

Feyre’s hand slides between her legs under her thin summer blanket, and she is now bitterly regretting that her iPad was ruined in the storm. She flicks through her phone with her free hand, scrolling past images and snippets of bad fan fiction, and misses the familiarity of the short stories she already knows she enjoys. She’s having trouble focusing on anything, and trying to keep an ear out in case Rhys finishes his workout and comes out looking for food or the bathroom or something.

Luckily, she can still hear him. Could count his reps if she wanted to, using the sharp metal clangs. She can even hear him breathing, deep inhales and grunting exhales as he exerts himself.

Now that she’s listening to it, she realises that the sounds coming from his room sound a lot like other bedroom sounds. The pattern of his breathing, the little groan he makes at the peak of each extension, is frankly erotic. Before she knows what she’s doing, Feyre’s fingers are moving and behind her closed eyelids she can see Rhys panting for a different reason.

It’s not difficult for Feyre to imagine Rhys naked. She knows the bare planes of his chest in more detail than she cares to admit, knows the flow of his tattoos and the contours of his abs. Has seen him in sweatpants enough times to estimate the shape of other areas too, and although she hasn’t let herself have this fantasy before, now that she’s started it so easy to fall into.

Feyre does not like to consider whether she’s in love with her roommate. It would be far too inconvenient if she was, so she doesn’t think about it. The fact of her attraction, however, is not something she can deny- Rhys is objectively, and unreasonably attractive. She knows he does some kind of martial arts, but he’s not a violent sort of a person. In fact he’s infuriatingly calm at times, and on more than one occasion he has helped to ground her when she is freaking out about a deadline or family drama with her sisters. He’s always kind, and patient with her in a way that no... but this isn’t what Feyre wants to be thinking about.

Easier to focus back on the breathing, the sharp exhales, the image of the movement of his muscles. In her head, every breath is taken by her ear, blowing against her lips, the rhythm matching his pace above her.

In real life, she had never been the sort of girl who could make the first move- not like Mor, who had enough confidence for the both of them. She would be mortified for Rhys to discover her little crush. But here in her imagination it is so easy between them. That smirk Rhys sometimes gives her when she feels like he is reading her mind seems so much sexier when it is inches from her own mouth, when she can lick her tongue against it while her hips move to meet his.

She imagines the surety he always seems to carry would cross over into Rhys’s sex life. She imagines he would be completely in control in the bedroom, unruffled and measured as ever as he moves inside her. Feyre, on the other hand, is surely a more reactive creature, and would squirm beneath him. Her head falls back against the arm rest of the couch as her hand- no Rhys, moves faster between her legs. He is delicious, he is exquisite, he is going to make her come.

“Is that good, baby?” Rhys says in her mind.

“Yes,” she breathes back.

“Say my name when you come,” he tells her.

“Rhys,” she murmurs, as her climax builds on her fingertips. “Rhys.. Rhys!”

She’s so lost in it that she doesn’t notice that the clanking weights have stopped, and that she’s just spoken out loud. Is not at all prepared when a real life Rhys walks into the room and says “yeah Feyre what’s...”

He trails off as he takes in the sight of her. Knees pull up, head thrown back and eyes glazed. His name still warm on her lips.

****

Part 2 is all smut baby. Now up.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

#asks #prompt fill #feysand #feysand fic #smut #mine

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aenaxes · 3 years

Note

PANSLALSOKAAOOSKWOAMSNA CONGRATS ON 200 BESTIE!! YOU DESERVE ALL THE LOVE, SUPPORT, AND EVEN MORE!! YOU ARE SO TALENTED NOT ONLY WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING BUT ALSO YOUR ART TOO!!! If you wouldn't mind, I would like to request a sfw to nsfw with Hardcase? The song that makes me thing of him every damm time, I have no clue why, is Ribs by Lorde. For pronouns would be she/her and if you would like to know, I'm about 5'2" with blue eyes, mid back length half dyed hair, the colors I have dyed my hair are purple, blue, and pink!! Even if you don't do this, just know that I wouldn't mind and I'm always happy with seeing you write whatever you want because you are so talented and keep me very well fed 😌🤲💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

we'll make it (divine)

[hardcase x f!reader] loving hardcase is something akin to falling in love all over again and again every time he knocks on your door and pulls you into his arms.

warnings: nsfw, outdoor sex, mushy gooey feelings

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: sage my darling 🥺 ily bb mwah <3 i'm going to be completely honest writing this made me fall so so so much more in love with hardcase (bless u for that)

event details here! requests will be open until july 4th!

“Hey!” Hardcase greets you with that very specific sort of glee only he knows, breathless and bright-eyed as your door slides open.

The durasteel parts to reveal him and a shiny keyring lifted eye-level to the blue ink arcing over his temple. The sparse assortment of bronze and silver speeder keys jangle against a polished leather keyfob as he shakes his fist with boyish, giddy joy. It’s one that, you might add, isn’t exactly fitting of Hardcase’s rough-and-tumble style—ergo, keys that don’t belong to him—and one that begets a few questions as you raise a pointed brow in his direction.

Hardcase only grins wider.

But before you can ask if those are—and they definitely are—the keys to Jesse’s planetside speeder, Hardcase shoots his other hand forward and wiggles his fingers between yours, tugging you into the glare of the fluorescent hallway lights and squeezing snug.

“Don’t have much time,” he nods earnestly. “You ready to go?”

“Go where?” you laugh as he stuffs the keys into the pocket of his bomber, tearing his attention away from you if only to shoot a hasty glance over his shoulder. But you’re stepping forwards anyways, crowding up against his side as your door slides shut behind you.

“Out, duh,” Hardcase says with a scrunch of his nose, the telltale twitch of his left cheek that you immediately recognize as a silent, animated, ‘isn’t it obvious?’ He punctuates his response with a quick squeeze over your hand, and his smile grows wider when you tip your head back and laugh.

“How much of a head start do you have on him?”

“I have about a hallway lead,” he says, sheepish if not for the excitement in his voice. “C’mon! He’ll beat my ass if we don’t get moving!”

You might not exactly know what’s going on, because for all the spontaneous and oftentimes questionable visits from Hardcase that you’ve come to expect as part of your regular routine, Hardcase carried with him some mischievous ingenuity to surprise you each and every time. But you can’t help but mirror the contagious delight in his grin as you squeeze his hand and take off behind him.

And it’s the natural thing to do, the ebb and flow of alternating surprises: Hardcase poking into your room well past lights out with Tup’s holo and a bootlegged movie, and you meeting him with two glasses of single malt whiskey before both promptly gagging on your first sips. It had always been like that ever since you had, quite literally, knocked heads with Hardcase in the corridors of your first jedi cruiser assignment, running a bit too fast a bit too far.

A bit of carefree joy, a bit of light, you think as you run past a loose group of shinies, the squeak of your boots blending with your stifled giggling. And when Hardcase turns his head to check if you’re still there (as if he’s not squeezing your hand tight), you see him as he is, a sturdy piton to keep your hold against war’s steep shear.

“Hurry, hurry!” he laughs as you run through the open blast doors. His voice rises above the motions of the hangar bay like the sweetest song, hoarse and free.

You open your mouth to say something along the lines of ‘I’m trying!’ but your mouth fills with the cool air of the Ansion night, sweet with the fragrance of grass, organic and good over the labored exhaust of the base. And instead of words, laughter, bright and loud, bubbles from your chest.

As soon as you’re entering the hangar bay, you already find yourself at its opposite end. Hardcase’s fingertips dig firm into the soft curve of your waist as he hurriedly but no less gently lifts you off your feet and onto the back of Jesse’s bike. With one final look over his shoulder, Hardcase clambers on after you, jamming the keys into ignition and revving the engine to life.

The low thrum of the bike drowns out Jesse’s muted yelling from across the landing as you peel away from the bay. But above Jesse’s fading shouts, above the rumble of eight durasteel cylinders underneath you, all you can hear is Hardcase’s whoops of pure joy when you wrap your arms tight around his waist and press your ear behind his beating heart.

The recycled hangar bay air gives way to something earthy and warm. You breathe deep, even with the speeder ramped up as fast as you think it could possibly go, and your lungs fill with the fading ghosts of sunlight and Hardcase’s cologne as you squeeze your arms around him and imagine the floodlights of the base blinking out behind you.

It’s only when the bike beneath you sputters to a halt and the roar of the engine gives way to the broad silence, curling over the hilltop on the rich and cool midnight winds, that you turn your head and see Hardcase without the giddy thrill of impromptu adventure.

Hardcase hops off the speeder, wobbling once on his feet with a breathless laugh as he hits solid ground. You watch from your perch on the back of the bike as he dusts off his jeans and shoves the keys into the pocket of his GAR bomber. It’s the one that fits one size too small, pulling at the edges of his shoulders as he rises to his full stature under the glow of twin moons.

But when Hardcase turns around to face you, all wind-kissed cheeks and rosy glow that reaches his eyes, the playful tease dies on your tongue.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he says softly as he tilts his head to the side to flash you a smile. He saunters forwards, eyes gleaming with starlight, and finds home between your thighs with a sigh you almost lose to the rising wind.

He shrugs off his bomber, his face scrunching up in the way that makes you both laugh when his arm catches on the tight pull of leather, and he sweeps it behind you to set it snug over your shoulders. And when you’re snug under his jacket, he lifts his hands to your temples, fingertips ghosting over your skin as he gently pushes your tousled hair behind your ears.

You let your eyelids flutter shut, relishing in the careful touch you know he only reserves for you, nothing like the playful roughhousing and loving shoves he exchanges in the barracks. It’s a slow deliberation, callused fingertips tracing over your scalp, sending shivers down your spine as he strokes from your hairline and arcs over the crown of your head, fingertips giving way to his warm palm cupping at the apex of your neck.

And it doesn’t take wide eyes to know that when his motions stutter to a pause, when you hear him inhale through his nose, that he’s watching you with that unnameable warmth: the one that settles deep and wide in his dark eyes, fingertips hovering just close enough over your skin that you feel the heat radiating across that small breadth between you, wondering how he got so lucky, reveling in how he got so lucky.

You know the feeling. (You feel the same.)

You open your eyes, and Hardcase is there. He is there, bathed in the endless starscape above, but all he can see is you, reflected back at you in fond eyes you commit to memory each and every time.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Hardcase whispers. He lifts one hand to rub over the back of his neck and brings the other flush over the curve of your knee with the boyish shyness of twinkling eyes and starstruck joy that had roped you into his gravity the first time he’d stumbled into your path.

“You’d better be,” you snort, tugging his jacket close to your collar as he shifts his palm higher. There is playfulness, just a flash, but it soon gives way to something warm and low in your belly.

The small, slow movements of his thumb over your thigh strike a warmth that chases the midnight wind’s cold, spreading in thrumming waves over your chest. It emboldens you like a neat shot of whiskey, thrown back at once, swallowed down with raucous laughter, the noise and the lights faded away under the open sky, warm, warm, warm, and you reach up to curl your fingers over the hand at his neck, pulling him close.

You lean forwards, touching your brow to his, and just before you slide your eyes shut, you catch the look in his deep brown eyes. It reminds you of the first time you bore witness to the ghostly blue lights of a hyperspace jump, entranced in honest wonder as he stands between your thighs.

Because it’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you—a warm and bright place to call home. It’s always been you. And Hardcase melts into your touch as you brush close.

“‘cause I think I’m in love with you, too.”

He laughs, and it’s a new sound in the night. It’s not quite relief, nor is it that exuberant glee from your sprint down the base halls. When you think back on it, it was understanding, your secret for two.

“I love you,” Hardcase says again, stronger, convicted, something closer to an earnest prayer than words alone as he looks up at you and greets you with the galaxy bright in his eyes. Not a soldier, not one of millions, just him; firm muscle between your thighs, breaths ghosting over your collar, fingertips pressing warmth into your ribs as he snakes his palms under your shirt and pulls you close.

Just yours.

You’re not sure who kisses who first, too full of a rapturous swell that blooms through your chest. But it doesn’t really matter. Not when Hardcase’s lips curl close against yours, wind-chapped and dry but so, so warm as he presses his fingertips into the skin of your back and pulls you close against him.

When his kiss is broken by the cold air, bitter in comparison to his touch, you let a whimper roll from your tongue. Brief as the interruption may be, it’s an interruption all the same.

Hardcase humors you with a quick peck to the corner of your mouth. But he’s quick to make up for that split second of lost time as he throws his leg over the side of the bike, his knees knocking against yours as he takes a seat before you. In his lovestruck daze, he sweeps his arms wide, letting that brief moment of giddy glee pass over his cheeks before he brings his hands over your waist and gently tugs onto his lap.

“Isn’t this Jesse’s bike?” you sigh dreamily when Hardcase thumbs over the crease of your thighs and noses up against the edge of your jaw, sending want snaking up your spine.

“He doesn’t need to know,” Hardcase says with a noise somewhere between dismissal and apathy as he shrugs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, gross,” and you stick out your tongue as if you aren’t already aching at the thought of straddling his lap and letting him stretch you open under the starscape above.

Hardcase simply shrugs and brings his hand to his chin to offer you his best glamour face in return.

You make quick work of your slacks, kicking them off to the side while Hardcase fumbles with his fly. It’s awkward, if only by the fact that you’re balanced atop each other on the delicate wobble of the hover generator, elbows bumped close in a gentle fumbling that’s simply too genuine to be embarrassing anymore. You’ve done this too many times, shoved up in dark closets and hidden spaces of cruiser corridors, never truly satiated, never having taken your fill.

It’s not awkward—just endearing, you decide as you shift your hips forward and feel the blunt head of his cock dip up between your thighs.

As you sink down onto his lap, the speeder wobbles beneath you, and you fling your arms around him with a half-squeal half-moan, dropping down onto his cock in one smooth movement that sends a shudder through you both.

There is some solace in knowing that if the bike did tip over, that Hardcase would go down with you, his arms tight around your waist as he nuzzles into your chest and laughs. Commitment, you think as your heart bangs up against your ribs, a bit silly and very much dangerous, but commitment that warms you to your core.

“It’s all you, baby,” Hardcase whispers as you finally peel yourself away from him and lean back just enough to catch a full view of his face.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. How could you? How could you assign to the mundane the sweet ease of trust sloped over his brow as he looks up at you like you’re the only thing in the midnight sky, the only thing in his universe?

“Lazyass,” you snort, and he laughs.

But clever quips and snarky remarks are forgotten for the night when you carefully lift your hips, knees quivering over the hard press of the bike, and rock back down onto his lap.

Hardcase fills you in the way only he can, toeing that fine line between easy comfort and the satisfying burn of being split open and squeezed breathless.

You sink down with a whimpering gasp, toes curling when you feel him buck up into the soft spot inside you that whites out your vision. Choking on your own moan, you let your head drop down onto his shoulder, already rendered boneless and pliant around him. You fist tight into the soft fabric of his shirt, cunt spasming around him, and you hold tighter when his hips jerk up again.

“I got you, baby. I got you,” Hardcase mumbles into your shoulder, trailing his lips to the base of your neck and kissing sweet. His arms squeeze around your waist once and anchor you close. And he is there, curled everywhere around you, holding you close as the wind rises broad and far between the grassy plains and the universe overhead.

Where else could you ever want to be?

You want to laugh when you remember Hardcase leaving the pace to you as you feel his palms knead into your hips. But it comes out as a soft sigh when he hefts you halfway off his cock and fucks you down onto him again. All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and hold as he starts a steady pace.

You won’t last long like this—neither of you will, not when you’re bared to the open sky and yet the closest you’ve ever felt to each other in a long while.

Hardcase breaks your dreamy longing with an uneven jerk of his hips. He’s close, and like muscle memory, he immediately drags one hand over the curve of your thigh to find the soft skin where you part around him. But you’re quick to react to him, grabbing his wrist as you sink down onto him with a soft moan.

“Already feels good,” you gasp, meeting him through the blurry haze of the tears dotting your lashes. You can just make out his wide eyes, and you choke out an unsteady laugh. “Hold me, ‘Case. Just hold me.”

“Okay, yeah,” Hardcase babbles, holding you flush on his lap and coaxing a soft sob from your lips. He brings his arms around your ribs, nestling his cheek against your chest, right above your beating heart. “Anything for you, baby.”

And that’s all it takes.

You come with a whimpering cry, and pleasure, luxuriant and warm, floods through your core as you bow forward and clutch tight to Hardcase’s neck.

It’s too much but only in the best of ways. Hardcase gives you little time to breathe, shedding the last dregs of restraint to press you down hard onto his lap and fuck as deep as he can go. Feeling your own high, Hardcase takes his fill and bends you to his pleasure, fucking into you for himself. And you swear you feel it in your throat as he lifts you up to the blunt ridge of his tip and brings you back down all at once.

“I love you,” Hardcase chants, breathy and low as he spills into your pulsing cunt. Your soft moans twine with his own as a second orgasm shocks through you, pulled over the edge again by his words alone. “I love you, I love you.” And he crushes his lips against yours and swallows your honeyed confessions with his tongue.

You feel him come down from his high with you. Your breathing blends as one until you’re gasping softly against each other, having long since parted and pressed your heads close, brow-to-brow, nose-to-nose. You vaguely remember it meaning something to the good brothers of the GAR, and while you can’t quite place a finger on what it was, all you know right now is that it’s closeness beyond physicality alone. And you feel Hardcase’s breaths level out and fan over the sweat on your collar, all you find yourself able to do is press even closer.

And when the ringing in your ears subsides, when you no longer feel your chests heaving against each other, you slowly open your eyes and find Hardcase already there, dopey-eyed and blinking slowly as he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” you whisper, drawing back.

The wind rises again, cool and sharp as it curls and eddies around you.

“Hey,” he replies. Gingerly, immersed in the sudden stillness, Hardcase lifts his hand from your back and brings his knuckles to your cheek to brush soft over the sweat and bliss over your skin.

“I love you,” you say, and the words curl over your tongue, shy and true all at once, like it’s the first time all over again.

“Yeah?”

You can’t mistake the spark that alights over Hardcase’s eyes as anything but breathless joy, genuine and raw and perfect because no matter how many times you said it, the simple power remained. The vastness of a night sky, stars exploding to life, with no clear centre but him and his soft smile that puts the moonlight to shame.

You love him.

You do.

“Good,” he grins. “‘Cause I love you, too.”

#cries #i yearn for a love like this #and thats the story of how jesse never touched his speeder ever again #hardcase x reader #501st x reader #the clone wars x reader #sageislostinspring #yaej.writes

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extravaguk · 4 years

Text

santa&prada

part of my opposites attract! series.

ksj / knj / myg / jhs / kth / jjk

pairing: rich!jimin x reader

summary: Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

wordcount: 5k

genre: smut - angst(? - fluff (? idk u tell me

rated: m

warnings: a christmas fic in late november, cursing, a huge misunderstanding lmao, i call jimin ‘park jimin’ too many times bc i felt like it, car sex, oral (f recieving), some good ole spanking, (kinda) rough and unprotected sex, a lil of dirty talk, spit kink. thats about it. just an excuse to write jimin fucking you in a car. jimin is not as bad as oc thinks srsly.

The first time you meet Park Jimin is through mutual friends. On a firday night on December, with white, red and green lights decorating the streets of New York, filled with the typical hustle of the masses doing last minute Christmas shopping, the freezing weather impacting your body temperature, cursing yourself for choosing tights, a skirt and heeled boots that are too pretty but too uncomfortable to wear.

You had never considered yourself a particular enthusiast of Christmas festivities. You guess discovering Santa Claus was, actually, your parents before the rest of the kids in your class was one of the many reasons that made you grow up too soon and therefore, not allowing you to fully enjoy the month of December. Or maybe it had nothing to do with Santa, and more to do with your parents deciding to get a divorce a day before Christmas Eve. A traumatic event for seven year old you, but completely forgotten and overcome by twenty-four year old present you.

Growing up each Christmas suffering the consecuences of a shared custody would have probably had a disastrous effect on anybody else, but not you. Although the separation was a tough reality to accept at first, fortunately your parents were always capable of raising you in an environment full of love and affection, just like any other kid. And you prided yourself on having moved on from those circumstances a long time ago (even if your therapist disagreed and blamed many of your behaviors on it. Whatever.)

To put it simply, December was just not the month for you. It was just another month, like the remaining eleven of the year, except Mariah Carey's voice was heard every five minutes everywhere you'd go and people gave each other presents as if it was only during that time of the year when they remembered their loved ones.

The only thing you could thank Christmas for were the well deserved two weeks of holidays our work allowed until the new year's arrival. Fifteen days of rest, peace and baking those gingerbread cookies that Seokjin died for and that you sincerely denoted as nauseating.

You truly had no idea what exactly you did wrong that night. You don't know if it was something you said, or something you did, but what you did know was that Park Jimin pursued a silent and personal vendetta against you that continued nowadays.

"Here are your disgusting cookies, you filthy animal." it might have been that very first sentence you said when you entered the bar and reunited with your friends that didn't cause a good impression. "Shit, it's cold as fuck. My nipples are harder than my life." or maybe it was your selection of words while you waved every familiar face hello until you stopped to look at the only (pretty. too pretty, as well) one you had never seen before.

"_____, it's Chrismtas! Santa Clause will only bring you a lump of coal if you keep cursing like that!" Lisa laughed while she kissed your cheek and made space for you to sit next to her. "Oh, by the way, this is Jimin. A friend of Namjoon. He's a newbie!"

Park Jimin was stunning, you had no trouble admitting that. You weren't blind, you weren't stupid, and you could go as far as theorize that his dark eyes, his light and always immaculate styled hair, his sharp jawline and those plump lips as red as cherries must have been sculpted by Satan himself.

Fuck, you were even sure you'd be on your knees in front of Park Jimin in an alternative universe begging for his dick inside your mouth. But in the universe where you and the real Park Jimin reside, he would never come near you unless somebody was aiming a gun into his skull.

You're not precisely sure what it was, but a brief exchange of glances and an evasive and sligh shake of hands with Park Jimin was enough to make you feel ashamed and withdrawn for the rest of the night.

If Jimin wasn't even able to drop a polite "Nice to meet you", he sure as hell wasn't able to pretend you even existed.

Even the small talk you had tried to engaged with him about his shiny pair of shoes went terribly wrong.

"Oh, are those Dolce and Gabbana?"

"Dolce and Gabbana are homphobic, racist and sexist, so no" the grimace on his face should've been enough to make you regret speaking to him in the first place , but the snarky voice of his made you want to run away and hide from him until next Christmas.

In reality, you swore you didn't care. Seriously. Other's opinions were never something that could easily bother you or keep you awake at night. You had always turned a deaf ear to the cruel children that made fun of you due to your parent's divorce, you had always ignored the amount of men that never considered you "ladylike" enough (what the fuck did that even mean, anyway? what exactly made a lady and what didn't?), and you had always disregarded any envous comment surrounding you.

So, fuck Park Jimin! You had said to yourself. He's just a well mannered rich boy. Somebody who didn't resemble you in any aspect. A stupid, pretentious, spoiled boy who's had everything he's ever wanted in the palm of his hand, unlike you. Who the fuck cares what Park Jimin thinks?

But apparently, you did.

You would have never placed such importance to whatever it was that roamed inside Jimin's head if his appearances in your group of friends hadn't been so recurrent.

Because each time you were forced to see Jimin's face, you were also forced to experience a strange knot of discomfort and humilliation growing in your stomach in his mere presence. It's not like Jimin did anything specific to make you feel that way. He might not even do it on purpose, or his intentions might not be entirely evil. Maybe he simply didn't realize how he always avoided being by your side like the plague, or how his body immediately tensed and he balled his hands into fists everytime you were less than two feet away from him, or how he would look at you from the corner of his eye everytime you decided you speak, almost as if he was waiting for you to shut up to finally let out the air he was containing inside his lungs in relief.

Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

And with time, you couldn't help but attribute that disdain and hostility that Park Jimin always directed at you to the many undeniable differences that constituted each of you. Park Jimin, with his impeccable and always well ironed Prada shirts, his spotless trousers, jewelry that probably costed more than three of your annual salaries, and always emanating that Givenchy fragance that screamed "wealth!" every rare occasion you could experiment his presence next to you. Exactly two years after that first meeting with Park Jimin, you hadn't been able to avoid reciprocating that feeling of contempt towards him. Not when you were the only victim of his arrogance. Everybody loved Park Jimin, and Park Jimin loved everyone.

Except you.

Clinging to your glass of Don Pérignon and finishing the rest of the liquid in one go, you try to snap out of your own thoughts, reminding yourself to return to the conversation you're currently having with Taehyung about a pretty waitress that he's met during one of his art exhibitions (or at least that's what you think you caught him say) and forcing yourself by all means to stop observing the friendly and kind smiles that Park Jimin was shooting to those present from across the room and that you will never be able to achieve.

"_____? Are you even listening to me, darling?" Taehyung's voice is what makes you finally look away from the dumb blond standing on the opposite side of the room, blinking a few times before clearing your throat.

"Sorry, Tae." letting out a sigh, you try to brush back and put in place the strand of hair that escaped the intricate hairdo you had tried and so miserably failed to do yourself to try to fit in and hopefully impress such environment of preppy and privilaged people (ahem, Park Jimin) falling on your forehead as best as you can. "Just been really stressed this week and I'm on another planet. You know how I feel about Christmas. I think I need a new flute of . Or five."

Taehyung sends you a look full of empathy and places one of his hands in your shoulder, squeezing lightly in a comforting way. "I'll get you another one. I'll be right back." You quickly interrupt him though, to prevent him from standing up before you.

"No, really. I'll go. I need some fresh air anyways, if you don't mind." And of course Taehyung doesn't mind, so you get on your feet as graceously as your tipsy state allowed you to (who told you it was a good idea to drink three glasses in less than thirty minutes of the extremely expensive champagne Taehyung had brought to the Christmas party he had organized and why did it convince you it would appease your anxiey?) and make your way towards the table where the rest of the bottles are. A table dangerously close to the conversation Jimin and that friend of Lisa (whose name you don't remember) were having.

Both are with their backs turned and, honestly, you take a silent moment to thank God or whatever is up there because the last thing you need right now is yet another awkward interaction with Jimin, so you try as best as you can to refill your glass of champagne to get out of there as soon as possible, praying to make your exit going unnoticed.

But no. Because the stars and the universe loved to align to make you suffer! They love to play with your karma and they love making you damn that one day you didn't help that lady cross the street. They love making you regret buying those plastic straws. They love making you feel guilty for hacking your neighbour's Wifi when you run out of money to pay for yours. Because the moment you try to take a hold of the bottle in your hands, it slips out of your grasp, and you're watching in slow motion how the sparkling berverage ends up spilling all over the extremely expensive (or so you assume. Balenciaga maybe) suit pants Park Jimin decided to wear that night.

Everything is kind of blurry and you can't even hear anything. You can only watch as Park Jimin turns around, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed, until his eyes find you, the bane of his existance and immediately recognizing the culprit of his now drenched piece of clothing. And you can watch as, once again, his gaze turns almost black and narrow lightly as to reprimend you for what you've caused. But of course he doesn't say a word. He has nothing to say. He doesn't even look surprised. No. Because obviously, Park Jimin knew that if there was somebody in this room willing to ruin his night, it would be you, and only you.

"Shit!" you're the first one to break the strained silence, but that only makes Jimin flinch. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm so fucking dumb! J-Jimin, I'm so sorry, let me just go grab a paper tow-"

"Don't." his voice cuts through you. Literally cuts through you. Because it's not often that Park Jimin decides to aim his words at you, but everytime he does it holds the same frigid tone. Like knives trying to painfully stab your being. "Just, don't."

In reality, you don't know a lot of things and you don't know what causes what happens next. You don't know if it's the specific time of the year, you don't know if it's your internal stress, or if it's Park Jimin, his voice, or the fact that he will never like you. But it's instant. They way something compresses your chest, and suddenly your eyes are not glaced by the alcohol but by something wet that threatens to flow. You would never admit to anyone they're tears.

So, shutting your mouth and swallowing the uncomfortable feeling of anguish in your throat, leaving your flute forgotten on the table and grabbing the bottle instead. Without saying a word, your feet start moving up the stairs of the ridiculously enourmous house Taehyung owns towards the first free and empty balcony you can find. Free of people and free of Park Jimin.

Closing the large window behind you, you allow yourself to close your eyes and take a deep breath; the icy temperature outside immediately welcoming you. Although the hairs on your arm stand up and you know you're probably going to catch a cold (because the dress you've chosen for the dinner is not at all appropiate for such winter climate), at least the tension in your body seems to disappear while oxygen keeps that ugly feeling in your heart at bay from continuing to choke you.

With shaky hands, you take a big gulp straight from the champagne bottle. Fuck Park Jimin. No man will ever have the power to make you feel what you're feeling right now. Fuck Park Jimin. And fuck his beautiful face and his ability to make you tremble and fear looking like an idiot. Fuck his fancy clothes and his perfect manicured hands and his marvelous but frigthening presence.

Knock knock.

The sound makes you jump back from the window, hand grasping your chest while you turn around, coming face to face with the man in question. Your first instinct is to ignore him. But that thought is already out of the way when it's him the one who struggles with the window lock before opening and taking a step towards you. You step back as he steps in, raising your head up high and puffing your chest. Because your second instinct is to tell Park Jimin to go fuck himself.

"_____, I would like to-"

"You would like to what?" Jimin looks taken aback at your harshness. Alcohol has always been a weapon of mass destruction in your system, provoking words to flow too easily and without filter out of your mouth, more than they already do when you're sober. Especially when it's mixed with the frustration you've been harboring inside of you for two years. That's why when the words start to come out, they won't stop. "To make me feel like shit one more time? To look at me with that fucking conceited face trying to make me feel like you're better than me? Or would you like to ignore me once again as you always do everytime we're in the same fucking room to make sure I know you hate my mere existance, even if it's just the two of us right now?"

The steam leaving your lips due to the accelerated beat of your heart blurs his face for an instant while he looks at you dumbfounded. The silence and his expression makes you scoff, an acidic smile adorning your face while you take another sip of your drink because even with such a stupid face, he still looks delectable with his white shirt and ruined pants. You turn around, removing a tear that you hadn't even realized had fallen during your speech and that, frankly, you were hoping he hadn't either. You would blame it on the cold, anyway.

This time, a gust of wind running through you from head to toe, making you forget of Park Jimin's presence looming behind you, reminding you it's still December and the fabric of your dress is doing nothing to conceal you from the cold.

But before you can do anything about it and blame yourself for being dumb and not taking your coat with you before deciding to step into balcony, Park Jimin surprises you once again, this time by placing his navy blue blazer over the naked skin of your arms.

Your back straightens when you feel his warm breath caressing the back of your neck, at the same time that a voice you have never heard Park Jimin use with you echoes in your ears.

"I really don't hate you, _____. I..." Jimin wets his lips. His body trembles, but it's not due to lacking his own coat, while his brain hurriedly searches for words eloquent and adequate enough to explain voice his thoughts. "I like you very much, _____."

Scoffing again while you shake your head, you push down with all your inner strenght the incipent fluttering of butterflies in your stomach that Jimin has managed to cause in just a matter of seconds. It's probably the longest sentence you've heard from him in two years, and you don't exactly understand why your body is reacting the way it is. But you're also not willing to give Park Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that. He doesn't deserve it anyway. So with all the courage you can muster, you turn around with your hands clenching.

And even though being at such short distance from Jimin is a bit overwhelming and unexpected for you, the irritation still making your blood bubble is enough to not let a man as handsome as him derail you from your current circumstances.

"Well, fuck you Park Jimin. You certainly have a funny fucking way to sh-" his hands cradling your jaw that pull you closer to him and his lips that silent you roughly, but with surprising care. Only for a moment. A moment in which your body betrays you and make you melt into hir warmth. But his voice, low and sinfully husky, murmurs against your lips.

"God, that mouth of yours..." he goes back to attacking your own lips, this time more firm than before, snatching a sigh from you. The sound has his tongue asking for permission into your mouth, and with your body betraying you once again, you part your lips to allow him in. It's him who whimpers this time, while one of his hand moving until it reaches the bottle in your hand and letting it drop carelessly onto the floor, ignoring the sound of glass shattering and the future scolding you'll get from Taehyung. Instead, he sneaks that same hand on your waist, pulling your body flush against his, fingers digging onto your skin. "It's been driving me crazy for two years. Two years, _____."

He mumbles between kisses and swipes his tongue against yours, while he stars walking the both of you until your back meets the nearest concrete wall.

"Two years of having to hear the incessant filthy words that leave your mouth..." his own stop their movements and you catch yourself before begging him to reattaching his lips to yours, enjoying instead the path of wet kisses and bruises his lips traile from your chin to the pulse of your neck "...and trying my best to hide the painful boners I get whenever you're nearby."

With your eyes shut, your hands are back in motion, ignoring the voice in your head reminding you he's still an asshole and finding their way between Jimin's soft golden strands of hair. He hums in appreciation, sending goosebumps all over your body. "So, s-so why not do anything about it sooner?" you say, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe properly.

You feel Jimin's body tensing before you and he ceases the movement of his lips against your neck. Breaking away, your heart stops, afraid you might have ruined the moment. But Jimin's in search of your eyes, eyebrows very lighlty raised, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. You don't know for how long you stare at each other until Jimin comes out of the trance, eyes descending over your flushed cheeks, the very same color as your lips and the soft flesh of your neck until they reach your cleavage, the glimmering fabric encasing your breasts, taunting him the same way they had been doing all night long.

"You scare me so much..." and then, one of his hands repeats the same journey his eyes just did, until he touches your shoulder, right under his own blazer. "Everytime I look at you, all I can think of why the hell a girl as real as you like you would even glance my way." he slides the strap of your dress slowly tentatively, just enough for you to stop his advances if you chose so. You don't. "You're smart in ways I could never compare, so funny it makes me jealous, and so pretty it leaves me speechless. You're...You're everything I'm not."

His voice resonates in the atmosphere, and you would love to blame it on the cold again for how your body has reacted, but your body heat has increased so much since he started kissing you that it would be stupid not to admit that it's just the effect that Park Jimin has on you tonight. You're sure he would've had the same effect if it had happened before.

Your now uncovered breast doesn't even has to suffer the consequences of the icy wind, because one of Jimin's arms quickly comes around you to hold your body against his, lifting you ever so slighty until your erect nipple is at the same level as his mouth and his lips are enveloping it in their warmth. You gasp his name, and that encourages his teeth to tug softly before his tongue stars moving in circes.

"My God, you're so perfect." Your head spins while you hold onto his shoulders as tight as you can, the undeniable heat roaming all over your form, hips involuntarily rutting his incipent erection poking your abdomen. "Been thinking about this since that night we first met." Looking for relief, Jimin mirrors your movements without ceasing the administrations on your chest, as one of his hands lifts one of your thighs to wrap around his waist, closing the short gap remaining between the both of you.

"Ohmygod! F-fuck, Jimin," trying to form coherent phrases is almost impossible, not with Jimin finding a slow and tortuous rythm with his hips, his clothed cock rubbing against your core. Something shifts in the air, because Jimin stops abusing your nipple with a loud pop, and shuts you up by pressing his mouth onto yours in an urgent, dirty and desperate kiss. You could almost hear him swearing, while his hand keeps your jaw in place.

"S-stop talking like that, ______." his voice, inaudible, and his face now hiding in the crook of your neck, the thrusting of his hips speeding up, more and more frantic this time. The hand not holding your thigh against his hipbone reveals your other breast, hand covering it and giving it a light squeeze before tugging at your unattended nipple between his forefinger and his thumb while his tongue and teeth mark the skin on your neck.

"Hell, I've been dying to stuff your mouth with my cock to prevent you from such foul language," the soft whimpers leacving your mouth coax him into taking the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric until his fingers easily find the place in your body calling to him the most through the lace. It's immediate, how his fingers dampen at the first touch, surprising the both of you, and how your body jolts and an embarrassing sob escapes your throat. "How-how are you this wet? Holy hell, I could just slide right in..."

And as he says that, one of his fingers pull aside the fabric of your underwear and glide into you, so easy. You insides burning while he fingers you, another finger being added with his thumb rubbing circles on your nub. And fuck, you're not sure if you're just too horny and Park Jimin is a magician with his hands, or maybe it's the way he keeps mouthing at your chest and whispering how soaked you are, but you don't think you've ever been so close to cumming in such a short period of time.

"W-whats stopping you?" you manage with a voice that doesn't even resembles yours, but before your hands can even make work of the zipper of his trousers, he pulls his finger out from your center, causing you to whine in protest.

Jimin licks his lips, eyebrows framing the dark expression that his eyes ooze. Although the desire in his eyes is more than evident, it is also evident the faint hesitation in them. Because Park Jimin doesn't do things this way. Park Jimin was raised in a world of correct manners and conservationism. A world that has taught him when and how to act. And as badly as he is dying to fuck you against the wall of Taehyung's ridiculously inmense house, he also wants to do the right thing.

"Let me take you on a date."

Park Jimin has been spoiled his whole life. Being born in a well-off family has always provided him of everything he had ever wanted and more. From the innecessary number of toys Santa Claus left under his Christmas tree every year since he was a baby, to his fisrt extravagant sports car at the age of eighteen. Park Jimin has never been a greedy or needy man. How could he, when he's had everything he's ever wished in the palm of his hands. He has never missed anything in his entire life. Hasn't missed a roof over his head, warm food on his plate or brand new designers clothes each week.

It has taken him two years to control himself. He still remembers that night he first met you, just like he remembers every single time you both had coincided in the same place at the same time. He remembered your scent, had memorized your figure over your pieces of clothing and had tried as best as he could to keep a distance from you because he knew you would never give him the time of day. How could you? You probably despised everything he was because he was definitely nothing like you, and that thought intimidated the fuck out of him. He was a mess everytime you wear nearby. Never relied on his voice because he knew he would stutter if you ever spoke to him, could never trust his eyes because if he ever looked at you he was afraid he wouldn't be able to look away.

And everytime you spoke, shit, that voice of yours always cursing here and there left him wondering how would you sound in a different setting and if you would still be that badmouthed. More specifically, between his sheets. So he did everything he could to minimize your interactions as much as possible. He just never thought he would come across as such a jerk. It was never his intention to hurt you, and seeing you cry that night (although you denied you did, over and over again) seriously made him realize he wanted to make things right.

He was trying really, really hard to keep it in his pants, to be the same well composed and controled Park Jimin he had mastered himself to be.

But that damn dress.

After seeing that little black dress hugging your figure when you started taking off your coat at the restaurant, the brief flash of thigh tights that you accidentaly (or not so accidentally) had blessed him with by crossing a leg over the other, that exposed collarbone calling his name and those heeled sandals with straps wrapping around your ankles, reminding him of the snake tempting Eve, Park Jimin was sure he needed to dig into that apple more than anything he has ever needed before.

That's why he surprises you right after you both finish the second course meal by telling the waitress you won't be having desert, at which you look at him somewhat indignant. But the look he shoots you is enough to make you understand if somebody was going to have desert tonight, it would be him. In his Mercedes.

"I'm gonna-" you gasp, fingers tugging at the soft strands of his now ruined blond hair, his head between your thighs and your legs thrown over his shoulders. His hands have a grip of the meaty flesh of your ass, holding you firmly againt his mouth as it works wonders on your clit. You're sure it hasn't even been ten minutes since Jimin had opened your legs in the backseat of his car, not even bothering to take your underwear off, simply moving the fabric aside before diving in, and you already feel yourself on the edge of an orgasm.

"I know." voice vibrating right into your core, he slows down his administrations, tongue carefully and delicately lapping at your folds while he enjoys the feeling of your fingers loosening their grip and fondly brushing his hair back. You meet his eyes as he pushes a finger inside your core and your whole body twists in agony.

"N-no!"

Jimin stops immediately, lifting his head and focusing his concerned eyes on you. He's about to ask you if he's done anything wrong, but you're fast to roughly pull him up by his hair until his face is leveled with yours. You answer him by kissing him and he returns the kiss with the same eagerness, and now it's your hands that are looking for his cock, palming him through his pants.

"Your dick. Inside. Right Now." you punctuate each phrase with a kiss and he only stops kissing you to pout.

"But I wanted you to cum on my tongue." but still, he's putty in your hands when you undo the botton and the zipper. "Wouldn't you rather me fucking you in my bed, where we're more comfortable?" you notice the slight quivering of his voice when you slide his trousers and boxers down, just enough to pull him out.

"You can eat me and fuck me as many times as you want tonight, tomorrow and whenever you'd like, but right now..." none of you contain the moan in unision that leaves each of your mouths when just the head of his lenght comes in contact with your entrance. "I really can't wait anymore." brushing your lips over his, you lower your voice. "Wanna get on my hands and knees for you."

Park Jimin has tried to do things the right and appropiate way throughout all his life. He's been a professional from a very young age on how to be in charge of his emotions, his desires and his impulses. Always well mannered and well composed.

But it's in this moment that Jimin comes to the realization that the only thing that has ever made him lose his mind and self control, is you. Seeing you like this, ass up, grinding your drenched and still thong clad cunt all over his precum dripping lenght, he can't control the way his hand bunches the fabrick of that damn dress over your waist, then flies to your right cheek, a sharp sound of skin filling the air, tearing a gasp from your throat.

"God, I'm-I'm sorry. Couldn't help mys-"

"Do it again."

And he does, the palm of his hand now leaving a reddenning print on your flesh, making you jolt back involuntarily, aligning yourself to the head of his cock and like he had hoped, he slides right in. Not all the way, because Jimin is sure he would cream inside you too soon and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he did. He wets his lips, clenching his jaw and dropping his palm one more time, hand more steady and purposeful.

"You like it rough?" voice hoarse and a hand beside your head holding himself, your back to his chest, twitching beneath him as he soothes the sting with his free one.

"I like you rough." turning your head slowly to peer at him from the corner of your eye, your hips moving on their own accord trying to take him deeper. Your head is suddenly pulled back harshly, Jimin's fingers tangling in your hair as his own hips close the remaining gap between your bodys in an abrupt thurst. You squeal, Jimin's cock finally filling you up to the hilt just like you wanted him to be, the pleasure making your arms wobble and finding it harder to mantain your balance.

Jimin's breath fawns over your ear, his tongue darting out to suck on your skin sending chills down your spine. "You're such a dream." he groans, torturously sliding out of your core that's gripping around his shaft for dear life. A whine of protest escapes your lips and he tightens the hold on your hair in response, diving right back in. You fall forward, your arms' strenght betraying you as his thrusts find a new rhythm. With your eyes closed shut, you try to muffle the sound of your voice with the back of your hand as Jimin's lips place soft kisses to your exposed shoulder.

"Don't be quiet." he stands straight, the pull on your hair arching your back in such a enticing way it was Jimin look away for a second, cock buried inside of you and his hips faltering. "Been dying to have you like this for so long."

Another clap of his hand against your right cheek, and a particular stroke of his dick that has you mewling as your climax approached again. "S-so good, Jimin. Oh my god."

"You're gonna cum for me?" his fingertips leave bruises on your skin and the windows of his Mercedes are foggy, just like your mind. You can't concentrate on anything that's not Jimin's cock sliding in and out and how much you wished this had happened way sooner. "Gonna cum for me like a good slut?"

Park Jimin always takes his time. Always does things nice and slow to assure the best outcome possible.

But he can't contain the acceleration of his hips against yours as your walls clench impossibly tight around his cock, your orgasm finally taking over . Can't contain himself from falling forward again, hand twisting your head in his direction and his mouth searching for yours in a fiery and messy kiss. And he most definitely can't barely contain himself from cumming when your you ask him to spit in your mouth.

"You're gonna kill me." he breathes, removing himself off you and quickly maneuvering you on your back, his dick finding its way back inside you. Picking up right where he left off, skin slapping against skin in an obscene melody, he collects a considerate amount of saliva in his mouth before dropping it into your welcoming tongue, watching you swallow with a smile he hopes he'll be the only one to see in the future.

And that's what has the last bit of his self restraint slipping from his fingers. He somehow manages to rip the top of your dress down, fabric tearing until your tits are free and his mouth is attacking your nipples, white strings of his release panting your walls, some of it them oozing out that he fucks back right into you.

It's between ragged breaths, kisses and tender carresses that Jimin promises you more dates in the future and new dresses that he can't promise not to savage apart again.

#jimin #park jimin #jimin smut #park jimin smut #bts smut #bts #pjm #pjm smut #bad bunny is retiring like who the fuck does he think he is to decide when he gets to retire???#nah bb WE decide when you retire

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