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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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∘◦ ♪ ◦∘ Timothée Chalamet - Concerto ∘◦ ♪ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote and posted this almost a year ago on my Wattpad. My writing has evolved a lot since then, but I’m still proud of this piece, and hope you enjoy it. I do not know Tim, nor do I claim to in any way. This is a work of fiction and entirely my own.

Warnings - smut. Detailed (but protected and consensual) sex, slight BDSM, overstimulation. Cursing. Legal alcohol consumption and smoking. Also 10k words of sickening fluff though, even the smut is fluffy.

Summary - At a classical music concert, the last person you expect to meet is a young man as charming and suave as Timothée. And the last thing you expected is for him to invite you back to his flat. Turns out music really is food for the soul, and other things...

IT’S A FRIDAY EVENING IN NEW YORK CITY. The sun is setting behind the towering silhouettes of undulating buildings all across the city, the moon casting shadows all around au contraire to the luminescence of building lights, beaming all around as well as the street lamps, bringing colour and light to people’s faces in the dark.

You’re standing on the pavement outside Symphony Space Concert Hall on the Upper West Side, people watching. Nothing more or less conspicuous, just observing everyone flooding into the hall, though none of them seem to be under 50 years of age. After checking the time, you take your phone out of the pocket attached to your delicate silk jumpsuit you’re wearing for the night, the one reserved for classy parties and sophisticated concerts only (though very handy). You open the email holding your ticket for the evening, a Poulenc appreciation concert, and you show it to the bouncer who grants you entry to the auditorium.

The room looks incredible. Photos of Francis Poulenc, as well as some old parchment sheets of his music spread out delicately over the usually bare walls. The lights create a perfect ambience in the hall for what's sure to be an incredible evening. The red velvet seats are half full, dotted with people at least twice your age, except from one seat near the front where you can see merely a defined jaw and brown curls. On the stage stands two glossy black grand pianos, slotted beside one another with plush velvet stools and their lids propped up, allowing one to see the inner workings of such wonderful instruments. Behind the pianos are seats enough for an entire orchestra, creating a crescent moon shape. A couple of the seats already have instruments atop them, aching for their owners to play beautiful melodies with them. You make your way down to where your seat is, familiar with the layout of the auditorium. You’re on the right hand side of the centre stalls, third row back, but as you arrive, there’s a boy you saw earlier, not much older than yourself.

“Hi, do you mind if I squeeze past?” You ask him, watching his head jolt up from the programme to reveal a mop of beautiful dark brown curls framing his chiselled face, piercing green eyes with flecks of hazel when the light changed direction. You recognise him, an actor, you simply can’t place him.

His look of incredulity melts into a smile. “Sure.” He says, moving his legs so that you can squeeze past and take your reserved seat on his left. He turns to face you, smiling. He’s wearing a crisp navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a matching tie. He looks well presented, and by his nervous and lopsided smile, you guess that he’s rather nervous to be at the concert alone too. “Timothée.” He tells you, holding his hand out.

You return his gesture, smiling right back at him, and tell him your name. “You here alone?” You ask him, turning in your seat to get a better view. He nods.

“Thought I’d be the only under fifty here.” He laughs, “I’m 24 by the way, but I shan’t ask your name since you're a lady.” You can't help but laugh at this, just a little giggle at how sweet he is, but your interaction is cut short as the lights turn down in the auditorium but shine brighter on the stage, and a full orchestra enters the stage, accompanied by their instruments, two pianists and a conductor. Murmurs in the hall settle down to a faint hum while the musicians tune to the sound of the oboe, and then begin to play.

The music is mesmerising, starting with orchestral pieces with faint piano accompaniment, then just a nocturne for piano, split between the two lead pianists. You could listen to it all night, but an interval has to come. As the lights slowly turn back up, you see an infantile smile on Timothée’s face, as though he’s just watched the most excellent thing in the world.

“Come on,” you say to him, smiling sadly while you tap his knee, “let’s get a drink.”

He reluctantly stands up to follow you out of the auditorium and to the small bar area. You order two margarita’s without consulting him, but he seems grateful as you sit beside each other on a high table, people watching once again.

“What's your job then?” He asks you, making small talk.

“I’m a piano major at Juilliard, teaching piano on the side though.” You respond, and he seems really taken aback. His jaw falls a little slack while his eyes bulge a tad.

“Wow, you must be excellent!” You blush a little at his words, elegantly taking a sip from your drink while he eyes you carefully. You feel awkward under his gaze, though flattered nonetheless. He’s gorgeous, and he’s complimenting you and accepting drinks from you, what a night.

“What about you?” You inquire. He's an actor, you know that, but asking means that you may be able to get some more context and maybe it’ll click where you’ve seen him before. He clears his throat, and you can see some older people walking by who pull faces, judging the pair of you, but you brush them off.

“I’m an actor, mainly small films though.” He says, remaining vague. You don’t push much more, realising that he probably likes not being fawned all over for once, so you simply ask of the favourite names he’s had the honour of working alongside, which must be an uncommonly asked question because a light flickers behind his eyes.

“Selena Gomez, Steve Carell, Armie Hammer, Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Robert Pattinson, Maia Mitchell…” He begins to list, but only when he mentions Maia does it click. You aren't huge into films, but you have seen him in a film with Maia Mitchell and Maika Monroe a few years ago.

“Hot summer nights, right? You were in that?” His cheeks turn a magnificent crimson and he bows his head as though embarrassed. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘not my best performance’, but you disagree. “I think you were wonderful, and did you mention Armie Hammer?” He nods again, seeming a little brighter. You take another sip from your drink, and he follows suit, watching your poised movements.

“Call Me By Your Name.” You nod in recognition, you remember watching the film when it first came out and loving the music from it.

“You’re excellent you know, at piano I mean, and the intimate scenes aren’t half bad either, you make them better.” You say with a teasing smirk on your painted lips, making Timothée’s eyes widen again. You chuckle and grasp his hand, dragging him into the auditorium for the second half.

The second half is a whole concerto, Poulenc’s Concerto For Two Pianos And Orchestra. Ten minutes in, Timothée’s hand finds your thigh and seems very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you don't dare move it. As the concerto flows further on, his hand slides further up your clothed leg and squeezes your upper thigh a little You tense under his touch, infatuation and lust filling every cell and exiting through your pores, just waiting for more passion to fill your body and make you drunk on the feeling.

When finally the concert ends, both of you stand to applaud the musicians for a solid few minutes, and you could swear you see a tear leaving Timothée’s mysterious eyes and rolling down his heavenly made, painfully defined cheekbones. While you clap, you surreptitiously edge closer together, millimetre by millimetre until you’re hip to hip with elbows nudging. Your head comes up to his chin, making you feel a little small, but you’ll feel even smaller once your heels come off. Once the majority of the audience have filed out, you grasp his hand and pull him through the crowds where you stand on the corner of the pavement, only metres from the venue. You’re reluctant to loosen your grip on his slim hand, as he is with yours.

“Cigarette?” He offers, holding a half full box out to you. You half smile and shake your head in refusal.

“I don’t mind if you do though.” You say, meeting his gaze. “I love the taste of smoke when I kiss someone.” You add in a whisper, leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He goes rigid, making you smirk to yourself. This is going to be a good night.

He lights his cigarette and takes slow drag, only looking away to blow the smoke in an opposite direction to you. How respectful, you think, as your stomach fills with butterflies and bubbles with anticipation. He puts it out on top of a bin and throws it away without littering, and just that small and helpful gesture makes you crave his touch, having his fingers trace your sweaty skin and making your body tingle, your back arch with desire and pleasure.

“Wanna get a drink?” You ask, pointing to a nice bar across the road. You’re desperate to sleep with him, but not without pleasantries first. He, however, shakes his head and intricately entwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll do you one better than a drink.” His smirk sets off a different kind of longing in you, forcing your body to follow him wherever he takes you.

As you walk, he starts conversation, but you’re so breathless from the desperation speed walking that your answers are brief. He asks you why you attended the concert, only to remember that you’re a music student and piano teacher; so in turn, you ask him the same question.

“When I was doing Call Me By Your Name, I had to learn the piano, and while I was learning classical pieces, I kind of just fell in love with classical piano music, I don’t know.”

His nervousness is sweet, making him appear far more humble than anyone of his stature would usually be.

You get to his building after a twenty minute dash in heels, and he pulls you flush against him while entering through the revolving doors, allowing you to lay your weight on him for a moment while you gather your breath. You feel his heartbeat thudding and racing against his ribs, reverberating against your own chest. You turn around to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” You say to him, allowing him to release a long held breathy chuckle. You leave the doors, both laughing, and fervently press the buttons to wait upon a lift. “So,” You then continue, breaking the silence where only your breaths were heard. “Favourite piano piece from the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack?”

“Hallelujah Junction!” You both answer at the same time, just as the lift doors open. You fall into the lift in a fit of giggles, clinging onto each other. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cold metal handle bar in the elevator with Timothée’s face inches away from your own. Your breath mingles together. As soon as he presses the button to his floor, he nudges his nose with your own.

“God, you're so beautiful.” he says seconds before his mouth is pressed hotly against your own, kissing you with an unrivalled passion. Your lips mould and move together like it’s second nature. His one hand holds your waist while both of yours grip his face, feeling a slight stubble.

The lift dings and he drags you out, unlocking his apartment door and leading you inside.

“Welcome to Casa del Timmy.” he says while hugging you from behind, allowing you to get a full view.

His apartment is stunning. Sleek, yet also vintage. Your eyes follow across the perimeter through a door to the left, where he has an office area containing a sleek white desk with a mac and a stack of papers and pens, next to it is a vintage white bookcase stacked as high as possible with novels of all shapes and sizes, and even an indie style rug underneath a colourful modern dining set..

The door next to the office is a kitchen, white countertops with wooden cupboards and a beautiful view of the city out of the window. To the right is a set of glass doors that open onto a small balcony where you can see the whole city, even Manhattan and Brooklyn depending which way you look and how the moon beams down. There’s a closed door right in front of you and through the entry hall and living room which you assume is his bedroom held behind a golden doorknob.

His living room, where you remain standing, holds an array of house plants with a couple of very comfortable looking plush sofas, his TV stand as well as his coffee table look like polished vintage items, refurbished from a flea market maybe, while his book shelf and rug are grand and modern. The best part of all though is a grand piano in an oak wood, matching the wood from his television table, and you become instantly entranced by the instrument that you don’t even notice the velvet stool or the perfectly organised cabinet of music, with a guitar propped up against it.

“Wow.” You breathe. Timothée grips you tighter, trailing kisses across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, inhaling every few seconds to treasure the scent of your perfume. Gardenia, rose champagne, grapefruit, davana; heavenly. You grip his hands with your own, holding them tightly where they’re settled on your tummy. You roll your head against his shoulder to give him better access to kiss you, but he stops abruptly and leads you to the piano stool. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a well loved piece of music.

“I know it’s for two pianos, but let's have some fun.” He says, grinning at you, an infectious smile that you can’t help but return. Hallelujah Junction, first movement. He puts the music out on the piano and takes a seat beside you, your thighs touching and hands overlapping as they begin to glide over the keys.

Playing this piece is second nature to you, allowing you to find your way easily, slipping your fingers between Timothée’s, and the white and black keys. You begin a harmonious melody spanning the whole of the piano, but after only a couple of pages, you realise that its not working as your notes cross over, making it very difficult to play on just one piano. You laugh together, but only for a moment before he is trailing his tongue up your neck, then your lips, and delving inside your mouth. You gasp, moaning into the passionate kiss that he’s giving you, and within seconds you find yourself straddling his lap on the piano stool. You trap his thighs between yours, moving and grinding your hips a little against his to receive more friction where you can feel how needy he is.

Within seconds, he has your legs wrapped around his waist and his teeth on your clavicle. The pleasure makes sounds escape your lips that you didn’t even realise were possible. You knot your ankles as he stands up with one hand around your waist and the other feeling his way around his apartment. After a few funny missteps and close calls of him dropping you while only walking the expanse of his living room, he pins you against his bedroom door, finding your lips again

He gently pokes at your dusty pink bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, exploring avidly and devouring every taste of you that he can muster. You do the same, but become too infatuated by his taste to put much more passion into it: gin, mint, bergamot and smoke. Smoke, sugar and sin, the most deadly combination of them all, and that's all you can smell on him, making you moan even louder. An erotic moan that makes Timothée twist open the handle to his bedroom door as quickly as is humanly possible.

He as good as throws you onto the bed, but undeniably, it turns you on a lot to see his dominant side this early on into the evening. He doesn't seem like the type to pin you down and boss you around, but as he shuts his bedroom door and delicately takes off his probably very expensive shoes, you can see a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s planning on doing unspeakably pleasurable things to you. Just the thought makes you wetter than before.

As he locks the door and shuts his shoes away, you take a quick look around the room. His bed is nice, comfortable and exquisitely large, like other things you hope. He has a nice colourful throw, vintage looking pillows to match his nightstand, holding only a pillbox, a glass of water, hand sanitiser, and a box of tissues. The simplicity makes you want to laugh, but you restrain yourself. He has a big dresser to match his bedside table with the drawers a little skewwhiff and clothes poking out. His wardrobe is fitted to the wall and by the looks of it, surprisingly neat too. That much cannot be said for his sofa though. A plush, light grey sofa sits on one side of his room just away from the window, and it's covered with clothes. At least he made the bed though, that's more than you can say for most 20-odd year old mans rooms that you’ve been into.

He sheds his blazer and crawls up to where he left you on the bed, needy and craving more. He looks down at you with desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but to attack his lips, threading one hand in his beautiful dark curls while the other nimbly pulls open his tie and undoes his shirt. You shrug it off his shoulders and run your nails up and down his spine. You feel him shiver beneath his touch while your hands travel all over his body. His shoulders, his biceps, his toned stomach; he’s skinny, but has enough substance to him to be strong and sexy as hell.

“You’ll kill me if you stop.” He whispers, followed by a string of breathy curses. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving you ample opportunity to grasp his shoulders and slip the pair of you over, pinning him beneath you. His eyes flit all over your face before kissing you again.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He mumbles between kisses. He slips his hands up to find the zip of your jumpsuit which he slides down crazily fast, only breaking the kiss to shrug it off your shoulders. He just lies in awe, noticing that you don’t have a bra on beneath it. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he examines every undulation of your body, following the swell of your breasts right down to your hips. Your nerves return under his scrutiny, making you want to hide your face, but instead he holds your wrists behind you.

“You never have to cover up,” he says, nothing more or less than genuine love in his eyes, “not for me.”

Despite only meeting him hours ago, you know that you can trust him, so you ungracefully clamber off his lap and lie on your back to shimmy off your burden of a jumpsuit. He practically leaps at the opportunity to worship your body, before him in only your panties. He starts at your ankle, placing feather light kisses all the way from your ankle, up your leg, not minding the slight harshness of your legs, and only stops at your knee joint to switch his lips to his tongue, licking a straight line all the way up your inner thigh, stopping centimetres from where you need him the most. Not through any of this ritual does he break eye contact though. He skips over your panties and only pulls them down a little to trail kisses from your pelvic bone, up past your navel, through the valley of your breasts, and finally back to your lips. He makes you feel things that you could only dream of before meeting him.

“Timothée…” you breathe, hearing his breath hitch in his throat at the way your tongue curls around his name.

You reach between the two of you to his trousers. You undo the belt buckle with ease and push his trousers off his hips and down his thin legs, allowing him to kick them off at the bottom. He seems embarrassed, wearing Y-fronts that make more visible just how much he wants you.

“How about we strip together?” You offer, and Timothée reluctantly nods. He pushes himself off of you and stands up, giving you a hand to stand up as well. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you left the concert hall. “3, 2, 1…”

You both remove your underwear, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them, only to step closer together so that your chests are flush against one another. He moves his hand up to cup your face, brushing your hair away from your face while tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a lustful yet also sensual kiss.

He nudges you and your legs hit the bed, making you topple over and break the kiss from a giggle, but he doesn’t seem to mind and only laughs with you, moving your body further onto the mattress. He doesn't go to you again, he just lies beside you and dances his fingers absently down your pubic bone, ghosting circles around your clit.

“Jesus Christ.” You exclaim at the sudden feeling. Timothée kisses your jawline, but adds in between kisses, “Less of that, darling, I’m Jewish.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. You know he’s joking, just trying to mess with you, but as a punishment for laughing, he thrusts two fingers inside you with no warning, making you cry out in a mixture of both pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, never going deeper than the second knuckle even when you cry out for more. Only when your moans turn to gasps for breath and you’re writhing beneath him does he delve in further and add his thumb to your clit, giving you a more intense orgasm than you’ve ever had before.

You immediately feel blood rushing back to your cheeks, colouring them from embarrassment, but Timothée doesn’t mind. He removes his hand from your core, and makes sure your eyes are fixated on his every movement as he licks his hand clean of all your cum. You’re so turned on that you even reach for his own hand, interlacing all your fingers except for his index one, of which he takes the hint and slips it into your open mouth, allowing your tongue to curl around it, making him groan.

He slips further down the bed and locks his eyes onto yours, you can see different shades of green and hazel in them and a whole world locked behind those beautiful eyes. Slowly, he delves into your heat, licking up everything that his hands missed. His mouth works wonders, sending your mind into a state of mild euphoria. The tip of his nose nudges your clit and you can feel yourself involuntarily gasp, so when Timothée finishes savouring every taste of you that he can get, he harshly bites your sensitive clit for just a moment, stimulating parts of your mind and body that you didn’t know could feel pleasure, let alone pleasure that intense.

He comes back up and kisses your lips, planting his hands in your hair as you kiss him back and get lost in the moment, your tongues dance together in an exploration, an experimentation of passion.

You pull away after a minute or so, gasping for air. Timothée examines your face for a moment, and you find yourself once again losing your thoughts and sanity in his eyes, until you feel the tip of his throbbing cock brush against your bare thigh. You feel bad for how much he’s been neglecting his own levels of desire in order to pleasure you, so you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. He takes a sharp intake of breath and flutters his eyes closed, his long dark eyelashes twitching alongside his eyelids whenever you grasp harder or pump him.

He’s surprisingly big, causing you to take longer while rubbing your hand up and down his member. Half way down one thrust, you squeeze his cock a little, hearing him whimper a little. The mere sound of him drowns your core in want. You edge your way down the bed and swallow as much of his dick as you can take until his tip hits the back of your throat. He lets out the most sensual guttural groan that you’ve ever heard, his eyes still closed while placing his hand on the back of your head to keep you steady. You bring your head back up to look at him while your tongue swirls his tip, his mouth is parted a little with breathy moans of your name escaping every once in a while, his eyelids switching from being lazily half open to squeezed so tightly shut that they wrinkle a little.

You go back down slowly, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. You work your hand in the part of him that won’t fit in your mouth and continue to bob your head up and down. You lick a strip up a vein on the underside of his dick, making him near enough scream your name. With one final bob of your head where you deep throat him, you pull away with plump lips, climbing up his body to straddle his waist. He looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, pulling you down for a sensual kiss.

“Are you clean?” He asks breathlessly, kissing down the hickeys that he’s already littered your skin with.

“Yeah, i got tested after my last break up a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Is that because I just…” He nods and you laugh a little, the vibrations from his chuckle rumble throughout your body.

“I did the same, but I’ll still…” You get what he’s saying and climb off him. He flings open the top drawer of his bedside table and after a minute or so of rooting through it he pulls out a condom packet and places it next to his glass of water. You give him a questioning look with your brows knitted together, but Timothée just smiles at you. He slips one slim arm beneath your back and the other under your knee joint before scooping you up and holding you close to his chest.

“Well hey there Timothée.” You say with a chuckle, secretly astonished at how strong he is, because with one arm still holding you, he throws away the decorative pillows and pulls the duvet back, throwing you onto the mattress and leaping on top of you. You smile into his kiss, savouring every second of the feel of his lips pressed hotly against your own, the taste of smoke driving you crazy.

He pulls away and sits up, tearing open the condom packet and grasping his hand sanitiser. He flicks the lid open and squeezes it liberally onto his hands before applying it and rubbing it into yours. “Are you sure?” He asks you, and your urgent kiss to his jawline is followed by a string of fervent reassurances that you are desperate to have him inside you, though you respect that he wants consent and that he wants to be clean. He slips the condom on, his eyes trained on your lips and the way they part from wanting every few seconds. He’s enjoying torturing you and making you wait, the same way that you edged him but denied him orgasm.

He slips the condom on and slowly enters in one smooth stroke. You gasp at the contact, especially how deep he goes with the first thrust, so deep that his pubic bone hits your own. He reaches for the duvet and he pulls it up over his shoulders, covering the pair of you since he can see that you’re shivering a little in the open. He looks for reassurance, but then begins to thrust inside you, holding his weight above you. You can see his biceps tensing while trying to hold his weight up and keep a steady rhythm.

“How about we spice this up?” He suggests, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cocks an eyebrow, and the sun hits his face at an angelic angle, only making him more beautiful. You nod eagerly to him, only making his smirk grow wider.

“Yes Mr Timothée,” you say, triggering a dominant smirk to relight behind those stunning eyes.

“That's Mr Chalamet to you tonight, Miss.” Words cannot even explain how wet he makes you by saying that, already making your mind want to submit to his every want. You let out a whimper and remove your hands from his hips to lay above your head on the pillows. He joins his fingers around your wrist and proceeds to lay his slender hand flat against your wrists, preventing you from moving.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his movements coming to a halt. You nod and kiss him again. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He must really enjoy what he’s doing to you. “Yes Mr Chalamet.” You reply, making your eyes as doe like and innocent as possible.

Timothée’s thrusts restart, faster this time. You moan louder, ecstasy filling every inch of your spent body before you’ve even properly begun. His moans are lower, more like groans, all of your name. It sounds heavenly coming from his lips, the way his mouth moves when he says your name just makes it better. His hips hit yours with vigour, adjusting to get a better position where he hits the best spot inside of you.

“There Timothée!” You scream desperately, your back arching on the mattress while your hands fight to break free. Submitting isn’t as easy as you hoped.

“I’m close.” He warns you and frees your wrists, but he doesn’t let your hand go too far. He interlocks his fingers with yours, using one elbow to prop himself up. His thrusts turn sloppy, more fervent, and just as he’s finishing, he digs his thumb into your clit.

Your entire body turns limp, screaming his name in a state of complete euphoria like you’ve never felt before. It travels from your brain to the tips of your fingers, setting a fire in your belly and making your toes curl. Your back arches so far off the bed that your chest becomes pressed against Timothée’s, your breasts moving in time with his breathing. You feel him come to his own climax, silencing his screams by kissing you with more passion than he has before.

You ride out your highs, but the level of pleasure illuminating every nerve ending in your body means that you don’t notice Timothée pulling out and disposing of the condom, you only notice when he flops down beside you on the bed and pulls you closer to his slightly sweaty body. You rest your head on his chest that seems to be glowing in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat. He absently plaits your hair, staring off into the distance. The faint thudding of his heart within his ribs comforts you, it's a little faster than would be normal, making you smile a little.

“How was that?” His hand grips around your shoulder even tighter, pulling you closer to his body. He seems content in simply holding you, maybe he just enjoys cuddling. “Wait, don’t answer that.” He corrects himself, his pupils dilating and his excellent, angelic body going rigid. You chuckle to yourself, drawing circles on his chest with the pad of your forefinger,

“Excellent, Mr Chalamet.” You tease him.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He looks fearful, fretting, it's evident in the sudden sulk of his face, pulling his cheeks and forehead down. You shake your head again, slowly but surely moving your leg to lie over his. Ye inclines his neck to place a gentle kiss to our hairline, and you can feel him smile into it.

“Timothée?”

“Yes beautiful?” Just his simple words make you giggle and blush, such a sweet sentiment from a gorgeous and well meaning man.

“I’m hungry.” You say, feeling slightly embarrassed. He laughs, you feel his body move from it, and he proceeds to pepper your face with the softest and sweetest kisses possible.

“I’ll make us some food, grab any shirt you want and meet me in the kitchen.”

You watch him pull on a pair of grey sweat pants and walk out. His pale hips sway just a little as he walks, and he looks so lanky from where you’re laying on his bed, the covers pulled up around your chest. He kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen, what kind of a man does that on the first night? He’s a famous actor and the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, let alone a couple of years above yourself. He really knows how to please a girl, your skin rises in tiny goosebumps of pleasure while a shiver shoots down your spine and leaps across your synapses just at the mere thought of what he did to you, by far the best climax you’ve ever had.

You slowly slide out from under his warm, plush covers that smell just like him, only leaving with severe reluctance that melts away as soon as you shrug on the pale blue button down that he wore for the concert. Only a few hours ago you’d met at a concert for old people, already having a common interest that few your age have, yet he’s so eager about classical piano which is so special to you. You fiddle with the buttons, leaving the top few open in hopes of another round - he is making you an almost-midnight feast after all.

You walk out of his room and pad barefoot across his living room floor, only to have a little grey cat come and rub at your feet. You lean down to tickle behind its ears, hearing it meow, and you continue your way too where Timothée has left the kitchen door open for you. He’s standing over the stove with some ingredients laid out on the spotlessly clean countertops. You smile in spite of yourself, running a hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. You place a couple of kisses to his shoulder blades until he turns around and picks you up in one swift movement, sitting you on the counter so that you meet his height.

“It looks better on you.” He whispers, pulling you closer by your bare thighs to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s making you feel things you’ve never experienced before, you can’t wipe the smile off your face for the first time in a while, and he's making you food in the middle of the night after cuddling you.

Dreamboat.

After watching him cook for a while, you slip out of his kitchen and take a seat at his piano. You run your fingers over the smooth wood, it’s well loved but well kept. Then you take a seat on the stool. You can feel where Timothée sits to play, your smile turning a little sad. There’s so much to him that people won’t see because he’s getting famous, but he’s still a person and that’s something that you’re able to experience first-hand.

Eyes closed, you feel for F and Ab with both of your hands. You press the keys down gently, creating the soft blend of notes that is Clair De Lune. You fall lost in the music in a new way, a new feeling washing you with all of tonight's new sensations and sitting at a piano that is neither your own nor at school, it feels somewhat ethereal.

Your fingers glide all across the keys, black to white, flats to sharps, switching between octaves like its second nature. Your mind dances along with the rhythm, your whole mind, soul and being becoming lost in the symphony that you’re creating, one that you haven’t been able to create for a while, and it’s only thanks to Timothée.

You become so absorbed in playing that you don’t notice him leaving the kitchen to listen. He just stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his head lolled a little to the side, completely mesmerised by your movements, your music, and just everything you are. Only when you play the final notes are you alerted of his presence from the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. He walks over to you with purpose, a slight grimace on his perfect lips, but he just hugs you. Timothée just holds you close to his chest, allowing you to entwine your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face in his bare chest.

“Stay the night?” He asks, such a simple request but he truly does seem anxious. You want to be genuine, kind, but it’ll be best to relieve the tension.

“You’re making me a late night post-sex feast and giving me your shirt, of course I’m staying the night.” After a moment of silence, he exhales a laugh and node, brushing a curl or two into his face. “Anyway, your cat likes me too, so it’d be a shame to disappoint the little cutie.”

After only a few minutes, you find yourself back in bed with Timothée. He’s carrying a tray full of food that looks and smells gorgeous, followed by his cat who decides to dance between his legs. He serves you a strangely shaped piece of an odd looking pizza, though it still looks excellent, and it has some perfectly cooked and seasoned vegetables next to it on a white plate.

“What is this?” You ask him as kindly as possible.

“Flammekueche with some vegetables. It’s a French pizza with crème fraiche and bacon. My dad makes it all the time and always gives me some that I just freeze and reheat. I can only make microwave meals and vegetables, so this isn’t bad for me.” The way he explains it makes him so endearing, and even makes the food seem more than enticing. “You’re not allergic to anything are you? Or vegetarian?” You shake your head with a smile, kissing him and thanking him for the meal even though he won’t let you touch it before you sanitise your hands.

You talk the whole while that you eat, learning little things about his favourite books and his family. His favourite book just happens to be Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book you both know and love, and Timothee has a Jewish mother, a French father, an older sister, and he grew up in the city. You however are from out of the city with an exceptionally normal family, and your favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He seems to be growing fond of you, wiping the pizza sauce from your lip, followed by a kiss each time.

He places your plates on the floor as soon as you finish, snatching at the speed of light for some hand sanitiser, lube and another condom. You more than happily oblige with all of his steps and strip off his shirt, kissing the living daylights out of him before he’s even slotted the condom on. He kisses you back with equal fervour nonetheless, exploring your whole mouth with the tip of his tongue. He cautiously adds some lube to the sides of the condom and slips into you while you’re still atop him. You moan at the penetration, arching your body forwards and hereby giving Timothée a full view of your breasts and the way they bounce with his every thrust inside you.

You moan pornographically at his slow and passionate movements upwards and deep inside you, finding your special spot within moments. He settles his hands upon your hips, squeezing them and guiding your every movement. You ride him just the way he wants you to, you can see it in his eyes. He looks at you like a teenage boy would at a naked supermodel, of which you are only naked and most definitely not a supermodel, despite him treating you like one, and Timothée is thankfully older than a teenage boy yearning for sex.

“You look so fucking brilliant.” He tells you, admiring the way that your face contorts with pleasure while taking every inch of him.

You rhythmically grind your hips against him, swirling them occasionally just to hear him cry out. Nothing is a hinderance from you going faster, but this sex isn’t needing to be urgent to be satisfying. He squeezes your hips harder and you decides to move up a little further, bouncing back down on him as he becomes buried to the hilt in your desperate core. You do it again, engulfing him anew and moaning his name continually from the mix of friction and pleasure that’s sending you into another euphoria, but not enough to release again just yet.

Timothée still hasn’t taken his eyes off you, namely your breasts where he’s currently focussed, eyes trained on your hardened nipples - partly from not wearing a shirt and partly from Timothée’s ministrations. He leans up and captures your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing and swirling his tongue around you in the most divine way possible. He moves his hands away from your hips too, allowing you to grind your hips on his in any way that you like. His one hand moves to your other breast, tweaking and pulling at your right peak and sending sensations through your body that you’d never realised could be real before; while his other slips to the rounds of your ass, squeezing delectably.

“Mr Chalamet, p-please,” you find yourself begging, leaning down while still riding him, his torture on your breasts never ceasing, not even when he thrusts his hips up one final time, allowing your core to devour him whole and sending you into your third otherworldly climax of the night.

“Timothée!” You scream, your climax pouring out of you. You feel him come too, and you hear him cry out your name like a blessing.

He doesn’t pressure you, he just waits until you’re able to clamber off him with as minimal pain and exhaustion as possible, though you do whine at the loss of contact as you lie beside him, his arms securely around you and holding you as close to him as possible. It doesn’t matter that you’re both sweaty or spent, it just feels special.

“Look at that, done before 1am.” He chides, cuddling into you. You laugh a little at him, especially his humour, but it is rather remarkable.

“Two rounds, a meal, and a concert. Can’t speak for you, but I’m knackered.” He smiles at you sleepily, passing you the shirt that you wore earlier. You shrug it on and do it up while Timothée puts his joggers back on and draws the curtains, leaving the two of you in dark for the most part. You lie further down, still close to his thin chest, you hear his breathing rattle a little, but it's soothing.

“Night beautiful.” Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep in his arms.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The only issue about sleeping with Timothée is that you forget it's a Saturday morning, and on Saturdays, you have to work. Your phone alarm starts to go off at 7.15 precisely, which when you’re home, gives you enough chance to get ready for teaching in a calm manner so that you aren’t already angry before teaching little children how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Today however, that is not the case.

Timothée sleeps through it somehow, but your eyes are shocked wide awake, causing you to leap from the comfort and warmth of his bed and cuddles just to crawl on the floor in search of your phone and where it fell last night. You find it next to his door somehow, and switch the alarm off immediately, propping yourself up against the door to release a long held breath and to watch the sun rise through his windows. He looks so beautiful asleep, his lips parted slightly, soft snores escaping every so often, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mop of curls haphazardly lying around him like a halo. The morning glow makes his cheekbones appear even more defined.

You want to gather your belongings without waking him, get dressed and catch a cab back to your flat, but just as you go to open his door, he stirs.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful? Come back to bed, I’m keeping you here with me forever.” You know he’s joking, and his words melt your heart and inhibitions a little, but you can’t justify staying

“I have to work, my first student is at 9.30.” You say, walking across to stand beside his bed and brush some hair off his forehead, kissing him and your lips lingering on his sweaty skin a little longer than they probably should have.

“And? I’ll drive you home in time, if you live near Juilliard then I know a shortcut. Just come back.” He's virtually pleading, puppy eyes and quivering lip just to add to the effect, and you simply can’t say no when he looks so perfect. You place your things on the floor by the bed and slip beside him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut just a moment longer.

His finger traces your naked body beneath the shirt, focussing on the bruises he left on your hips and the marks on your neck. Just his touch is enough to take control of your body, to give you goosebumps, to electrify every feeling of love and lust held within.

“Can I use your shower please?” You ask him, and he nods, placing his chin atop your head.

“I’ll take you to my bathroom and then I’ll make you breakfast. Grab whatever clothing you want from my room, but you can’t leave this bed until you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold at his gesture, and you want to take a leap of faith and say yes straight away, but that would be playing your cards too quickly. “We’ll see.” You respond sultrily, making your way to leave, but his strong grip pulls you flush against him with no space to move. You can hear him laughing in your ear.

“Say yes to dinner and then you can leave.” He slips his hands further down your front without losing his grip and decides to toy with your clit as though it’ll get you to talk.

“Y-yes! God, Timothée, of course I’ll go to dinner with you, just don’t stop!” You find it impossible to understand the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating and electrifying your every sense from an action as simple as the pads of his fore and middle fingers twisting and pressing your sensitive clit. It’s so incredible that after the previous night, it feels like overstimulation, and you can’t get enough.

“I’ll never stop.” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, you can hear the hoarseness that smoking causes but god it sounds and tastes so good.

He pulls your body closer and rolls you over. “Hey baby.” You say as calmly as you can, but within seconds you find yourself sitting on his face, half of his stunning bone structure lost beneath you. He delves his tongue into your already dripping heat, licking as far as he can get and only pulling away to kiss and suckle at your clit.

“Let me come Mr Chalamet!” You cry out, and with one final swipe of his tongue around your core and a squeeze of your ass, you let go. Timothée licks you clean while you still chant his name, and he proceeds to pick you up in order to carry you to the bathroom. You settle your heels at the base of his spine, digging in a little, and his arms tense beneath your ass from the manner he carries you. You like being above him, able to trace every line and bit of stubble on his face with your focussed eyes that he stares so deeply into at any given chance.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll be tempted to join you.”

You slowly cross the threshold of the bathroom, winking at him as you close the door. He inaudibly groans, but you can tell from his facial expression and the tension in his joggers that make him look utterly sexy. You slowly unbutton his shirt, reluctant to take it off, but when you step under the warm jet of his shower, that reluctance washes away along with any inhibitions you may have had about Timothée. He’s an angel: clean, respectful, enjoys classical music, has a cat, isn’t a cocky dickhead, and he’s literally the most gorgeous human being that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing directly beneath his showerhead. The steam clouds your vision, but you can hear Timothée singing while he cooks, Mystery of Love. What a dork, you think, chuckling to yourself while you rinse Tim’s shower gel from your body, and you just know that after this you’ll smell like him, but he smells delectable. As the water hits the most sensitive parts of your body, you remember the previous night. Just the thought of what he did to you makes you crave his touch again.

Through the bathroom window, you can make out the New York traffic that builds every morning, accompanied by the screeching of tires and sirens and car horns. Despite it being a ruckus, it's soothing as you step out the shower and wrap yourself in one of Timothée’s fluffy towels.

“How do you look so sexy when you’re getting out of the shower? God, I can't stress it enough, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life, even without any makeup and with your hair un-styled, just wrapped in my Goddamn towel. You’re gonna be mine, mark my words.” You feel tears come to your eyes at his kind words, watching him purposefully walk from the kitchen and all the way across his apartment just to place his hands on your waist and tell you how beautiful you are. Those words are better than a concerto to you.

Once you’ve finished getting dry in his bedroom, you ferret through his drawers until you pull out a white top with various tie dye patterns across it. It’s cute, very Timothée. You pull it on and it reaches your mid thighs, making it clock in your head just how much of a lanky lad he is. You bundle together your stuff and head out of his room, closing the door behind you and greeting him with a kiss. He sits you at the breakfast bar and serves you a proper cooked breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.

“There's ketchup and syrup in the cupboard if you’d like.” He offers, sidling up on the seat beside you, nudging the tip of your nose with his thumb. The smile hasn’t left your face since you met him.

“This is good, you’re an excellent cook.” You tell him, resting your hand on his. His cheeks glow an even brighter red in the cascading morning sunlight, dappled by his blinds, but he looks magnificent despite his embarrassment.

You take out your phone, just to take a picture of the breakfast while it’s still untouched, and of your hand held by Timothée’s, already wearing rings. You notice that he’s already wearing a silver chain too, and a couple of bracelets on the wrist away from your own, which you find unusually attractive.

“I wish you could stay all day.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours.

“Me too.” you say softly, smiling sadly and caressing his cheek.

You finish your breakfast and make your way to the living room in a strange kind of waltz orchestrated by Timothée. He insists on holding your waist and turning around a little, moving your feet in sync until you yank him down onto the sofa, catching his lips mid sigh which leads to a much more passionate make out session than you anticipated. Once that’s over, he plaits your hair beautifully, explaining how it used to calm his sister down before an audition. By the time he’s finished a very good pair of plaits, you check the time and it’s already 9, time for you to leave with NYC traffic, but Tim won’t let you go.

“Not without a photo.” He insists, but you question his reasons. Who would want a photo of you with wet hair in plaits, an oversized tee-shirt and a bare face? But his answer is too sweet to refuse. “I like taking pictures of beautiful things, and of which, you are the most beautiful.” Your cheeks flush a raging scarlet, and Timothée takes your few moments of silence as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of you, sunlight hitting your face in all the right places, and he takes another for good measure, his hand on your cheek and his lips on yours, a kiss that shuts you up for good.

He takes you down the stairs right to the garage where he keeps his car, and surprisingly, it’s an understated car, not crazily extortionate nor flashy, something which you respect highly. He sits you in the passenger side, making sure to kiss you before closing the door, and he gets in the driver's side. After starting the engine and leaving the parking lot, he lays his palm flat against your thigh and keeps it there the whole drive while you change gears for him. You tell him all about your childhood, your high school, your time in uni while he tells you his life at a performing arts high school and then his life as an actor, he truly fascinates you.

Once he pulls up outside your building, he tries to convince you to let him come in, or at least walk you to your door, but on the grounds of not scaring the life out of your neighbours and students, you say no with a promise to see him later.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk.” He says, pulling you in for a final passionate kiss before you step out of the car. He made you wet just before you have to work, you’ll get him back later, but the revenge melts as soon as he leans out the window to blow you a kiss and tell you how stunning you are.

You’re so lost in your trance of Timothée that you don’t notice your first student tapping you on the shoulder and excitedly saying “Was that the Timothée Chalamet?”

You chuckle to yourself, watching him drive off into traffic, all for you. “Yes it was love, yes it was.”

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

semicolon, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: He knew you. You knew him. Or rather, you both had an idea of the other, only to find that perhaps you connected on a much more carnal, animalistic level. It only took a hotel bar, New Year’s Eve, and the words, “Nice tattoo.”

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alludes to attempted suicide; intense smut (fem reader, BDSM themes, semi-public exposure, restraints, nipple play, tit slapping, m-receiving oral, pussy spanking, doggy); non-idol!AU; rich heir, dom!Yoongi x tattooed, sub!reader; shifts back and forth between Yoongi’s POV and your POV

–

He was sure it was you.

You had tattoos now. A geometric lotus in your right inner forearm and a filled-in circle with a four-sided starburst around it on your inner left forearm. He observed you turning your head and there was a semicolon tattoo under your left ear. You moved your hair to cover it and nursed your rum and coke, alone. The tight black dress you were wearing was sinful at best. Closer to positively illegal with the way it clung to your breasts and squeezed them together. No one was approaching your table in this hotel bar. It was impossible to approach you when you looked that good.

You tapped at your phone, frowning.

He picked up his glass of whiskey and glided to you.

“Nice tattoo.”

You froze. Your eyes followed his finger, to your left forearm.

“It’s the symbol of the Sith Order,” you replied coolly.

“Star Wars?”

You lifted your head, raising an eyebrow. Beautiful makeup. Smokey eyes, red lips, your beauty marks visible. You hadn’t hidden them with foundation. He appreciated that.

“Yes.”

He set his glass on your table and slid into a chair. “Aren’t the Sith evil?”

You didn’t respond to that. Merely smiled at him, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Do I know you?” you asked, tapping your nails on your glass. Matte black. Interesting.

To be honest, he wasn’t sure. You had attended to the same university. He could guess why you had the semicolon tattoo, because he had been in the hallway, witnessing the event when the ambulance took you to the hospital. He had been sleeping with a girl on your dorm floor.

Admittedly, not one of his proudest moments.

He cocked his chin to your right forearm. “And the lotus tattoo?”

You shrugged. “Just a recommendation from my tattoo artist.”

He took a slow, even sip of his whiskey. “Any more?”

You rested your chin on your fingers, placing your elbow on the table.

“You’d have to take me home to find out.”

Somehow, he did not think you were referring to your under-ear tattoo. He raised an eyebrow. “A woman like you, unclaimed? I can’t imagine why.”

You chuckled, lowering your hand to sip your rum and coke. “Perhaps it’s just personal preference.” You frowned, wincing, as if you remembered something unpleasant. “And perhaps it’s society who doesn’t like women who have their tattoos exposed.”

He thought about his fair skin. The many times he had thought about getting inked, but chickening out because he couldn’t think of committing to one specific image or words for that long. Perhaps he was fickle in that sense.

“Min Yoongi.”

He didn’t extend his hand, just stated his name. You paused, holding your glass over your cleavage, blocking it from his view. A moment of silence, a beat passing between your eyes. And then you gave him your name. Yes, it was you. The name had seen in the school newspaper the next day. The name that left the school, disappearing after the incident. He often wondered if you were okay. You seemed okay, looking at him with discerning eyes.

“You are the son of the owner of this hotel.”

Yoongi paused. He placed his glass on the table.

“Something like that.”

You raised a brow and placed your drink on your table. Expression pensive for a moment before you spoke again, tone light and playful.

“Well, perhaps you’ll be interested to know I just had a very unsatisfying one-night stand on the fifteenth floor, so I’ve come to drink the memory away.”

His lips curled into an entertained smile. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You sighed and licked your teeth sharply. “On New Year’s Eve, too, no less.” You tapped your cheek with your index finger. “I suppose that means this year is off to a bad start.”

He looked at his Rolex watch. And then at you and your cleavage, breasts violently pushed together by your tight black dress. His eyes flickered back to yours. You were watching him carefully, aware of his traveling gaze. He smirked.

“There’s still time to remedy that.”

There was something about those eyes that haunted you.

You weren’t sure why, because you were quite sure you had never meant this man before. But maybe in a haze, in a dream? You tilted your head. Black hair, half-pushed back to reveal his forehead, dark eyes, pale skin. The kind of handsome that reminded you of midnights and moonlight, with a raspy voice to match. Expensive black suit with ironed lapels, black silk handkerchief in his breast pocket, patterned with the logo of a high-end fashion designer. Crisp white dress shirt, with a platinum tie clip on his slim black tie.

Well-dressed. Sophisticated. Dangerous.

You did not know Min Yoongi, but it felt like you knew him.

The entire time he was talking, you were watching his movements. For some reason, the heir to this hotel chain was speaking to you. You weren’t that special. That’s how you wanted it. The more anonymous you were, the less people questioned your actions. There’s no way Min Yoongi would know you. And why wasn’t he in the hotel club instead of this quieter, more low-profile hotel bar? Most people wanted to party on New Year’s Eve. The hotel was hosting a huge one at the moment.

You?

You just wanted a good fuck, honestly.

So when he offered, it surprised you. A lot of people would tell you that it was dangerous to have sex with a stranger. A rich man, no less.

But you were also the one with the Sith Order symbol tattooed to your arm.

Your lips curved to match his smirk.

“You got a room?”

He licked his lips.

“They’re all my rooms.”

It started the instant the two of you stepped into the elevator. Your long black fur coat was around your arms, shoulders exposed. No purse, because you had sewed pockets into the coat for your belongings. Less to lose this way. Yoongi had taken you to the back of the hotel, through dark hallways and shadows.

“Service elevator. Less people.”

You cocked your head as he pressed the up button, speaking again.

“Less paparazzi.”

You shrugged. “Someone has probably already caught you and posted it on Twitter.”

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. You stepped inside and he shoved you into the wall, pressing his expensive suit into your body as the doors slid closed. Eyes on yours, hot breath in your face.

“No cameras,” he growled softly.

The numbers were climbing up, up.

Your tongue slid out as you tilted your head. You pressed it against his lower lip. His eyes were so dark they looked black in this lighting. So close to him that you were breathing in his exhale mixed with his pine-scented cologne.

“What are you waiting for?” you whispered. “Give me a taste of your power.”

Should you have provoked Min Yoongi? Maybe not, because his kiss sucked your breath away, his large hands coming up and holding you in place as he teased your lips, nipping at the thin skin, making you gasp into his mouth. He had you pressed into the metal wall of the elevator, one of his legs slipping between yours, thigh pressed into the hem of your short dress. Lips to lips, working you, teasing you with his tongue, not giving it to you.

He backed up a little, breathing down on you and your panting mouth.

“You bought this dress for someone else to take off, hm?” he purred, lips dark pink from kissing you.

“I brought it for the sole purpose of being taken off.” Your chest was heaving, ribcage constricted by the boning of your dress. “It’s not attached to a particular person.”

His hands slid down your head, trailing on your bare shoulders. Sliding into the fur, staring at your face the entire time. Drumming against the slinky fabric of your tight dress as if you were the grand piano and he was the pianist.

“It could be.”

Yoongi tilted his head, lips brushing against yours.

“It could be for me.”

One by one, his fingertips hooked under the hem of your dress, nails pressed against your bare thighs. His hands were cold, sending tingling shivers all over your nerves. Eyes half-lidded, smokey orbs locked with yours. Your lips curved into a succubus’s smile.

“It’s yours now.”

He chuckled, yanking the hem up and over your ass. Chilled air rushed to your naked thighs, your black lace, French-cut panties out in the open. He looked down at your quivering legs and then his eyes immediately fixated onto it. Another tattoo. You watched as Yoongi took it in, able to see it because the boldly printed script was on the space were your right leg and crotch connected, that dip of flesh right above your pussy. His eyes flickered back to you.

He raised his eyebrows.

“’Good luck’, huh?”

You grinned.

“Good luck.”

The elevator dinged.

A housekeeping worker with their cart craned above the supplies to look at you two and then immediately looked away, closing their eyes. Unmoving like a statue. Didn’t try to roll the cart into the elevator, didn’t say anything. They knew exactly who Yoongi was and it seemed like they knew exactly why you were there.

“Come.”

He didn’t take your hand. He simply removed his heat from you and glided through the doors like an elegant ghost. You followed, heels clicking on the floor before touching the carpet. Like your dress, your slim heels were the slightest bit uncomfortable. It kept you at attention and highly aware of your surroundings, even though you had a few drinks.

Your eyes traveled over the lavish wallpaper, the plush red carpet. Over-the-top intricate and extravagant that bordered on gaudy. This was the top floor. The penthouse. You didn’t have to go far. The entire wing was the room.

You wondered why he took you here just for a simple fuck.

Yoongi unlocked the door.

“There’s only one stipulation.”

“Tell me.”

You held up the condoms from your pocket.

Yoongi smiled.

He was going to tie you up.

You watched as he pressed a button and the metal bar descended from the ceiling, complete with leather straps. You raised your eyebrows. Yoongi watched your expression carefully. The bedroom was dark, only lit by moody red LED lights from behind the bed and low sconces. The color reflected off his pale skin, casting half of his face in shadow.

The button had been behind a locked panel. He was probably the sole owner of that key.

“You are welcome to leave at any time.”

He said the words without emotion. You removed your fur coat, placing it on the oversized black velvet armchair. Everything in the room was in various shades of black and navy, in plush fabrics or luxurious leather.

“You spend a lot on your hobbies,” you commented.

Yoongi smirked.

“Sex is a performance.”

Your eyes connected. He removed his blazer. Like all of his movements, it was a swift and practiced manner, with two fingers hooked around the collar as he walked towards you. He tossed it on top of your coat. Now Yoongi was right next to you, your black dress still bunched around your waist. He did not have a particularly oppressive presence, but it was more like the company of the ocean. Expansive with unreachable depth, strikingly beautiful, and would have absolutely no qualms in drowning you.

Yoongi made sure your eyes were on him.

His long fingers deftly removed his cufflinks, sliding them into his pants pocket before slowly rolling up his sleeves. He was wearing multiple silver bracelets on each wrist, no rings. He folded the crisp white fabric up to his elbows, revealing his lean forearms. He had nice hands. Pampered ones.

“Scared?” he asked casually.

You reached up to the hook-and-eyes at the front of your dress. His eyes followed your movement. One. Two. Your words complimenting the removal of each one. Your breasts slowly relaxed from their prison, held in place by your free hand holding the top of your dress so you could travel downwards.

“Fear is natural,” you whispered quietly. “It is merely a tool in the realm of the strong.”

Yoongi’s lips curved into a slow smile. “Do you intend to speak like that the entire time?”

You chuckled as the last one was undone. “No. I’m only informing you I’m a bit of a masochist.”

And then you released your hand holding up the dress, causing it to unfurl and slide down, stopping at your hips and flaring out like a flower.

Yoongi wondered if you did this all the time.

He wondered if this was a product of your life experiences or your instinctual nature. He watched as you slid the dress down your thighs, letting it fall to the floor. You stepped out of it, only in your heels and panties. His teeth sunk into his lower lip.

Yoongi had taken a lot of people to this room. All strangers. Never one he knew from the past, no matter how insignificant. That made you the exception, even if you didn’t remember. His memory was still so vivid to this day.

He let his eyes roam over your body. As he predicted, you had great tits. The dress accentuated them after all. There was another tattoo. Script on the left side of your ribcage. You noticed him looking and turned slightly so he could read it. He had to think. It was in English, like your crotch tattoo, although that one was easier to translate.

“’The world is quiet here’?” he echoed.

the world was written so it was only visible from the front, is visible from the side, and quiet here visible from the back. Printed a typewriter’s font, no punctuation, the placement deliberate and thought-out.

You smiled. “Book quote.”

Yoongi liked it when you smiled. He reminded him of his own, a little hesitant but self-aware of your own quiet confidence. He lifted his hand and placed it behind your head, guiding you to him.

“You are very interesting,” he murmured into your mouth before he kissed you again. Tasting like rum and coke mixed with oceanic blackberry. He had smelled that scent before, although not on skin. He recalled the counter of cologne, the glass bottles with the unisex design. High-end.

On your skin, it smelled like sex itself.

He slid his tongue in between your soft lips, running it over your teeth. Drinking in your gasps, taking it all. He liked it when you breathed into his mouth too. You let it out like smoke, drifting into him. Your hands came up to hold onto his upper arms, steadying yourself. He liked the feeling of your hands as well, the way each finger curled around to grip him tightly. His thrust his tongue in and out, slowly, each moan chaining to the last. His hands in your hair, tangling it up, making a mess.

Yoongi opened his eyes just a crack. They landed on the tattoo in your left forearm, the filled-in circle with the four-sided starburst.

What had made you get a symbol like that tattooed to you?

He pulled you along, still kissing you, towards the metal bar. Turned you around, kissing down your jaw to the back of your neck. His hands slid down your hair, tracing your spine. Fuck. Such a beautiful back, with a lovely curve, so perfect to bend over. He dug his nails into it and you whined under him.

Yoongi didn’t bother asking you if you wanted it. You had a mouth; you could use it.

And you were grinding your ass into his crotch so, clearly, he didn’t have to ask.

He folded your arms behind you, forearm above forearm, tying you to the metal bar with the leather straps. One on each of your wrists, one tucked in the inside your elbows, binding them to each other and then all to the metal. He did not want to cover your tattoos but he had to. The position had you bent over, ass sticking out, tits hanging down, back slightly arched.

“Do I need to secure your waist or can you hold it?”

You turned your head back and raised an eyebrow. The curve of your profile, so perfect against the red light.

“What you need to do is fuck me already.”

He grinned.

Yoongi pulled up a chair and sat down right in the front of you.

You gave him a slightly annoyed expression. He smirked at you, placing his fingers on your chin, lifting it slightly.

“I thought you wanted a satisfying fuck?” he drawled.

“And yet nothing is happening.”

“Foreplay is just as important as pounding your pussy.”

You suddenly felt his other hand ghost under your nipple, palm barely grazing it. You tried to drop your body into it but were stopped by your restraints. Yoongi cocked an eyebrow amusedly. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“What are you waiting for?”

His thumb slid up your chin. He pressed it into your lips, forcing it open, rubbing your tongue with the pad of his finger. You made a disgruntled noise, saliva collecting where he touched you. You tried to close your lips but he held your jaw down, grip strong and immovable. Spit was trickling down your chin, covering his fingers and dripping onto the floor.

“Waiting for you to give in to me,” Yoongi murmured huskily.

Your heartrate accelerated disconcertingly in your chest. His dark eyes on yours, consuming you, keeping you in this slightly uncomfortable position. And you wanted it. You could feel it, the heat inside you, stroked from embers to full-blown fire, because somehow Min Yoongi could see right through you and knew you wanted what he was composing.

This midnight was his.

He seemed to know that you came to this conclusion. Maybe your pupils were dilated. Maybe it was your shallowed breathing. Maybe it was your trembling body, shaking at his touch. He removed his wet finger and slid it down your collarbones, smearing your own spit on you, before cupping your breast, squeezing it. You sucked in a breath, moaning his name softly as his other hand matched the first, kneading your breasts, rubbing your nipples with his palms.

“Y-Yoongi…”

You gasped as you felt his wrists slide up and the chains of his bracelets scrape your sensitive nipples, blooming pinpricks of pain over your chest. His palms came back, soothing you, his dark eyes intensely focused on your face, not looking away. His fingers pressed into your skin and he closed them in on your nipples, pinching them hard enough so that you could feel it, but not so hard that it was unbearable. He held you there like that. Seconds ticked past. Long, grueling seconds that felt like hours.

Yoongi was very calm about it as you slowly unraveled in his hands.

You body began to move involuntarily, raising your chest so his fingers pulled on your nipples a little. He still did not move his hands. You couldn’t go far with the metal bar digging into your back. He watched you try different things to get more stimulation, fingers motionless. If you moved too much, you were afraid he was going to let go and not give you more. You craved more. Needed it.

“Yoongi, please… Harder…”

His dark eyes were hypnotizing you.

The position of his fingers changed. He clamped your nipples between the joints of his index and middle fingers. You yelped, back banging against the metal. He pressed his thumbs against the hardened nubs, rubbing them harshly. Expression unchanging, forever on you.

“I thought you wanted it harder.”

His voice was deep, calm, with a hint of raspy delight. The sensation was a stark contrast to what he was doing before, shooting sparks of pleasure through your body. You shuddered, bucking into it, knees collapsing a bit as he stimulated your nipples.

“Hold.”

A single command and your knees locked to obey, entire body shaking. Yoongi pulled your nipples towards him, pushing your breasts together as he did so. Your back had to curve abruptly against the cold metal bar at his action. He lowered his head, trailing kisses along your collarbone. You whined, his touch hard and lips soft, eyelids fluttering as your nipples slipped out from his fingers. His large hands quickly twisted to cup your tits, keeping them up and pushed together as he kissed down the curve, nipping sharply at your skin. Leaving small red marks all over, sucking at some points to bruise you.

He didn’t need to speak. His lips told you everything, travelling all over your breasts hungrily, your swollen and abused nipples waiting, patterning your skin before his tongue snaked out.

“F-fuck, Yoongi…”

The pink tip pressed against the inflamed nub, pushing it around delicately. Strands of black hair framed his sculpted brows and those dark eyes were on you again. He closed his lips around it. Your eyelids slid closed, feeling the softness of his mouth and his tongue swiping all over, swift circles.

Then he sucked, hard.

Your eyes flew open, jutting your chest into his face. Yoongi chuckled in his throat and continued to suck, pulsating around your nipple, scraping his teeth against it. One of his hands came up and matched the rhythm of his mouth, tweaking and assaulting your other nipple forcefully. Your core throbbed with need, soaking your panties so much that they stuck to your folds. The scent of your arousal was getting stronger and stronger, a heavy sweetness.

He released your nipples abruptly and you gasped, feeling him lick a fat stripe possessively over your tits. Saliva dripping down, coating them all over. He removed his hand. You panted, trying to catch your breath.

“What’s my name?” he whispered quietly.

You lifted your trembling head, hair covering half your face. Your knees felt like jelly.

“Y-Yoongi.”

He slapped your tits.

You yelped, his open palm creating hot friction on your abused nipples. It wasn’t a hard hit, but an expansive one that covered a lot of surface area. It was obvious he knew what he was doing. Pain trickled throughout your body, pussy throbbing with need.

“Again.”

“Yoongi.”

He slapped you again, from the other side. You shuddered, sucking in your stomach at the sudden pain that seemed to swallow you up, but somehow it didn’t really hurt, instantly morphing into tinges of arousal. It was probably the way he was looking at you. His appearance was bored, but his eyes were trained onto your body, ink-black pupils shimmering with power in his dark brown irises.

“Again.”

Your eyes dropped down. He spread his legs. It was like he knew what you wanted. His erection strained against his tailored black slacks. It was impossible to hide with how closely fitted they were to his body. Your eyes went back up to his face. His expression was still unbothered.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, the clearest you’ve sounded yet.

Smack! You whined at the force, back against the cold metal. Smack! A half-moan, a half-sob as you felt his bracelets scrape against your skin. Smack! Your breasts banged together, softness against stinging softness, and it just felt so good as the pain crawled through your nervous system, devastating you. Your head was arched back, staring at the ceiling, mouth open and panting.

Yoongi reached up and pushed your head back down. He used his other hand to trace your lips, smeared with lipstick and saliva.

“I’m going to fuck this hole now.”

There was a short silence. He was waiting for you to say no.

You didn’t say anything.

Yoongi stood up and unbuttoned his pants right in front of your face. Your eyes followed his fingers as he unzipped them. The flaps opened and his cock fought against the smooth fabric of his boxer briefs, swelling as it was released from the confines of his pants. He pressed it into your nose and you inhaled his scent, oppressive and erotic, making you moan hotly against it.

You wanted it in you so bad that your juices were leaking down your thighs.

You felt his palm caress your head, smoothing your hair. He rocked his hips into your face, humping your open mouth. You pressed your tongue against his clothed cock, whimpering at how close it was and yet so far. His words drifted down to you in a low growl, teasing and domineering.

“Good luck.”

He removed his hardness from your face. Your eyes flickered up to him, a smirk on your lips. Yoongi matched your devious expression, pushing down his underwear. His cock sprung up into your vision, overtaking it. Oh, fuck. The head already dark red, leaking pre-cum. Veins standing out along the length, waiting to be stroked by your tongue. It was the hottest image you had ever seen, Yoongi’s smug face above you, his stiff cock so close to your lips that you could feel the heat. And fuck, he smelled so good, as if his pine cologne, his skin, and his arousal made an unholy pheromone combination that made you open your mouth, exhaling hotly over the glistening head.

Yoongi shoved it into your lips with one swift stroke.

You reeled, expanding your throat as he buried himself into it, sucking in a tight breath. It was a skillful, deliberate movement, one that didn’t jar your gag reflex immediately. You had plenty of practice from former encounters to not gag at first instinct, but Yoongi also seemed practiced, as if he had shoved his dick down many throats before.

His large hand fitted around the back of your head. Not moving.

His taste overwhelmed your mouth. Your tongue slid around expertly, running down the length, moaning around him. His eyes were closed but you could see his pink lips curve upward. You closed your own eyes, squeezing him in your throat as your tongue rubbed along the veins, pressing him into the roof of your mouth.

“You do not disappoint,” Yoongi sighed in satisfaction.

He pulled out a little and your tongue instantly went to the head, licking slow circles all over, teasing the opening with your tongue, spreading it out before sliding under to stimulate the thin skin between the head and length. Yoongi moaned above you, your name finally falling from his lips. You did not realize it would have such an effect on you until he said it. It made your thighs clench and pussy throb, agonizingly forced to wait until he was done with your mouth.

He began to thrust into your face, slow but forceful, tipping your head back a little so the head stroked against the roof of your mouth before hitting the back of your throat. You took it, helpless, bent over, knees aching as he fucked your mouth, almost lazily. His hand had a firm grip on your head, pushing himself in over and over.

“Keep it tight for me,” he murmured. “You’re doing so good.”

You closed your lips around him, meeting the base of his cock, your cries muffled and vibrating along his hard length, adding stimulation. You looked up, seeing his tensed jaw, pleasure painting his features, eyes closed. Yoongi wasn’t trying to get off fast; he was trying to build it to a crescendo, and your mouth was his tool to do it. In, out, in, out, each time a little rougher, a little more force. Rubbing your throat raw, jaw aching, but you were so focused on the soft pants coming from his lips that you didn’t notice.

“Your mouth is so perfect,” Yoongi gritted out, rocking his hips a little faster. “So soft and tight.”

His eyes opened halfway and he noticed you staring at him as he fucked your mouth. He inhaled sharply at the sight.

“So fucking sexy,” he mumbled. “You want to swallow me?”

You hummed needily in response, gazing imploringly at him. He smirked.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He rolled his hips, faster, harder. You noticed the muscles in his neck tense, his hand gripping you tighter as he chased his release, fingers digging into your scalp, his cock trembling in your wetness as you sucked your cheeks in. Yoongi clenched his jaw, eyes closing again. His hips smacked into your face repeatedly, your name a low hiss as he thrust particularly roughly into your throat, the head being choked by your wet vise.

“Fuck...”

Sudden, jerking strings of cum shot down your throat, painting it white, pumping straight into your mouth. You swallowed hard, barely able to take a breath before his cock violently shuddered, filling you up with more of his salty, thick taste. He held your head as you gulped around him, groaning as he felt your throat close in on the sensitive head continually.

“That’s it…”

His fingers curled into your hair, lifting it away from your neck and collecting it behind you so he could look down at you drinking his orgasm.

“What a pretty picture and all for me.”

His eyes honed in on the semicolon tattoo under your left ear.

It flexed and moved as you swallowed, flickering in and out of vision as the small dangling black gems on your ear hid it. His eyes slid back to your fucked-out face, struggling for breath but being denied by his hold on you.

You might have a personal preference when it came to being single, but Yoongi was a rapacious man, and he wanted to own your mouth. He doubted he could buy it with money, but perhaps he could make you addicted to him. He pulled out of your lips and you whined deliciously.

Inwardly, he grinned like a devil.

Yoongi leaned down and lifted your head, kissing your swollen lips. You kissed him back, starved and hungry for his softness, his gentle touches that were matched by his roughness. Did you always look this good? He wanted you beside him so he could study you, so he could push you to your knees whenever he wanted, so you could resist him and so he could teach you a lesson.

But you deserved the fuck you had asked for. He could smell how turned on you were and he had promised after all. His tongue slid into your mouth and he tasted himself, a familiar taste that somehow tasted better when it was mixed with your saliva.

Yoongi did not think he was going to invite any more strangers into this room after this.

He broke the kiss. Your eyes on him, burning him to the core. He removed his shoes and socks, standing up. Stepped out of his pants, still wearing his shirt and tie. He kept them on as a sign of his power over you. You looked so perfectly submissive, just like this. He had to move out of your line of vision.

There was no way you knew what he was thinking, but he still didn’t trust himself. He did not want to get carried away. He had a job to do.

And that was to fuck you.

He moved around to your quivering legs, seeing your soaked panties. Not commenting, but his cock twitched seeing it, knowing it was him that made you this way. His fingers closed in on the top of them, yanking up. You jerked you head back, moaning hotly at the action. The black lace dug into your skin, seeping into your slick folds. He kept his voice measured despite his desperate need to shove himself into you right now.

“Count to four.”

He dug your panties into you as he spoke and made you whine as he pulled from side to side. The delicate fabric was ripping a little.

“One.”

He spanked your pussy with his large palm. The sound was loud and wet, traveling throughout the entire wing, along with your scream of pleasure. Yoongi was getting hard already listening to you. Even in the low light, he could tell your pussy lips were becoming puffy, reddening. His hand was smeared with your juices and he resisted the urge to lick it.

“Keep going,” he nudged gently.

He heard you panting. “Two.”

Smack! The sound, the sound, it turned him on so much as the lustful moan was torn out of you, your raw throat turning it almost feral. He twisted your panties in your slit, watching the fabric tear slowly against your inflamed skin, drinking in your squeals and whines as he tortured you.

“T-three.”

Slap! His fingers were coated in slickness, watching the wetness splatter between your legs as he hit you. Your ass was backing up into your panties, trying to get more, stopped by the metal bar. If you wanted him to stop, you wouldn’t have uttered the final number, gasping it out hurriedly.

“Four.”

Smack! Yoongi slapped the hardest yet and your knees buckled, almost sobbing. He shoved your kneecaps with his, locking them back in place. Your legs were shuddering hard, barely holding up, but your mouth was telling him a different story, choked gasps of pleasure.

“Fuck, Yoongi, yes…”

He pulled your panties down. They were practically ruined by his grip. That was too bad; they were quite beautiful. He intended on buying you new ones. Perhaps he could come with you to select them.

He paused for a moment to grab a condom, holding it in his hand before returning to you.

“Yoongi, p-please fuck me…”

You craned your head to look at him, the perfect profile. He raised an eyebrow.

“Fuck me with your pretty cock, p-please…”

He stared down at your gorgeous back, the peeks of your tattoos in his restraints, your ass stuck up in the air, pussy lips swollen and leaking from his spanking. He couldn’t see it right now, but he knew the ‘GOOD LUCK’ tattoo was there, right next to your pussy. Yoongi wondered who the artist was.

Perhaps they had been lucky like him.

He felt a surge of annoyance.

Yoongi stepped up to your ass, lifting his cock and pressing the length against your wetness. You started, almost moving away.

“It’s not in you.” He kept his voice even. “You will know if it was in you.”

He exhaled quietly as he rubbed his length and his balls against your wet slit, keeping the head away from you. You were warm, soft, and so, so slick. He was semi-hard, but he could feel himself getting harder as he pressed your ass around his cock, fucking the crevice between your cheeks. He knew it would be better inside you, but for some reason he needed to punish you a little. Needed to let you know that he was irate that there were others before him, that somehow fate cheated him by not having your paths cross sooner.

There was nothing you could do about that, but Yoongi didn’t care.

You were moaning under him, hips pushing back to meet his thrusts, your pussy smacking his balls, coating them with your lubrication. He closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy it. Fuck, you had a nice ass, malleable and lush in his hands. He wanted to own this ass too. You mouth, your tits, your ass.

He knew he would want your pussy too once he was in it.

“Yoongi, please…”

He pressed his fingers into your skin, sliding them inward. Held his cock carefully so it wouldn’t leak on you as he retreated.

“Ah, you’re right,” he purred. “You’ve earned it.”

He opened the condom, sliding it on. His cock jerked in his hands, already desperate for what was to come. He was the kind of man who lived under so much discipline that he knew nothing else. Although life could not be controlled, he could control himself and his emotions.

Yoongi pressed the head against your entrance. Sucked in a breath.

Sank in slowly.

Oh.

God.

Yoongi was not religious, but he swore he saw glimpses of heaven the second his cock was fully enveloped by your pussy. It was tight, it was soft, and each ridge clenched around him, roughly stimulating the head after he had mildly edged himself with your ass moments earlier. You pulsed around him, constricting him inside you as the base of his crotch touched your abused pussy lips.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

He needed to own this pussy.

Yoongi pulled back and shoved himself back in, gasping at the tightness. It was not because you weren’t turned on. It was because you were clenching around him, pressing your walls inward to choke his cock and, if possible, his cock became harder knowing this, harder as he heard you cry out in satisfaction.

“Yes, Yoongi, yes…”

He began to fuck you, rolling his hips into yours, trying to keep it slow and steady to drive you crazy, but to be honest, he was done for, because Yoongi had never experienced such power, never had a body fuck him back with such force, never heard such delicious, desperate mewls of need as he thrusted into you, slamming your hips together with loud squelches. It was probably a lot, his cock hitting you deep and your pussy already sensitive from his spanking, and yet you told him to hold you tighter, fuck you harder.

“Use me, Yoongi,” you gasped. “You feel so good, fuck, Yoongi, your cock is so fucking good…”

How did you know all the words that made him weak? How did you know exactly how to sound to make him want you more? And you took it all despite your shivering legs, despite your tits violently bouncing with every thrust, despite him pressing down on your lower back to hit you deeper. He watched you throw your head back, a long sinful wail slipping from your lips, hair flaring out like fire and you came all over his cock, pussy spasming and clenching around him.

Yoongi’s eyes widened, hips ramming into you. The head smacked against your tightest spot and he saw stars, the pleasure hitting its peak and plummeting into him, taking his breath away. He shot aggressively into the condom, pumped out by your pussy clamping down around his length, sucking it all out. His eyes rolled back into his head with how good it felt. This had never happened to him before. The moans of his name rang in his ears, encompassing him as his cock twitched inside you, the perfect combination of sound and sensation.

If Yoongi ever heard your voice again, it would be synesthetic experience for him, because he would remember this sound and this feeling for the rest of his life.

Outside, the clock stuck midnight, and fireworks overtook the sky in thundering booms.

“Was that a satisfying fuck?”

“Very.”

Yoongi reached over and tucked a spare strand of hair behind your left ear. You sat in his lap, in the armchair with the windows wide open, revealing a perfect view of all the fireworks overtaking the moonlight. It was a bit wasteful for your taste. Not that good for the environment. Yoongi informed you that he would look into more sustainable alternatives.

He pressed his lips into your neck.

“The next time you want to stay at one of my hotels, I will make myself available.”

You chuckled. “Can you afford a pause in your schedule?”

You could feel him sucking a red mark into your skin.

“What else can I do when a member of the Sith Order visits?”

You laughed and he smirked against your newly-made hickey.

same au as exclamation mark !

punctuation au dom!myg and jjk | period . | comma , | question mark ? | apostrophe ‘

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi smut

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shirophantomvox · 3 years

Text

Chrollo, Hisoka, and Illumi Headcanons

Chrollo, Hisoka, Illumi, and Leorio headcanons

Hello, anon! I am so sorry for taking longer than usual to respond to this post. I have been so busy with A LOT lately but I have time now! I don’t know if you want N/SFW, romantic or non so I’ll go based on what comes to mind! I know many Tumblr users have made these types of assumptions for them a lot but I wanted to join in. I started writing this last night so forgive me if there are any unbearable grammar errors. I hope you like it anon, I tried my best. I have to work on my headcanons for them because I try to keep them in character. Since we don’t have much background info on ⅔, I have to keep it as realistic as possible. FYI N/SFW content is mentioned.

Discord for Voltron and HxH fans

Let’s start with Chrollo.

Chrollo (SFW)

I’ve seen on here that a lot of you headcanon Chrollo to be an understanding man when it comes to feelings for his significant other. Given his soft voice and calm demeanor, I’m sure that is somewhat true.

It seems like Chrollo isn’t on board with over-the-top PDA meaning he would agree to hand-holding and his arm around you but nothing more. He saves the...other stuff for when you two are alone. Because of Chrollo’s past, it seems like he wouldn’t want to be seen in public that much because that can cause him to get caught by the authorities.

He takes your safety very seriously. You understand that when he is with the Phantom Troupe that you are not to interrupt until the business is over. He doesn’t allow you to get involved with the missions because of how dangerous they can be (example: the auction). He knows you can handle it, he prefers for you not to be involved. Feelings and work can make things difficult.

Although Chrollo hides in the shadows, I imagine he lives in a penthouse with expensive furniture, white and black color pattern, and large windows that have an astonishing view of Yorknew.

After you both have worked long and hard, you open the door just to see the lights dimmed so dark that it matches the night atmosphere. There are rose petals leading to the bathroom where a bubble bath is waiting. As you enter the bathroom, your boyfriend is waiting there, submerged in bubbles sticking his arms out. Candles light up the tiny room casting a romantic shadow from your body. You grab his hand and gently sit in the tub. The warm water felt amazing; it helped your aching muscles (from exercising) feel better. Chrollo gently grabbed your arm and pulled you into a warm, loving embrace. He wrapped his toned arms around your body and rested his chin on your shoulder. He didn’t say a word but instead breathed heavily, kissed your shoulder, and leaned back against the wall. On days like this, he didn’t say much but his actions spoke louder than words.

Chrollo NSFW

I think Chrollo is a passionate lover. This assumption comes from his calm demeanor. He seems to be incredibly patient so if you aren’t positioning yourself the right way or something, he’ll work with you to make sure you get it and you are comfortable.

He is touchy. That means during the nitty-gritty, he likes to touch your face, chin, lips, and your torso as a way to show more affection.

When he is in the mood, he moves slowly then very fast. He cannot resist the urges and feelings he has for you.

He loves to do this while the drapes are open although you have expressed that you like your privacy. It’s ironic. He doesn’t like extreme PDA but is ok with sleeping with you while the lights from the city shine near your penthouse window. Ah, guys are confusing.

After the climax, he lays flat on the bed and pulls you close. He leaves about an inch in between because heat is still radiating off your bodies and it’s summertime.

Hisoka (SFW) If his significant other was shy.

People have mixed feelings about Hisoka, feelings, and whether or not if he is gentle or not. I don’t think that Hisoka is gentle but begins to lay off the harsh jokes or pranks as he sees that you both have fought before and you’re not as weak as he thought.

Unlike Chrollo, he is all for PDA. This ranges from hand holding to playful kisses to passionate kisses. When I saw Hisoka for the first time, I immediately thought he was a fuck boy. A fuck boy is a boy that is only interested in sleeping with someone and doesn’t intend on pursuing a relationship.

He’d take the pleasure of appreciating your presence as well as testing your patience. If you are shy and are easily flustered, he will change that. He’ll do things like kissing you, calling you affectionate names, or anything that will cause you to respond. You hit him jokingly. Still not getting the message, he continues and you hit him harder. This is where he releases a medium moan which causes everyone to look in your direction. You freeze; face flushed and he’s laughing his ass off.

“What’s the matter,” he asks, covering his mouth. “You look flushed~♥.”

“You’re doing too much. Stop playing around! People are staring~💯.” You cover the side of your face. True enough you were a little mortified but in a good way. You knew he did this because he liked you but sometimes he played too much.

This is when he pulls you closer to his face, your ear next to his mouth, and whispers something in your ear that sent chills down your spine that made you blush more than before. He nearly puckered his lips as he spoke. He took his index finger and thumb to caress your cheek.

“Raising your voice at me? That simply won’t do. Aren’t you aware of the consequences~♥?”

You knew better than to not say anything because he would cup your cheeks and pull you into a deep kiss, and wouldn’t let go until he was sure that everyone was looking.

Both of you enjoy red, white, and rose wine. To him, wine equals classiness and sophistication. After fighting each other for hours (which he considers training for you and exercise for him) drinking wine and watching Lifetime (television for idiots) is a great way to end the night.

NSFW

As stated above, I originally thought that Hisoka was a fuck boy, so I am going to roll with that thought. This man has the potential of being rough and if he is too rough this is the time where you can speak up and say so. He’ll listen to you. Similar to Chrollo, he can be very romantic if he wants to. The rose petals gimmick was played out.

Instead, he hides in the darkest part of the living room waiting for you.

You turn on the lights and immediately head to the kitchen to drink a bottle of ice-cold water. Summer nights in Yorknew were hot and humid, almost unbearable. It felt like you were being suffocated. Becoming impatient, Hisoka clears his throat loudly causing you to nearly jump out of your skin; choking on the water you were drinking. He released a sexy chuckle. When you turned around, there stood your chiseled buff boyfriend bare with a ribbon tied in various directions around his body. Your birthday was two days ago and he was your gift. Although you have seen him like this before, for some reason you were too flustered to make a move. He already knew that you were tired from work, so he carried you in his arms to the Exercise Room and laid you gently on the floor. You smiled as a rush or passion took over your body resulting in you tearing off the ribbon tightly wrapped around his body. Since this was your birthday gift, he made it a night you’d remember forever! Surprisingly, no roughhousing, just soft and gentle. This proves that Hisoka has the capability of being humane. His strokes were to your liking and the gazes that you both exchanged were mind-blowing. Why couldn’t he be this way all the time? After it all, you fell asleep at her quickly. You were on the floor but now on top of your king-sized bed, with the message control on high. He stayed awake, watching TV, and thought about how he was going to pick a fight with you at the crack of dawn.

Hisoka’s ability to flirt and send the intended person swooning is a talent of itself. Lots of people do not possess this talent. Sometimes it's intentional and sometimes it's not. He speaks softly and smoothly, are he has to do is ask and it shall be done.

Illumi SFW

Illumi gives the impression that he is a “quiet” freak. This means that true enough he is focused on his job but if the moment comes along he will give in. He isn’t into PDA at all and if he does feel like showing some affection it will be done in private. Even though he appears to be a zombie, laying on or even cuddling with his significant other will help him relax for once. Imagine having to complete many missions in a day, exhausted, and have a wonderful person waiting to act as a human pillow for your weary head. Even Illumi can’t resist that.

If he likes you and plans to marry you, he will make that known to everyone to avoid confusion. Illumi represents the stereotypical shy boy; he is anti-social, prefers to only be around people he knows and trusts, and carries out the duties of his job.

After everything has been completed for the day, he wouldn’t mind ( and secretly begs) for silent cuddles with his significant other and to just fall asleep. At this point, you are used to it so this is all you want and you are satisfied. When he does talk, it’s usually about something he found out from work that he knows should be kept quiet but he tells you anyway. Late nights are the time of day where Illumi vents for a few hours. The details of these vent sessions could range anywhere from “I wish you were there to see it” to “No, it would be too much”. As quiet and reserve as he is, his love is shown in a unique way that you have grown accustomed to.

NSFW

When the urge slaps him across the face like a sack of rocks, he cannot resist. Usually, he fights off the urge by exercising (mainly because you are out of the house or sleep) but this time he couldn’t shake it.

Before he gets started with anything, he styles his long hair in the shape of a bun so it doesn’t get in the way of action.

Although he is portrayed to be an emotionless zombie, he has some feeling deep inside him that he unleashes just for you. This is shown by gentle moist kisses being placed along your neck and once he reaches your shoulder that is when you wake up. Halfway through your sleepy eyes, you see a man with a devilish smile painted across his face. Who is this man? This couldn’t be your boyfriend. No way, no how.

Once he sees your sleepy smile, he just releases so many kisses that you throw the blanket off and he pulls you in closer.

Illumi will allow you both to switch the roles meaning he is in charge one time and you are on another day. Since you were still asleep, he decided to take on the role. He is surprisingly gentle in the beginning but as soon as it takes off, your ride him like a donkey. It ironic; he releases more noises than you! You have to remind him that noise travels! Great, you’re doing your job well! While it is important to take your job seriously, you need to have time to release that stress.

He uses his large eyes to stare into yours; you always found yourself lost in his gaze.

After it all, you lay back down waiting for your boyfriend to return from the kitchen. Illumi craves food like crazy after a good session. What’s better than donuts at 3 AM? COMFORT FOOD!!

These urges also come when you two are training together. Several times he’s had to guide you from behind on how to aim his needles. This time you noticed the packing of his pants which surprised you.

“Any questions,” he asked in a monotone voice.

“Yes. Why did you wear jogging pants? You’re giving yourself away.”

It was at this moment, he knew he fucked up. But let’s be honest, ok? He is standing behind the most beautiful person in the world, nostrils full of perfume, hair tied up, and has his left hand placed loosely on your thigh?! What was he thinking by wearing jogging pants when he was with you? He acted as if he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“You really don’t know?”

You kicked your backside out against him causing him to fall to the ground.

“Wow! Your legs are like jelly!”

“Why tease me,” He asked breaking out a small smile.

“You’re the one denying it.”

“Just get to it. I can’t wait any longer or else I’ll explode.”

The quiet ones are always the freakiest.

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nbrook29 · 3 years

Text

Kiss or Slap

Sander doesn’t remember when exactly their group made the riverside near the Scheldt their new hangout spot, but he couldn’t be more grateful for it as a cold breeze washes over his overheated body, providing a momentary relief against the scorching heat falling from the sky. It’s probably why the park is fuller than it usually is on Thursday afternoons, packed with people spread on their picnic blankets, searching for a bit of shadow under the big trees and desperately craving a bit of wind.

It’s so hot he doesn’t even feel like sketching, preferring to just lie on the grass without moving a single muscle, and dying in peace. Even the enticing smell of cinnamon rolls that Noor brought with her isn’t enough for him to reach out and take one from the basket, the action requiring too much movement on his part.

“Guys, come on, we have to start or we’ll never get it done! Sander, get your lazy ass up.” He grunts when he feels Leon’s merciless fingers jabbing him in the ribs.

“Can’t we wait until it gets a little less hot?”

“No, cause that’s not happening in the nearest future and we need new content,” Nathan butts in, followed by Noor, which makes Sander officially outvoted. So he heaves a deep sigh, puts his shirt back on and ruffles his hair to make himself more presentable, rolling his eyes at Noor’s appreciative whistling.

“Someone’s gonna snatch himself a bunch of kisses today with that smoldering look,” she teases, pretending to give him a once over.

“Is that your way of telling me you want one for yourself, sweetheart?” He’s immensely proud of himself when her entire face scrunches up in disgust.

“Eww, no, feels like incest at this point.” Which is kinda true given the fact they’ve known each other since kindergarten and became best friends making sand castles. He fires an obnoxious wink at her, fully anticipating a shove which comes as expected within seconds, with Noor calling him a creep in between laughter.

“Who should we start with? Senne? Wanna go first?” Sander watches as Leon takes out his camera equipment and checks the settings as the rest collects their things.

“I guess, yeah. And then Nathan after me?”

“I’m not doing it, man, you know Britt, she’s gonna flip out.”

“Be a good reason to break up with her,” Sander mutters under his breath, not really feeling apologetic when Nathan shoots him a glare. It would be a long time coming, and honestly, Sander can’t wait for that moment to come. Just being in her presence gives him chills, she’s that much of a horrible person. A few years ago, he read something about alternate universes and sometimes when he looks at her he can’t help but think there’s a history there with the two of them, in a past life or something. At least it would explain that weird energy between them.

If it’s true, he feels very sorry for that Sander.

He roots for him to run far away from said devil’s spawn.

“I can go next, I don’t have the ball and chain,” Noor says innocently, but she’s smirking over Nathan’s shoulder at Sander who pretends to high five her in their shared hatred for Britt.

“Yeah, us lonely birds will sacrifice ourselves and take the hit for the wellbeing of our channel,” Sander laments playfully, making Senne snort.

“Dude, you’re on your own by your own choice.”

“And pickiness. Don’t forget pickiness,” Noor adds smugly.

Sander huffs in protest. “I’m not picky! I just...” He cuts off because he’s not about to just explain it all now.

“Just what?”

“Specific about what I want.”

Brown curls, brown eyes, shortish, lean, pierced ear, cute giggle, elegant hands and a smile brighter than the sun.

To be exact.

“Yeah. That’s picky.”

“Whatever,” he replies grumpily, and decides to ignore Noor’s knowing look. Sometimes he feels like she has a sixth sense and can read him like a book. Or she’s just less oblivious than the boys in their friend group. That’s a totally possible option too.

Thankfully, she doesn’t push him further (she’s awesome like that), though Sander has a feeling she’s gonna grill him later when they’re alone. For now, she checks her lipstick in her phone as they all briefly plan the video.

Not like there’s that much to plan; a few days ago, they decided to shoot a kiss or slap challenge for their YouTube channel because it had been wildly requested by their viewers.

Sander still doesn’t quite know how he became a part of a YouTube channel in the first place, always considering himself to be a bit more, well, sophisticated than that? But Leon was into it from the beginning and made them all participate in exchange for free beer, until one day one of their videos blew up.

If you can call getting 100k views on one video blowing up.

Anyway, they got semi-popular amongst Flemish teens and even managed to snatch a sponsorship with Mentos (however small the offer was) that paid actual money. And he had just managed to move out of his family house so any money coming his way he welcomed with no questions asked.

So they’ve kept shooting silly challenges slash anything else that’s a trend at a given time and have been able to cover their art supply needs with what little they earned. And, though Sander refused to admit it in the beginning, it’s actually kinda fun. It’s definitely better than his part time job at Pull&Bear where he has to deal with obnoxious customers on an almost daily basis.

They record a short introduction near the river, quickly going over the rules and explaining that the three of them will be competing in who gets more kisses versus slaps.

“Hey, you know what, this is actually unfair cause you both can kiss anybody,” Senne points out all of a sudden, receiving four pairs of unimpressed glances.

“No one’s stopping you from getting kisses from boys too, dude,” Sander is quick to shut him up, shit-eating grin on his face as he gives him his first (light) slap to the cheek.

They follow Senne around the park with a camera as he turns on his charm and smiles sweetly at the girls he chooses for the challenge, doing surprisingly well on the first few attempts. But when they venture deeper into the park and he tries his luck with college girls, he gets 5 slaps in the row to the rest of the group’s utter delight. In the end, his results are a blow to his pride and even Sander feels sorry for him, giving him a pat on the back while trying to hold his laughter in at Senne’s grumpy face.

Noor does much better, naturally, as her upbeat personality and a wide smile have always made boys and girls turn their heads. She gets a kiss after kiss, blush after blush, and two phone numbers in the process. Senne argues again that it’s unfair because no one’s gonna slap a girl anyway, but Leon just calls him a sore loser while Noor shamelessly flirts in French with another girl right in front of the camera.

Sander’s very proud.

Taking a quick sip of water, he gives Leon a thumbs up and starts his round, coming over to three blond girls chilling near the skateboarding ramps, trying very hard not to come off as creepy and clarifying the kiss part being only a cheek kiss. The girls erupt in giggles, but they all grant him a light kiss. One of them tries to flirt with him after, but he shoots her down before she can get too into it.

“Such a heartbreaker, you,” Noor coos at Sander’s pained face when they all walk away.

“That’s you, and you actually enjoy it,” he quips back, sticking his tongue at her.

“I do not, shut up!”

Fifteen minutes and fourteen kisses later he’s officially in the lead, sealing his victory with a kiss number fifteen he receives from a cute redhead. He’s gloating in Senne’s bemused face about nobody choosing to slap him when he stops in his tracks.

It’s the proof of his hopeless infatuation that he’d recognize that laugh everywhere.

He looks around for its source, but he comes up short. Then, his eyes focus on the skatepark area and his heart starts beating faster.

Because it feels like a sign. Like the universe is giving him a chance to finally do something. Make a move.

“Hey, can we shoot one more try?” He asks the guys, trying to sound casual while glancing furtively in the direction of brown curls.

“You’ve already won, but I guess?”

Nobody questions him about his reasons, they just follow him to the ramp.

And he’s so fucking nervous.

It’s incredible, really, how he generally has no problems talking to people he’s interested in, conversation flowing without him even trying, gaining easy smiles and appreciative looks wherever he goes, some natural confidence to him.

But that boy. That boy is something else.

He makes him question everything he says, makes his palms sweat and makes his deep hidden shyness come onto the surface.

Sander saw him for the first time during Open Day at the Academie in may, strolling casually through the hallway with his friend, completely oblivious to the turmoil he was causing to Sander’s heart.

That was the day Sander saw an angel.

Fate placed him on his path again sooner than he could’ve hoped, the boy participating in a 2 week film course at his school only several days after he saw him for the first time. And he tried so hard to convince himself to talk to him over that time, but he only managed a few smiles while passing him by in the hallway.

That and that one stupid joke he said to him while they were waiting in line at the cafeteria that makes him cringe in despair just thinking about it. Seriously, it’s like his entire cool evaporates when he’s near him.

But, the boy laughed at it. So maybe it wasn’t as horrible as Sander is making it to be. Or he was just being nice.

Robbe.

Robbe, who he’s been crushing on ever since that fateful day in may.

Robbe, who was at the same party he was last weekend.

Robbe, who he talked to at that party and managed to calm his nerves enough to be charming and funny.

Robbe, who giggled, blushed and bit his lip at Sander’s dumb jokes that evening.

Robbe, who slipped through his fingers because Sander blacked out soon after.

He almost never drinks, but that one night he did, celebrating the beginning of summer break, and not realizing his usual abstinence meant he was now officially a lightweight. What an awful timing.

Robbe doesn’t notice him right away, having his back turned to him while talking animatedly to his friends. Taking a deep breath and plastering a smile to his face to hide his nervousness, he approaches them.

“Hey guys, got a second?”

He notices the recognition in Robbe’s face right away, and Sander shoots him a quiet “hi” when his eyes meet his, an unsure smile blooming on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” One of the boys nods at the camera.

“I’m Sander, and we’re shooting a video for our YouTube channel, the kiss or slap challenge,” he quickly explains, the boys’ faces lighting up.

“Hey, we have a channel too! I’m Moyo, this is Jens, Aaron, and Robbe.” Moyo reaches out to bump his fist with him and damn, Sander has to find that channel if Robbe is a part of it.

Jens levels him with a look. “So, you want us to kiss you or slap you?”

“Pretty much, yeah?” Sander chuckles because he’s aware it’s ridiculous, but he’s a man on a mission here, give him a break.

“I think Robbe should represent all of us, don’t you think so?” Moyo proposes, tongue in his cheek as he checks with the rest of his friends. Sander catches the death glare Robbe sends the boy before looking back at him and crossing his arms, looking a bit out of place. And, fuck, the last thing Sander wants is to make him uncomfortable.

So he asks softly, “you’re in?” and waits for agonizing five seconds as Robbe watches him, eyes narrowed, before his features smooth out and he smiles at him.

“Sure, why not.��

Relieved, Sander lets out a chuckle and tries to keep his cool. “Okay then - kiss or slap?”

Robbe squints against the sun and makes him wait another few seconds before he answers, but Sander’s not worried because there’s a soft smile on his face and obviously his angel wouldn’t-

“Slap.”

Wait, what.

He can hear his friends bursting in laughter at this unexpected turn of events while Sander can only stare in shock because how could he miscalculate the situation this much?

Gulping, confused and heartbroken, he asks, “you’re sure?”, to which Robbe nods with a poorly hidden glee.

“But you have to close your eyes cause I can’t hit you while you're looking at me.”

Heaving a deep sigh and trying to save a face despite the humiliation flooding his body, he nods and closes his eyes, steeling himself for it.

But it never comes.

Suddenly, he feels a hand cupping his cheek and he flinches a little, but then soft lips touch his in a kiss so gentle he blinks his eyes open, not knowing what’s happening.

“That was payback for you promising to call me and not keeping your word,” Robbe whispers against his lips before leaning away, something sad and wistful passing through his face. Sander is left completely dumbfounded, ignoring the hollering from the two groups as his eyes fleet all over Robbe’s face.

It’s difficult for him to collect his thoughts because holy fuck, Robbe has just kissed him and he’s internally freaking out. He finally manages to get his bearings when the remnants of a smile slip off Robbe’s lips.

“I-, Robbe, you have no idea how much I wanted to call you, but I don’t have your number.”

“I gave it to you. At the party?” He doesn’t look like he believes a word Sander is saying.

“Um, I kinda blacked out and don’t remember much after like one-ish?”

“You saved it though, I saw you typing it in,” Robbe argues again, but this time he doesn’t look so sure. “Wait, what’s your number?”

Sander watches him entering digit after digit before hitting call. He fully expects a plain number to appear on his screen, eyes widening when he sees what pops up instead.

zk bambieys 🥺🦌👁️💘🧡💖💞 calling

“Fuck, you did give me your number.” He’s not fast enough to hide his screen from Robbe, but he can't even feel embarrassment once he notices the frown disappeared from his face.

“Bambi eyes?” There's a teasing note in his voice, but his pink cheeks sell him out.

Sander scratches his head. "I was very drunk, you can't hold it against me. Also, your eyes are really beautiful," he clarifies, winking when Robbe laughs at his shameless flirting. "Hey, I tried to find you on instagram, but nothing came up. I was really hoping we're gonna bump into each other again. Sorry for being a dumbass and not realizing I had your number this entire time?”

“It’s okay.” Robbe shoves his hand into the pockets of his jeans, swaying on his heels. Sander decides to put them both out of their misery and take the initiative.

“So if I asked you out, would you say yes?”

It looks like Robbe’s about to nod, but then he bites his lip, an almost cheeky smile directed at him. “I guess you have to call me to find out.” And then he gets on his skateboard and casually skates away to the nearest ramp, pulling a surprised laugh out of Sander.

If he was intrigued before, now he’s totally smitten with this wonder of a boy, because damn.

Their friends finally seem to regain their voices and speak over each other at what just happened, but Sander doesn’t pay them any attention, just takes out his phone again and pressing the call button.

Watching as Robbe comes to a full stop at the top of the ramp, he cocks his head with a grin and waits until he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Sander.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Robbe laughs into the speaker.

“Will you go out with me?”

He meets his eyes across the skatepark as Robbe makes him wait again.

Then, with a smile so radiant it overshadows the sun, the boy finally gives him his answer.

“Yes.”

#wtfock #my fics #i think i prefer writing sobbe in canon #i kinda struggle with the AU versions of them #😫

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jjksblackgf · 4 years

Text

manuka honey

pairing — jeon jungkook x black female reader genre — smut word count — 1.6k summary — “He would then ask for a dance, and later he would take you to his room, so he could bend you over and make you moan his name” warning — explicit sexual content, masturbation (f & m receiving), light choking, nipple play, food play (be careful with it), cunnilingus, light overstimulation, multiple orgasms. There’s also social gathering, but I didn’t write this with miss rona in the picture, so you better social distance, and wear your masks, lovelies.

a/n — The series is over, omg 🤧 This was a challenge for me, since the focus is only one action of the whole sex experience, so I did tons of research on how to properly eat a pussy (helped yours truly on future pussy eating, too 👀) to be more creative, but there’s a bunch of good stuff I don’t know how to put into words, I’ll work on that. And the JK chapter is my absolute favorite, it was what gave me the idea of the whole series. But I said too much already, enjoy the last one <3

Today was a new day, and Jungkook was older and he felt wiser and more confident about himself.

He entered his kitchen to see the signs of his birthday party. Champagne glasses on a tray, a few dishes on the sink, his living room with had the golden balloons, the TV was still on, connected to the karaoke machine, and other remaining trash that you’d both clean together.

But he didn’t care about the mess just yet. He had a great night.

As Jungkook pour milk into a cereal bowl, he remembered the last time he was behind this kitchen counter. Even if slightly drunk, he had clear memories of the night before, a beautiful birthday party that you have been planning for a couple of months, just the perfect harmony between his sophisticated side and his playful side.

His apartment was full of his closest friends and his family members, taking turns in the different games you had planned, and the karaoke machine, all while dressed as to attend a gala event. There were even hired servers with various glasses of his favorite champagne.

Behind that same counter, he took it all in, smiling to himself as he saw his favorite people talking and having fun with each other, that’s all he wanted. It didn’t even have to be his birthday for him to be this happy.

He looked to his left and saw your body covered by the gold fabric of your dress. If you twisted just a little to the right, he would see your back almost uncovered, your melanated skin contrasting the golden spaghetti straps that were holding your dress together. At that moment he just wanted to rip those straps so the silk would fall to your ankles and your nipples would be exposed for his pleasure.

That was all hot and everything, but the way you were hosting the event was so graceful, so full of life, and you made everyone feel so welcome that he wanted to give you the world. He never felt so happy to have you in his life. You were the one who wanted to celebrate him the most, and you knew just the way to do it, without having to leave any part in the shadows.

He watched you closely that night, and at one point you were dancing with his brother in the middle of the living room, as Jimin and Taehyung sang a cheesy song. When you both locked eyes, he smiled your favorite smile, the one when his nose is about to scrunch but it’s not there yet, and the corners of his mouth make his eyes look smaller.

He would then ask for a dance, and later he would take you to his room, so he could bend you over and make you moan his name. He didn’t care if anyone listened to his grunts or your screams of pleasure, there were enough lough music and conversation to muffle that up, and as he chews his cereal he wishes he would go back to last night just to make you scream louder, he wanted people to know how good he made you feel.

He leaned on the counter after finishing his cereal and took a deep breath. He then listened to you wake up in his room, opening the door and walking through the hall.

“Good morning, birthday man” you said and hugged his side. He looped his arm against your hips and kissed your forehead, feeling through his stolen button-up shirt that you weren’t wearing any panties. Interesting.

He waisted no time placing you on top of the counter, moving your legs to hug his hips. He closed the space between your lips, gripping your waist to move you closer. His tongue slowly made its way towards yours, liking the taste of your toothpaste when they finally met.

Your hands went to hug his neck, one hand traveling through his hair to tug strongly. He moaned in your lips, holding you closer to his chest, wishing you could just be glued to his body. His hands went to grab your ass underneath his shirt as yours traveled through his naked chest, choosing to stay at his abs.

His lips separated from yours and you whined asking for more. He couldn’t say no to you, moving back to where he thought was his rightful place.

You bit his lower lip with a more sensual moan, your hands traveling down to meet the hem of his boxers. You both laughed when you grabbed his ass, but his grip only got tighter on yours.

His lips went to your neck, placing wet kisses in every inch he could reach, you hugged his neck again, this time slightly scratching his shoulders.

“Keep it there, baby” you whispered in his ear when he kissed your sweet spot.

He continued his kisses and sucking of the spot, practically making out with your neck when one of his hands released the grip from your ass and went to the side of your neck. Your hands were now back on his hips, one hand holding his boxer down and the other reached for his hard dick, earning a growl from his lips and a bite to your neck.

You licked the palm of your hand before placing it at the tip of his cock. He hissed at the touch and leaned back so he could look at you. “You’ll be the death of me, I swear” he said as he looked at the marks he left on you, leaving his hand in choking position.

You could now easily feel the pool between your legs forming as he lightly tightens the grip on your neck. You licked your lips as you moved your hand to massage the rest of his length.

You two were now playing a pressure game. He would grip your neck as tight as you’d grip his dick, both enjoying the changes along the way. You then used your other hand to cup and massage his balls.

“Fuck!” you started to pick up the pace, wanting to see his morning cum dripping down your hands.

“Baby, wait” he said and you stopped your movements. “You already did a lot for me in this week alone, let show you how much I appreciate you” Before you could protest, his lips were back on yours, and he started to unbutton the shirt, grazing his hand from your hips to cup your breasts.

You started to take the shirt on, but he stopped you, wanting you to leave them on. After massaging your tits, he moved some things around to lay you on the counter. He reached for your nipple with his mouth, cupping with perfectly. He switched between sucking and licking multiple times before reaching for a container of honey you liked to leave at his counter.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked as he dripped the honey on your body

“Shh, just relax and enjoy the moment” he said with a big smile and moved the honey aside, not closing it as he planned to use it later.

He licked the honey he placed on your body that started on your belly and trailed to both your breasts. After he reached the last nipple, he stayed on it a bit longer, the suction making you tug his hair again. You arched your back and moaned his name at the moment he bit your nipple.

He then left your breasts and placed your feet at the counter, leaving your legs perfectly open. He dipped his thumb in the honey container and placed it back at your clit. He liked for you to have a lot of sensations, so he often switched between circling, moving it side to side, and up and down, if he had time he would write a few things on your clit, one letter at a time.

But he was really curious about the recipe he just created, wanting to taste the mixture of the honey with your arousal. So without warning, he leaned himself over you and licked your folds starting at your entrance. If wasn’t the taste he expected, he thought it would be sweeter than this, but the honey complimented you perfectly. Of course it would, it was you, for God’s sake!

You tugged his hair again, deep breaths and his name were leaving your lips. His salivating mouth lubricated your clit even more as he licked you up and down, opening your legs wider by your thighs.

You reached for one of your sticky breasts and massaged it as he continued his mouth work. He was switching techniques again but chose the one you always responded to the best. He decided to speed it up and saw your toes curling by his side. Looking into your eyes, he saw your expression as you came on his chin, and your walls clenched, deciding not to stop his speed and increase the pressure of his tongue on your sensitive bud.

You screamed his name after the third release of your knot and he only stopped because you tugged his hair out of your core, breathing heavily.

“Were you ever going to stop?” You asked trying to catch your breath, sitting up straight again.

“No, I knew that at one point you would ask for mercy” he laughed as you slapped his bare shoulder.

“Did you have to use my expensive honey?” you asked looking at the container left by your side

“Your pussy already tastes like a gourmet meal at a restaurant rated 3 Michelin stars, might as well season with something expensive” he said as you snort out a laugh

“Boy, you did NOT just say you seasoned me!”

#bts smut #bts pwp #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts ambw #jungkook ambw #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #kpop ambw #black kpop stans #black kpop fans #bts #bangtan

475 notes · View notes

tangledbea · 3 years

Note

Polygon has the excerpt for What Once Was Mine!!! I'm cackling it feels like I'm in 2011 again looking at "Edgy" fics or pre-season 3 and all the Moonpunzel art!!!

Yep, they sure do!

When it rain’s Tangled, it pours!

For those who don't want to click the link, I'll copy/paste the excerpt below, under the readmore:

“Well, turning nineteen means that I’m an adult. By any definition,” Rapunzel continued, standing up as straight as she could. “Grown up, and responsible, and … things.

“Which brings me to my next point: Every year during my birthday week there are those floating lights in the sky.”

“What?” Gothel asked, sounding honestly confused (or as though she was expertly feigning confusion).

“You know.” She grabbed her mother by the hand and led her over to the painting she had made years ago, when she first started noticing the yearly regularity of the lights. It wasn’t a technically sophisticated piece: just pretty golden orbs with faint auras rising up into a night sky.

“Every year at this time, the mysterious glowing things float up into the sky in the west. This year it should be especially bright because it’s a new moon tonight, which means the sky will still be pretty dark a few days from now, and —”

“And you want me to watch them with you, dear,” Gothel said, making a moue of her lips and squeezing Rapunzel’s hands. “How very sweet. But —”

“No, I want to go see them. Myself. Ourselves.” Silence fell over the room, which was also suddenly dim and dusky as a dramatic cloud took the opportunity to pass in front of the sun. The two women stared at each other, both silent: one, now that she had finally spit out the words, with a pregnant pause of hope. The other with disbelief.

Gothel pulled her hands out of Rapunzel’s. She spoke flatly.

“You know you can’t. Why are you even asking.”

“But, Mother,” Rapunzel said, trying not to wheedle or whine. “I’m older now. I can control myself. I won’t see anyone or anything else. I won’t touch anything. You’ll come with me. You’ll take me there and you’ll make sure I don’t—”

“That you don’t kill anyone else, like your own mother and father?” Gothel hissed.

Rapunzel deflated like a tower that had an inferno raging through it a moment before. Everything burned out; the soot, smoke, and heat sucked themselves back into wherever a fire’s energy came from. Ashes clogged her nose; her body felt fragile, sapped of its inner structure.

“Mother,” she pleaded weakly, looking at the ground.

“Mother indeed,” Gothel said — but what she meant by that was unclear.

This was what Rapunzel had lived with for nineteen years. The silent secret that destroyed her inside when she wasn’t strong enough to stop it. The thing that took all the color from her already tiny world, the light from the faraway sun, the small amount of air her lungs used.

Rapunzel was locked in a tower because she was a murderer.

Her beautiful, treasonous hair had killed her birth parents just after she was born, in a moment of infant rage.

The hair that she now bound, braided, knotted, and tangled with charms to keep under control.

She couldn’t even cut it off; to do so would be her death.

So there it was: endless sparkling braids of it, knotted up with charms and wishes, reminding her every day of why she was imprisoned. How she couldn’t be allowed to hurt anyone else again.

“Look what I brought, for your birthday,” Gothel said coldly, reaching down and opening up the giant basket she had brought.

Rapunzel miserably leaned over, guessing what it was, afraid of what she would find.

A fat, beautiful old chicken, her egg-laying time now passed. A yard bird of mixed feathers and heritage. The hen looked up at her, blinked in the light, but didn’t make a sound.

“I was going to wring her neck myself,” Gothel went on. “Because I know how squeamish my precious, tower-dwelling princess is. But I think maybe it’s time for another lesson on why you are in this tower.”

“No …” Rapunzel begged.

“Do it,” Gothel ordered. “You need to do it. You need to remember just why you’re here.”

As if the girl with the silver hair could ever forget.

The woman took her daughter by the arm and steered her over to the armoire, slamming the basket onto a table there harder than was necessary — or nice. The chicken squawked quietly.

Rapunzel began to cry.

She reached into the basket to stroke the bird, unsure if that was a terrible lie or a final kindness. Murmuring softly, she picked up the thing that was to be dinner. What a wonderful pet the old hen would have made—

—but one look at Gothel’s large, cold, set eyes made Rapunzel forget even the idea of asking.

She drooped, listlessly taking a single small braid out of its knot. She laid it across the chicken’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

She closed her eyes and reached out with her voice, humming a sad little nonsense song. Her mind went blank. She felt an icy blackness coursing from her head down her hair to its tips, like freezing water down a chute. Her silver hair pulsed with an unnatural glow, throwing little shadows everywhere they shouldn’t have been.

The bird relaxed … entirely. Its feet changed color first; its eyes rolled up into its head.

It died.

“Do you see that?” Gothel whispered.

“Yes, Mother,” Rapunzel said dully.

“Do you understand why you can never leave this tower?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Gothel shook her head. She took the dead chicken in one hand and patted Rapunzel’s cheek with the other.

“Darling, you know I’m only doing this for your own good. You’re too dangerous to be around other people. You’ll hurt them.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You’ll see, you know I’m right.” She paused, her eyes narrowing.

“Mother knows best.”

#Tangled #Rapunzel #Mother Gothel #What Once Was Mine: A Twisted Tale #Merchandise #Books #Links #tw murder mention #tw animal death

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pinkiepiebones · 3 years

Text

Waylon didn’t bother muting the TV.

”I can hear you, man. Don’t sneak around like yer some kinda fuckin’ thief.”

Victor Zsasz emerged from a shadowed spit of narrow pipework, blood and water snaking down his gaunt, scarred form.

”I don’t sneak like a thief, I sneak like- well, it’s just how I move.”

Waylon grumbled and turned his attention back to the TV, a bulky old CRT with piss-poor reception. Still, the shit he could see on it was good enough.

”How ya been, y’fuckin’ weirdo?”

Victor Zsasz slithered over and sat on the broken sofa beside the hulking Waylon Jones. As he wrapped gauze around his wrist, he answered, ambivilent to being called a fucking weirdo:

“Oh, you know, as well as one can be whilst slumming through the dregs of disgust that choke the world.”

He finished wrapping his wrist and pinned the gauze in place. “You know, the world above us is infinitely more filthy than this world in which you reign.”

Waylon snorted. “I doubt that, man. And ‘whilst’? This isn’t Shakespeare in th’ Park, Vic. There’s no shinks down here to impress with your goddamned vocabulary.”

Zsasz wheezed out a laugh. “Right, right. I’ll do better to remember my thick-skinned and thick-skulled audience… Dude.”

Both men cackled, each unable to keep up their individual facade around the other. Waylon reached out and picked up a bowl of tortilla chips from on top of the TV and handed it to Zsasz.

”Here, eat somethin’. I seen drown rats down here that look healthier than you.”

Zsasz‘s wild, black eyes darted between Waylon and the bowl. He greedily snatched the bowl and shoveled chips into his mouth single-handed but somehow had the courtesy to chew with his mouth closed. Waylon sighed and stood, his weight leaving the couch causing it to spring up slightly.

”You want somethin’ t’ wash that down? I don’t have any wine in the cellar that’ll satisfy yer sophisticated pa-“

”Your swamp swill is fine, Waylon.”

Waylon grinned as he grabbed a six pack from the battered fridge in the rounded corner. Once upon a time, this section of sewer had been a set-up site for construction crews. Then it was a small homeless camp. Then for a week a cult lived there and really cleaned it up. The furniture had been present when Waylon stumbled upon the place; he added some chili-pepper string lights Harley had given him and called it home.

Zsasz drank like a dehydrated fish and Waylon shook his head. “Yer not takin’ care of yerself, are ya?”

Zsasz‘s pale eyebrows knit an expression of perplextion. He wordlessly patted at the already damp gauze on his wrist. Waylon sat back down on the sofa, ignoring the groan and whine of the remaining springs.

”You know that’s not what I mean. For such a smart guy, you’re sure dumb as shit sometimes.” Waylon took a swig of beer and set the bottle on the TV set, then he reached over and grabbed Zsasz, his huge hand covered Zsasz’s entire forearm.

”Look, man, I get that you’re on a holy crusade or some shit. But if you let yerself die from some goddamned bullshit like ‘forgetting to eat an’ drink,’ who’s gonna step in for you? Huh?”

He gave Zsasz a shake and let go of his arm.

“You got no henchmen, just some creepass Internet fans who’d shit themselves if they ever offed anyone. An’ don’t even think of askin’ me t’take your place.”

Waylon dragged a claw across his own forearm.

”You know how long it’d take me t’carve just one scar int’ this mess I call skin? I’m tired just thinkin’ about it.”

Zsasz and Waylon sat wordlessly, studying one another with animalistic eyes. Zsasz was the first one to crack a smile, bone and metal.

”Gosh Waylon, I didn’t know you cared,” he purred.

Waylon grinned back, all fang. “I don’t. Yer a creep and a lunatic. But, of all the assholes in this city, I can tolerate your company. So don’t go dyin’ on me anytime soon, arright, ya fuckin’ weirdo?”

Zsasz nodded, finished his beer, and spoke. “I love you too, dearest” he said with a grin.

Waylon shoved him off the couch with a hearty laugh.

”Don’t tell me that, just steal a goddamned burger every now an’ then. I think they call it ‘self care,’ yeah, that’s it. Take care of yerself or I’ll kill you.”

Zsasz chuckled and slinked back up onto the sofa and leaned against Waylon’s scaly arm.

”I should say the same to you, shouldn’t I?” He yawned. ”How would I go about killing you, though…”

”I dunno, Vic. A rock?”

Zsasz looked up at Waylon in befuddlement.

”A big rock,” Waylon clarified.

”Ah. Right.”

#victor zsasz #waylon jones #idk I just want friendships for Zsasz #I hope I wrote waylon okay #zsasz #mister zsasz

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fandomsonrequests · 3 years

Text

keep in touch

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: spiderman!yunho

reader: gn!blackcat

word count: 2.7k+

summary: life as spider-man is sometimes never easy- especially when your past catches up to you.

notes: spiderman au, somewhat loyal to black cat’s plotline, some angst

a/n: if ever you’re unfamiliar with black cat in the marvel universe, basically she was a criminal that dated peter parker. here’s her page if you wanna read more about her. she’s a really cool character :D

Yunho sighs as he settles down onto a building’s rooftop edge. He momentarily rips off his mask, allowing himself to breathe after swinging around the city in his suit. The cool night breeze brushes against his dark hair as his eyes take in the sight of the city’s multiple lights, flashing in different fluorescent colors.

[Another day, another crime solved right Yunho?]

Mingi’s voice came into the hero’s intercom along with the slurping noise of a drink going through a straw. The slightly taller male chuckled, somewhat tiredly, as he leaned back onto his arm with his feet dangling along the edge.

“I can’t believe Kingpin managed to smuggle truckloads of those weapons.” He recounts as he runs a hand down his face. “Who was it for again? The Demons?”

[It was actually for The Underground. Which is ironic because they hate his guts.]

“I’m not sure what they want from him or vice versa but we should keep an eye on them. I don’t have a good feeling about their arrangement.”

[That’s what I’m here for- the guy in the chair to keep watch on stuff you can’t.] Mingi chuckled. [Well anyway- I’m gonna shower, dude. I’ll see you back at home.]

“Leave some food for me, please. I don’t wanna have to eat frozen pizza again.” Yunho grunts as he gets up on his feet, pulling his mask down back over his face.

His best friend assures him to leave out some of the dinner, brought to them by their other friend Wooyoung because God knows neither of them could cook, before leaving the channel on the intercom. Yunho brushes off the dirt from the back of his thighs as he prepares to swing back home when he spots movement in the corner of his eye. At first, he thought it was just some flock of pigeons that escaped from their coop again. But when he turned his spider senses started tingling; that, and because that movement happened to be a single figure. The figure leaps across the building swiftly and silently before dropping down onto the dome roof of the fancy art museum nearby.

Yunho sighed, thinking that its probably an Underground member or one of The Demons from the way a stream of light trailed behind them. But as he swung closer, his gut told him it wasn’t just his average, run of the mill criminal. He had a feeling that they were much more… sophisticated than the Underground or the Demons.

He landed with a barely audible thud on the glass dome of the art museum. His mask adjusts to the darkness inside the museum, eye lenses shifting and tilting so he could see clearer. After a while of scanning from his position, nobody seemed to appear. “Huh,” he huffs when there seemingly was no one. “Where are they?”

The man crawled his way over to one of the vents of the building before slipping inside and quickly making his way into the museum. He lands with a thud onto the linoleum floor, a variety of paintings and sculptures displayed in every direction. “I mean I get why some of these paintings are here but some of these abstract ones seem a little silly…” he tells himself when he observes a framed piece with a yellow background and a black square in the middle.

He goes up to the main piece, which is smacked right in the middle of the floor, covered in glass while a velvet rope keeps people from going too close to it. It was a famous portrait made by an old, and I mean old, European artist that was probably around in the Renaissance era. It was meant to be on display for a while before being shipped back to the Louvre.

“You’re probably here for this, aren’t you?” Yunho called out to no one in particular. “If you are, I highly suggest you stop before I catch you. But if you still want to ignore me, I’d rather we take it outside. I don’t want to break anything in here.”

“That’s never stopped you before though,” a voice responded making him jump a little in surprise. “But then again, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Spidey.”

Chills ran down Yunho’s back at the familiarity of the voice. The voice he was once, maybe still is, so enamored by. The one that whispered the most filthiest to the most comforting words in his ear.

“_____,” He starts, hoping his voice wasn’t as shaky as he had anticipated. “Still into art, I see.”

You emerge from the shadows behind the large painting, a devilish smirk on your plump lips. Your clawed gloves trailed along the intricate curves of the painting’s golden frame. Your gaze pierced his, like a predator locked onto its prey. You step forward, hands drumming against the glass that kept you two separated.

“Still into saving people, hm?” You hum, smirk growing wider. “You never change, Yunho.”

“I thought you left this… ‘business’ long ago?” Yunho presses on, determined to not fall under your spell again.

Deep down, the poor boy was still head over heels for you. He’s created so many memories with you, grew as a person because of you. There were nights where he’d sometimes think of you, how you fit so comfortably in his arms. Or when you hugged him from behind in the morning, hair all over the place with the cutest pout on your lips. He missed telling you how much he loved you most of all.

“You know me, baby, old habits die hard.” You reply with a small chuckle as you move to take the painting off the hook. But he could tell that you were hiding something from the way your shoulders tensed for a fraction and how your confident smile faltered.

“_____, please, put that back. You don’t have to resort to this kind of thing anymore.” Yunho begged while looking for a way to get into the glass box. How the hell did you slip in there anyway?

Your smile returns but it’s tight-lipped, almost forced. You sigh, head turned down and lip caught between your teeth. You turned to look over at him but your hand never left the picture frame, showing that you were still hellbent on taking it for yourself. Despite the mask you had on, Yunho could see the signs of a troubled person through your eyes.

“If we weren’t in this kind of setting right now I’d probably be already swooning into your arms,” You chuckled as you tried to make light of the situation. “I appreciate the concern, Yunho. I really do. But this time… I just can’t turn away.”

And before your former lover could say anything you had already thrown down a pellet, causing the glass box to be filled with smoke. As soon as the smoke cleared, you and the painting were nowhere in sight. Yunho looked around, adrenaline rushing through his veins once more, and caught a glimpse of the light that emitted from your gear from the top of the building.

Wasting no time, he shot out his web and swung after you, following the trail of fluorescent lights you left behind. He watched as you skillfully jumped from rooftop to rooftop with the painting in one arm. You moved slower with the object in hand but nonetheless, you still managed to always be one step ahead of him.

You glance behind you when you felt that someone was chasing you and groaned inwardly. Although, part of you, the one that was still soft for Yunho, was quite impressed that he still managed to chase after you.

“Back off Spidey!” You call out to him, managing to evade a web that he shot at you to restrain you. “Don’t make this difficult.”

“The only one making this difficult is you, _____!” He replied as he scanned for a path that would lead him right to you.

Suddenly, his comms open and a voice filters through.

[Dude you were supposed to be home five minutes ago. Why are you going further away from the apartment?] Mingi asks with a confused tone.

“I sort of ran into trouble,” Yunho grunts as he pulled himself to the next building. “It’s _____.”

He could hear his friend splutter behind the comms. [ The _____? As in Black Cat _____?]

“Yes, them. Can you help-” Yunho gets cut off when something hits him in the chest, momentarily stinging him and jamming his comms as a wave of electricity runs through him. He stumbles back against the roof of a building, his web-shooters momentarily malfunctioning. He looked up to see you blow a flying kiss before continuing on down your path.

He sighs to himself. “Well, I guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way…”

Yunho may not have his web-shooters right now but he still had the agility and reflexes of a spider. He jumped and crawled from one building to the next as he trailed after you, still hot on your tail.

“You never know when to quit, do you?” You say when you notice that he was still after you. It was once amusing but now, it was starting to get on your nerves. Especially since you were on a tight schedule with your… client.

“I mean that’s how I ended up with you.” He retorts as he jumped from an antenna down to the glass roof of a condominium’s greenhouse. “You played hard to get and I played along with you.”

[You’re back online.] Mingi suddenly butted in to notify his friend.

Yunho took this as an opportunity to catch you off guard and literally catch you in his webs. He shot out short but consecutive bursts of webs towards you, making you stumble on your path and fall towards an apartment building roof. The painting clatters out of your hand and skids across the floor.

The young man took this as a chance to catch you, webbing both of your hands to the concrete floor before you could get up. He lands by your feet, opting to take the painting first before you could escape. You struggle to free yourself from your bonds, glaring up at him.

“The webs will dissolve in an hour,” Yunho informs you as he walked towards you. He didn’t want to resort to this but you were just too stubborn. “I’m going to let you off once, but only if you tell me why you’re doing this.”

You stopped struggling and suddenly smirked up at him. “Awe, at least I know that you still have a soft spot for me.” You tease, crossing your legs together despite your compromising position.

[Are they really flirting with you right now?] Mingi asks in disbelief. [Dude- that’s like some spy movie shit.]

“Not now Mingi,” Yunho whispers over to his comms but your ears manage to pick up what he said.

“Hi Mingi!” You call out from your spot on the floor. “Hope you’re doing well.”

[Did they just-]

“_____, please. You can trust me. Why are you doing this?” Yunho asks you, removing his mask to prove his point.

Your breath hitches momentarily. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, a few years in fact, but he still managed to sweep you off your feet. “All I’ll say is that something from my past has caught up with me. And whether or not I liked this job- it’s something I couldn’t just turn down without losing something as a consequence.”

“Is someone forcing you to do this?” He asks as he steps closer to you.

You, on the other hand, decided to flip tables. While Yunho was distracted with interrogating you, you had managed to cut bits of the webs on your wrists with your clawed gloves. As soon as he was in proximity with you, you kicked up your feet and tore your hands way from the floor. Yunho toppled to the ground with you on top of him, knees pinning his legs to the floor while your hands held his wrists down.

“Hm, it’s been a while since we’ve been in this kind of position.” You tease, leaning over him to grab the painting. You chuckle at the way a beautiful red shade dusts his cheeks, his furious blush traveling all the way up to his ears.

[Oh, man. I’m not listening to this.] Mingi resigns before logging off of his comms, leaving Yunho alone with his thoughts and you.

“... does this have something to do with your family..?” He guessed, hoping that you’d let down your walls around him.

Your jaw clenches at the mention of your family. That’s when Yunho knew that you were in trouble. He knew how much you loved your family and what they meant to you. Hell, he loved your family too. They welcomed him like he was their own son when the two of you were dating back then.

“______- please. You can trust me. I can help you with, with whatever the hell this is.” He whispered up to you.

Silence surrounds the both of you. Your brows are furrowed as you look down at the man under you. You can see in his eyes that he was genuine, sincere in wanting to help you. He still loved you and you could see that in his gaze. And it tore at your heartstrings to see that he still felt something for you despite what you did to him back then. When you worked under Kingpin to get some powers from him so that you wouldn’t become a liability to Yunho and when you teamed up with Hammerhead to take him down later on.

Your anger and bitterness from your break up with Yunho and your drive to prove yourself worthy in the criminal underworld brought him so much pain and yet— here he was ready to drop everything to help you. A person who not only crushed his heart, but pieced it back together only to break it again.

You hadn’t realized that you were crying until you felt a hand brush your cheek. You flinch at the contact, backing away from Yunho and getting up from the floor. Yunho didn’t miss a beat and stood up after you. “_____,” He sighed and approached you. He took one more step towards you when you didn’t move away.

“...why are you doing this..?” You ask him when he was right in front of you. This time, when he reached up to cup your cheek again, you didn’t pull away. You instinctively leaned into his touch, a small sigh escaping your lips.

Yunho flashes you his signature smile. The dorky, lopsided that smile that never failed to lift your spirits. “Aside from the fact that I’m still head over heels for you,” He chuckled softly. “It’s the right thing to do. I know you’ve tried quitting this lifestyle before, and I can help you get things back to normal. But you just have to put your faith in me. There are other ways to go about things.”

You release a heavy sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you let his words sink in. “Fine,” You say after a while. And you swear his grin grew wider. “Only if you let me off this once.”

“A deal’s a deal, baby.” He says but snatches the portrait away from using his webs. “But we’re gonna have to put this back.”

Now it was your turn to smile. You shake your head and chuckle at him, fingers trailing up his arm to pinch his cheek. “Whatever you say Spidey.” You purr, leaning in to kiss the corner of his lips.

He freezes up at the sudden action, his blush returning to his cheeks. He only reacts when you toss his mask back at him, already backing away from the rooftop. “I’ll see you around~”

You blow a kiss at him and hop off the ledge of the building, traveling back to your home. Yunho watched as your figure disappeared into the night, the weight of your lips still lingering against his skin. As he reached up to touch the part you kissed, he looked down at the painting you had stolen. It was still safe, thankfully, but a sticky note was plastered onto it.

Here’s my number. Keep in touch xoxo

#ateez #ateez x reader #marvel au #spiderman #spiderman au #jeong yunho #jeong yunho x reader #spider man yunho #spiderman!yunho #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez imagines

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oldtowrs · 3 years

Text

˗ˏˋ DROWNING IN YOU - obi-wan kenobi/jedi!reader

SUMMARY - after order-66 has been issued, obi-wan and the reader, a jedi and his companion, exile themselves on tatooine. the reader finds obi-wan practicing with his lightsaber, and they get into a small argument, which ends in fluff.

WORD COUNT - ~2.1k

A/N - i have a soft spot for obi-wan. however, this is my first obi-wan fic so i’m sorry if i’ve missed aspects of his character. it will come eventually though. i promise. anyway, gif belongs to @coredrive. please send me requests if you have any!

WARNINGS - none

the familiar hum of his weapon seemed to electrify the dry air around obi-wan as he ignited it, the blue light of his kyber crystal illuminating his strong features and the sandy terrain around him. memories from as early as his padawan years raced through his mind. he smiled at the realization that many included you and the many battles you had fought by his side. it was a familiar glow and welcomed buzz, but obi-wan couldn’t help but remember all that he had failed to protect with the sophisticated saber he held in his hands.

his heart ached as images of anakin’s golden eyes glaring at him over their crossed, blue lightsabers haunted his memories. the heat of the lava surrounding them almost was unbearable as they dueled, yet his failures burned a whole in his heart greater than the lava ever could.

but that’s why he had dug his lightsaber out of the trunk he had frantically shoved his few belongings into before you and him had made a frantic escape from coruscant to live out your days on tatooine, hovering just close enough to protect anakin’s son: luke skywalker. he dug it out in hopes that his skills hadn’t faltered in the few months he had been cowering in the little sandy cave that he now shared with you and which he called home. he couldn’t let them falter. he had to protect luke. he had to protect you. he was a jedi guardian, after all. he fought to protect all that was good in the world the brilliant blue of his force signature marching the glow of his saber. he couldn’t let himself fail luke. he couldn’t let himself fail you. he wouldn’t let that failure take hold of him again, not while the images of anakin burnt to a crisp and padme lying, her dark hair carefully decorated with delicate, white flowers, on her deathbed were still fresh in his mind; and he anticipated they would be for quite some time.

he readied his lightsaber in one of the traditional fighting stances of form iv. qui-gon’s face seemed to swim in his memories as he began the training sequence obi-wan’s old master had taught him, closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath. another face which only existed in his memories now. another failure.

with each heavy swing of his lightsaber, the dry air seemed to crackle and buzz about him, his anger at his failures burning up with it as he forced them from his being and into his each swing and spin. anger was not the way of the jedi-although he supposed that didn’t matter now. if he stayed true to the order, to the code, he was a marked traitor and enemy of the galactic republic. the order which he had dedicated so much of his life to could now get him killed.

the order. the council. another failure. another swing of his saber. another hum that broke the silence of the quiet desert and the evening which descended upon it as tatooine’s twin suns sunk into the sand.

he felt a presence through the force occupy his already tortured mental state, but he elected to ignore it-cut it down with another swing of the lightsaber.

‘obi-wan!’ a voice called, its normal tone and sweetness turned bitter with concern. it was your voice.

he looked up to see you running towards him from the entrance to your cave home, the linens of your dress-which you had traded your usual heavy, woolen jedi robes for, snapping in the slight breeze behind you. ‘what’re you doing?! are you asking to get caught?’

somewhere in his confusion, he managed to sheath his lightsaber, the blade of pure light and plasma retracting with a whomsh as he clipped it to his belt-an old force of habit.

‘my love, somebody could see you!’ you exclaimed softly, as you stopped before him, arms entangling themselves with his own. ‘or did you forget that the whole galaxy is on the lookout for jedi to report to the republic?’

guilt ravaged his features and an unfamiliar wave of shame washed over his heart. should someone see him wielding a lightsaber whose color was indicative of his rank, of his affiliation with the order, he would be reported to the republic, hunted down, locked in a cell and put on a waitlist for execution as punishment for treason.

the concern on your face made his heart ache, how your delicate eyebrows furrowed in worry, the way your e/c eyes no longer sparkled with joy-but were haunted by fear instead. he noticed new worry lines had formed around your eyes, and dark circles had begun to collect beneath them. age had seeped into your face and he realized that the past few months had not been kind to you, hitting you just as hard as they did him. you had been one of padme’s closest confidants after all, always waiting by her side during meetings which matters of the senate and council and the galaxy at large were always discussed in dramatic fashion. you had been almost as dark of a shadow as anakin had been, always following her around, protecting her from a galaxy which wished to harm her. his failures had been yours too.

yet despite those lines of worry and of age, you were still as beautiful as you had been as a padawan, running around coruscant jedi training grounds and rooms of the high jedi council with obi-wan’s strong, calloused fingers interwoven with your soft ones.

your heart ached for the jedi you had formed a forbidden attachment to, to whom you had fallen in love with, as you watched the shining, steely blue of his irises drop to his boots.

‘i’m sorry, darling,’ he said, his precise articulations and elegant accent soft and plagued with the guilt that he seemed to drown in. the sensation of your delicate fingers taking hold of his face, their tips burying themselves in the bushiness of his reddish-brown beard, was enough to pull him to the surface-to ground him in the present. he looked up through the golden spun curtain of his eyelashes, just in time to see your features soften.

kriff- the way you looked at him made his heart melt.and the way the setting suns caught in your h/c hair made it gleam as though it was spun of the finest metals. you had braided it into a simple tatooine style and the only thought he found rushing through his mind was how beautiful you were-and how guilty he felt.

‘i suppose you are right,’ he said. ‘it is reckless.’

‘obi-wan, what’s wrong?” you said, your fingers angling his gaze directly into yours. the concern he saw there made him want to cry, tears welling up in his eyes and inhibiting his ability to speak.

‘i failed,’ he choked out. ‘i fails qui-him. i failed anakin. i failed padme. i failed the order, the council-everything.’

he watched as your face fell and pain seeped into your lovely irises, illuminated by the dying light of tatooine’s suns. but he continued on. he was drowning, and your presence had been his gasp of fresh air. now the seawater couldn’t help but pour out of him, and his thoughts with it.

his voice became deadly quiet. ‘how am i supposed to protect luke if i can’t even protect them. how can i protect you for that matter? i thought that, perhaps, if i train, then… i’ll be good enough to at least give you some sense of security, and, when the time comes, train luke to bring peace to the galaxy that i’ve helped destroy.’

‘oh, obi-wan,’ you sigh, pain evident in your voice. ‘you have not failed the galaxy, and you certainly have not contributed to the destruction which palpatine helped to foster-both in the galaxy and in anakin. their downfall is not on your hands, my love. do not manipulate it to be so.’

‘you have protected this galaxy, and put your life on the line so that trillions may live in peace without ever having to experience the horrors of war.’

‘and as for me, my love,’ you chuckled, smiling up at him and pressing a kiss softer than the petals of the alderaanian flame-rose to his jawline, ‘do you forget that i am a jedi too? i may not be a guardian and a general like you, but that doesn’t mean i’m any less trained in the ways of the force than you, my sweet jedi. we protect each other now, remember?’

maker-when had you learned to be so convincing? it only amplified the love that burned in his heart, melting him from the inside out. a small smile settled itself onto his lips, peeking through the beauty that was his beard.

‘yes, i remember, sweetling,’ he hummed, the endearment sounding like honey on his articulate tongue. it warmed your heart, as you saw some of the light you so dearly cherished found its way back into his kind eyes. he was so lovely, in all that he was.

obi-wan let his hand graze the soft skin of your jaw, gently tilting your face as he pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. he wished he could see the blush that he knew was blooming along your cheekbones as he did so.

i love you obi wan, your force signature echoed softly. a warmth seemed to cloud his heart, and he knew it was you reaching out to him through the force, transferring as much love as you possibly could through to him. it was something you had been doing ever since you had mastered projections as padawans.

i love you too, darling. he felt the familiar entanglement of his force signature with yours, warm and comforting. he had always used his for strength, but you used yours for more emotional circumstances. he found that he couldn’t leave your presence without a piece of your signature lingering with him, a reminder that you were with him always.

his calloused fingers found their way to the back of your head, tangling gently in your h/c tresses, as his other arms snaked around your waist, lovingly playing with the softness he found about your hips as he pulled you into his shoulder for a hug. he noticed there was a little more softness there than usual, and he felt his heart swell lovingly at the discovery. he adored you, but the extra softness gave him more of you to love and cherish. exile treated you well, and obi-wan couldn’t help but adore its effects.

what would i do without you? the projection was filled with a softness that obi-wan could only ever find in you, his one attachment, his love.

you’d be fine. you’re stronger than any one i know, love. a soft squeeze of his bicep accompanied your words and obi-wan knew that while yes, he was strong and resilient, he was only so because of his devotion to you and you to him.

perhaps, but i would be terribly miserable without you, my little dove. he felt a surge of warmth radiating off you through the force, and he smiled at the knowledge that he warmed your heart just as you did his. he pulled you ever closer, giving you a gentle squeeze, enveloping himself in all that was you. he couldn’t pull himself from your orbit, even if he wanted to try.

‘perhaps, we can find a way to train without drawing attention to ourselves,’ you pondered, with a kiss to his neck, his jaw, his lips, as you pulled away from his shoulder far enough to admire the way his eyes lit up at what you were suggesting.

‘besides,’ you said, a teasing tone creeping into your usually soft words, ‘i have to train if i am to protect both of us!’

‘i think you forget, i was the one who fought as general in the clone wars, dearest!’ he chuckled, admiring the way the mirth of your banter swam in the e/c pools of your irises as they glowed in the last of the days golden sunlight.

‘oh please, i designed your battle plans,’ you said, gently tapping his chest with one pointed finger in protest. ‘as much as the council loved to boast about their intelligence, you know i was the one behind it all.’

the velvety tenor of obi-wan’s laugh filled the dry tatooine air with joy, radiating through the force. and soon it was joined by the sweet tones of your own happiness as obi-wan peppered your neck and face with endless kisses, holding you lovingly against the strong, muscular build of his chest. the galaxy may have been drowning in the chaotic wake of the fall of the jedi order, but obi-wan found himself drowning in the deep, warm waters of your being and the comfort of your love. it was an endeavor he would gladly embark upon, for he knew that at the end of it all we would drown with a smile on his lips and your love filling his heart.

— fin

#obi wan #star wars #obi wan kenobi #obi wan imagine #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #sw #revenge of the sith #star wars prequels #prequel series #prequel trilogy #star wars fanfiction

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blushnote · 4 years

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rich girl | m.

⟡ word count: 6,708. ⟡ genre: smut, a bit of angst if you squint. ⟡ contains: a blowjob, facefucking, overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, shower sex, copious use of petnames, just a whole lot of sin.

summary: wonwoo likes to call you a rich girl, and you hate it because it’s true. in fact, you hate a lot of things: your friends, your parent’s attitude, the way your life is supposed to be perfect even though you’re miserable. not much makes you happy, except for a punk boy who you can’t even be with.

a/n: this is a reupload because for some reason tumblr wasn’t showing me my own posts? anyways, sorry for the wait!! enjoy hehe.

your parents don’t like wonwoo.

even better – they don’t like the fact that you like him.

wonwoo isn’t supposed to be someone you like. he’s kind of foul-mouthed, awfully conceited, and he probably makes deals with the devil in his spare time. he likes to hang around those dimly lit corners at night, just outside the local shops, puffing from a cigarette beneath the dusty street light and chuckling amongst his friends. they all hang out together. they’re very tightknit in the way that they only meet on the corner to smoke and laugh and then head their separate ways when it gets late enough.

honestly, you didn’t think you were going to like wonwoo either. most friday nights you go out for drinks with the daughters of your mom’s friends. she’s a business lady, very professional, makes good money, and has the politeness and etiquette of a true monarch. her friends mirror her every quality, and so do their daughters. you like them, even when they snap at you to sit straighter or give you unnecessarily stern glances while you swallow your alcohol in inhumane gulps. they’re great, but they give you a headache.

also, they’re the only friends you have, even if they’re not very good ones. they once left you to get home by yourself when you got too “drunk” for their liking. not wanting to soil their sophisticated reputations, they literally abandoned you after your wobbly trip to the bathroom to fix your makeup. you came back to an empty table. when you left the bar, this unknown man tried to take you by the arm, promising that there was a telephone just around the corner for you to make a call. your cellphone was dead anyways.

“what the fuck are you doing?”

there was a deep, displeased voice that echoed from the street corner as the mystery man tugged you away. you couldn’t help but stumble in your saint laurent heels. they didn’t add much height, yet you felt as though you were walking on stilts. quickly, you made eye contact with wonwoo. he stepped away from the pole and removed the cigarette from between his bubblegum lips, just before he adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. the air was cold, so he wore a beanie that pulled his hair back.

the man stuttered in response. he attempted to configure a convincing statement, but wonwoo cut him off.

“do you know him?” wonwoo asked you directly. his friends were silent as they crowded the corner, but they looked ready to pounce.

“n-not re-really, no.” you fought to respond sluggishly.

wonwoo then narrowed his eyes at the man who was digging his nails into your skin.

“do you know her?” the man countered. he sounded almost petulant.

“no,” wonwoo admitted impassively, “but i’m not an idiot, and i’ve hung around here long enough to see my fair share of fucking weirdos. go slink back to the other side of the street before i shove my cigarette past your eye socket and into your cranium.”

honestly, wonwoo’s words almost turned you completely sober. the man looked like he wanted to argue, but his pathetic type doesn’t usually put up a fight when their plans are directly thwarted. he released you, and melted away into the night like a sad, shrinking shadow.

“do you need to use my phone?” wonwoo was already revealing it from his pocket.

you nodded. you knew your mother would explode into fumes if you called her at this hour, so you dialled the local taxi service and decided to wait right outside the bar. you wanted to thank wonwoo for intervening when he did. he didn’t necessarily look like a bad person, but his tainted mouth and snarky expressions didn’t exactly shift him into the light.

“thanks,” you told him as you handed over his phone, “i-i appreciate what you dd-did.”

wonwoo made the effort to blow the smoke from his cigarette away from your face.

“it’s fine,” he shrugged, “happens all the time. figured i’d just stand here and be useful i guess.”

so there is a reason you’re always at this corner.

that’s what you wanted to say, but you were too shy, too foggy, to articulate any other acknowledgement apart from a tight-lipped smile. since then, you knew wonwoo would be someone you liked.

wonwoo liked to call you a rich girl. it bothered you, mostly because it’s true. you wore diamonds in your ears, pricey jewels on your fingers, dressed in luxury outfits and designer products. you lived a lavish life because your parents were well off, but it’s not like you tried to rub it in everyone’s face. in fact, you were quite modest, and you only wore the jewelry because your mother never stopped draping you in it. after your first encounter with wonwoo outside the bar, you greeted him again on the street upon exiting the floral shop.

he was alone, not even smoking a cigarette, instead sucking on a vibrant, cherry red lollipop. you could smell its sugary coating the second you stood in front of him.

“hey, rich girl.” he nodded. “how’s life treating you?”

the only reason you approached him was out of gratitude. you had already thanked him for his intervention that one night, but you wanted to thank him again now that you weren’t intoxicated and cloudy in the head. notably, your expression soured at his words.

“rich girl? that’s not my name.”

wonwoo looked you up and down skeptically. his eyes were a strong, earthly shade of brown behind his glasses, but in that afternoon sunlight, they flared up slightly, and the colour was more molasses-like. thick and sweet.

“are you joking?” he seemed like he wanted to laugh, and swirled the lollipop to the opposite corner of his mouth. “babygirl, those heels you’re wearing are more than my rent.”

you didn’t know why, but you were transiently overwhelmed with the urge to drop to your knees and let him fuck your mouth right there on the corner. was that too soon? oh well. you already thought it. remembering you were supposed to feel disrespected at his comment, you crossed your arms, though it only accented the jaded bracelet your friend bought you as a birthday gift.

“i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear anything you just said. i wanted to thank you for getting me out of that situation last week. i thought i should tell you again, now that i’m… well… sober, i guess i could say.”

you then swallowed tightly. “do you really stand there to stop creeps from taking advantage of people?”

wonwoo shrugged. he then tousled his hair, which had been flopping in multiple directions. it was on the longer side, and seemed to be the same colour as dark, silvery ashes, though the roots were pretty much black. his hair looked so soft and springy. you almost wanted to comb it down for him.

“i’m just at the right place at the right time.” he said.

what did that even mean? you simply accepted his response and pressed on.

“well, i wouldn’t mind repaying the favour one day. do you want a coffee or something?”

“no.” wonwoo replied sharply. “you could do me one better and slip me a couple hundred from your pretty bank account. i’m trying to get the local black tar heroin dealer off my back.”

you nearly choked.

“wha-what? are you… serious?”

wonwoo maintained his staid, emotionless expression, and you were really starting to believe that there was a black tar heroin dealer running rampant in the streets that might pop wonwoo if he didn’t pay him off. but then a gradual smile pulled up his lips, and you wanted to retract your entire offer.

“yes, it’s a joke. you’re too easy. the only drugs you’d find in this part of town is the ibuprofen for your grandma’s arthritis. you don’t get out much, do you, rich girl?”

you gaped widely at him.

“careful, baby,” he smirked, and he suddenly brought his hand out, raising your chin with his cold fingertips to close your mouth. “don’t breathe too much of this cheap air. it’s not filtered.”

in a bubbling, festering haze of anger, you snapped his hand away.

“for your information i—,”

abruptly, you heard your name echo from down the street. turning around, you watched your mother exit the floral shop, carrying a pale green wrapping of scarlet poinsettias. they were so huge that the petals almost covered her entire face. it wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t have picked a worse time to come looking for you, especially when she was cloaked in the thick warmth of her sable fur coat. you sighed deeply and faced wonwoo again. he’d lost his lollipop, attempting to spark up a cigarette instead.

“aren’t these just gorgeous?” your mother swooned, running her fingers over the butter-soft petals. “they certainly cost a pretty penny to get such an exquisite arrangement, but i couldn’t help myself!”

you wanted to sink straight into the earth. wonwoo was looking between you in pure amusement as he crammed his lighter inside a pocket on his jeans. your mother didn’t even seem to notice him until he took his first puff, the distinct potency of the smoke making her nose scrunch.

“a-and who’s this, dear?” she couldn’t even mask her discomfort as she inquired you about wonwoo. at that point, you hadn’t even known his name yet.

“wonwoo,” he introduced himself, “a new friend of your daughter.”

“oh, how lovely,” she nodded at him while forcing a crooked grin. “honey,” she then placed her hand on your shoulder and spoke closely into your ear, “your father is parked down the street. we need to leave soon and get these out of the cold, so please finish your conversation quickly.”

as soon as she slipped past you and began striding swiftly toward the car, you could already taste the muddled defeat on your tongue. if you weren’t protruding the mirage of a spoilt rich girl then, you certainly were now. at least he didn’t blow any smoke into her face, though that didn’t diminish the fact you were going to receive a lengthy lecture in the car.

“why would you say we’re friends?” you scolded wonwoo.

“because you don’t have any.” he responded matter-of-factly while tapping some ash off his cigarette.

“that’s not true! what do you even know about me anyways, apart from that i’m rich.” you made sure to incorporate in-air quotations.

wonwoo pushed back the silver tresses dancing in front of his glasses, embracing the cool, afternoon current against his face.

“not a lot,” he admitted, “you come for drinks every few fridays. sit at the table looking like you hate your life and all the people in it. then you leave with your phony little rich clique.”

“not to be rude, wonwoo—” you almost wanted to laugh; you came here to thank him. now that ship had completely sailed— “but you’re kind of a dick.”

he then had the nerve to roll his eyes. “you’d drop to your knees and suck mine in a second, babygirl. now didn’t your mother say you should hurry up and get in the car? the princess can’t be out of the palace i’m guessing, especially not to talk to assholes on street corners.”

what else could you do apart from swallow your own frustration, bite your lip, and brush past him? there was nothing. it was too bitter to stand outside anyways. a strengthening winter wind was beginning to pick up from the north, the sting making your eyes water. at the same time, your cheeks were hot metal. if no one were on that street, you certainly would have taken him right into your mouth and sucked him dry. he was ridiculous and cruel, but you loved the unhinged nature he unearthed in you. it was liberating in a sense.

you wondered what would become of your relationship.

“where did you say you were going again?”

you looked up from the porcelain dinner plate, in which you’d been picking at the last few crumbs of your wine reduction pineapple cake. it wasn’t your favourite dessert, though you always finished every meal out of respect for the family’s personal chef. you saw your father reach for his water glass. he took a long sip and eyed you over the candlelight and scarlet poinsettias. it was in a way that was completely and unabashedly suspicious.

“ester and i are going to the jewellers to get a custom necklace as aria’s christmas gift. i told you like five times already.”

of course, that was a gigantic lie. you and ester had already gotten the precious necklace last week, you just needed a reasonable excuse.

“and you’re coming straight home, correct?” his voice was stern and unnegotiable.

“i always do.”

“not always.” your mother chipped in as she cut a piece of the glazed cake with her fork. “you’re not going to see that one character, are you?” she always called people with less fortune characters, like they weren’t even considered to be real.

“who?” you acted clueless, and poured yourself more of the sugary, pink lemonade.

“you know who,” there was already a note of displeasure in her voice, “that boy from the corner. the one who smokes. i wasn’t very impressed by his actions.”

you started to squeeze the white cloth across your lap. “he’s trying to quit. i’ve persuaded him.”

“he won’t do it,” your father shook his head, “and he’s not right for you. i don’t want you near him.”

“and that’s why you’re coming straight home after the jewellers.” your mother continued, not allowing you the breadth to speak.

this family couldn’t get any more ridiculous, you were tempted to scream. instead, you pushed out your chair and collected the utensils sitting on your placemat. a maid passing by had scrambled to assist you, though you told her thoughtfully that you could take care of yourself. in actuality, it was the perfect time to get going, just as you could feel the anger warm your own blood to a boiling crimson. you threw on a long peacoat, a spritz belonging to a vanilla perfume, and your saint laurent opyum heels.

“i’ll be home soon!” you shouted down the marbled corridor, but it was only your own voice that echoed back to you.

your knees were beginning to lose feeling from being pressed against the sponge-like carpet of wonwoo’s bedroom, and they would probably ache like hell whenever you came to your feet again, but for the time being, you really didn’t care. your hands were braced against wonwoo’s knees as his hand tangled possessively through your hair, each of his tugs causing your scalp to burn and tingle. you were crying. you loved to be used by him, and he loved using you. especially the warm inside of your slick mouth.

“ff-fuck, that’s it, babygirl, j-just let me fuck your pr-pretty fuckin’ face.” quickly heeding his words, wonwoo bucked his hips up in a sudden snap, the head of his cock nuzzled deep against your throat.

consequently, you gagged, and there were glossy trails of your own saliva uncomfortably pooling down your chin. he bucked up again, his fingers clasping your hair even tighter. you were struggling to breath around him, white, cottony spots blurring your vision while he forced you to take him even further. you were clutching onto his knees with enough strength to bruise his pale skin. but hearing his voice, lined with lust, heavy and laboured, how it hitched when everything felt too good; you were addicted to it.

“you’re so good at this—,” wonwoo grunted through his teeth upon jamming your head down again, “m’gonna cum down your f-fuckin’ throat, baby. be a good girl n’ m-make sure you swallow a-all of me, huh?”

you learned that wonwoo was really filthy. he didn’t have a preference for where he came, though you had to regulate his carelessness. if any of your clothes even got one rip, one pulled up thread, or god forbid a stupid ejaculation stain, your mother would put your head on a mahogany plaque. wonwoo always made fun of you for belonging to a rich family, having to act like the town’s local sweetheart because one wise crack might cost your parents a lost business partner. but you knew he loved it.

the elegant daughter of a rich heir running around with the outlandish punk? he adored it.

eventually, you had to come up for breath or else you would’ve fainted between his thighs. the air gushed into your lungs and coldly filled your chest. a string of your spit was connected from wonwoo’s flushed, hard cock to your wet lips. you could hardly discern anything that surrounded you. the oxygen had yet to thoroughly circulate and the tears were creating a thick blur. wonwoo started to stroke himself while you prepared to take him once more. the empty void in your mouth was a horrible feeling.

“you look like a fucking mess.” wonwoo grinned as he noted that your body was shaking. “am i being too rough with you, babygirl? should i just jack myself off and cum all over your face instead?”

“n-no,” you suckled in a half-hearted breath, “i-i can do it.”

wonwoo smirked. “you still want it down your throat?”

you could see him clearly now. his cheeks were tinted pink, and his eyes were impossibly dark, glittering in anticipation. without thinking, you nodded eagerly, knowing this was what you wanted. he then tapped his cock against your swollen lips, to which you opened up again and calmly took him as deep as you could. he watched your eyes glister with more tears before he started thrusting up into your mouth. his fingers were gentle. they brushed the stray spindles from your face, now destroyed by tears and drool.

“i’m surprised your tears aren’t pure gold,” he laughed, “i guess you aren’t so special.” your spine tingled as his hand crept back through your hair. “m’gonna make you cry even harder, baby.”

his grip had turned to solid iron against your scalp. you got less than a sliver to brace yourself for his unrelenting treatment, in which he pushed you straight down on his cock and kept your face right where he wanted it. with his hand against the back of your head, wonwoo snapped his hips upward, feeling you immediately gag in response. then, he unleashed on you, using your mouth as a mere fucktoy, getting all his pleasure’s worth from you in each of his hard thrusts. everything was so overwhelming and rapid.

wonwoo couldn’t help the mantra of guttural, taunt curses. he started to moan even, his deep voice cracking the second he felt his sticky cum start to abundantly spurt. without a warning, you struggled slightly to accept and swallow it, though wonwoo was intent on keeping you flush to his pelvis until every drop was polished off. he was still thrusting shallowly into your mouth, and you could feel his length gradually begin to soften. his release was warm, and it was similar to cream sliding down your throat.

after he removed himself from your mouth, he titled up your head by the chin.

“did you swallow it all yet?”

you shook your head. quickly, the side of your hot cheek was met with wonwoo’s hand. he’d given you a timid slap, one that wasn’t meant to hurt, but stung gingerly.

“i wanna see you swallow, babygirl.” he purred. “be good, won’t you?”

your tears were dribbling uncontrollably as you fully swallowed his seed. god, your throat felt like it was on fire. each muscle in your jaw was burning up ardently. your knees were so numb you didn’t even think you could stand. there wasn’t enough time for wonwoo to return the favour. you were sure he could smell the thick scent of your arousal, especially as it ruined your underwear and shone on your inner thighs.

but you didn’t care. having him use you for the night was enough.

“are you alright?” wonwoo asked, getting himself back in his pants.

you didn’t respond, just gripped onto his knee tightly and attempted to stand. your opyum heels were still on, and you nearly broke an ankle as the blood rushed into your legs. wonwoo stood also. he stabilized you by holding your shoulders, at least for a good minute. pulling back your sleeve, you rid the tears that stained your face with a quick wipe from your hand. you were going to have to be very speedy getting back to the house, unless you wanted your father to send the swat team after you.

“god,” you sighed with a raspy, dying voice, “i hate my life.”

wonwoo scoffed at you lightly.

“what lie did you tell them this time?”

you muttered, “i was going to the jewellers.”

“that’s a long time to be at the jewellers.”

“i know that,” you snapped quickly in response.

more tears pushed at your ducts. you couldn’t believe how unhappy you were, even despite having every material thing you could ever want. sometimes that particular thought would just pummel you out of nowhere and you’d fight back the urge to cry.

wonwoo’s hand cupped the side of your face. his thumb stroked gently beneath your eye and he leaned in to kiss your mouth softly. his tongue tasted like a cherry lollipop. he really was trying to quit smoking.

“what are you gonna do, babygirl?” wonwoo hummed, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to brush your cheek.

you held his waist. “i dunno,” you croaked, “my parents don’t like you. my dad doesn’t want me near you.”

“then don’t tell him i fucked your face, princess. it’s easy.”

there was a puff of meek laughter in your chest. for a few more minutes, you let wonwoo hold you. it was the most comfortable and happy you’d felt all day. you were running short on time. the first thing you’d do when you get home would be to run a hot shower and most likely finger yourself while you thought about wonwoo’s cock lodged deep down your throat. maybe one day you’d really snap and stuff all your belongings in a suitcase and come live with him in the shitty scope of town.

but for now, that seemed unattainable.

you’d have to come up with another lie as to why you just spent two hours at the jewellers.

“the earrings were the most magnificent things i’d ever seen! i’m going to wear them for my modelling gig next month, in paris of course. i’ll even text you guys some photos of them when i get home. they have these little opal centres that absolutely sparkle.”

just one more word. if you had to listen to aria babble one more word about her modelling gig or her stupid opal earrings or her all-expense paid trip to paris then you might have to throw your glass of chardonnay in her face. those were the only three things she talked about. then the month would change and she’d have another three things to drive into the mud, yet everyone at the table ate up her words like they were a slice of chocolate cake. you were starting to develop a headache.

“that’s wonderful, aria!” ester was gleaming as she readjusted the strap on her pearl-white dress. you could just tell she was dying to incorporate tales of her own wealth into the conversation. “i can’t wait to see your modelling pictures. that reminds me, i still have some old videos from when i went parasailing in bali. do you guys wanna see them?”

everyone started crowding around ester’s side of the table, attempting to view the footage she was pulling up on her phone screen. however, you didn’t budge, and continued to stare with a dull look in your eyes out the bar’s front window. through the glass, you could see wonwoo standing at the street lamp with his friends, swirling around another lollipop from cheek to cheek. you wondered if it was cherry. his last flavour had been green apple. you tasted it on his tongue when he’d fucked you in the backseat of his car.

but that was a week ago.

“don’t you want to see?” ester was smiling at you.

winding your fingers around your thin wine glass, you shrugged. “i’ll pass.”

“suit yourself.” ester replied, and started to play her first video.

you hated everything about this situation.

wonwoo was right. you really didn’t have any friends, and that became especially clear as you observed everyone at the opposite end of the table, adoring ester’s cute, ditsy little parasailing videos that her boyfriend took. you wished you liked the same things these girls did. your life would be one-hundred times more enjoyable if you just embraced your sumptuous blessings and shed a couple brain cells to be on the same level as them.

then again, you didn’t want to be exactly like them.

they left you to get home by yourself just because you drank too much. at a bar.

pressing the wine glass against your lips, you tilted your head back and easily gulped down the remaining chardonnay. it was a pleasant coolness that streamed down your throat, and you slammed the glass onto the table once it was emptied; even slouched back in your seat and didn’t bother patting your lipstick dry with a tissue. aria raised an eyebrow at you. she looked like she was itching to say something. you were in the mood for a challenge. if she was going to make a passive aggressive comment, it better be soon.

“i hope you have a designated driver.” she finally decided to chuckle.

you rolled your eyes. “shut up, aria.”

ester and her friends immediately looked up from the phone.

“excuse me?” aria replied while tucking a strand of her behind her ear. she seemed a bit baffled by your sudden disdain. “i don’t believe i’ve ever heard you speak like that.”

you were beyond a point of caring. “what are you gonna do then? tattletale on me? you’re such a fake.”

“that’s way out of line.” ester intervened, staring you down intensely. “why are you acting like this?”

“whatever.” you stood up from the chair and reached for your coin purse, revealing a wadded clump of cash that you slapped on the lacquered table. admittedly, the alcohol concocted with your frustration (not to mention being around wonwoo’s snide personality) had quite the effect on your behaviour. if you never had to see these girls again, it would be too soon. you couldn’t believe that you’d even went through the effort of buying aria a christmas present. the only thing she gifted you was a card with her signature on it.

like that was fucking useful.

“i think you need to leave.” ester announced like you weren’t already gathering your things.

“exactly.” you falsely commended her.

she probably had a pea-sized diamond in her skull instead of an actual brain. “i’m leaving now before you guys get the chance to ditch me. don’t worry about it though. i can actually walk myself out this time.”

if only you had a camera ready to capture their gobsmacked expressions. it would have been embarrassingly laughable. you flicked past them toward the door and pushed into the nighttime air, which was crisp and wonderfully cold to your warmed flesh. you felt powerful for summoning the courage to break ties with them, and yet, at the same time, you found that you were on the verge of tears. they deserved to have their toxic behaviour thrown back in their face. it was just that you felt a bit broken.

now you truthfully were alone. well – apart from wonwoo.

you approached him as he stood at the corner, still suckling on his lollipop. him and his friends were in the midst of a humorous conversation when you tapped on wonwoo’s hard shoulder. you always wondered what they spoke about. it always seemed more interesting than the lifeless talk you once endured inside the bar. he didn’t seem all that surprised to see you, though he did look with concern at the watery film across your eyes. you could smell the sweetness of his lollipop; it had to be strawberry.

“are you okay?” wonwoo asked, his breath forming wispy cotton against the dark sky.

you ignored his question. “i want to go back to your place.” you told him.

“now?” he raised his eyebrow.

“yes. now would be good. i’ve just been thinking, and i really want you to eat me out.”

you didn’t care if his friends overheard. apparently, wonwoo didn’t care either. he smirked at you and licked his lips, though there remained a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. you had yet to answer his initial question. from inside the bar, you knew those girls were staring at you, watching you talk to wonwoo.

they were definitely going to tattle to your parents.

your fingers clawed mercilessly over the bed, practically uprooting the linens tucked beneath the mattress as wonwoo kept your thighs tightly locked apart. everything felt so dense, so hot, like the universe was pushing down on your chest and igniting flame inside of your body. you lifted your head off his pillow, only capturing a mere glimpse of his pink tongue gliding past your slit, the muscle coated purely in your arousal. he started to fuck you with his tongue, digging it as deep as he could within your heat.

unabashedly, you moaned, extremely loud and most likely disturbing everyone in his apartment complex. everything about the technicality and purpose of his movements was pushing you toward a climax that would be unlike any other. he was so impatient to get a taste of you that he hadn’t even taken your skirt off, instead bunching the pleated material up against your stomach while your underwear were thrown to the floor. suddenly, you were gasping, and your head collapsed back to the pillow.

wonwoo had managed to wriggle his hand between your thighs. as he ran his tongue in hot, fervent licks against your needy clit, he pushed two fingers inside of you, scissoring you open.

“ffuh-fuck, wonwoo!” you wailed, your hand grasping at his soft hair to keep his tongue against you. “it fe-feels s-so … s-so fucking go-good!”

he’d been taking his sweet time in building up your climax. you allowed him to have his way with you, since he knew how to work your body as though he were magic. his fingers started to curl. it didn’t take him long before they were hitching up into that one golden spot, the one that caused the entire room to whirl. you could tell that he was smiling. he began to messily circle his tongue around your clit. the sensation of the warm, wet muscle pleasuring your most sensitive region was leaving you breathless.

“c’mon, babygirl,” wonwoo mumbled against your core, his fingers thrusting up heavily and abusing that spot inside of you, “you gonna let go and let me taste your cum? you’re fucking dripping all over the bed.”

there was a glimmer of drool leaking from the edge of your mouth. you were so blissed out and crammed with euphoria that you could hardly articulate a response. wonwoo wasn’t giving you much of a chance either. he started a brisk pace rubbing his tongue against your clit, and then he closed his plump lips around you to better flick it with the pink muscle. his bicep was probably burning as he slammed his fingers deep into your heat, making you squelch. your slick had thoroughly soaked the sheets beneath you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted, arching your chest into the air, “i-it’s s-so much, w-wonwoo—m’gonna—nngh—m’gonna cc-cum!”

wonwoo kept your hips pressed firmly to the mattress with one arm as your pleasure exploded. the tears easily streamed down your flustered, glossy face as this extreme contraction passed through you. it was incredibly wet, too wet, and you knew exactly what had happened as wonwoo pulled out his glistening fingers and completely buried his face between your thighs. god, it was fucking embarrassing. you would have curled away from him if wonwoo wasn’t so persistent. he kept licking at you, hard and fast.

at that point, your tears were no longer tiny beads. the sensitivity had left your nerves completely raw, and you sobbed helplessly as wonwoo continued to eat you out. his tongue felt like it was lapping everywhere, impatient and hungry. you tried to pull him away by dishevelled hair, but he swatted your hand back and bit down softly on your swollen clit. before you even knew what was happening, wonwoo had somehow forced your body into another orgasm. his tongue was inside of you as the second wave hit.

“pl-please,” you whimpered in utter fragility, the mixture of pleasure and pain becoming too overwhelming as wonwoo attempted to lick you clean, “pl-please, wonwoo… i-it huh-hurts..”

he chuckled against your sore flesh warmly. “are you sure you’re done, baby? bet i could make you squirt again if i was real gentle.”

“i-i don’t want to talk about it…” you said shakily. honestly, you didn’t even know your body was capable of feeling that much stimulation and pleasure. it was cosmic.

“awe, don’t be embarrassed,” wonwoo hummed, “you have no idea how fucking hot that was.”

“i don’t want to know.” you sighed.

wonwoo scoffed innocuously. he pecked the inside of your thigh, then each hip bone, before he crawled overtop of you and let you taste your own sweetness off his tongue. you spent a few minutes idly making out, smearing saliva over each other’s flushed lips, running your hands up and down his broad, hard chest, leaving scarlet rivulets along his biceps. wonwoo began teasing his fingers against your slit again, and you gasped into the kiss as his finger sunk into you, slowly, deeply.

“what’s wrong?” wonwoo asked while pumping the digit at a gentle pace.

“what do you mean?” you squeaked, staring into his brown eyes tinged with his earlier concern.

“you know what i mean,” wonwoo hummed, “why were you about to cry outside the bar? what happened?”

“are you sure we should discuss this while you’re fingering me?”

“baby, just tell me.” wonwoo urged with a comforting tone in his voice. he started to massage his thumb over your clit, and your entire body jolted.

you sniffled. “i-i just, i— i kind of cut ties with my friends. a-and i’m glad i did it but now i’m just gonna be even more a-alone.”

“of course not,” wonwoo shook his head, “you have me.”

“are you sure?”

slight amusement and shock coloured wonwoo’s face. he pulled his hand away from your core and looked like he wanted to laugh. you couldn’t blame him, but you also couldn’t help your insecurity.

“i’m sure, baby.” he told you firmly. “i’ll always be here for you. i promise.”

you smiled up at him, feeling your heart start to soften.

“can we take a shower?” you then proposed. “i want to get these tears off my face before they dry.”

while wonwoo was busy getting the water running inside the bathroom, you noticed your phone start to glow and vibrate on his nightstand. it was your mother’s number on the screen. taking a long, slow breath, you flipped your phone upside down and ignored the call. it was a risky move, but it felt almost healing in a sense to turn away from the stress in your life. instead, you focused on what mattered in the moment.

wonwoo joined you in the shower, the water gliding in silk-like pathways around his lean muscle and smooth skin. he pushed back his wet hair, sparkling droplets sticking heavy to his eyelashes. he pressed you against the tiles, and their icy touch sent a shiver up your spine. in the midst of the steam and heat, he was kissing you again, suckling softly on your tongue and squeezing your breasts in his hands. his aching length, hard and heavy, brushed between your thighs, to which your palm started to glide up his shaft.

he smiled against your mouth, “you want my cock inside you, babygirl?”

the fire slowly rebuilt itself from the embers in your stomach.

“yes please.” you lilted innocently.

wonwoo decided to press your front against the glass wall instead of the tile. his lips were leaving drifting pecks up your shoulder blade, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. a rough, deep groan filled your ear as wonwoo rubbed his cock between your folds, allowing your arousal to coat him generously. however, you were yearning to feel how he filled you entirely, until you could feel him nestled right to the brink. wriggling your hips against him, it was your non-verbal cue for him to start sliding in.

he cupped your breasts in his hands, whispering into your ear, “how should i fuck you, baby? do you want it hard?”

as impatient as you were, there was something about the atmosphere that told you to prolong your intimacy. “n-no,” you mumbled as the fog swathed around you, “s-slow, i want to feel you.”

your moan was almost louder than the water spraying against the tiles when wonwoo started to push inside of you. once he was buried as far as could fit, he started to grind into you, extending his pace so that you could truly feel his every inch and vein. his fingers were massaging your chest, the round flesh almost like velvet to his touch. everything about your body was endearingly soft and warm. he loved it.

“does it feel good, babygirl?” wonwoo purred. he was situated at such a pleasurable depth inside you that you felt like complete gelatine. he thrust into you a little harder, but it was enough to make you cry.

“s-so good,” you stuttered, licking the water off your lips. “do i feel good t-too?”

wonwoo smirked. he moved his hips at a shallow pace. “mmhm. you’re so tight and warm around me, baby. feels so perfect. how pretty do you think your pussy would look with my cum dripping out of it? should we try it?”

you pushed yourself back against his pelvis, “fill me up, wonwoo, please.”

“of course,” he grinned, and slowly dipped a hand down your stomach until you felt him begin to rub soft circles into your clit.

“let’s see how much you can take, babygirl.”

you were exhausted. you were sore. but you felt safe. you made an audacious decision and decided to spend the night at wonwoo’s rather than going home, where you knew you’d be greeted by an equally displeased mother and father that aria had snitched to. it was the first time you’d gone to bed without wearing pyjamas that weren’t expensive, pink satin. you were clad in nothing but one of wonwoo’s old t-shirts. he tried to give you one that didn’t still carry the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

his arm was around your waist, your spine resting comfortably against his chest while you lay together beneath the bedsheets. the sheet that was stained in your arousal had been tossed in the laundry hamper. you knew wonwoo would never stop teasing you about it. anyways, life felt different at his apartment; in fact, it felt better, especially when wonwoo kissed your temple before shutting off the light. your wealth had never been a defining factor in your personality, but it did make you consistently miserable.

that night, it was just you and a boy, a boy who you were quite positively in love with. maybe he loved you too. you weren’t completely certain yet, and you didn’t want to rush anything; however, you felt fairly confident his heart was likewise when he buried his face into your neck and wished you goodnight in his low, sleepy voice.

whatever your parents had to say, you’d find out tomorrow morning.

right now, you weren’t the rich girl, but a happy girl, and that mattered more to you than anything else.

#wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo #svt smut #svt fanfic #seventeen imagines

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yeojaa · 3 years

Note

Can I request more smut for A&A couple?? I love sexy jay and jinny RYFUIOOIDEWETYUKOJK

[ read angels & airwaves ]

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. gamer!jjk deserves his own warning. but also cockwarming and a gross amount of love between these two. wc. 1.5k. beta reader. @hobi-gif because she is the pb to my j. author note. this is probably less sexy and more soft, but i hope you enjoy and i’m sorry it’s so late! ✨

He’s playing Overwatch - unwinding after a long day, dressed down in sweats and little else - when his chair starts rolling back, pulled by an invisible hand. (Luckily, he’s only in queue, not yet matched into a game. It’s easy for him to leave, exit out of the waiting screen as he continues his journey away from the desk, releasing his hold on his mouse, letting his keyboard hand fall into his lap.) Feigned surprise trips across his expression, a subtle widening of his eyes, the softest hm? slipping like sandman’s dust from his lips.

“Play with me,” you say in that way of yours, deceivingly sweet, lilting like the chorus of his favourite song. (He thinks that’s what you’d be if you were anything else, played over and over in his thoughts, quiet in the background of his everyday life. A kind reminder of your love, of your giggles and that cheekiness you offer in spades. A heartfelt melody in A minor.)

(Jungkook wants to write something for you - because of you - he realises. Of course he does.)

He echoes your words back, pairs it with a quirked brow and a sing-song laugh that makes his eyes crinkle, long grooves dug into the bridge of his nose. Sunshine pours between his teeth, lights up his entire face. “You wanna play?”

Your answer is a shake of your head, freeing tousled strands from the haphazard bun you wear - the one that goes up any time you’re half-asleep (or gaming or simply too lazy to do anything else) - too many pieces askew to be sophisticated. (It’s cute still, one of his favourite looks on you. Messy, sleep-addled, real.)

“I want you to play.” The way you enunciate, throw heavy meaning into your words has him curious, chin canting when you round the chair, step to the side and brush a delicate hand through his crown of curls. You push velvet away from his face, tuck it neatly behind his ear and smile so prettily he swears his heart might leap out of his chest. The same hand falls over his with meaning, your own eyes the size of saucers. Were you trying to communicate as if you were psychic? He thinks you must be when you stare for longer than you need to, mouth pulling and pursing adorably, a wavering wall against whatever you want to offer but won’t.

When he relents, it’s with his hand curled around your wrist and a gentle tug of you closer. (Because he always wants you closer.) “Let’s play then.”

It takes you no time at all to settle into his lap, legs dangling around the back of his gaming chair, arms locked around his neck. He imagines it isn’t the most comfortable position in the world but, well, Jungkook’s not going to complain that his girlfriend wants to cuddle. Can’t even fathom the thought when you’re so warm and your weight feels like some sort of top-tier blanket.

“Good?”

You simply nod into the small of his neck, cheek cold against his shoulder. Maybe you’re just tired. You haven’t been sleeping well the last few nights, if you could even call it that. They were more midday cat naps, laid up in his arms on his free days.

(Don’t worry, you’d said. He did, anyway.)

When he wins his next three games, he thinks you might be a lucky charm - his own personal blessing, all his good karma offered in the form of victory. The headshots are clean, the flashbang-right-click combos flawless. Gold damage is his the entire time; he’s racking up gold medals left and right with you there with him.

(It’s almost as good as when you play together, your damage boost enabling him to obliterate the enemy without worry. Granted, the Mercy on his team isn’t bad either - but she’s no you. Not the girl that makes his heart pitter patter in his chest, play some silly crescendo that feels like a sugar high.)

But then he begins losing, missing shots that should be easy, sends them into the dark, strangely distracted. He doesn’t realise by what until it’s too late and the next roll of your hips makes him whine, the sound tripping off his tongue in a whimper.

“Angel.” The word is practically choked out, broken despite being only two syllables. You’re still snuggled into his chest, seemingly innocent, unaware of the tension that grows, turning bone to brimstone. He’s half-worried he’s getting riled up over nothing - turned on by only your closeness - when he feels the damp of your teeth, the sharp edge tickling over muscle. For what it is, it shouldn’t flood his stomach with heat, have electricity tracking up his spine as if struck by lightning. “What’re you doing?”

“Play with me.” You repeat the words into his hair, thread them between the midnight strands as you stamp a sweet, chaste kiss right below his ear. He thinks he might be able to resist you - until you’re tugging lightly at one of the silver hoops that line his ear, laving your tongue over the sensitive spot that has him seeing stars.

He parrots the words back to you but it isn’t a question this time. More a promise, tenderness turning his smile soft, needy, utterly in love.

“Let’s go to bed.” Not because it’s late - though it is, half past two in the morning now - but because he wants to feel you wholly, watch you fall apart in the comfort of your bed. No more distractions, just the two of you. Just how he likes it.

“No.” That surprises him, throwing him off his axis. He’s halfway to a pout when you press a kiss, steal his brattiness away with one sweep of your lemon-lined mouth. “You keep playing.”

Oh.

The time you take to slide his sweats down - taking his boxers with them, fingers hooked into the black band that hugs his hips - should be criminal. It’s as if you’re doing it on purpose, tugging the material down carefully, balanced above him by his hands on your waist.

(He steals the softest touches while you’re there, thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts, fingers laying themselves into the rungs of your ribs.)

When they’re halfway down his legs, he kicks them off, lets them gather in a pile somewhere by his feet. Forgotten - because he’s got much more important matters to attend to. “Your turn,” he hums - almost begs - when you settle back against him, straddling him as you had before, still dressed in his favourite grey shirt and your plain black thong.

“Nope.” You’re smiling down at him, more devil than angel, smile so sinful he feels his cock twitch against his stomach, hard and leaking pre-cum from the tip.

“But—”

The turn of your head further dislodges strands, has shadow throwing your features into muted light. That’s not what has his attention, though.

It’s your hand dipping between you, curling light around his length. Pad of your thumb massaging over his head, slicking arousal until the glide is easy. With a gun to his head, Jungkook couldn’t help himself from moaning, a keening sound that tickles your cheek and has heat flooding his own. (You’ll be the death of him, he swears.) “Baby, please—”

“Play,” you repeat.

He does, rolling himself forward, finding his mouse and keyboard with trembling hands.

It’s cruel, what you’re doing. (It’s also everything he could ask for, offered by the hand of the girl he loves most. Even through the haze of desire, there’s affection that paints him pink, lights him up like a Christmas tree.)

(All he wants to do is fill you, fuck you full until you’re coming apart, crying his name out in that breathy way that drives him wild. Playing his favourite song again again again.)

But he’s a good boy for you - always is - so he says nothing as he queues once more, tries his damnedest not to make a sound when he feels the press of his cock against your cunt, the heat that engulfs him when you take him in one fluid motion.

It’s as if his brain short circuits, as if you’ve rewritten all the code that makes him who he is. He chokes a sound - a whine, a laugh, a cry - when you sink fully into him, curl those arms back around his neck. You’re absolutely perfect, wet and warm. Split wide open by how deep he is, clit flush against his pelvis, velvet walls yielding to the fullness.

Whether he wins or loses his next games, Jungkook doesn’t care. He’s already got everything he could ask for.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

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snowbellewells · 3 years

Text

CSSNS20: “A Cottage by the Sea” ~ the Epilogue

** A grateful Thank You to @searchingwardrobes once more for this gorgeous cover art!!

** Thank you as well to the @cssns20 event and those who have stuck with this story despite my halting and glacially slow posting schedule. You’ve reached the happily ever after at last! :)

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half. But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…”

From the beginning here on Tumblr or on AO3 ~Epilogue ~

When they could finally bear to part from each other (some hours later, if Emma was honest, a blush flooding into her cheeks upon reflection) they made their way toward her parents’ castle. With Killian’s navigational knowledge and natural instincts, not to mention Emma’s lifelong penchant for wandering the beaches and hilly paths around her kingdom whenever she could do so, it wasn’t long before they could see the familiar spires and turrets rising into the sky in the distance ahead of them.

Despite putting themselves back together as presentably as possible, little could be done for the soaked and rather bedraggled state of their clothes, not that Emma could bring herself to mind very much. They had hardly stopped holding hands since Killian had emerged from the sea and come back to her once more, and returning hand-in-hand was the least of their worries at appearing before the throne. Raising her fingers entwined with his up to his lips, Killian pressed sweet kisses to her knuckles, looking away from the imposing sight of the castle before them to hold Emma’s gaze intensely with each step they took. “Your parents will be overjoyed to see you return unharmed, Love,” he murmured, humored affection lighting his eyes along with the words. “You must have sent them out of their minds with worry, setting off alone on a fool’s errand the way you did.”

Shaking her head with an indignant huff, Emma managed to break away from his incendiary stare to defend herself. “I don’t see why they should expect anything else! Either of them would have done the same if the other were missing. Are they not the fabled True Loves who claim they will always find each other?” She tossed her disheveled mane of curls saucily when he had the nerve to snicker at her pique. Narrowing her green eyes at him. Emma went in for the kill. “Thank that’s funny, do you? Well, I suppose you’re going to tell me you would simply sit in safety and comfort doing nothing if our roles were reversed and I had gone missing?”

That did stop the humored teasing in his manner. There was no way he could ever lie to her, and they both knew he would do anything, cross any distance or boundary to come to her aid if she needed him, so he really had no denial to offer.

“That’s what I thought,” Emma concluded with a smart little bob of her chin. And then, shaking the fraught moment off - she had too much to be overjoyed for at present - she leaned into his side to whisper against his still half-bared warm chest, “And that’s exactly as it should be.”

Killian merely hummed noncommittally low in his throat. He was not about to admit for a moment that he was flattered and touched that Emma had come seeking him against all odds. He was - infinitely so - but he would never consider his own life or limb worth his princess putting herself at risk. It had been a revelation to see her once more when her trusty little skiff had appeared on the horizon, but if she had not made it to Calypso’s island… if she had been lost…

Rather than answering her directly, he offered a gentle smile which stirred something delicate and warm in her stomach despite the interlude in the surf they had already shared. Shaking her head, Emma eyed him with knowing fondness before she reminding him sincerely, “They love you too, you know that, right? You are the one they will be overjoyed to see alive and well.”

His head dipped into a quick, dismissive little nod, while a finger went almost unconsciously to scratch behind his ear. Clearly, her sailor was no more willing to believe his place within the royal family than he had ever been. “Aye, as you say,” he agreed lightly, but he didn’t elaborate and she didn’t push.

Instead, Emma let their joined hands swing easily between them as they moved toward the castle with renewed purpose and waited for him to speak when he was ready. She was biding her time as patiently as she could. Killian would soon see at any rate - as soon as they stood before her parents.

After that, with the castle in view, they kept traveling steadily, and it did not take long at all for them to enter her parents’ throne room; her mother cried out with joy and rushed forward to embrace them both, her tears of relief wetting her daughter’s hair before she turned to clasp her adopted son to her breast. Emma tried to shoot him a look of pleased satisfaction, ‘See? What did I tell you?’ clearly conveyed, but she couldn’t catch his eye over her mother’s enthusiastic fussing and fluttering, nor could she get a word in edgewise to badger him.

Then her father reached them as well. He hadn’t run, giving his wife her reunion moment, he had kept a more sedate pace, but his immense solace at their arrival was felt as he engulfed Emma in his strong arms, one large hand cradling the back of her head, and for a moment squeezing tightly enough to seem he might never let go. “Thank Heavens you made it home, Sweetheart,” he breathed softly against the hair at her temple. Quickly, he stepped aside just enough to reach Killian too, clasping his upper arm firmly. “Thank goodness the both of you have returned.”

Snow nodded fervently, wiping more tears from her cheeks even as they continued to fall from her twinkling eyes. She was beaming in spite of her emotion, adding, “You were right, Baby.” A knowing look and press of the hand for her daughter had Emma simply returning the gesture with quiet grace; the frustration she had felt when she set out forgotten now in the happy reunion with Killian at her side. “And praise be that you were! What a blessing to have you here with us again, Killian.”

The older monarch’s green eyes still sparkled a verdant hue as lovely and captivating as her daughter’s, her raven hair only barely beginning to be streaked with a sophisticated grey. Still, Queen Snow White had all the enthusiasm and energy of a much younger woman as she turned to her husband. “Charming! We should celebrate! Don’t you think?”

The king’s full lips had tilted upwards in mirth, knowing his wife and her love of royal events all too well after so many years together. She was still clutching his hand, but didn’t even give him a chance to answer aloud before turning back to Killian and Emma enthusiastically.

“What do you think?” she pressed, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “A homecoming ball, in honor of your safe return?”

Emma found she expected the flush that suffused her sailor’s skin at the suggestion, stealing up his neck, over his cheeks and even to the very tips of his adorably elfin ears, as he ducked his head at the Queen’s lavish plan. It would seem she was beginning to know her love’s quirks nearly as well as her father knew her mother’s - True Loves and all. “There’s no need for all of that fuss over me, your Majesty,” Killian answered hastily. In fact, he gulped and quickly raised his face to stare directly into Snow’s gaze intently. “Actually, I mean no offense, but I would prefer to simply return to my duties without fanfare. It hardly seems right to have such a celebration when all the others on the ship - good men, all of them - were lost.”

Snow’s expression sobered quickly, her compassion immediately making her feel for Killian’s loss of friends and compatriots, and for those sailors’ families. Obviously, she and Charming had seen to notifying those households and making sure any widows and orphans left behind by the lost sailors were cared for, but she could see that Killian held some sort of responsibility on his shoulders that was not ready to be recognized for making his way home when others could not. “Of course,” she stated firmly, “You’re right.” Her smile was more tempered, but still hopeful and encouraging; reminding the rest of them in the room just why her kingdom followed her absolutely, why her people loved her, and how she could inspire others to carry on whatever the odds. “Perhaps a memorial service for those who were lost would be more in order.”

“As you say, your Highness,” Killian agreed simply, bowing his head in deference to her decision.

“Good man,” the King added heartily, the words low and restrained, but no less meant. Reaching out , he clasped forearms with Killian, who returned the gesture, though soon he had been pulled into a less dignified fatherly embrace, bone-crushing and back-slapping strength giving away King David’s happiness equal to his more effusive wife’s at seeing their honorary son home again.

~~***~~

Meanwhile, back out to sea, well beneath the surface off Misthaven’s shores, startling changes were afoot. From the very deepest bowels of Davy Jones’ dungeons and caves, the aftershocks and reverberations of his defeat were still being felt, radiating out in ripples as the darkest shadowed corners of his domain were slowly brought to light.

With their nefarious master so undeniably vanquished, the unfortunate souls pressed into Davy’s service by death at sea were released at last - a boon unlooked for - too much for many of them to have even hoped to receive after so long. Gradually, their souls felts the weight of their imprisonment lighten, the metaphorical chains binding them in darkness and the deep releasing their hold.

And one such soul, captured not so much by misfortune or chance than by demented grand design, could feel those shackles fall away more profoundly than most. Liam Jones broke the surface not far from the beautiful if deserted shores of Ogygia. Not sure where exactly he was, the elder Jones sibling bobbed in the shallows, taking in his surroundings curiously and thrilling to the feel of the sun on his skin. Wherever he was, he could remain until he found out; he could stay forever, if he chose. Or he could build a vessel and sail elsewhere. Either way, he would no longer be summoned back to his prison at another’s beck and call.

Still marveling at the return of long departed human sensations returning throughout his body, Liam struck out with a strong, determined stroke, swimming for shore. Ater so long trapped below, it seemed strange needing air to breathe, feeling the human pinch in his muscles at the exertion, the chill of such cold water enveloping his skin. And yet, pleasant or not, each bit of stimuli made his breath catch and his heart pound; it meant he was alive, unbelievable as it might seem.

Though he could have managed the distance in seconds with the powers tied to his father that he had possessed, it still took Liam little time to reach the sandy ground stretched out where the water washed up and over it in a continually receiving and returning caress. He had always been a strong swimmer, with the sea in his veins. “Her little guppy” he distantly remembered his mother saying, in one of the few hazy visions of her his memory had retained; her voice gently teasing, dark eyes crackling with good humor and pride. Strange that he would think of her now, after so many years…

Reaching land, Liam staggered out of the surf, chest heaving, eyes scanning the area, already taking note and attempting to discern where he might be. He would have bet he had been banished to the very edge of the known world for his shift in loyalty, if his father still held any power. However, the blast that had rocked him and made him lose all sense of time and place, even consciousness for some moments, and which had made Emma vanish from his hold, had seemingly destroyed and ruined Davy himself. It had also almost certainly nullified any punishment the old monster would have tried to throw at him. He must be somewhere in the known world; and yet, it resembled nowhere he had ever traveled himself, now anywhere he had charted or mapped, before.

He was half-sitting, half-leaning against a large branch stretched across the sand, the trunk of some tree felled from a small stand of them nearby making a decent resting place to catch his breath, when he sensed he was not alone. Keen senses from a life of hard work and striving to protect a younger sibling thrust into the harsh world much too soon, were returning to him more and more with each moment that passed. Where nothing had been able to truly hurt him as one of Davy’s souls in the deep, his senses now all but blared in self-preservation to be on the alert.

Turning sharply to look back toward the surf he had only just emerged from, he saw a lovely female form standing on the edge of the sand, watching him, unmoving as the waves washed up over his feet and back out to sea again. Though she made no move, nor did she speak, the space between them seemed almost to vibrate with tension - as if she wanted to run to him, to speak, even though he couldn’t say that he knew her, not for sure. Still, the sense of unseen danger, the need to watch his back was gone. Liam forced himself to release a taut breath and lower his shoulders… then slowly took a step forward.

The graceful, dark haired lady before him did the same, took two quick steps nearer in fact, as if she could hold herself in check no longer. It was as he squinted, moving forward again and trying to see more clearly against the bright light of the sun glancing off the water as it began to lower to the evening horizon, that who she must be - impossible as it was - became suddenly clear. A stronger breeze kicked up, sending the gauzy, draped, light robe she wore whipping against her calves and making her hair fly wildly across her face, her elegant hand reaching up to catch the riotous, nearly black curls and hold them back, even as a joyous, enchanting laugh escaped her throat and rang merrily in the space still between them.

And then he knew. That laugh came echoing back to him from long-treasured, nearly forgotten memories of a little house on a hill looking out over deep blue waters. Of a dark-headed woman standing on the slope waiting hopefully for the ship she expected to come in, those same wild tresses - curly as his and as dark as Killian’s - floating around her in the breeze. That same laugh had tickled his childish ears, always pleasing him when he was the one to call it forth, and the voice that accompanied the laughter, so warm and mellifluous, had sung him to sleep when he missed his papa, and soothed his young heart when he was hurt or afraid. His mouth opened, wanting to greet her though no sound came out, no words escaping. ‘Mother,’ his soul cried.

She reached him at that moment. Her cool palms framing his face gently as she seemed to drink in his features like a woman long denied. “Liam… my dear, precious son,” she crooned softly, as if she could feel how overcome he was.

His mother’s touch, her sweet voice in his ears once more, brought tears to his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages. She opened her arms, swaying slightly as his shoulders shook, and she simply held him as she had so long ago. “I’m here, Darling. You’ve had to be so strong. I’m here now,” she soothed. “Just let it go.”

~~***~~

When the storm of his emotions had calmed, Liam learned from Calypso all that had truly taken place when they were children - who she was, where she had been and why, just as Killian had on this very island as well. It seemed so fantastical: their mother, a sea nymph, the sea nymph of myth and legend, making he and Killian half supernatural beings as well, even before his disastrous stint as one of his father’s minions. And yet, it made a strange sort of sense to him as well, as the pieces shifted and settled within his mind. He had been older when they were left with only their father, remembered more… and it had never seemed quite right that their mother would simply vanish. His father’s abrupt, “She left us, went back to her own,” had never rung true. He might have been a mere eight-year-old, but he saw enough, understood enough, to know that it had been Mama who kept them fed and clothed with what little Papa provided. Mama who snuggled with them when storms raged and kept them warm when cold winds whistled through the cracks in the walls. It was Papa who was seldom home, who seemed likelier to take off one day and never return. Whereas he had believed Mama, had known she meant it with every fiber of her being when she’d sworn to him that she would stay with them as long as she could. He had missed her terribly when he woke one morning, so early it was still dark, to Papa shaking him, urging him to hurry - they were off on an adventure. The ache had faded over time; he had thrown himself into seeing to Killian, making sure his little brother knew the songs she had sung, the stories she had told, and that he did not lose that last little germ of sweetness - despite what their lives had then become - that sweetness which reminded Liam of the mother they had both lost.

To see her before him now, hardly able to stop brushing her fingers through his curls or squeezing his hand with both of hers, eased something deep inside that had still been gaping wide and empty though the pain had dulled. They had been taken from her. She had been seeking them, wishing for them back, all along.

Finally he managed to clear his throat, blink out of the awed daze he’d been in, and asked anxiously, “And you’ve seen Killian? And his princess? They - they’re safe?”

Her loving smile, so fond and proud, warmed Liam’s heart in a way that was wonderfully healing. “More than that, they are home… together… and ecstatically happy.”

“Good,” he nodded, genuinely relieved, even if he felt sadness welling too, knowing Killian was where he belonged, but not sure he would ever see his little brother again. He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t passed on to the afterlife, or just where he was, what he was, or what was next.

“You always were so noble,” his mother commented, shaking her head as she studied him calmly. “So thoughtful. I can see you’re wondering what’s next. The truth is, that choice is yours, Liam. You deserve that much, after so much time was taken from you, against your will.”

Blinking, Liam simply stared back at his mother, trying to grasp that the next step was fully his to make at last. He was no longer bound to another’s whims and designs, no longer pulled by strings that made him feel little more than a puppet torn by what he desired and what he was ordered to do.

Calypso beside him offered a sadly hollow smile, taking her eldest’s hand with a gentle squeeze, and whether because of her supernatural nature, or simply because she was his mother, he could see that she understood. “You may move on at last, to the peace and rest that you have earned and to which you should have been welcomed long ago. Or, seeing as how Davy never fully let nature and time take their courses, and you are not completely dead, nor fully alive, you might also remain here with me on this island and in these waters surrounding it - a guide and caretaker of the sea, which you are already well adapted to with your part-nymph heritage.”

She paused there, resting a hand on the side of his face, her thumb lightly stroked his cheek, before she drew a deep breath and continued. “I won’t try to pretend I wouldn’t love for that to be your choice. I would like nothing more. However, I imagine you will choose the third option. You may return to mortal life with your brother and those who have become his family. Your natural life - and its fleeting span with all the mortal frailties - will be restored for you to live out as you would have done had your father not disrupted Fate’s course.”

Liam’s heart began to pound with excitement at her words, though he would have been happy simply to be free of the troubling limbo which had trapped him for so long, to feel the sun on his skin and the wind on his face as he sailed the waves once more, rather than merely looking up from his prison beneath them. He would not have thought returning to stand at his brother’s side - restored to life - could be an option.

Nodding kindly, even as she brushed away a single tear, Calypso sighed. “I thought as much,” she confirmed. “You took such good care of Killian. He looks up to you and still misses you so. It would have been quite a surprise had you chosen any other way.”

“I am sorry, Mother,” Liam began, floundering for a way to explain that he loved her too, but the pull back to the life which had been stolen was just too strong.

“No, my son,” she interrupted, stilling him with a light hand to his chest, “don’t apologize. This is as it should be.”

And so it was, that as the sun rose the next morning, spread across the sky in vibrant hues over Misthaven’s shores, a magnificent tall ship - proud, strong, and gleaming new - sailed into the royal port, one stunningly familiar form at the wheel, straining to see the dark-haired lieutenant who waited on the docks with the royals, waving to him frantically in welcome. The brothers Jones were reunited at last.

~~***~~

Four years (and nine months) later…

Once again, as was often the case on hazy summer evenings, the gathering twilight shadows and purpled hues of the darkening sky found two solitary figures strolling arm-in-arm along the sand on the shores of Ogygia. If one were to draw nearer still, they would see the dark head of tousled, windswept hair bend down to the glowing golden waves of the shorter figure, as Misthaven’s prince consort whispered in the ear of his princess wife, a secret for only the two of them which made her throw her head back in carefree laughter before she stood on tiptoe, clinging shamelessly to his arms for balance to kiss him him thoroughly and soundly.

Tired from sun and wind and salt water, dazed and deliriously happy as they were, both recognized it was a perfect day drawing to a close around them; one of the sort which were growing increasingly numbered as May dwindled toward June, and the two months allotted them each year to steal for their own, away from royal duty, on the island belonging to his sea goddess mother came to an end once more.

They had married in the fall, not at all long after their return and the defeat of Davy Jones. It had seemed impossible and ridiculous to wait in drawn out courtship to be joined as man and wife; there would never be another for Killian but Emma, nor for Emma but him. Both had nearly given their lives to be sure they had a future together, and neither wished to wait for that hard won future to begin.

Of course, only a couple of weeks into married life, they had found out just how lucky it was they had not delayed. Emma was expecting their first child. Exactly nine months to the day from their first joining in the sand and surf of her kingdom’s shore, where they had first made love surrounded by the very ocean which always brought them back together, their twins were born. The palace officially announced the two baby boys as being early; common for twins and easily presented as fact, but princess and lieutenant-turned-prince knew the truth, and two living reminders of a moment they would never wish to forget were an unexpected blessing. Little David Liam Jones and Henry Leopold Jones had been their love and joy personified in living form before their eyes each day since then. Their sons, identical in looks, energy, enthusiasm and daring loved the water every bit as much as their parents, and had taken to the annual summer escape with only their parents and uncle to see their other grandma each May with dauntless excitement. What four-year-olds wouldn’t want to run wild as young colts all day in sun and surf until exhaustion felled them, only to rise again and do the same the following morn?

Emma, for her part, wanted Killian to be able to visit his mother; did not ever wish to see her taken from him again. Yet she also, much as she loved her people, her kingdom, and her parents, and though she accepted the rule she would one day take upon her own shoulders, found this summer retreat a paradise she would never wish to trade. Though Killian’s patriotism, loyalty to the crown, and place by her side as support and advisor was an immense comfort, Emma could not deny how freeing it was to be far from crowds of admirers, petticoats, policies, protocols, and packed agendas for a time. Only her husband, her babies, and sandy beach and windswept waves as far as the eye could see…

That evening, as they finished a supper of fish Killian had managed to catch for them despite the rather dubious help two exuberant four-year-olds proved to be, simple bread, and mangoes from further inland, both Henry and David had fallen over in weary contentment with full bellies and tired, sunkissed limbs. Chuckling together, Emma had cleared a path and opened doors in their small cottage as Killian carried each to their beds, tucking them in without causing either boy to wake.

For themselves, Emma and Killian left the cleanup for the next day and tiptoed quietly to their own bedroom for a moment alone, together in the whispers of moonlight that crept in through the open window with a gentle breeze.

Letting her fingers lazily twine with his as she led him forward easily, Emma found her breath stolen as Killian stopped near the foot of their bed, tugging her insistently back against his solid form. His arms came up to wrap around her in warm security, and she melted at her husband’s touch. His unshaven cheek prickled her skin when he kissed along her collarbone and up her neck, making her shiver despite the heat.

He had divested her of the light shift she wore almost before she realized it was gone, and his hands were questing boldly over her bared skin, causing a low, throaty moan to escape her lips, only barely managing to keep it soft enough not to wake their children from slumber. It took embarrassingly little time for him to have her thrumming with desire in every nerve ending, particularly with her hormones as wildly raging as they were.

As if he could read her thoughts’ direction, Killian paused his seductive teasing for his hands to rest protectively over her slightly rounded stomach, searching her gaze earnestly before murmuring, “Are you certain this is alright for the little one, Love?”

Emma met his eyes with exasperation; his worry sweet, but oft-repeated by this point. The last month when she had carried their twins had been miserable, and their delivery had been long, difficult, and turned more than a bit traumatic before it was through. Her recovery had been slow and painful, and they had seriously considered whether they wished to try for any more children. But Emma had found that she could not rid her mind of the image of her husband with a tiny baby girl cradled in his arms. Her heart had urged her to try once more, and now she hoped and prayed that a daughter might be safely on her way.

Nodding in answer to Killian’s question, she tried to pull him to her once more, and to smooth the worried creases from his brow.

“But,” he pulled back again, “are we positive? I never want to hurt you, or - “

Shaking her head, Emma could see that stronger measures were needed. Gripping the front of the loose linen shirt he wore barely buttoned, she pulled hard and threw her weight toward the bed, sending them both toppling onto the mattress with a gentle bounce. She rolled quickly to trap him with her body, and leaned in close to assure him, “You won’t hurt me, Killian. I know that as surely as I know anything.”

His whole face lit up with relief and love at her words, warming with one of the most stunning smiles she had ever seen. Satisfied that he was put at ease once more, she turned his face to her own with a finger at his chin and quirked her eyebrow in mischief as she teased, “Well, you won’t hurt me unless you leave me with this ache you’ve started…”

Rolling them once again in the tangled sheets to catch her between his arms as he hovered over her, diving down to steal her breath once more, he rasped, “Well then, Darling, if you insist.”

As the moon shone down on the island’s gleaming waters, they spoke without words, one in body and soul, perfectly happy in their cottage by the sea.

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