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#so mom jokes are too easy
eryanlainfa · 9 months
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More doodles for the Beetlejuice AU because they're so funny (and I really wanted to draw Eugene and Rapunzel as Adam and Barbara)
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starlooove · 8 months
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Ur white kids wouldn’t be so easy to radicalize if y’all spoke about race and being actively anti racist in ur homes btw
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simcardiac-arrested · 8 months
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i am going to give asks every day for a unskippable cutscene i think until i either forget or you no longer want them. the long rambles are very fun to read.
im glad you like my rambles man it’s fun to just spew thoughts!! but anyway since i already mentioned chess in some earlier asks i might as well ramble about it. it is THEE game of all time to me. like … i don’t know. it’s SOOO good they made a game that is actually perfect. i might be saying that because i’m biased and it’s like the game of my childhood cuz i’ve played it since i was veryyy young. but oh my god i dont know. I sound like a snob but it is perfect intellectual stimulation. i love Thinking. i fucking love imagining how the game will go. i love predicting my opponent’s moves it’s sooo fun. sometimes i get it just right and my opponent falls for my bait and right into my mischievously set up trap and i obliterate them. soemtimes though my opponent sees through it and surprises me and i have to be like !!!!!!!! I HAVE TO THINK HARDER NOW HOLY SHIDT !!!!! sometimes chess will have you in SUCH a stump. you will be sooo stuck and unsure of what to do. it will look like a dead end. and that’s so fun to me too … there is Always some sort of way out if you try hard enough. sometimes you have to sacrifice some pieces abd you have to think whether a rook or a horse is more important to you. i love how sometimes chess games can be casual and take like 15 minutes but sometimes it’s like, the most thought consuming thing in your life and it takes hourssss. but it’s so worth it either way bc it’s either like, the satisfaction of a hard earned win or the friendly loss of a big challenge. idgaf about winning or losing i just love playing chess. and yet i do not know shit about it!! obviously i know the pieces and how they move and shit, and i’ve worked out some strategies that i tend to open with. but i’ve never watched tournaments. i don’t know the ‘pro chess moves’. my dad never bothered to teach me and i never bothered to learn. i play like a pro but i have the unpredictability of a newbie because i seriously don’tttttt know what the fuck a fork or a queen’s gambit or a Whatever is. Like you’re just making shit up at me. chess is not about strategies or pro gamer tactics it’s about pretending to be smart and becoming dr strange imagining every possible outcome of your opponent’s next move
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perilegs · 5 months
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kinda related to previous reblog. i have to complain real quick
#so as i said my friend and i go and listen to goth bands playing here whenever theres an event#which is sadly pretty rarely#also the events are never just goth events they always gotta have metal or punk bands there too#which i dont mind but my friend fucking hates the specific genres of metal and punk bands that play at like technically goth events#ANYWAYS#my friend doesnt even live in the same city as i do but theres no scene in hers and im pretty close by so we use my city#me being indoctrinated to joining her when she wants to enjoy live music began with going to see she past away with her to a city a bit#further away from both of us#well. i had been to some gigs with her at that point already but they were a completely different thing so anyways#and then we also went and saw clan of xymox. was amazing.#anyways. they had this local to me band as an opener and i instantly fell in love with their music so it became extra easy#to drag me to whatever events. that i would have loved to go to anyways.#bc im a simple man i will say yes if you ask me to go and listen to live music with you even if i don't know the band or whatever#ANYWAYS. after that. we went to this one local to me kind of like a goth night#and there was this woman who was like. idk. over 30 under 40. but she was hanging out with some really drunk 18 year olda#and she saw us and was like omg i havent seen you two before you are so young let me introduce these kids to you hehe#i think she was desperately trying to be a bat mom#and idk. i just dont like her. but my biggest gripe with her is when she asked us about some bands#and we were like 'oh we saw clan of xymox last week' she fucking said. something about that gaining us 'scene points'#i dont care if it was a joke that rubbed me the wrong way so much#and it might seem like a small thing but yknow sometimes you just dont get along with someone for small reasons or no reason at all#last event we went to she was there again and regognized us and tried to introduce us to more teenagers#which. ok one of them was 20 and also kind of a co worker and someone ive done cosplay with so it was nice catching up#but still idk just. i hate disliking someone for no good reason. but some types of people just really manage to annoy me and i dont like it#next event is in december and i s2g if she comes up to as again. im sure shes just trying to be nice and let her teenager friends get some#friends but i dont want that and idk what my fucking problem with her is#but my main point was the fucking scene points comment.
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saetoru · 8 months
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。FAMILY SECRETS — GOJO SATORU.
contents. fem! + mom! reader, reader is referred to as “mommy” and “wife,” girl dad toru <3, family shenanigans in the grocery store that are unfortunately inescapable when your husband is gojo satoru
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“ok,” you nod, looking over your grocery list. “i think that’s everything—”
“mommy, can we please get this,” your daughter looks up at you pleadingly, tugging at your sleeve as she holds a bag of candy—she has satoru’s eyes, wide and blue and so easy to give into. you look at her for a moment before pursing your lips.
“no, satoru. we can’t get this bag of candy.” you turn to the devil himself, glaring at him as he whistles innocently.
“what’re you lookin’ at me for, sweetheart? our little peanut here wants—”
“satoru.”
“fine,” he deflates. you pinch your nose as you sigh.
satoru, in his thirty plus years of life, has surprisingly never had a cavity for how much sugar he consumes. he’s good at taking care of himself, he argues, there’s no chance he’d ever get a cavity. that is, until recently. he visits the dentist and has not one, but two cavities—you think this is a rather alarming sign that he needs to cut back on the sweets, so you take matters into your own hands.
and, well….he’s not handling it very brightly.
“you thought i’d cave just because you tricked our daughter into asking?” you raise a brow, making him huff as he pouts.
“what kind of heartless soul could say no to those eyes?” he asks in disbelief, waving a hand at the small carbon copy of your husband as she blinks up at you, “i mean look at her! she doesn’t deserve the word no.”
“she definitely needs the word no so she doesn’t end up spoiled like you. and i’ve had plenty of practice,” you shoot blandly, “i’ve said no to your eyes all these years haven’t i?”
“even crazier,” he mutters, “i have the most adorable eyes, how could you say no?”
“it’s pretty easy if you ask me,” you shrug.
most people tend to call satoru arrogant—humble is not usually used in the same sentence as gojo satoru. evidently, they’ve never watched him interact with you before—you always find a way to humble him. he’s starting to think he’s the butt of every joke in his own marriage.
“please, baby?” he pouts deeper, “i’ve been good! i floss!”
“no.”
“what if i fold the laundry for a month?” he bats his lashes.
that’s tempting, you have to admit. folding laundry is a very boring job, you’re more than happy to hand it over to satoru for a bag of candy that barely dents your wallet. but then you find your resolve again, crossing your arms as you stare at him unimpressed.
“no, satoru.”
“two months?”
“nope.”
“did you only marry me for my looks?” he asks in disbelief, “because there’s not one ounce of love in that heart of yours.”
“this is for your own good, satoru,” you say firmly, “you had two cavities. how much sugar have you been consuming lately? and don’t think i don’t notice you skipping meals when you’re busy—a chocolate bar does not replace lunch.”
you’re glaring at him, drilling him for his health choices that are not his fault—he’s a busy guy, and he can’t help that a chocolate bar on his way to a mission is all he can squeeze in sometimes. maybe a protein bar would be a better option, but they’re not as tasty, and satoru thinks he deserves to be happy. and then, from the end of the aisle, you hear a few snickers coming from passerby’s. he pouts deeper at the thought of being laughed at as he gets scolded by his wife in the middle of the breakfast aisle.
“what’s the point of living if you’re gonna be miserable?” he groans, “we might as well just start going to bed at nine pm too, while we’re at it. and—”
“that’s actually a lovely idea,” you hum thoughtfully, “you certainly could use the sleep, couldn’t you?”
he glares at you petulantly, sulking as you grab the bag from your daughter’s and put it on the shelf—it’s not the right place, but taking a trip to the candy aisle to place it where it belongs is only venturing deeper into the lion’s den. you’re not letting satoru have more options to choose from.
“you seein’ this, angel?” he turns to your daughter, “you see how mean mommy is? she’s not letting us have candy. make sure you remember that when i ask you who’s your favorite again.”
you roll your eyes, snorting. satoru asks her playfully one night who the favorite parent is—it’s a meaningless question, meant to be a joke and nothing else. you’re sure he expects her to say both—but he gets his feelings severely hurt when she giggles and points to you, staring in disbelief as you grin in victory and kiss her cheeks. you even rub salt on the wound when you mumble she’s your favorite baby too.
he’s starting to really think he’s a victim in his own household.
“but mommy gives me candy,” she tilts her head in confusion.
oh no. she’s not supposed to say that—she promised not to say that. why can’t children ever keep a filter on their words? and why can’t they keep their promises?
almost like in slow motion, both of your eyes widen. satoru pauses. you start to sweat. he turns to face you slowly, in abject disbelief.
“what?” you laugh nervously, “no i don’t! we don’t have any candy at home—”
“she keeps it in her drawer!” your daughter adds, as if she wants to see your downfall.
you love your daughter, you really do—but sometimes you think motherhood is a punishment for whatever sin it is that you’ve committed in your previous life. satoru crosses his arms and taps his foot.
“what happened to we’ll all give up sweets together so you’re not alone, toru,” he mocks your voice, squinting at you accusingly. “so we’re a family of liars now?”
“toru, listen—”
“i trusted you.”
“baby—”
“what happened to our wedding vows? what happened to in sickness and in death? a little cavity is enough to change all that? i’m scared to think what you’d do if i lost an arm.”
“well, you’re not the strongest for nothing,” you point out, chuckling nervously, “so we have nothing to worry about there.”
“i can’t believe you,” he spits, turning away from you with crossed arms and a quiet hmph.
“toru, you can’t expect us all to give up sugar just because you can’t stop making poor health choices,” you argue exasperatedly.
so what if you secretly enjoy a kitkat here and there? you deserve it for dealing with not one, but two children at home every single day—sometimes three if shoko comes over, her lifestyle choices aren’t any better. satoru should let you enjoy a piece of candy or two until he fixes his terrible habits that could very well set a terrible example for your very young and impressionable daughter.
“well, i have adult money of my own,” satoru huffs, “and as an adult, i’ll be purchasing my own candy to hide in my own drawer that i won’t share with you since we’re now apparently a family that doesn’t think sharing is caring.”
“i don’t know if i’m raising one child or two,” you sigh tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face.
satoru grabs the bag of candy off the shelf, promptly placing it in the cart before walking off ahead of you as he pushes it. your daughter grabs your hand and smiles, tugging you along.
“c’mon mommy,” she says brightly, “you said we can go to the park!”
—————— BONUS ——————
“are you serious, satoru?” you ask incredulously, watching as he comes back to sit on the other end of the bench, ice cream cone in hand.
he didn’t even bring you one—what an asshole.
“oh sorry,” he shrugs, “i figured you and our daughter were planning on getting ice cream on your own without me. since, you know, apparently you guys love to have lots of things without me.”
“you’re being so dramatic—”
“i want ice cream too!” you hear a small voice call from the distance, making you turn to your daughter as she sprints over to you from the playground, eyeing the cone in satoru’s hand.
“you heard her,” he drawls, licking at his strawberry ice cream mockingly, “why don’t you go buy her a secret cone. i won’t look.”
being a single mom of two is a full time job, you think, you didn’t sign up for this.
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guess who has two cavities ?? a certain brother of mine. guess who’s entire household has to give up sweets now for their brother’s inability to have proper dental hygiene ?? if you guessed me, you might just be psychic :O
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taegularities · 7 months
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colour me in: seven | jjk (m)
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Summary: At first, it's an argument that causes the unwanted, childish distance between Jungkook and you. And then… open blazers and a lip ring.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: est. rel.; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: an argument, cute couple-y things but also they're dorks n cringe sometimes, seven jk (incl the promo pics, laundromat hoodie bf koo, and drenched in the rain koo!!), fighting over food, they're a bit mean to each other, but they adore each other too, brief mention of a rough childhood, sexual tension, taeun being everything, kissing, dumb jokes, period and pms mention!!, a photoshoot!, subtle hints to the future of the main story :'); explicit sexual content: ahh.. making out, dirty talk, oral (f. & m. receiving), brief spanking, face-fcking, light choking, sweet and rough sex, dom jk, big dick jk, whipped simp jk, petnames, multiple orgasms, sex on the couch n on the floor? :'), he loves her a$$ and tiddies, multiple positions, cockwarming!!, mention of aftercare... the ending lol :D ➳ word count: 25k lmfaoo it's oneshot sized yall 😁 ➳ a/n: hi!! welcome back!! this is part of my series colour me in, but you can read it as a standalone-oneshot!! tysm for supporting me and encouraging me, guys, it means so so much. this is also unbeta'd, so pls go easy on me LOL. and since this was a piece of worrrrk.. come and talk to me about it, it makes my day fr fr <33 ➳ listen to: seven by jungkook | full collaborative playlist 🤍
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SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs
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In hindsight, your argument was blissfully domestic after all. In hindsight, maybe even comedic.
You’ve seen these things on TV and read about them in novels; didn’t experience them growing up because your parents didn’t really fight over such harmless matters. They never needed to lift a finger in their ultramodern kitchen, filled with up-to-the-minute equipment to fill their table.
But Jungkook and you don’t rely on such luxuries. You do things for yourself. So, such a couple-y, casual life leads to couple-y, casual arguments. Requires it. Fighting is healthy; entangles two souls some more.
Which is exactly where you are now. Exactly what you’ve become: A true unit. Quarrelling over trivial, everyday things.
Just to end up folded in half, holding onto the very last of your sanity, biting back more inappropriate screams.
In regards of making up, you’re perhaps not that casual. Because he’s a relentless, brutal beast.
Wrecking you right where everything began.
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Monday
The end of the day begins with a giant hole in the middle of your thoughts.
Your previously whirring brain tossed away all thoughts of advertisements and seasonal launches, vacant and dark until your senses shut down everything that wasn’t vital to survival.
Like the lights of the evening as your car passed the streetlamps. The tired faces on the pedestrian zone, the odd wrinkles in your skirt, or the scent wafting from the kitchen when you step out of your heels.
Your mind operates on reflexes and automatic movements; the ball of your palm rubs against your eyelid, realising too late that you’re probably smearing your eyeliner.
A sense of reality only truly returns when you hear a familiar voice call out your name, muffled through the walls between you.
You exit the bedroom with fingers scratching the nape of your neck, tiny steps floating over the floor and past the living room. On the coffee table, you register one or two dishes. Rice, too. Smells so good, but…
As you reach him in the kitchen, you halt at the threshold, eyes scurrying to the few pots and ladles in the sink. He’s diligent and fast; cleans up when dinner simmers. Minimal work left after the meal.
For a moment, you take in the cleanliness of the kitchen, and when your eyes move up to the man himself, you beam.
He’s wearing an apron – baby blue with little flowers and rainbows imprinted on it. His mom bequeathed him with one of her old ones, and he’s been boasting about it ever since.
You saw one with astronauts, moons and telescopes once; you might purchase it for him at some point, not least of all because it includes all the things the two of you love.
A tattooed hand pushes back his mane, messy and pointing in all directions the way it does after his showers. His fingers card through the fine tresses two more times before he turns towards you — an immediate smile, similar to yours, spreads across his face.
The tiny little dimples over the corners of his mouth distract you for a second until you see his hand at waist level, beckoning you into the kitchen and a greeting, sweet embrace.
Compared to the cold outside, his oversized, full-sleeve, white shirt offers a familiar warmth. He always smells the same, musky and fresh; not like cherry blossoms at all, but he reminds you of their softness.
Mixed with the scent of tonight’s meal, you inhale it all, wrapping your arms around him as your eyes close in exhaustion. If he wasn’t swaying you in his hold, you’d probably fall asleep, right there against his chest.
A kiss to your temple, and he asks, “Hungry?”
You’re not sure. You cuddle into the apron and whatever’s visible of his shirt, and mumble against him, “Not too much… to be honest, I was gonna shower and sleep.”
“Oh?” he wonders immediately, traces of disappointment in his voice. “But I made this for you.”
You smile again. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll eat, don’t you worry.” You take a deep breath, and then lift your head off his chest without letting go. “In all honesty. I saw the food outside and thought you had it delivered.”
“So you were gonna waste something you thought was restaurant food?”
You laugh. You’re sure you could see his rosy pout even if you weren’t looking straight at him.
“No. It just looks very good… I would’ve heated it up tomorrow. But since yours was a one-person-effort,” you pat his back in pride, watching as strands of his bangs fall back into his eyes, “we shall eat.”
“And it comes from the heart, too.”
“Right. It comes from the heart, too.”
You rub his back once, soon backing away. There isn’t much to do for you anymore, but you still grab a couple napkins, chopsticks and spoons as he carries some water into the living room.
The couch feels soft, true Heaven, when you sink into it. Your heartbeat slows down, your mind at ease; when you tilt your head, your neck cracks.
But clinking your glasses of water with someone who cherishes you enough to step back and forth in a kitchen for hours… It's a comfort that’s incredibly close to a peaceful night’s sleep.
And it’s worth the effort, too. Despite the conversation and your complaints about work, you can’t help but compliment dinner every other moment. Possibly another endearing habit you picked up from him.
But you slow down when fatigue returns bit by bit, your eye twitching when you feel a well-known tickling in it.
You’re careful of potential spices when you lift your thumb and rub your eye with the back of it, fighting the itch. For a moment, you stop chewing, and Jungkook only lifts his gaze to you when the movement against your eye continues, circling motions.
“Hey,” he says, grasping your wrist, pulling it down slowly, “that’s bad for the cornea.”
“Yeah, I mean. It’s not like my cornea's been nice to me, either.”
You resume chewing, swallowing the mushy remnants of the rice. Your attention falls back to the bowl of food, and your chopsticks aimlessly poke around for a second before he asks, “Why? You okay?”
“Mhm,” you say, nodding gently. “It’s just,” you point to your eyes, chopsticks dangerously close to your face, “that eye thing. It might be an infection or something. It’s so bad today that it’s hurting my head.”
You’ve complained about the issue a couple times — back when it was just an itch, you assumed it was the dusty town, perhaps even sleep deprivation. But the itch has transformed into a relentless pain, moving up your temples and across your forehead.
“Again, yeah?” Jungkook asks, following with a tender gesture of tucking your hair back. The pad of his thumb brushes over your eyebrow. “I’ll massage your head before we go to sleep.”
You sigh in relief, tired eyelids shutting briefly as you claim, “You’re the fucking best, you know?”
“Yeah.” He delivers a nonchalant, drama-esque shrug of his shoulder. Unmistakable smirk. “I guess I do know.”
The giggles from when you started dating still remain. You remember annoying the hell out of your friends back then, high school butterflies visible through your stomachs and in your bright grins.
Jungkook’s ears would redden, a smile even in your eyes. You can imagine how irritating the honeymoon phase felt to them — not that the two of you ever snapped out of it.
Even now, you’re drowning in it.
Well, until you’re not.
Because the moment he slings his arm around you, leaning back, his plate and bowl empty, you move forwards. Place your own dishes onto the table, cuddling further into him.
Only, he seems to interpret it differently.
“Aren’t you eating anymore?”
Not the message you intended to deliver. But perhaps… he’s not wrong after all.
Because…
While the evening ended on a gentle note, much needed, you’re done with today by now. Craving a warm bed, strong arms around you. A sweet, soft sleep.
And the meal is worth a thousand culinary stars, but your appetite keeps dwindling, and hadn’t he put so much effort and affection into all this, you would’ve probably headed straight to bed.
So you answer truthfully, “I can’t eat more…”
“Hmm.” He briefly points to your portion. “You just ate half of it.”
Brief silence. It must’ve gotten late, because among the quieter traffic on the main road afar, you hear a couple nightlife bugs chirping, too.
You look between the bowl and him slowly, blinking, unsure what to say. The arm around your shoulder doesn’t match his tone, so it feels a little awkward now.
You mutter, “I’m sorry.”
Because should you force yourself to scarf all of this down now, you probably won’t be able to sleep.
But Jungkook’s hums and insecure voice are making you feel bad — you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s the puppy-doe nature, a combination of forlorn, soft eyes and pouty words.
“Ah… It’ll go bad by tomorrow, but…” he starts, but you cut in—
“Fridge?”
An immediate shake of his head, a click of his tongue. “Not with that one. I mean, we could, but it’s gonna be all dry and unpalatable in the morning, y’know?”
You don’t fully have a right to be annoyed. Neither of you does. But the day’s been irksome, work a mess, paper sheets flying around — on top of that, you finished your blister pack of birth control last Friday.
The period, probably approaching tomorrow and meddling with your busy schedule, is already putting you in a sour mood.
So the current lack of a solution doesn’t help your drooping eyelids and still partly tumultuous mind.
You push yourself forward on the couch, sighing before you suggest, “Okay. Then I’ll eat.”
“Woah,” he immediately voices, dropping his arm. He attempts to pull the bowl out of your reach, but you grip it tight, swallowing a small bite of rice. “I’m not forcing you to.”
“Yeah, but still.”
Another sigh of frustration falls out of you, your full stomach crying, but you pull the bowl to you, another bite ready between your chopsticks. But a moment later, Jungkook pushes your hand down again, every rice corn falling back to its prior place, fortunately never leaving the bowl.
Unbelieving, you shoot an aghast glare at him, to which he responds, “Don’t force it. Seriously.”
A rice corn still sticks to your lower lip, and you pull it in with the tip of your tongue. You place the warm meal back onto the table, half turning to Jungkook, voicing an irritated, “Dude!”
“You don’t have to,” he assures, but he looks clearly offended. Looks away, rubs his thigh, eyeing every object on the table before he adds quieter than before, “You know… That’s happened a couple times in the last few weeks.”
“…What did?”
“I’d cook for you and you wouldn’t finish it.”
“Babe… The last few weeks have been tiring.”
“I know,” his voice grows higher at the end of the syllable, but then calms again after a sigh. “But we refrigerated a lot of stuff, some of which I shared with Joon or Tae the next day. Or threw away.”
“Nah.” The ridiculing smirk you respond with isn’t intentional. You drop it right away, but still shake your head in disbelief, defending, “You know I eat up most of the time, especially when you cook. Just today, I can’t do more than this, okay?”
He gulps. Two fingers scratch his ear, eyes once again skimming over empty plates or remnant-filled bowls. He drops his digits back to his thighs, rubbing once more, and then puffs out a breath between rounded lips before he comes to a stand.
And then, all he does is nod; shooting a simple, “Alright.”
His tone is stern. You recognise the expression — his eyes still big, but different now. Usually filled with warm sparkles, they look pissed now. Not because of his dropping lids or the missing crinkles.
Jungkook doesn’t need to move a lot of muscles to look angry; the lack of the glimmer is just enough. 
His lips are shut, not parted as they usually are when he focuses on something like his art or cooking or cleaning up. He’s exhaling and inhaling deeply through his nose, hands working on the dishes, but the fall and rise of his chest…
“You’re mad,” you conclude.
He looks back at you, the corners of his mouth never moving. His tone remains flat as he tries to convince you, “No. All good.”
Straightening his back, he attempts to walk away, hiding away in the kitchen until you’ve fallen asleep. He and you don’t argue too much — the little, couple-y, casual fights aren’t quite fights at all.
But they do end with a short distance until one is ready to approach the other and communicate again. A good strategy to cool your minds. You wouldn’t wanna discuss such a thing right away.
This time, however, you don’t want him to leave.
You pull him back again, holding onto the cotton shirt, and he protests with a loud call of your name and furrowed eyebrows as you insist, “No, you are mad.”
Your hand pushes against the couch, your body lifting, and you look him in the eye with a frustrated crease between your eyebrows. “Kook, I just am not capable of finishing it right now. You’re making a bigger deal out of it than you sho—”
“Yeah. Okay,” he interrupts, feigning acceptance and understanding, “it’s fine.” You scoff; sometimes, he’s truly as moody as you. “Things are different here, it’s fine.”
…What?
The sentence nearly comes out as a whisper as he finally starts walking away, and you only register it when he’s halfway out of the room. He balances the dishes in both hands, and you follow him to the kitchen.
Ask, “What’s different? Where’s here?”
“I work, too, you know? I get tired, too.”
“Jungkook,” you try again, slamming the hand against the counter; the sound’s muffled by a bright green cleaning cloth. “What are you talking about, things are different here?”
“Just.” He doesn’t seem to wanna talk. Carefully, he places the empty stuff in the wash basin, working on finding containers to dump the leftovers in them. “I get tired from working in the city, too, but I guess I grew up differently.”
…Huh.
You wait.
Let him collect his thoughts until he tells you, “In the countryside, you work for food, so you get used to finishing dinner. I know people around here rely on supermarkets, and honestly, I do, too,” his shoulders rise as he shovels the tofu dish into a box, “and I guess that’s why it makes sense why it’s easier for you to leave leftovers.”
Wow. Some statements in this world you live in are genuinely unfair.
You understood each of his words and lectures perfectly, but you still voice a little, “Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re not being serious.”
“Maybe.”
You blink. Then blink a couple times more. Observe as he closes the boxes and puts them in the fridge with a sigh. And you feel bad, you swear, you do. But that unnecessary turn of events…
“So what, you mean we don’t work for our food, right?” you counter, a hand on your waist. “We might do less physical labour, so that must mean we don’t appreciate what we get, yeah?”
Damn. And what if there’s more to that? What if—
“Or do you think it’s because I’ve always had enough money to not worry?”
Okay. Perhaps a long shot. He didn’t say it, but what if that’s exactly what his thought process was, too?
Your inner panic, invisible on the outside, grows when he doesn’t answer, lips firmly locked as if they didn’t just spew some crisp bullshit. You fold your arms, sucking air through your nose, and then demand, “Apologise.”
And when his eyes lift to yours, you freeze. God, they’re deadly. And his ingenuine laugh even more so as he throws back, “No, you apologise. Especially for assuming things I neither said nor thought of.”
“You were rude. I’m asking you nicely to take it back.”
“As nicely as I cooked for you. World’s in balance again, I guess!”
He throws his hands up, staring at you until he’s passed you by, eyes rolling. His nonchalant, idle movements rile you up more, and you can’t help but participate further in that odd exchange.
“You douchebag,” you call out, shutting the bedroom door as you reach inside, “I’m not a snob. I’d always finish my stuff, you can even ask the cook in my old house. He loved me because I wasn’t a picky eat—”
“Listen,” he interjects again, “I know. It's fine. I’ll sleep,” he points to the bed, “because this tired me out. Just drop it.”
“So you can drop it as you please?”
“Nah, just asking you to rest,” the first word comes out louder than he anticipated, his shrug vexed and vexing. He clears his throat. “And I’m sure you’re tired of this, too.”
You groan.
“And if I want to—”
“It’ll just escalat—”
“Dude, I—”
And once more, he showcases his annoyance when he glares at you from the other side of the bed, shutting you up, blanket already lifted. You anticipate another rude remark, a way of justification or to blurt something he doesn’t mean.
But despite his recent idiocy, you don’t deem him an asshole. Not to you, at least. Which proves right as he takes a breather, one knee hitting the mattress as he finally states—
“Let’s sleep over it, okay?”
The tone still isn’t as peaceful as it could be; you know it’s a tactic to dodge a fight. You might not be on your best domestic side tomorrow yet. But his question is final and his gaze even stricter.
So you reluctantly sigh, eyes still fiery as you breathe, “Fine.”
But it’s not fine. And the turbulent week ahead, filled with chaos for you and peak comedy to others, might just be about to prove it to you.
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Tuesday
You chew on your bites until the taste turns bland.
Still distracted from last night’s exchange, you barely register the tart spicy quality of your dinner; a shame because this restaurant is your favourite place to frequent with friends.
Today, you’re toying with your cutlery, catching a glimpse of your grim reflection in the spoon every now and then. Whenever Jungkook’s elbow touches yours, your heart skips a bit, bleeding as much as your eyes want to water.
With how he’s smiling at your friends, appetite never faltering, you could burst into tears — because somewhere inside, you miss him despite the constant proximity.
Perhaps he does, too.
Because you notice when he drifts closer on purpose, casually putting his hand over yours. Seemingly lost in conversations, he rubs his thumb against the soft back of your hand; but when you look at him, you can’t muster a smile just yet.
It’s your ego, your stubbornness. Pieces of you want to stay pissed. You keep your cool, but try to avert your eyes whenever possible.
And when you, obstinate as last night, pull your hand from under his, you register the defeated sigh.
But instead of starting a new topic, he retracts his fingers, putting his arm on his table as he busies his other digits with his meal. When you dare a glance, the pretty curves of his blooming lips tug upwards, listening to Taehyung’s story.
Either hiding the discomfort between you or not feeling it.
Odd, because he’s your constant centre of attention.
“Yeah, I mean. Every job is stressful, you know? But it’s wholesome, too,” Taehyung narrates. You blink the silent pining away, and focus. “Like, one of my patients is an elderly man, a lot weaker than his wife. And she always comes with him, every single time.”
“She just waits for him the entire time?” Jungkook asks.
Next to Taehyung, Eun nods; she’s probably heard the story before.
“I mean, she entertains us, is more like it,” Taehyung explains. “He’s been getting geriatric physiotherapy to regain some strength, so he needs all the motivation he can get. And those two are such… dorks. They bicker all the time.”
You smile. Reminds you of when Jungkook and you first met. Persistent, pointless rivalry.
Perhaps Eun hasn’t heard all of this after all. Because as she cuts her dinner, she asks before stuffing her mouth with a bite, “How so?”
“Like. She’ll tell him to not be a baby and take that last step during gait training.”
From your right, Jungkook’s laugh reverberates like a melody from above, sickeningly sweet and amused. “Sounds like me and you at the gym, doesn’t it?”
Taehyung rolls his eyes, flicking away stray hair with his forefinger, “Yeah, only because you can lift weights that’d break my arms.”
Another chuckle from the side. Even you smile a little.
Your man is strong, alright — and you’ve always admired it, experienced it a couple dozen times.
You’ve yet to see him work out at a proper gym; the home workout sessions barely count.
Ugh. The violent heartbeat beneath your chest picks up on pace again, and you take a deep breath to calm it just a little.
“Anyway,” Taehyung continues, “then she’ll tease him how the neighbour downstairs has much more flexible legs than he does and he’ll argue how she should’ve married him… and then she tells him that she would’ve if she didn’t love his old ass so much.”
When you giggle, covering your chewing mouth behind your hand, he adds, “I swear! It’s the most standard old couple banter if I’ve ever seen one. Thought that stuff only happens on TV.”
Eun, still busy with the remnants of her meal, doesn’t look up but asks, “So they joke around like that? They don’t get mad at each other or anything?”
“They act like they do. Not a sliver of jealousy or anger in them, though. Insane… and adorable. I guess when you’re married long enough, that’s how relationships turn out. And they should, too, you know?”
Hmm…
You side-eye Jungkook for just a moment, but don’t say anything.
You don’t know what’s written in your future. No clue whether he’s a permanent presence in it, a firm part of your fate or not; you strongly hope for an eternity.
You want to picture him and you grey and old. Wrinkled hands, adorned with blue veins holding each other. Weak smiles and crinkles around his eyes, hidden behind glasses, ever-present.
If he’s your future, you hope to laugh about such fights one day. Hope to let people wonder whether you’re actually furious with each other, veiling unbridled affection behind snarky remarks.
Just… right now, you can’t laugh about it just yet. You still feel oddly offended by his words last night, and it doesn’t help when tonight seems to drift towards a similar ending.
Because as you ask for the bill at the end, Jungkook still pays. You don’t think about it too hard, letting him do, staying seated to finish your drinks.
But your exhaustion reaches a new, entirely unnecessary peak when he starts cracking his fingers. On any other day, you’d put a hand over his, reminding him not to and move on.
Today, you’re in a bad mood, and your demands come out accordingly piqued.
“Stop it.”
“Hm?” he voices, looking at you, the warm light of the restaurant reflecting in his dark brown eyes.
“This,” you point to his fingers, “stop that.”
“Why?”
“Because you know it makes me cringe. A bit annoying.”
Eun, still unaware of the tension between him and you, shrugs her shoulders, “I know that irks a lot of people, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”
“Because you do it, too,” Taehyung complains; she mocks him with a sly smirk and a quiet, Yeah, yeah. He adds, “I can’t stand it, either.”
You lift an open palm towards him, nodding, “So you understand.”
“I’ve seen you do it, too,” Eun argues with a light push against his shoulder, “multiple times!”
“But not as often as you. You start and do not stop.”
You immediately agree, “He’s just like that, too!”
To which Jungkook interjects, his voice still calm; but you still hear the growing aggravation in his voice when he starts, “Honestly, I—”
“He actually has a couple habits that are just—”
You blow a raspberry.
Your interruption triggers Jungkook. And your words, admittedly not quite the sweetest, don’t sit well with him, either, because a moment later, he’s leaning forwards again. Looking at you directly before he continues his irritating bone-cracking.
You grit your teeth and repeat, “Stop that.”
“What?” he shoots back. You flinch. “A habit you despise so much, yeah? I don’t get the same intense reaction when I do something nice for you.”
So untrue.
Fucking hell. He’s talking about yesterday again.
You exhale through your nose, possibly resembling a bull ready to attack; Taehyung and Eun shrink in front of you, grimacing at each other. You’d laugh if it wasn’t you trapped in that exasperating back and forth of exchanges.
“Oops,” Eun whispers, yet overshadowed by your words as you defend, “That’s not true.”
“Maybe,” Jungkook says, shrugging a shoulder with an outrageous smirk, “but you never get that angry when I crack them at home.”
“I just don’t say it.”
“Oh? What else do you not say, hm?”
Taehyung dares an attempt, “Guys.”
But you’re too heated, a little stupid, very ridiculous as you spit, “Like, how irritating it is that you smack your lips every other second.”
Jungkook puffs out a breath. Looks to the side, straight into Eun’s direction who sinks a little more. He curls his lower lip in, running his tongue over it, jaw clenched and sharp. If you weren’t so focused on your temper, you’d find it scorching hot.
In a harmless little fight, you’d keep annoying him until he lost it eventually, mounting you and shutting you up in the very tempting Jungkook-esque way he knows.
But not here, not right now.
Instead, he fucks you up further as he sneers, “Right.”
“Or,” you continue, “that you don’t clean up your working space after painting.”
“What?” He furrows his thick eyebrows, ignoring Taehyung’s call of Jungkook’s name. “I mean. You have all your documents scattered on the desk. I might need it, too, y’know?”
“Why don’t you say it then?” you ask, tilting your head with one cocked eyebrow of yours.
“‘Cause I wanna let you work? ‘Cause it’s important for me that you’re able to focus?” He looks away again, tutting; his shoulder moves with his deriding laugh as he mumbles, “The fuck, really.”
Somewhere inside, you feel bad. You know his words are true. But you can’t tell him yet; so you just glare at him.
As silence finally falls upon you, Eun moves towards the table again, glancing between the two of you as she wonders, “What’s wrong with you guys?”
Everything.
“Nothing,” you say.
“…You wanna go?”
You wait. Jungkook doesn’t answer. Looks to the ground. When you don’t respond either, his eyes lift to yours, still big but not as enthusiastic as usual. Intimidating even.
You stay still, so he only voices, “Uh-huh.”
And the couple, enduring your awkward moment, lets you go gladly. You pack up, finishing your drink, and when you leave your table, you notice just how many people were staring at you.
Still are.
You really embarrassed yourself in front of a crowd, huh?
As the daughter of rich parents, owning a huge ass clothing brand, this isn’t something you should’ve done. But you pray and hope that you won’t wake up to a headline, or that journalists won’t interpret your little feud as a reason to break up or some nonsense like that.
Trouble in Heaven, they’d call it. Predictable little cockroaches.
You trudge past the customers with a deep breath in; Jungkook doesn’t seem to care much, because he walks ahead, hands in the pockets of his linen cotton slacks. Doesn’t look around.
Only bids Taehyung and Eun goodbye; tells you to buckle up when the two of you get in your car; curses once or twice when he misses the green light by a second.
And when you’re at home, sighing as the night approaches its end, you shake your head. Unbelievable whatever transpired back at that place. And you thought you were warming up to each other again.
Guess it’s your fault this time.
Which is why you hum when he calls your name, watching you put on your nightwear; bed ready while you still need to take off your makeup.
His question baffles you; more so with the slightly irate tone.
“Will you still give me a good night’s kiss or?”
You roll your eyes. Don’t say anything; grab your skincare products before you get to work.
He sighs once more; you see the shake of his head before you disappear into the bathroom, hear him say, “Whatever.”
But when you come out with a light rosy scent on your skin and jump under your blanket, you still shift towards his slowly drifting body. His arm under his head, eyes closed, lower lip pouting that you target carefully and—
Press the lightest kiss against.
Immediately, you turn around. Imitate his position.
He doesn’t reach out to you as he usually does, pulling you into his arms. But you still feel the petal-soft brush of tender fingers against your arm before the touch retracts again — and eventually, you fall asleep.
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WEDNESDAY
The only reason Jungkook accompanied you to the laundromat is because your clothes gathered into a huge mountain. Neglecting your responsibilities at home, you brought two bags, and he insisted on helping you out.
It's late afternoon. Work tired you out, dinner is still pending; you don’t want to be here. And the place is empty; a yawning void. Just you, alone with your tank-top and grey-blue zip up hoodie clad, messy-haired boyfriend.
The retro plastic laundromat seats tired him out, so he’s standing at the far back. His eyes follow the tossing and turning of the clothes in the washing machine, and sometimes, they trail back to you.
And you — you’re sitting in a corner, arms folded, still uncertain whether you should wait for an apology or opt for one yourself.
The distance is childish. You’re way more mature than that.
But your fight is childish, too, and you guess sometimes, even healthy couples fall back into kindergarten routines.
Once the clothes are done and dry, the journey back home approaching, he helps you out. Tramps to you, mutters a little, “Gimme. I’ll take this.”
The bag strap drags his hoodie off his shoulder a little, revealing the flowery tattoo. He doesn’t fix it; lost in thoughts and silent until home. As if he wants to say something, but doesn’t.
In the apartment, he asks, “Dinner or takeout?”
And you, learning and indisputably craving his affection in any shape or form, answer, “We can make dinner.”
“I’ll do it. Get some rest.”
You sigh in relief. There’s solace in your gratitude — today was arduous, much like the preceding days of this week. You bide your time until he’s done, and then help him set the table and clean the kitchen.
The evening passes without any hostility, but ends without many gestures of fondness, too.
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THURSDAY
“You don’t need to come, too. I bet you’ve other stuff to do.”
Jungkook adjusts to your steps. He snatched a jacket way too insufficient for the frosty weather, but he won’t hurry if you don’t. Doesn’t stray from your side.
So you walk faster. Then he does, too.
He rubs his nose, shrugs a shoulder and responds, “I’ve nothing much to do today, really.”
“Yeah, but,” you pull at the sleeves of his jacket, urging him to rush through the wind, “you’ll get bored. And I’m a big girl.”
“I know that. But it’ll be fine. Wanna make sure you’re okay, too.”
He nudges your elbow. You can’t pinpoint whether he’s daring an attempt to set things right or is genuinely concerned. Or both. In some way, the tension between you lingers, and you can’t shake off the awkward feeling just yet.
So you only nod, holding off an answer for a moment. Staring ahead, you listen to the soft sounds of the city, blinded by headlights soon passing you by. A bit longer and the first snow will fall.
The consoling feeling of winter days draws closer, feels warm despite the frigid wind. Hot chocolatesque. There’s just something about wool shawls and warm jackets and old, animated Christmas movies.
One thing you miss about living in your parents’ big, fancy house in your very old neighbourhood is the chimney. The soft yellow and orange of the crackling fire, melting the cold over your skin.
Sometimes you’d sit on the fleecy white carpet, protected by a thick, warm turtleneck sweater, watching the dancing flames.
You wonder again — if Jungkook and you are truly written in the stars as one, will you move into a bigger place one day? Save money and expand the comfort of the current apartment, investing in even more soothing walls with a couple little additions.
Not the lush, exaggerated luxury you grew up with. Not necessarily anything snobby.
But casual, domestic things, like a fire side you can sit in front of, drinking tea, slow dancing and giggling in the dark. Lit by the chimney fire; familiarity.
You sigh.
“It’s been long since I went to the dentist, too,” Jungkook then says, and you hum. That’s sudden.
“You should go then.”
“Yeah,” he says, eyes darting from your face to your hands. You unintentionally bury them in the pockets of your jacket the moment he reaches out for you; and when he understands that you didn’t notice, he curls his fingers into fists. “Maybe I can get an appointment now? Do they take walk-ins?”
You furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t know.” Then, upon realisation, you laugh a little and say, “I’m not going to the dentist.”
“What?”
“What?” You stare back with eyes as big as his. “Optometrist, Koo.”
His raised eyelids are nothing new. He’s attentive when it comes to you; recognises, notices and remembers every little thing. But you guess he truly has been tired, too.
And you feel bad for not considering it as much as he considered it. The reason he cooked for you in the first place, right?
You press your lips into a line, stare down to a puddle on the ground; an aftermath of the rain.
“Oh,” he makes, “why did I think we were going to— Sorry. My bad.”
In actuality, you did wonder if he knew. He didn’t ask questions when you told him you were leaving; simply announced he was going with. You were pulling socks over your ankles as his rushing form scurried across the room.
You guessed he’d figured it out. But the fact that he was ready to accompany you without a certain clue where you were heading makes you a little giddy.
Clearing your throat, you clarify, “No worries. It’s about that pain in my eyes. Remember?”
You wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t. Preceding your fight by perhaps a couple minutes, you don’t think the tiny statement still holds any relevance to him anymore.
Right?
Wrong.
“Yeah,” he answers, “yeah, of course. You thought it was an infection.”
“Mhm,” you hum, ignoring the butterfly wing slamming against your insides, “I’m so sure it’s an infection.” You click your tongue. “Itch first, and now it gives me migraines.”
“Yeah, you told me… But. It’s nothing serious, I just know.”
You look at his sculpted side profile.
You know him. Jungkook doesn’t actually know, of course — that’s not why he’s saying that he does.
But because hope is better than pure uncertainty; and he likes trying to manifest. He believes in little miracles like this. Knocks on wood a lot, tries not to voice potential disasters in case they might actually roll around.
So you take the reassurance. Walk to the clinic in silence. Attempt more small talk in the waiting room until they drench your corneas in those odd, blinding eye drops, dilating your pupils.
The brief, quick tests follow; the assistant is young and gentle, and you try your best to be a good patient. She seems to enjoy your temporarily formal behaviour, perfected in the years you grew to be a reputable heir.
You drop it once you’re in the waiting room again, awaiting the final consultation and results.
Jungkook is a restless companion. No matter how irritating, you’re used to the constant swaying and the movements of his legs. One might think he is anxious for you, eyes locking on the head doc’s office door every now and then.
Yet, he wonders, “Are you nervous?”
“Nervous?” you repeat, breathing out a tiny, amused laugh. “Nah. He’s really nice. And it’s just some eye stuff.”
“Well, eyes are important.”
The words come out quickly, but the last syllable dies gradually.
You smile.
Jungkook sometimes reminisces about a time when he’d hide from relatives or eat lunch at the back of class back in elementary school. He tires out the term introvertness, and you repeatedly retort with a certain ambivertness.
At times, he’s loud, flirty, annoying and confident — gives you a hard time believing that he ever averted a girl’s gaze or hid behind his cousins.
But then… there are moments when you see it.
Like now.
The puffy cheeks, the youthful pout, the big, big eyes flashing to the ground. Unsure what to say, unsure what you’re thinking of him.
Until he gulps, keeping his voice quiet and low as he continues, “Have you ever had a private optometrist?”
Huh. Not a question you expected. You guess starting the week with a discussion about wealth makes him think of such things these days.
“Yeah,” you say, shifting in your seat. You can still not see him clearly; his features are blurry, and you squint. “When I was younger. Big, bright places and top notch equipment.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I mean… It's not like usually used equipment, like here, is any worse than theirs. Also, same reason as why I went to a public college. Normalcy, I guess.”
“Odd.”
“…Why?”
“Because,” he draws a sharp breath, staring ahead. “Despite all the normalcy, you’re as extraordinary as can get. Money or not.”
A heartbeat passes. Among the sounds of the quiet chatter around you and the ads in the TV at lowest volume, your breath mingles with the hushed noises like a whisper.
His slowly blinking eyes are genuine, your reflection in his dark brown orbs clear. White dots sparkle like constellations in the sky, bright and plenty. It’s nice that they remind you of the sentimentality in his heart after every single serious or dumb, big or small fight.
For a moment, you keep looking. Your fingers twitch, urging to reach out, but as they start moving off your knee, you hear a call of your name.
Jungkook leans back, clearing his throat, smiles at you as you get to your feet and meet the doctor’s stare, kindly gesturing inside the examination room.
A couple more tests, a friendly conversation, more orders from his side before he gives you a diagnosis and a prescription. 
And when you head out, Jungkook’s still sitting right where you left him. One leg restless again, leaning forwards, arms on his thighs and hands intertwined. His head is hanging between his shoulders; even from afar, you see his lashes move, eyes slowly blinking.
You can’t quite explain it, but you love this point of view — when you can see his parted lips, the lower one pillowy, partly hidden behind his button nose. Cheeks round. You truly do love this watching-from-above-angle.
Even though it clearly suggests he’s bored out of his mind. Beyond done with this place, but still here, waiting for you.
You clutch the strap of your bag again, sighing, and then move towards him with light steps. The back of your fingers reaches out then, brushing against his temple a tiny moment before he detects your shoes and looks up.
“Oh. That was fast,” he says; his eyes are drooping. He had a long morning in the attic. “What did he say?”
He gets off the seat, moving his stiff neck and cracking it a little, hand flashing up to his shoulder. You explain, “I need eye drops. Two to three times a day.”
“Ah. Then we could get them right now.”
You nod, allowing a little smile, telling him as you head out, “My eyes are okay, though. Somehow, my vision has improved, too.”
Jungkook’s lips form an excited Oh, but when he sees your expression, he says, “But you seem bummed about it.”
Ah. Well.
You feel ungrateful thinking that way, but…
“In some way?” you admit. “I’d rather have an infection that can be fixed with antibiotics and won’t come back so easily instead of… you know. Having to constantly rely on eye drops. It just sounds so permanent.”
Another deep sigh; you’re exhausted as well. “And I’ll have to remember to use them.”
“Hmm,” he voices, holding the door open for you. He zips his jacket close as you step out; an immediate breath cloud forming when he exhales. “Set an alarm, yeah?”
“Yeah. Just knowing myself…”
“I’ll remind you then.”
The suggestion is immediate, albeit accompanied by a seemingly nonchalant shrug of his shoulder; jacket’s sleeves adorably pulled over his hands.
“Once in the morning. You set an alarm for lunch and then I remind you again when you take your birth control pill at night. Yeah?”
The bitter feeling of the fight vanishes a little; you try to ignore the residual awkwardness, apologies probably still due. But right now, your conversation follows a different path, so you settle on a soft, little, “Thank you, Kook.”
He always does that. Remind you of your meds.
Your vitamins, your pills, that one nose spray hydrating your nose flora to prevent your mucosa from drying out or whatever your ENT doc told you. He did last night, too.
He always does — even if it means forgetting about his own responsibilities.
You blink a couple times, rubbing your eyelids before you admit, “Still hurts. Can barely see… and the streetlamps are so bright?”
“Lemme look.”
He stops in his tracks and you follow; his hand catches your wrist, pulling your fingers away from your eyes, and you turn to him slowly. You’re still attempting to clear your vision, so he orders, “Stop blinking.”
And once you do, he moves in. Takes your face in his already warm hands, staring, squinting, humming. He looks focused, and you raise your eyebrows, waiting for a conclusion until he finally mutters, “Damn.”
“What?”
He seems impressed. Looks a bit longer. You repeat, “What? Are they red? Swollen or something?”
“Nah,” he lets your face go, already stepping back as if dodging your proximity. “But,” he starts; you stare like a puppy, only breaking when he adds, “they’re pretty as fuck.”
Your playful punch rises as if on instinct.
One part of your relationship that never changed was your bicker, starting with annoyance and morphing into frisky, flirty remarks. You consider it the foundation of what makes the two of you a unit.
You grit your teeth, but can’t bite back the smile.
“Dude,” you scold, and he covers his arm instinctively, evading the punch looming over him.
But you don’t deliver it after all, dropping your hand, shaking your head instead. You say, “If you hadn’t helped me survive today, I’d—”
You steer towards him, attempting another scare, and he plays along with a flinch just before he starts laughing again. Hums and nods emphasise his words when he agrees, “You survived like a true champ. A big girl, you said, right?”
“Sure am.”
“Mhm. …My big girl?”
“Gross. Shut up.”
The atmosphere will stay odd for a while. That’s okay, you guess. At least it allows for a bit of amusement, hard to hide as you smile a little, bite your lip.
You lower your head, veiling your beam behind your hair, but you know he sees. Matches your smile — perhaps even a bit brighter than your own.
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FRIDAY
The fast approaching weekend usually eases a week’s tension. But considering the mounting workload you tackled today and the endless Saturday you’ll be dealing with very soon, your muscles don’t relax just yet.
Imprisoned behind the bars of work, your thoughts circle around the schedule for tomorrow. In that sense, you come home late and can’t quite bother with the stress that spread throughout the first half of the week.
Jungkook already scarfed down tonight’s dinner, comfortably laying in bed and balancing the laptop on his stomach. From the sound of it, he’s watching videos of various genres.
Sitting on the living room couch and indulging in a short story for just a bit, you hear the enthusiastic voices of chefs rattling down recipes every now and then. It’s a hobby of his, but you can’t help but feel bad.
He studies those YouTube videos to improve his cooking skills, and you, ungratefully, leave the rest of his effort in the goddamn fridge. You sigh.
If you had the energy and will to talk it out, you’d do it now. You couldn’t all day.
He was still asleep when you left, and after work, you went to a brief dinner with a coworker to dash through details for tomorrow. Looking at the plan, you hope for at least a sliver of fun amidst the photoshoot chaos.
When you returned home, Jungkook was gaming right where you’re sitting now. You showered, only to find him back in the bedroom, with his eyes glued to said laptop. And now, as you approach the bed to end the night, he walks past you with falling eyelids.
He rubs them with the back of his tattooed hand, a tired pout on his face contradicting the seemingly badass image that the ink usually gives him. Hard shell, soft core and all.
“Be right ba—,” Jungkook’s hazy voice informs, last syllable broken by a yawn. “Go to bed, okay?”
His palm moves across your upper arm as he passes you by, and you nod, steering towards the inviting, warm mattress. Its surface melts with your body when you drop. God, you’re exhausted; can barely think.
You don’t think it’ll take you particularly long to drift away; and just when your consciousness slips, you feel an arm around you.
A soft hug, enveloping you. He drops his face to yours, lips gently pressing against your cheek for a moment before he adjusts the blanket over the two of you.
A current of warmth courses through your veins, and you draw a deep, long breath of affection when he cuddles into you. He must be thinking you’re asleep but slowly falling out of dreams, because he pulls you in and rubs your arm.
An effective tactic he usually wields to help you fall asleep. 
He puts a leg gently over yours, his body so close to yours that you feel bits of the combustion of your heart.
Because…
Despite your stupid feud, you’re kind of happy that he’s joined you under the thin blanket, pressing more featherlight kisses against your scalp. Sighs against it.
And you can’t withhold the smile when he brushes over your clothed tummy and whispers, “My feisty little girl.” 
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SATURDAY
You remember to unclench your jaw.
The stress hardens your muscles. Your limbs are stiff, eyes unblinking until they dry out. Fingers wrapped around your phone, you hold the device firmly, shutting out the telling vibrations of notifications.
This cannot be.
There are a hundred fires burning around you. Erupted chaos causes panic, and in the middle of it are you, clueless and vexed beyond measure.
It’s one thing cancelling a shoot a couple days before it takes place — and another thing to call sick at the very last moment. You didn’t think the model would ditch you like this… but now that he has, you can’t figure out how to replace the missing piece of the shoot.
Your troubled co-workers call out a dozen names, but you don’t say a word, gazing around with a crease between your eyebrows.
This whole thing needs to be out in the open by Friday, and the photographers and editors need time. So, postponing this to Monday and the release of the ads to another weekend won’t work, right?
No.
You’re at the headquarters of this brand. And you’re one of the organisers of this shoot and project. Every single shop will need to postpone if you do.
Unprofessional. Goes against the schedule.
The complaints are still on full blast when you see a calm movement from the corner of your eye. You move your head to the left, peeking through the glass door, and on the other side awaits—
A wide-eyed man, staring inside, observing the tumult like he’s stepped into the jungle. He’s wearing a white shirt, tucked into jeans, long bangs hanging into his eyes and enhancing the sweet gaze so wonderfully.
Pieces of your stress melts — but you still can’t figure out why he’s standing there.
You walk to the door automatically, throwing a tiny smile when he detects you among the staff. A big hand waves in tiny, and you open to let him in.
“Hey,” you greet, pushing back to where you stood before. He follows. “What are you doing here?”
As you come to a stand, he puts a hand on your waist lightly, drawing close to press a kiss to your temple. Then, he responds, “Picking you up?”
“Wh—”
Oh. Shit.
You were going to go out and celebrate the end of the stressful week. He’d suggested it last weekend because he already knew how hectic today would be.
Ughhhh.
You’re terrible.
Jungkook realises your forgetfulness the moment your expression changes into a guilty one. His curious, innocent look drops with his eyebrows, and he sighs when you say, “I’m sorry, Kook.”
When he stares down at his shoes, you feel a wave of shame; the noise around you fades for just a second as he half sullenly, half disappointedly asks, “Really?”
“I swear… It’s not my fault.”
It’s not an excuse; not a lie.
He looks disheartened; knowing him, stupid argument or not, he was probably looking forward to this. Fuck, you feel bad.
Despite his obvious drop in mood, he doesn’t say anything much. Instead, he nods and assures, “It’s fine. What happened?”
You look around again. From afar, you see a coworker approach. She looks hopeful and you take the crumbs, but you still explain, “Everything should be done by now. We got most of the pictures, but… one of the guys bailed on us.”
“Shit, really? What now?”
You shrug your shoulders, once again racking your brain for a solution. People here are counting on you, but it’s not you who brings the very first somewhat reasonable suggestion of today.
Only somewhat reasonable, though.
Because the coworker approaching ogles at Jungkook like a pirate at a treasure, pupils big and wondering as she suddenly says, “Hold. Did you come up with that?”
You blink.
Then ask, “What?”
“You called him here?”
“What?” you repeat, a confused, little parrott.
She rolls her eyes, “He,” she points at Jungkook with a thumb, “is not allowed in here. Usually. So I assumed you called him as a replacement.” She tilts her head. “And he’s freaking perfect!”
Per—
What? No, no, no. That’s absolutely nothing you planned or permitted.
“No?” Instinctively, you take a step to the side, right in front of his broad shoulders as if to protect him from harm. You argue, “He’s not a model. He’s an artist.”
From behind, you hear, “I’m just an artist.”
“Yeah, but,” she throws back, “you’re art, too. I won’t lie.”
Another step back until your back almost touches his chest. His fingertips graze your hip, as a warning before you stumble over his feet. You can imagine the subtle rosy dust on his cheek; he’s fond of compliments.
As everyone is, you suppose. But. 
“Hey, careful,” you tell her, disguising it as a joke, but feeling the lightest burn in your stomach when he laughs at her words.
She raises her pretty lips to a prettier smile, nodding in reassurance as she promises, “Yes, I know he’s taken.”
Another quiet chuckle from behind you, and you cock an eyebrow before he changes the topic and admits, “Seriously, I’m not a model at all and barely know what these things are like…”
To which she waves off his concerns and explains, “Oh, you just need to look good. We’d put some make up and clothes on you, a few pics and we’re done.”
Sounds easy enough. A bit like an insult to actual models, kind of putting those to shame who ran across stages for years to study, internalise and perfect their movements.
But you don’t correct her because you’re desperate, too. And right now, this sounds the easiest.
Still, he murmurs, “I’m not sure.”
“I understand if not,” she says. Her tone changes, fragments of frustration in it. “It’s just that we’re running out of options.”
Once more, you play out the upcoming week mentally. Postponing the last shoot. Postponing the release. Postponing the seasonal launch.
None of this is your fault, but you’d still be the one to get all the wary looks.
As if on cue, Jungkook squeezes your hip, and you look at him with worry painted across your face. You know he sees it immediately, but he still asks, “Is it that bad?”
You nibble at your lip, putting a hand over his as you say, “Yeah. We do need someone.”
“Is that allowed? Can I just replace a guy?”
“I’m technically the boss here, so you’d just need my permission,” you take a breath and then click your tongue, “I mean, usually we’d just reschedule, but we don’t have the time and those shoots already take hours. And in your case, we’d do all the paperwork, contract stuff later.”
“Would it help you?”
He’s considerate. Even in a stressful moment like this, the gentle tone, the deep care makes you weak. The answer’s already clear, but you still tell him, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Again, it… might take up to two hours or so.”
“But it’d help you, babe, wouldn’t it? Unless you don’t want me to. Then I won’t.”
You don’t have a single problem with this; in fact, you’d be happy to put him in front of a camera. His genuine thoughtfulness liquefies you — you’re a puddle at this point.
“Oh, I… Jungko—”
Juri intrudes, “I’m sorry,” carefully, she inches closer, nodding over her shoulder, “Just wanna say that we have a lot of designers in our team. They do logos and make the posters and all. Maybe, if they saw you — because the country already knows you as her artistic man from newspapers — they could teach you some digital art stuff.”
“I…” Jungkook starts. He’s probably thinking the same — which he confirms when he adds, “I’m not sure how me modelling for you might relate to artistic stuff. But I already know a lot about digital art.”
Yeah, exactly. Of course he does; what else did he wade through college for throughout these years?
“But,” she lifts a finger, infinite force in one word already, “have you ever tried expensive equipment and all?”
Oh oh. You feel bad.
Is that the group of society you represent? Maybe you guys are a little pretentious after all, dealing and seducing with money.
But he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t dare to challenge her when he steps next to you and says, “I can do it, but not for that digital art offer.” He puts a hand on your back, rubbing lightly and briefly, “For her.”
You fold your arms under your chest; less to show dominance, but more to press against the butterflies. There’s a type of nausea falling in love elicits, deep in your stomach where everything appears so surreal and beautiful that it makes you oddly sick.
The first time your pupils took on their heart shape was the first moment Jungkook practised that effect on you; made you realise what inevitable emotions he was pulling you into.
That effect has not faltered; your guts still twist.
At least, for a couple minutes.
Because the second your coworker-vultures attack him and drag him to the back room, something changes. Nervousness, you guess. You know the clothes that are awaiting him, but stepping out of makeup and into the spotlight leaves you gasping for air.
From afar, he’s leering at you.
Wearing a snow white shirt, tucked into his pants, priorly tousled hair still messy but styled in curls. Yes, you might know your collection — but you didn’t think it’d fit him like second skin.
Why did you doubt it, though? Jungkook could wear a trash bag and still compete against Adonis.
For a moment, he stands still, entangling his fingers, looking around. Then, he’s smiling in uncertainty, awkwardly putting his hands on his tiny waist, waiting for directions.
Juri tip-toes towards you, as if you’re filming a scene in a drama. She pulls the clipboard to her chest, one digit pointing to your struggling man before she says, “He’s adorable.”
You nod. “I wonder how he’ll do.”
“Well, yeah,” she murmurs, half distracted; but then she averts her eyes from him, looking from your nervous lips up to your furrowed eyebrows before she assures, “Worst case scenario, we’ll postpone. End of story. At least we tried.”
“Hmm… Well, let’s hope it won’t be that case.”
Which, you soon realise, it certainly isn’t.
A couple professional suggestions by the director and Jungkook gets into position. The initial movements of his hands and body are a little strange and awkward, and you can’t help but want to pull him from this chaos and wrap him in a fuzzy blanket.
But the seemingly feigned adorable stance soon shifts into something unexpectedly dangerous when he raises his chin. Thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, he relaxes his body, lips suddenly forming a tempting, slight pout.
He doesn’t usually look like that…
“Wow,” you whisper, faintly registering Juri’s fascinated nod from the side.
This is still a harmless pose, you think; one the director dared him to do. But you’re surprised by the sudden confidence, the way Jungkook doesn’t fumble or stutter or question anything.
Some of his softness shines through the moment the photographer gives a thumbs up, a tattooed hand cracking the fingers of the others. Doe eyes back, he leans forwards as if he could peek at the pictures like that, asking cautiously, “That okay?”
He looks different. Why does he look different?
“That was great! Perfect start. I promise the rest is just as easy,” the team encourages him, asking him to monitor the pictures they just took.
Jungkook walks to the strangers in slow steps, chest behind the tight, white top heaving once. On his way, he looks up to you instinctively, throwing the same thumbs up at you with a questioning gaze.
And you, still baffled, smile.
Watch as he converses with the people, his grin wide when he likes what he sees — an instant confidence boost, though you still see the nervousness in his stance. Where was any of it when they clicked the photos?
As if a demon possessed him for just a minute. Dual and dangerous.
Then again, he’s not very different in your daily life. A celestial soul on some days, catering to your every whim, never letting your feet touch the ground.
And a beast on others, inhaling your sounds like a starving incubus, never heaving your body off the mattress.
The duality doesn’t disappear with this very first outfit.
When some music starts playing and they tell him to move freely, filming the sequences for the ads, your eyeballs nearly fall out of your eyes. And you finally realise why he looks so different now.
Because the moment his thumb touches his lower lip, mimicking a wiping motion (much like he does after kissing you sometimes), you see the silver-plated jewellery glimmering from all the way from the set.
Lip ring.
Whose idea…
“What did you do back there?” you ask, near-panicking, your heart dropping into your panties.
Juri flinches, asking, “What?”
“Is that a lip ring? You gave him a—”
You puff out a breath; it’s immensely difficult to be mad at him like this. He’s been looking…
“Shouldn’t we have?” her tiny voice asks; her body shrinks a little.
“I mean. I just. It wasn’t planned.”
“Yeah, but look how amazing he looks.”
You’re seeing it, alright.
The subtle touches, the light tugging at his shirt. Movements just right. He looks all serious, like a beast, hotter than motherfucking hell. Transports your saliva into your windpipe with each look he sports.
Until you actually feel yourself choking and gagging once he leaves and comes back for the next shoot twenty minutes later.
Because why on Earth did they omit the shirt under the grey blazer?
You’re close to dashing to costume and makeup, confronting them to ask why they chose to toy with your sanity like this. Because… the lip ring is still there. His hair is suddenly slicked back. Fingers adorned with rings.
And he looks so goddamn good.
Maybe it’s your fault. You told them you trusted them, and that they were supposed to do as they pleased. And they are… they so are.
All of him, like a strong magnet, pulls you in, but you keep your feet firmly on your spot, cementing yourself in place. There’s something incredibly attractive about the way he presents himself — new, talented.
You’re fidgety, a sexually frustrated observer when he touches his jacket, pulling it open just a little. The inked hand is veiny; you see it from here, too. The light gesture allows glimpses of his chest.
Small, perked, brown nipples. Lines and ripples of his abs firm. Ending in his V-line, hidden behind the peeking underwear and blue, baggy jeans.
Heavy chains are already menacing when he shuts his eyelids and parts his lips. Worse when he leans forwards, hazy eyes staring into the camera as if he’s about to devour the camerawoman.
Jeon Jungkook is a hazardous danger to society. The world will want him — and he’ll only want you.
Fuck.
You’re drooling. Drowning in your own puddle. Crossing your legs.
And when they tell him to sit, ordering to open the button of his jeans and push it down his hips just a bit, the little yous in your brain wreak havoc.
A fire starts in the organised office of your mind, red sirens blaring, and you look at Juri as you ask, “Why is he naked?! Why’s the blazer off his shoulder?!!”
“Because,” she defends, hiding behind the clipboard; it’s not her fault. That’s what the other model would’ve done, too. “Underwear ads!”
You’re aware. You just didn’t think it’d be Jungkook ending up in this position. Perhaps you didn’t think it through; didn’t know what it’d do to you.
But his effect pools in your lower stomach; so intense, you might cry.
“What the fuck,” you mumble when he takes the jacket off, sitting up and improvising all of a sudden. A hand covers his mouth, the blazer thrown over his shoulder. “What’s the point of holding it? He’s not even wearing it.”
“Because,” she starts again, “we’re focusing on the underwear.” Where’s the focus on the underwear? You can barely see it. Are people plotting against you? “It’s okay.” She pats your shoulder. “No one’s gonna touch him, love.”
You bite your lip. You know.
You aren’t distressed because you’re mad. But because knowing that everybody will crave him and nobody will get him turns you on more.
The fact that you’re the only one he’ll look at with those starry eyes; with the hunger in his gaze. The only one he’ll press into your bed, lips close to your ears, whispering endearments and filthy, little promises.
This man wants you, and you can barely handle that truth.
New thoughts and ideas form in your mind, too wild and desperate to be occurring right in this moment. So you mentally whoosh them away, holding on for the rest of the neverending shoot until a round of genuine applause sounds around the big set.
God. Okay. Hours of torture later, and he’s done.
A shy bow. No. This monster might convince anyone else, but you know he’s not as innocent as he gives himself.
He jogs over to you, says quietly enough for only you to hear, “Don’t tell them, but that was great.” You can imagine. He backs away, looks down to his defined abs, “I need to change. And then we can head home, they said.”
You blink, perplexed and still out of words. Which he struggles to interpret, looking over his shoulder and then back to you. Unsure, he adds, “Unless you need to wrap things up.”
When a random shout echoes through the room, you awake, inhaling deeply before you tell him, “No, I. I mean, yeah, we’ll wrap things up, but that shouldn’t take too long. Should be mostly done when you are.”
He nods. Waves, and then steers towards the others, shaking hands and exchanging smiles. Short convos. Then, to the back room. 
You’re too out of your mind and tired to chat much with staff. You go through the next steps, talk about waiting for the editor to be done with the photos, list the leftover things on your to-do list before the winter launch.
And that’s it. You meet Jungkook at the exit to the hallway, relieved when the end of the day approaches. On your way back home, you converse lightly, though he stops when you yawn one too many times.
He lets you rest as you pass shops and traffic lights, and holds your hand when you get off the vehicle. Drags you up the stairs; the climb is arduous. And then allows you to get ready for your slumber in peace.
The second the back of your head collides with the cold pillow, your eyes drop shut. The world spins behind your tired eyelids, adjusting to the darkness and the silence.
A sigh of relief pushes out of your mouth; a profound sense of tranquillity calms your lit nerves. Jungkook, next to you, seems just as exhausted because the yawn as soon as he slips under the covers is long and tear-inducing.
He’s blinking away the dampness of fatigue when you look over to him; you haven’t talked much since you arrived home, but Jungkook uses the moment to say, “I had a lot more fun than I expected to have.”
You’re so incredibly thankful for his last-minute rescue. But you can’t help but think of the muscles and expressions an hour prior. The seductive gaze, the lip accessory, the ring-clad fingers.
Perhaps it’s because of the time of the month, but you feel vexed by how affected you feel.
You control your tone, though the word still sounds monotone when you say, “Good.”
Catching upon it immediately, he shifts slowly, sniffling and head propping up on his hand before he asks, “Did you not like it?”
“Oh no, I mean,” you start, “you were amazing. I just didn’t know they’d send you out naked for the world to see. Thought the plan was to close a couple buttons.”
“The stylists told me. I think it was a spontaneous change because—”
You glance at him when he hesitates. A sly smile spreads across his features, just a little guilty yet amused as he watches your curiosity grow.
“What?” you ask.
“Nevermind.”
“Don’t be mean.”
“It’s nothing!” he exclaims. “We just thought it’d look cool. I thought you’d like it, too, actually.”
You did. That’s the issue. You liked it enough for it to burn into your mind, and now you can’t shake the image anymore.
No matter how many times you’ve seen him butt naked, buried inside you without a gap between your skin — something about his confidence and eyes stirred an unknown level of desire in you.
But you can’t tell him. Because the thing you want won’t be possible right now. You keep your thoughts veiled.
Instead, you unleash your annoyance because God, you hate him for being so hot.
“Right,” is all you say.
“Hey, don’t worry. Even if they ask, I’m not doing this again.”
“Might make you famous, though,” you mumble.
He snorts, fingers sneaking to your tummy, “So what? That’s not my profession. I didn’t study to become a model. Will work on my actual efforts.”
“Okay.”
The single word forces a sigh out of him, and he shakes his head, tapping his fingers against your stomach as he whispers your name thrice. Like he’s scolding you.
And then, “Are you jealous?”
“No,” you spit without hesitation, “of whom?”
You’re not. And you know that just for the moment, he won’t believe you. Which is fine. You’ll tell him the truth once your period’s over for the month.
“Of people who might see me and like what they see.”
Okay. Jerk.
At this point, he is doing it on purpose. You see it in the cocky smile and the jesting tone and the way his fingertips draw circles over your shirt, itching to sneak underneath the fabric.
You know him.
He’s so annoying.
“No,” you repeat.
“You sure? Huh?” Fuck, not that sulky voice. You close your eyes, but he raises your chin, making your head move. “Look at me, angel.”
“Hmm?”
“You said no, but you do look a little fiery,” he tells you. Yeah, if he knew that the real reason doesn’t lie in envy or whatever the world thinks of him. “What? My girl is jealous of people I won’t even perceive?”
No.
But she does feel the tickling, flattering lust pooling in her lower stomach, Jeon, thank you very much.
“Jungkook,” you start, although breathier when he moves closer, towards your neck. “Don’t be annoying.”
Which triggers a slightly mocking tone; he tuts before he says, “Baby bails on our date today. Will fight me in a restaurant. And then I’m annoying?”
Your answer is immediate and as shameless as can be.
“Yes.”
And it makes him laugh. Hot and sudden against your skin, his breath makes you shiver more than the relentless cold outside ever could.
“Not gonna lie,” he begins, “that brat behaviour isn’t too terrible.”
“Shut the fuck up, you just—”
He just what? You don’t know. Your sentence floats between you when his nose raises your chin, freeing the path to your neck before he’s nuzzling it slowly.
You feel goosebumps at the back of your neck, hair standing up, tingles across your body where you didn’t deem them possible. Under the blanket, your legs shift, and he hurries to move one of his between yours.
Hand still on your shirt, he places a barely-there, soft kiss to your neck; his fine tresses tickle your face and you crumble.
You have long forgotten your unfinished sentence, but he hasn’t. Asks, “What?”
You bury your nails into his arm, intrigued by the little hiss followed by a subtle laugh. Growing in volume when you say, “I kinda hate you right now.”
“Oh yeah,” he agrees, stretching the second word, “I hate you, too. Absolutely loathe you.”
You silence. Hold onto him when he French kisses between your neck and shoulder. And then breathe, “Then go away.”
“Mhh. Maybe I should.”
“Maybe…”
And then, out of the blue, his teeth dig into your neck like a gentle vampire, stopping immediately when you wince desperately. A hot tongue soothes the bite, a strong hand pushing you down by your shoulder again when your body lifts off the bed just a bit.
He keeps you in place, moving to your jaw. And when you whimper in lust and want, navigating his leg closer to your core, he curses, “Fucking hell, babe.”
Then, he’s inhaling, fingers wandering from your shoulder to your wrist as lips finally clash.
His body moves half onto yours, slowly gauging your reaction to the kiss as if he’s still expecting the burst of cumulated emotions. But when you give into his gesture, granting him your tongue, his face moves further against yours.
Undecided fingers let your wrist go, getting ahold of a patch of your hair. You hold his arms again until you wrap yours around him, fingers on the nape of his neck as you pull him in.
You tilt your heads in unison, deepening the kiss, drinking him up. Let him open your lips with his, keeping them like that, tips of your tongues playing with each other.
His touch drops to your waist and down to your pyjamas, pushing them down a little, grazing your panties. But then, his teasing palm floats up again and settles over one of your tits, squeezing once and drawing a telling moan out of you.
No bra.
He loves your little habits. You live through them casually, never noticing how badly they empty his mind.
Seems your head is blanking just as much at his touches; because you look delirious, lost, breathing in and out heavily. Jungkook basks in the expression, pushing a hand to your neck.
And only when he presses in gently, trapping you in place, do you seem to wake.
Eyes shoot open, and you inhale deeply, as if saved from drowning; remember every bit of today. The lines of his abs. The lip ring. The jewellery on his fingers.
You could ask for him to go on, to wreck you thoroughly. But of all arguments stopping you from doing so, there’s one damn reason that asks to prevent the mess.
Fucking period. Would create a literal bloody chaos. And you’re exhausted.
The thing is — if you asked him, you know he’d give it to you.
He’s reckless and careless. But you can’t risk the state of your sheets and the state of your mind. You have more work to do tomorrow; also, if you continued now, you’d be tired and immobile tomorrow, you know — and you need to be awake for this.
Fully in your senses.
Ugh. Fuck.
And the last damn day of the red waterfall, too. Thinking about it, perhaps that’s the reason for your agitation this week.
In hindsight, you know you’re never bitchy like that — he didn’t give you the nickname of an angel for nothing, right? Fuck PMS. Fuck mood swings.
Your poor boy, enduring the wrath of it.
But maybe you need to act pissed just a bit longer because—
“What?” he asks.
It’s not the time. So you stop him, pushing him away lightly. Shake your head, calling forth a crease between your eyebrows, turning away just a bit.
He falls back, once again keeping his upper body up by his arm. Inquires, “I— are you still mad?”
Truthfully, you answer flatly, “I’m on my period.”
“So?” he answers, laughing until he sees your lips, pressed into a serious line. “I’m not scared of some blood.”
You knew it. He’d give in if you told him to.
But what you want can’t be received during this time of the month. What you want requires unhinged chaos, carelessness, breathlessness. Craze of many minutes, hours.
You want more than a short, cautious session that asks you to peek at the sheets and the towel you’d get every now and then. You want to fucking lose yourself in hi—
“Let’s not,” you answer, your tone nonchalant, “Just. Let’s go to sleep, alright?”
He murmurs your name, trying again; but when you turn on your belly, giving a last sign to end the night, you hear him groan quietly.
You grimace when his head falls onto the pillow with an angry thump, movements under the blanket agitated as he scolds, “My God. Alright. You wanna be pissed for an entire week, then be pissed. I can’t do more than that.”
Oof.
If he only knew. And something in you tells you that he will very soon.
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SUNDAY
Too lazy to work through the preparation process in the kitchen, Jungkook and you quietly decide to spend lunch outside.
The café nearby is a place you’ve wanted to visit for quite some time now. And despite the flaky, dry sandwiches they served, you’re glad time passed quickly, the awkward conversations between you coming to an end.
When you return from the bathroom, the sky above looks grey. Desolate. The weather forecast predicted a surprisingly pleasant late fall day, but the approaching rain is obvious. Which, you anticipated more than the weather forecast did, really.
That’s why an umbrella is leaning against the leg of the table, and you grab it as you watch Jungkook fumble with his wallet, stuffing it into his back pocket.
He gulps down the last sip of his Matcha Latte, dimples above the corner of his lips as he smacks the taste away. Then, he gets to his feet, asks, “Ready to go?”
Absent-mindedly, you nod, glancing to the sky and then back to him again. He looks sweet and domestic; but you can’t quite take him seriously. Not necessarily because of the fight anymore.
It’s been far too many days to still dwell.
But because of the damn lip ring, the open jacket, the gelled back hair. His destructive expressions. Like he could devour you whole.
Jungkook doesn’t stay angry for a long time, you’ve noticed. He always tells you how his temper used to be worse as a teenager, but how he’s learned to control himself.
Agonies of childhood, relationships and friendships taught him patience. And you notice. You truly notice.
Because he hands you your purse sweetly, immediately stretching his palm towards you. A slight smile spreads across his face, and you respond with a weak one of yours. Take his hand and let him lead you home.
You’ll walk the short distance; it shouldn’t take longer than seven or eight minutes.
And as you approach home, the hand holding yours mimics the motions of the one gripping the umbrella — he brings both arms into swing, somewhat euphoric but casual when he says, “The food was so dry there.”
It’s odd, talking to him like that after several days again. But you nod slowly, and agree, “I know. But at least we know where not to go anymore.”
“Yeah. But I mean, great beverages.”
“The milkshake, too.”
He tugs you a little closer, elbows soon touching, “I still think you should’ve gotten something warmer. You get a cold fast,” he looks up with squinted eyes, “and it’s already chilly today.”
You squeeze his hand as a thank you; Jungkook cares for you in little, subtle ways, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t think of it every now and then. You answer, “I feel fine, though.”
“Okay. Hope that stays.”
His palm, soft in yours, shifts until he’s intertwining his fingers with yours, attempting a stronger grip. You lift your eyes from the ground to his face for a second, meeting a gentle smile, and feel more pieces of your heart split.
They wander through your body, along your arm and straight into his chest, merging with his own organ. If you could, you’d push him against one of the unlit lamp posts, parted lips opting for his, breathing into his mouth.
He infested your thoughts and stuck with you, no way to escape the moment you first fell for him. And somehow, he managed to keep this effect intact, digging deeper into your mind and making himself home every damn second of the day.
The desire you’ve been feeling doesn’t just stem from lip rings and talent behind the camera. But you also keep realising that you’re truly this man’s, and that this man is truly yours.
A hard truth to fathom when you’re the subject of interest to one unique Jeon Jungkook.
But you want all of him. Want him over you, around you, taking all of what no other guy will ever be allowed to touch. Want him to show you once again where you belong and that you’re in this for as long as his affection is aligned with yours.
Fuck. Home is too far away.
So you look away from him. Which he interprets in an entirely wrong way.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, an inquiry out of nowhere that has your eyebrows kissing.
“No,” you answer.
“You barely talk to me. And,” he halts to wipe away a raindrop. Guess the clouds are gathering. “And I miss you.”
Your ribs might break. He keeps doing this to you.
“I’m not mad, Kook. Was just PMS-ing before,” you try again, adding a nickname for good measure.
“You sure?”
Jungkook is a free-spirited soul, careless to a healthy degree most of the time. There are only a few things that break his composure; familial insecurities, shitty pasts — and then there’s you.
Topping his list of priorities, you’re the only aspect in his current life that pushes him into spirals of overthinking.
And right now, he’s in the middle one, requiring a thousand reassurances. You want to answer. You really do.
But the distraction from above proves too strong the second you open your mouth. In the middle of your walk, the clouds explode, roaring for a moment before a downpour suddenly showers onto you.
The raindrops are thick, the bursting clouds aggressive.
Instinctively, Jungkook opens the umbrella, hastily working on it, and once under it, your steps pick up on pace. You wrap an arm around your body, closing the jacket, hooking your other arm with his and pushing the two of you forward.
“Shit,” you say; you look up, but can barely see anything. Only hear the thunder.
The wind grows colder, grazing the skin of your face incessantly. Despite the umbrella, the merciless rain wets your cheeks, singular drops flying towards you. Jungkook’s hair covers his face, and he shakes them off his eyes.
You gasp when a literal newspaper flies past you.
“Come on,” you encourage, already shivering. “We can talk about it at home, okay?”
But surprisingly, incredibly lost in his own head, he doesn’t give in. He adjusts to your pace, holding the umbrella in a strong grip, sighs and argues, “We can talk about it anytime.”
“Not now.”
“But—”
“Kook, right now’s not the time for this.”
Holy shit.
This man is a phenomenon. And you wish he wasn’t serious, but you know that he is. A full-on simp-y fool, no matter what.
“You’ve avoided me all week,” he yells over the sounds of the rain, sniffling, looking at the storm ahead, “we won’t die. It’s just rain.”
“It’s a thunderstorm, you idiot!” you exclaim back, moving straight forward and past running passengers. You should be home soon. “And in a minute we won’t be able to see shit.”
Jungkook must be made of cement. Broad shoulders, a well-trained body and willpower seem to combat the storm when he suddenly halts in his steps.
Immediately, you grab the umbrella, keeping it from nearly flying away; and when you remain the only presence under it, you ogle back. Watch him stand there in his red-white jacket, getting soaked by Mother Nature.
What the fuck.
You rush back, grabbing his wrist, pulling him forward as much as you can as you reprimand, “What the hell are you doing? Come on.”
“You’ll talk to me if I do?”
“Jungkook, we’ll die here, I—”
You flinch and gasp when another strong wind blows, once and for all ripping the umbrella off your hand and making it fly a couple feet from you. You watch it break through the fog of rain, mouth wide open with a dozen curses on your tongue.
“Fuck,” you exclaim, gritting your teeth, “I will. Just please, okay?!”
He’s so annoying. The way he looks at you, breathing hard, white shirt drenched and sticking to his body. You tug at his arm, forcing him to run when you do.
It takes you two entire minutes, wordless as you wish them to be, to reach his street and apartment. You tremble in the hallways, rushing up the stairs, and eventually take a seconds-long breath when you step into the flat.
It’s cold. So cold — and you had your jacket protecting your shirt. Your jeans and hair are soaked, your socks a sponge, soaked in a couple millilitres of water.
But it’s relieving when you take the jacket and your jeans off, pulling out the oversized, wrinkled shirt from under your pants, covering half your thighs. Jungkook slips out of his boots and rushes for a towel, approaching your heaving form at the door to dry your hair.
You quiver for a couple more minutes, fearing an approaching cold after all. But once settled on the couch, indulging in the comfort of thick joggers and a fresh cotton shirt, you sigh.
The silence still holding on only breaks when you drop your head back on the couch. A warm hand sneaks to your cheek, and when you open your eyes, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Warming up…” You lean into the touch, though still irritated by his behaviour before. “Thought it’d rain, but that was a surprise.”
“Yeah.” A pause. And then, “Was a little romantic, too.”
Unbelievable.
You roll your eyes at him, head tilting, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s joking. The goofy smile suggests that he is.
“Was it, yeah? You just—”
You click your tongue. Think back to him nearly offering his soul to Zeus just a couple minutes ago. Standing in the heavy rain as if he was the lead character in The Notebook.
“Don’t be mad now. I’m kidding,” he says. His voice isn’t as soft anymore; frustrated when he tries again, “Talk to me. What’s the problem?”
“Seriously? I told you there’s nothing.”
“Nah, cut that bullshit. You haven’t talked to me or properly touched me all week. I’m trying my fucking best.”
“I know. This isn’t what it’s about,” you defend, shaking your head, getting to your feet, “but about that insane little stunt out there.”
And the fact that he’s been driving you crazy. The week’s distress mixed with whatever he made you feel yesterday; today’s insanity further adding to it.
When he doesn’t speak, you sigh, waving it off, and opt to walk away. But all in vain.
You make it two steps away from the couch before he flashes up, too; filmesque, you gasp at the strong grip around your elbow, getting a tiny second to process the situation before he’s twirled you around.
He probably didn’t intend it, but you nearly clash against him, stupidly losing your balance and stumbling over his and your own feet. You put a hand to your temples, fearing the worst — what if you fall and clash against the corner of your glass table?
But no. In slow motion, he keeps you in his firm hold, preventing the fall, but still letting you gently drop onto the fluffy, white carpet. Your investment. You’re happy about it now because it caught you the way the wooden floor wouldn’t.
Your movements towards the grounds are slow — or at least that’s what they feel like. But when he appears above you, pinning your wrists to the carpet hard, he’s breathless; and you think that maybe the fall didn’t happen as slowly after all.
“Okay,” he says through gritted teeth. From down here, his jaw looks as sharp as a ship’s deck, the Adam’s apple bobbing when he challenges, “You’re gonna fucking tell me what’s going on.”
Oh. He’s mad.
His eyes are burning, jaw flexed. Defined chest rising in anger.
There’s nothing going on. At least nothing that warrants another fight.
But you don’t tell him that just yet. Instead, all your perplexed mind and tongue manage is, “What?”
“I forgave you. We were both shitty that day, you know? But I still did forgive you, and you’re still being like that.” His knuckles must be paling, because his grip is iron hard. “Why?”
“I—”
“I’ll apologise if that’s what you want. I did, actually. I’m sorry, okay? There. But this is just,” fingers squeeze your wrists, and you hiss, “ridiculous.”
Your following grimace, lips twitching, eyes squinting, go through to him immediately. The hold doesn’t hurt or bother you too much, but the leg between your knees does. Jungkook wouldn’t wound you; he knows his limits.
But perhaps he thinks he’s going overboard when he loosens his fingers, pressing his palms against your skin, rubbing to soothe the missing pain.
He doesn’t quite move away, though, still stubborn when you assure once again, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”
“So you keep saying.”
“I’m not,” you tell him, heart racing at the proximity. You close your legs around his knee, irritated by the barrier. “I promise.”
He doesn’t give your gesture much attention just yet; doesn’t know that his body over yours is exactly what you’ve been craving. But he does understand the sincerity in your voice. Finally.
When he moves closer, pupils melting to fluid gems, you let out an intentional, teeny tiny moan that you’re sure he confuses for a relieved sigh. He moves his palms onto the carpet, caging you in; you keep your wrists where they are, but dig your nails into your skin.
You want to kiss him so badly. You miss him so much.
“Then tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he demands again, quieter and softer this time.
“I don’t know.”
With the fury evaporating bit by bit, his eyes look bigger and rounder again. The desperation of the week gathers in them and his expression, shooting all the way down to his tongue; and when he whispers to you next, your heart collapses, “Please?”
He’s sweet… so utterly oblivious to your true thoughts.
But you couldn’t feel more embarrassed about the pictures you’ve been painting and the words ghosting in that mind of yours. He’d do all of it, no questions asked. But… fuck.
“This is so dumb,” you answer, fingertips dragging down the carpet and then up to his waist, “like… you’ll laugh.”
The touch encourages him. His arms are shaking now, holding him up in this position for too long, and the wandering fingers along his sides and chest must weaken him like his lines affect you.
“That’s a good thing,” he answers, closer than ever when he balances his weight on his arms now, forearms touching the carpet. “I’d rather laugh than fight.”
But the closeness remains for mere seconds before he pulls back again, sitting up with a groan. Hands on his thighs, he lets himself fall on bended knees. He watches your still helpless body on the floor until you work on getting off the carpet, letting him pull you up when he offers a hand.
You ruffle through your hair, legs folding. Your pout is more directed towards yourself than anyone else; you totally realise you didn’t need to confuse him the way you did. Stupid period.
“Listen, I just…” you start, scraping your scalp.
His knees bump against your legs when he drifts closer; there’s something about the two of you sitting on your living room carpet like this.
“It’s just that I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”
And that’s it. That’s literally it.
He halts. His hand was moving up, probably to touch your face, your hair, anything soft to ease the mood. But he cancels the tender gesture, fingers falling back to his knee when he absorbs your words.
Silences with cocked eyebrows. Processes the way you lick your lips and look away, tugging at his wide shirt. And then, once he’s understood, he tsks. Chuckles.
And you, immediately on guard, push lightly against his shoulder, unsurprised when he doesn’t buckle, and defend, “Told you you’d laugh!”
“No, but,” he says, sweet crinkles around his eyes, head tilting and bunny teeth giving way to the prettiest smile in existence, “what are you talking about, hm?”
He knows. If only his feigned innocence was as sweet as his grin, too.
Still, you opt to clarify, “That thing you did yesterday.”
“What thing?”
Ugh.
“The whole modelling thing!” you exclaim, raising your hands. His beam reaches up to his eyes; his occasional giggles are killing you. “Stop. Do you have any clue what you looked like?”
He has the audacity to shrug. “They let me see the pics on their cameras. They’ll come out well.”
“Well? Dude, you looked…”
“What?”
“Dangerous. Like you could eat me up.”
Eat me up might be accurate. It’s the description floating through your little mind since yesterday.
“Ah,” he says, nodding smugly. You know he’s about to tease you. Because— “You specifically, yeah? I was just doing what they told me to.”
“What, is me specifically wrong? Anyone else you’d wanna eat up or—”
“You’re really fixating on that, huh?” Jungkook snickers. His tongue pokes the inside of his right cheek in a brief pause, and then he adds, “You’ve got a point. Didn’t think it’d affect you, though.”
Slowly, but surely, he seems to grasp his own power over you. You think he’s reminiscing about yesterday’s chaos and confidence; maybe even viewing it all from your point of view.
Because his smirk, albeit subtle, is sly when he asks, “What was it like?”
“I…” You click your tongue. “You’ll take me apart if I tell you.”
“Why so?”
“Because.” A beat of silence. You swallow to wet your throat. Then. “I’d ask you to.”
“Ah…” Another understanding nod, as though you’re lecturing him on NASA’s rocket science and he’s finally grasping its meaning. “Yeah?”
“I saw you from afar,” you point into a direction arbitrarily, as if he’s still several feet from you and not mere inches, “and I wanted to,” you inhale when a finger reaches out, straight to a vein in your neck, gentle, exploring, “let you do anything with me that you wanted to.”
“Ohh.” His palm covers your neck, as if he’s coddling you. But you know what that touch will morph into, so you sneak closer to him, lean forwards. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
“…Right.”
His thumb moves up and rubs under your jaw, then up your face and to your lower lip. The touch is soft and careful, as though gauging your reaction and searching for permission.
Your shaky, little exhale is nearly unnoticeable, but you know he catches it, and you know he already sees the consent in your eyes. But he still doesn’t lean in. Moves his eyes across your face, to his hand, to your neck and then all the way back to your gaze.
And then, contrasting the loving movements and affectionate gesture, he smiles. Mischief spreads in his stare, and his fingers retreat to the back of your neck, pulling you closer by a miniscule inch.
“So that’s what it was all this time? You’re on your knees for me, is that it?”
“Babe…” You look down, daring a joke. “Quite literally.”
You shuffle in your spot when he laughs quietly, hooking your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. You emphasise, “I mean it. Just… If you must know? I would’ve been okay with handing you all the control, okay? All of it.”
You’re aware you’re acting as though he doesn’t wreck your shit every other time, too. In fact, that’s probably how the two of you started out.
His absolute craze at the frat party, drunk. College nights when you’d confront him about your bullshit — weak excuses to make him press you against his dorm walls. A hand clapped over your mouth, your ass out, dick buried inside until you felt him in your guts—
You’ve always been at his mercy — but you want him to split you in half this time.
“You would’ve?” he repeats. “And now? Still want that?”
You look down again. There’s no shyness in that movement, no averting his beastly eyes — your focus lies elsewhere because you have a theory. Which proves true.
The swelling under his joggers, right there between his legs wasn’t there before.
So you gather your voice, and say, “…Yes.”
“Hmm. Why didn’t you tell me?” His fingernails dig lightly into your skin, and right in the middle of the tension, he pouts for a little moment. “I genuinely thought you were still pissed.”
“I was on my period…” You shrug your shoulders. “It was also late. I was so tired, and—”
He waits.
“I knew that you’d do it if I asked for it.”
“I would’ve.” What’s worse? The confirmation or the tickling breath against your cheek? When did he get so close? “I still would. If you want me to.”
“I just said yes,” you tug at the shirt, eliciting an amused grin as the tips of your noses collide, “you’ll keep asking and,” your heart beats at a million miles a minute, “just not kiss me, is that it?”
Your provocation proves effective just the right amount.
Because he opens his mouth, seemingly snarling — you can’t tell for sure, since his lips clash against yours within half a moment. Determined as his hand immediately flashes to the small of your back, supporting you before you fall backwards on the carpet.
And then he kisses you like a man starved. Like he’s run out of saliva, dehydrated. Seeks your tongue, tastes like earthy Matcha Latte and something you can’t quite define — something that’s so uniquely him.
Your kiss muffles his tiny sound, a mixture of a sigh and a moan, body impatient as he tries to push closer to you, though separated by your clashing knees. You understand — you, too, would let him smother you under his weight if you could.
So you pull your folded legs apart, shifting until they surround him and attempting to straddle him. But he’s plotting something else: his fingers hold your jaw, keeping you in place, and the hot, wet kiss breaks when he pulls away.
You catch a brief glimpse of glistening lips before he moves to trail down your body, leaning in to teeth at your shirt, pushing it off your shoulder and kissing your skin for a fleeting second. And when the shirt shifts back into position, his other hand works on your tits.
Grabs your shirt at its hem, lifting it over your mounds until they’re free, nipples perked, home to him. In a haze, the tip of his tongue touches the right nub, and you shiver.
More so when he whispers, “Am so hard for you, I’ll fucking combust.”
For you.
You’ll repent for how badly you want him in your mouth.
You caress his thigh, sneaking up until you reach the swelling under the fabric. You feel it immediately, firm as a rock, big and fat, so sensitive that he hisses once you touch it.
“No,” he commands, the word barely a breath, “no, no. Don’t or I’ll come like this.”
He says it against your neck. Warm and tickling. You feel goosebumps arise, your reactions slow, but your heart fast. His fingers engulf your wrist, leading your palm to his cheek; you feel the smileless dimple under your thumb when he darts out his tongue to wet his lips.
Then, you close your eyes; the pecks against your neck are exhilarating. The moving touch, down to your tits and then back up to your jaw is one of his favourite games; you move your hips against the carpet, soaked panties sticking against your pussy.
“You’re…” you start, fingers in his fluffy hair as he bites your nipple. You moan, your words shaky, “You’re— more into this today.”
“I mean… after everything you just said to me?” He chuckles, moving up, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth brushes yours.
“And I missed her.” Free hand between your thighs, he taps just over your clit; your lips part. “Too crude to say I can’t wait for her to swallow my cock?”
Well. Fuck.
If it wasn’t him, you’d cringe. But it is him, and the truth is that you’re dying for him to press himself onto you. To wrap himself around you, to wrap yourself around him.
You want him to cut you in half, want to be his little toy until you can barely stand.
“Maybe,” you tell him, “but I promise that she wants it, too.”
That’s it, that’s it.
It’s when teeth meet again, the kiss messy, your arms around his neck. He holds you by your waist, pulling you off the floor a little, readjusting his position, so you can climb onto him.
You tilt your head as far as you can, taking him in, drooling, lips and tongue moving wildly to taste all of him. His digits wander from your back to your ass, pushing between your cheeks and pressing against your clenching hole.
The gesture is short lived, but enough for you to rub against him. The urge to rip your panties and part your folds over his girth is profuse; to dampen his length and empty his balls just like this.
But he clenches his jaw, groaning. Halts your movement with a strong grip before pulling at your hair without breaking the kiss. You move your fingers up and down his arm, and then dash it upwards to bury them in his locks, too.
Only, instead of reaching his mane, your hand hits the glass table on your left; you grunt into the kiss and then move away to exclaim, “Ah, fuck.”
Jungkook must’ve heard the sound because he catches on right away, laughing. Gently, he pushes you off his lap, gets back on his knees and then up. He pulls you with him as he says, “Alright. Get on the couch before you hurt yourself.”
“Couch?”
You’re surprised; not the bed this time, is it?
Then again — Jungkook isn’t necessarily picky when it comes to this; cue flashback to bathroom adventures.
So you still listen. Wobbly legs drag you to the sofa, plumping onto it as you watch him follow. The bulge is huge, hotter than hellfire when he palms it and lets go again.
“Too damn lazy to get to the bedroom,” he declares before dropping back on his knees.
You thought he’d climb over you, push you back across the length of the couch. But instead, he seems satisfied with your helpless position, pushing back the carpet and table some to take a seat right in front of you.
You admire his patience — the outline of his cock presses against its confines. Does it not hurt? His expression doesn’t reveal any discomfort as he adjusts against the hard floor; the carpet barely provides any relief.
But the discomfort doesn’t redirect his focus, his touch heading towards you, urging you to remove your joggers at turtle’s pace. He throws them over his shoulder and onto the table, one leg of them dangling off of it.
Left in your panties, you watch his hands curl under your knees, freeing his way to where you want to ache. Lifts your legs, places them on his shoulders carefully, amused and delighted when your bent limbs drag him closer to your cunt.
His tenacious tongue peeks between his teeth, and he fondles your thighs before he reaches the hem of your panties. They bug him — separate your heat from his mouth; in this moment, a crime to him.
“Help me here real quick,” he whispers, and you raise your ass, letting him drag the underwear off of you.
It sticks to your pussy for a second, obscenely flooded with your gradually building arousal. You think he sees, because he halts for a second, eyes flitting up to you before he says, “I think this’ll be fun.”
“You promise?”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
Well…
You shrug your shoulders, but smile tellingly, eliciting a smirk that decorates his gorgeous face, closing in bit by bit. The cool air evaporates the nearer he draws, replaced by his hot breath.
And then… just to test…
He darts out his tongue, the sharp tip of it tickling your clit. Your reaction, much desired, stirs a new type of appetite in him. Because your chin trembles just once, just for a moment. Lashes flutter, and his heart skips a beat.
As he inhales, but never exhales, you question, “What?”
“Nothing,” he assures, blowing against your sex, “just. So very pretty.”
You look down at him. His shoulders look broader from here. Muscular, hair dark and silky. His lips are colourful, handsome, nose ready to bury in your pelvis. If he thinks you’re pretty, then he’s the definition of true aesthetic.
Slowly, you reach for his hair, brushing through it before you bring his head closer to you, hinting at the obvious, and say, “And you.”
“Not like you, though…”
He waits, allowing the both of you a moment of preparation.
And then… he’s kissing your pussy. Lightly at first, up and down, a hand on your inner thigh that moves closer and closer to your folds.
He sighs once before a digit parts your nether lips sticking together, and then licks a stripe between them. You whine quietly; his eyes close. He’s beautiful like this; in a minute, he’ll look at you again, mouth swollen, and you’ll wish for his touch to last and last and last…
“Please,” you only whisper, but he doesn’t answer.
Instead, his sweet kisses turn into something more. Way more wetness, way more tongue. And before you know it, he’s splitting your legs wider, pushing in to start devouring you.
Your moans are intoxicating. They’re sudden, but not surprising, voiced against the ceiling when your head falls back. The heels of your feet dig into his back, pushing him closer when his knees are already touching the couch.
The movements of his mouth are warm, a waterfall. He eats you out until he’s slurping, drenching you further. He’ll slide in effortlessly, you already know. Will bury every single inch of himself inside you, fill you up for the rest of the day.
And your high — it builds up embarrassingly fast. Perhaps because it’s been a while; or maybe because it’s Jeon Jungkook you’re dealing with. Either way, your lower stomach aches, the knot pressing against your guts.
“Kookie,” you murmur, yet again left without an answer.
He knows not to break his focus this time; knows that you’re close, recognises it in your grip around the patch of his hair. Hears it in your desperate whimpers, louder by the second. Words more unintelligible now.
Your thigh is twitching every now and then, quivering, and he takes it as a sign to keep sucking and swirling. Then flicks his wet muscle over your engorged clit, adding to your exclaims when his nimble fingers glide into you swiftly.
Too swiftly. Two of them are barely enough; and he adds a third. Your cheeks heat up, body sliding down — partly because you’re dying inside, partly because he’s pulling you towards him.
Jungkook knows how to navigate your body, how to direct you towards a rationality-breaking explosion. And he does. He does with the plethora of lustful licks, softly circling around your clit. His nose presses against it every time he shifts downwards, tasting you thoroughly.
“I’m almost—” you voice, and he hums, vibrations torture.
It’s a game to him that he’s skilled at; he understands his moves, and he never loses. Neither today as he clamps his hand onto your waist, fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and digging, massaging your favourite spot.
They turn and twist, two fingers of his free hand settling around your clit and raising it for better access.
It takes probably half a minute longer… and then… then…
Your voice grows in pitch, nearly illegal for a Sunday afternoon, but music to his ears. So genuine and sweet. Corners of your eyes glistening. He holds your legs apart as you start begging, but all he truly makes out is the eager repetition of his name.
He wishes your shirt didn’t cover your upper body; wishes he could see the heaving of your chest, the perked nipples, the sweat on your clavicles.
But for now, this is enough.
The way he sees waves of pleasure wash over you, eyes rolled back, not looking at him anymore. Your lips are dry, your tongue probably, too, and he wants to kiss it wet again.
You moan and wince and keen, body restless. The tug of his hair becomes more prominent and palpable, but the sensation makes him smile. You’re probably barely noticing, too.
That is, until your hold and breathing finally calm down. You keep riding the wave, your head turning in odd circle-ish shapes. He kisses your pussy, helping you through it, only stopping when you open your eyes.
“Well, that was…” he says, lips as swollen as you anticipated, shimmering, “a good start.”
“Every single time,” you begin, panting, shaking your head. You watch him as he gets on his feet, moving in to your mouth. “Every single time I think it can’t get better, and then I remember it’s just the fucking beginning.”
He shifts to you slowly, grazing your lips, and declares with a soft smile, “More to come, I promise. Gonna have so much fun with you.”
“Do your worst—”
One more kiss. Shorter this time, but you recognise the familiar, lingering taste immediately. Neutral, not too bad. Fills you with pride, because he never fails to guarantee that he loves it.
But you can’t wallow in it because he retreats quickly, impatient hands freeing his golden body from his clothes. The shirt falls somewhere next to the carpet, his own joggers soon discarded, landing on top of yours and sliding to the ground together.
He’s a menace when he climbs onto the couch, knees digging in and creating a shift on each side of your body. His bulge, still hidden behind his boxers, floats in front of your face; from this close, you see the droplet of precum darken a spot of the light purple cotton.
“Next stage?” he wonders above you, stroking your hair gently, as if he’s not about to explore the back of your throat. “Want or do I rather not?”
“What do you mean with not?” Your breathing is heavy as you lift your palm and engulf the imprint of his dick. He flinches, hips moving back a bit before they come back. “Get this shit off.”
He chuckles. Brings his hand to your cheek, thumb caressing it and voice clear when he says, “You’re so cute. Being demanding and all.”
But he still listens. Gets off the couch, slides his underwear off, leaves you gaping.
Gaping at the hooked and girthy tower. Gaping at how the slit on top of his head glimmers. Gaping at the moles along the stiff length, staring at the thick veins, at the full, firm balls.
“Tongue out,” he orders; you do.
The ink-free hand pushes his dick down to you, tapping it against your tongue as you open up wide. He feels heavy, hot, the skin smooth. Your head moves forward to swallow more, but he pulls back.
Strokes himself for a couple seconds, thumb spreading the precum over his head. You drool. Watch attentively, as though you’re learning — until he eventually guides it back to you and positions it into your still gaping mouth.
Enters it slowly. Slightly salty. Then says, “Breathe. And don’t overthink it too much.”
Huh.
Well. Damn.
Because…
At times, you do worry about your expressions; about your tears when you gag around him, the coughing fits you get in the middle of it all. So that’s a surprise. Attentive. 
But your mind is blank today anyway; so you nod, moving to lick the underside of the tip, and he laughs, mumbling, “Alright. Have it, babe.”
And you do.
Slowly at first, cautious as you twirl your tongue around him. You don’t notice much discomfort just yet, thankful that he’s easing you into this. A third of his length buried inside, you close your lips around him and hollow your cheeks.
Which is probably when the invisible threads holding him back finally break.
“Okay,” he says, “you got this.”
His knees move in, more inches intruding. His fingers drift to the back of your head, and you dig yours in his brawny thighs. He grows harder in your mouth, impossibly bigger the more you drag your lips along his member.
How gratifying. You’ve craved this for hours and days. What was your argument about again?
Your head drops further back when he shoves himself inside, more and more as time passes. You imitate his prior advances — hum and close your eyes. Bring a hand to the base of his cock, pumping all that you won’t be choking around.
When you gaze up at him to analyse his reactions, he leaves your mind vacant. Because his head is raised, like yours, jawline edged and acute. Mouth open until he meets your eyes.
You hope he’s seeing something just as lascivious and mind-numbing from his perspective. Maybe messy hair, laying against the softness of your shirt. Or a cock appearing out of and disappearing behind pretty lips.
Slowly blinking eyes that shut just as slowly again, and a tongue that falls out and licks along a vein whenever your head moves to the side. Allowing you a couple deep breaths.
He must be perceiving it all, too.
Because a moment later, he gnarls, like a wild animal, and states, “This won’t do—”
—Before putting both hands under your ears, holding your head and…
Ramming his cock into your mouth.
You gasp around him, taken aback and delighted at once. Feel the effect between your legs, hoping to not defile the couch too much.
Head still thrown back, falling further, you already feel the ache in the back of your neck. Your attempts of holding onto the couch prove futile because there is nothing to hold onto, armrests too far away; so you return to his thighs.
But he keeps your body steady, held at the spot between his legs. Your head is a different story: it bounces back and forth, the exhales through your nose frantic as he pounds into your throat before he slows down again.
“Good, gooood,” he drags out, observing the glistening veins as he draws back to his tip and then moves in again. “Doing very, very well. Looks so gorgeous, baby.”
You don’t know what he’s talking about — about you, his cock, the position. Everything? 
He keeps up the gentler pace, allowing you a break. Allowing himself the pleasure of this very image. Pretty lips surrounding a pretty dick.
And perhaps your desperate, little moans, accompanied by rapid blinking, set a fuse loose in his brain.
Because a moment later, Jungkook dares a step further — cock already stuffing your entire mouth, he pushes in more. The fat monstrosity reaches far, your gag reflex not as much at bay anymore as before.
The view seems to spur him on, though, and you can imagine why. If you were him, you’d probably enjoy the drooling mess under him, too. Salivating all over his dick, you feel the gross drop of your spit land on your clavicle, throat constricting as he thrusts in.
And just when you’re about to tap his thighs — very reluctantly, too — to catch your breath, he pulls back, fingers immediately digging into your cheeks to straighten your neck and head. You cough, eyes teary, your breathing quick and uncontrolled.
Like a toy, he moves your head to the left, to the right, a sly smirk playing around his lips until he moves down to you, back arched. Amidst your panting, he presses a brief kiss to your mouth, slippery against the dampness.
And then he says, as casually as he shouldn’t, “You’d look so beautiful in leashes.”
“…What?”
But he ignores your mumbled inquiry, instead thumbing at your lower lip. His dark eyes flit from one facial feature to another, pink lip caught between his teeth. The firm chest rises dangerously when he breathes in.
“Should I come in your mouth?” he asks as if you’d ever say no; as if you don’t know that he’s asking because he won’t. “Huh? Shoot it all the way down your throat?”
“Do it, fucking coward.”
…And just like that, he moves back.
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tumblr is cruel and the 1k block limit in the new editor won't let me post the entire thing at once lol so here's the rest in a reblog!!! <3
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2hightocare · 1 month
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INFATUATED!
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“In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman.” — mini series ❦︎
Synopsis: The feeling of finding a person who makes your tummy do cartwheels everyday, no matter what the situation is.
Pairings: nonidol!jungkook x fem!reader
Warnings: super cute duper fluff, jk being the epitome of every girls dream man. Argument, oc crying, Jungkook wasting money on oc, banter, cussing, flirting. Js super cute cliché shit…
a/n: they’re my babies… they’re so ‘tear in my heart’ coded but after this I might be inactive. I have a paper due in three weeks 10 pages long so…. Plus in my free time I’m working on a series that I will drop the teaser and aesthetic maybe later or tmr🤍🤍🤍 enjoy!! Kithes.
Falling in love with Jungkook was so easy that it scared you. He did everything right, and whenever there was something wrong, he would do anything in his power to make it right. You thought it was too good to be true, and he would just disappear into angel dust if you blinked too fast.
“How do you feel?” Your boyfriend moves your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead in the process. “Warm.” You talk about the fever you have. The covers that were wrapped tightly around you are shredded from you. “Hey!” You pout, shaking from how cold you feel even though the air is off and it’s not cold. “You’re not going to get better, baby.” He pouts back at you, holding the covers tightly on his chest as you try to fight back for it.
“I'm freezing,” you whine, your eyelids fluttering shut as his palm touches your face.
“You’re burning, baby,” he lets you know while sighing.
You had gotten sick yesterday, which had started with a sore throat. You had thought when you would have woken up today it would’ve been gone; spoiler: it got worse.
Jungkook makes his way to his kitchen, opening up the gray cabinet in front of him. He pulls out the tray filled with medicine his mom gave him whenever he moved out around four years ago. He pops open the pill container, taking two small white round pills out before grabbing a water bottle and making his way to you, who’s curled up on his couch.
Jungkook feels like shit whenever he can’t do anything to make you feel better. It didn’t matter what it was; he would do anything in his power to make you feel better. Seeing you sick, your face red from how hot you are, your eyes closed, and curled up from how cold you felt had him thinking that if he could take away your sickness and be sick instead, Jungkook would choose that option in an instant.
He hands you the pills and the water bottle and watches you take them one by one. He remembers when you gawked at him when he took 4 pills at once and learned that you have a fear of the pill going down the wrong tube.
He also remembers that you prefer pills and injections instead of just medicine syrup. Which baffled him, to say the least; how could someone prefer an injection instead of just strawberry-flavored syrup? He laughed at you, which you just shrugged because it was the truth; you preferred to get poked by a needle than just drinking something.
“That’s actually crazy.” Jungkook throws his head backwards as a laugh rips out of his chest. “It’s nasty. I don’t care what flavor it is. I would literally throw it up.” You scrunch your nose, remembering the taste of the medicines your parents literally shoved down your throat so you could get better.
“Don’t get me started on how anything medicine strawberry flavored gives me PTSD till this day.” You shiver from the thought, which has your boyfriend laughing at you.
“I can’t breathe,” you say, your voice scratchy from your sore throat as you breathe from your mouth. “I should’ve enjoyed breathing when I could,” you joke, watching your boyfriend's eyes twinkle. They had a small glimmer to them, making you wonder how that could possibly happen and why you haven't seen it before with anyone else.
Jungkook had no clue how he ended up here… with a girl he met in a chemistry class that accidentally dropped sulfuric acid all over the floor alongside the beaker smashing into tiny pieces. He watched how your eyes widened as a small piece of your hair dropped beautifully in front of your face out of the low ponytail. You had tied it with a blue latex glove as a hair tie since you didn’t have one after no one in class had one to let you borrow.
That was two years ago; now here he was taking care of you as you struggled to breathe from your congested nose.
“Can I get my blanket back?” You pout at him, which he only shook his head with a chuckle.
….
“Get whatever you want,” Jungkook gave your ass a little tap as you entered the makeup store, your eyes widening from excitement. “Don’t say stuff like that,” you give him a look, which has him tilting your face up with his hand.
“Why, baby?” He chuckles, pecking your pouted lips.
“Because it makes me feel things, duh,” you whisper into his lips. He smiles into your mouth. His lip piercing sends cold shocks through your body that has you playfully shoving him away, remembering where you guys are.
“Get whatever you want, and then we can go to the bookstore,” Jungkook picks up the black and white striped little Sephora bag before pointing in front of you to walk.
You giggled as you started looking for the things that have been sitting in your phone cart for a while now. Jungkook follows behind you, stopping whenever you stop to look at the shelves for something before you drop the product in the basket in your boyfriend's hand.
“That’s really cute,” Jungkook mentions the lipstick tester you have in your hand. “You should get it,” he says, tilting his head at you, watching you open the lid being met with a reddish-dark color.
“Don’t you think it’s too dark?” You look up at your smiling boyfriend.
“What?” You giggle as you stare back at him. “You look beautiful,” he says casually, reaching for your beanie and pulling it down a bit more, fixing it. “You literally want me to die right now,” you joke. “Baby!” Jungkook laughs at the tone of voice you used.
“You can’t keep saying things like that without expecting me to literally melt away,” you lean your body onto him while he wraps his strong hands around your much smaller frame as you look up to him.
“I just say whatever is in my mind at the moment, princess,” he explains, giving your waist a small squeeze, making you squirm as the feeling made you ticklish. “Ah!” You laugh as his fingers dig into your rib cage, tickling you.
You push him away as he tries to continue to tickle your tummy. “Stop!” You laugh, trying to get away as far as you can from him.
Jungkook stops when he sees two girls around your guy's age pass beside you both with judging eyes. “Someone’s mad...” Jungkook whispers into your head as you just shake your head with a laugh.
“Let’s leave, I got everything,” you giggle, intertwining your fingers with him, making your way to the line.
When you guys finally get to the line, you are met with a pretty blonde girl, her dimples carved into her skin when she smiles up at you both. “Hi, is that all?” The girl said, you take notice of her name tag.
“Yes, that's all, thank you,” you smile back. “Find everything you wanted?” Genesis asks, as she starts scanning the products. “Yeah, thanks,” you say, playing with the strings of your hoodie as you see the price rise with each scan.
“Card or cash?” Genesis says, as she points to the credit card reader.
“Card,” Jungkook says before you could reply. He pulls out his black card from the back of the phone case, before scanning it through the white card reader without looking at the price. The machine makes a small sound, “here you go, have a wonderful day!” The girl says ripping the receipt before putting it into the white and black bag, handing it to you.
“Thank you, baby,” you say as you walk out the door of the store, Jungkook smiles at you before shrugging. “The least I could do, princess,” he gives your hand three small squeezes, which feels like he’s squeezing your heart as well. “It was expensive as fuck,” you pout at him. “How much?” He asks, “a thousand.” You cringe, scrunching your nose up at realizing the astonishing price. “That’s it?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow before reaching to the passenger side of his car.
“What! You’re crazy,” you say, giving him a slight swat. You watch as the side of his lips quirk up, making you mirror his actions.
“I love you,” you pout, as he leans into his car. “And I love you so much more,” he says, pulling you into him from your waist.
You tipped toe to reach for his lips, his lips mold with yours perfectly as you both were pieces of a puzzle. “How do you want the kiss?” He asks, giving your waist a squeeze. “What is this, a drive-thru? I get to ask what type of kiss I want,” you giggle, letting your forehead drop onto his chest which rumbles with a laugh.
“You get to ask whatever you want from me,” Jungkook rubs your back softly on top of your thick hoodie. “Oh shit,” your eyes widened as you saw the small print of your makeup on his black shirt when you raised your head upwards. “What?” He looks down to his shirt where you’re rubbing your fingers on the dirty print.
“I just ruined your shirt, baby, ahh!” You freak, which has Jungkook laughing while trying to reassure you that it’s fine and he’ll just wash it when he gets home.
As much as you guys had moments like this, you guys had your disagreements. They weren’t as bad where they ended in screaming matches or end up not talking for days, you guys usually make up the same day before going to bed. Jungkook loathed going to bed whenever you two fought; he felt compelled to make things right before even considering sleep.
“Why are you making me feel bad?” You say, your voice cracking, which echoes the fractures in Jungkook's heart. “I’m not, baby. It’s just... I can’t do anything about it,” Jungkook tries to reason with you.
“She was literally all over you, and you didn’t stop it,” you feel your eyes start to water before staring down at your converse.
“She’s my mom's best friend's daughter; I can’t just tell her to fuck off, y/n. I backed off. I can’t control what she does,” Jungkook raises his voice, a tear falling down your cheek as he addresses you by your first name, a departure from his usual endearments, which feels like a knife to your chest.
“Okay, then,” you nod, tears starting to cascade down, smudging your makeup in the process.
Jungkook's throat tightens; he feels like he can't breathe, feeling like shit. He watches you wipe your tears, small sniffles escaping your mouth. “I’m going to go,” you sniffle, turning your back to him and reaching for your bag.
“No, don't leave, let’s talk this out,” Jungkook implores, turning you around to face him. He reaches for your cheeks, wiping away the tears that continue to fall down your puffy cheeks. “You’re hurting me,” you say, with a sniffle.
“I know. I’m fucking sorry, baby,” he feels his heart racing, wanting to die for making you feel bad for caring about him.
“Why didn’t you push her away or say something? You made me look fucking stupid, Jungkook,” you cry, recalling the pang of feeling as Kailey flirted with him in front of his family, and he did nothing to stop it, leaving you feeling small and insignificant.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he kisses away your tears, trying to soothe the ache in your heart. “I promise I’ll shove her off whenever I see her, and if I have the chance to avoid her, I will,” he whispers into your cheek with each kiss he leaves on your face.
“Promise?” You whisper, finally meeting his worried eyes.
“Promise, baby,” he whispers back, holding eye contact with your red, puffy eyes.
“I hate making you cry; please forgive me,” Jungkook pulls you into him, hugging you tightly as if afraid you'll slip away. “I forgive you, just don’t do it ever again,” you sniffle into his chest, feeling the throb in your heart melt away.
“I love you,” he says, swaying you both in the middle of his living room.
“I love you,” you sniffle.
….
"But the Maze Runner is so good," you literally whine at your boyfriend, who is in the middle of changing his shirt.
"Yeah, but not as good as Spiderman," he says, poking his head out the shirt hole with a grin.
"Okay, true, but the Maze Runner is just as good; you need to read the book to understand," you mumble, trying to separate a piece of hair from your mouth as you curl another strand with your wand.
"You just have a huge crush on Dylan O’Brian, let’s be honest," your boyfriend chuckles, sending you a look through the mirror, to which you just roll your eyes back at him, acknowledging a) that he was right. b) he was literally right.
“Says the boy who had a crush on Fluttershy when we watched My Little Pony,” you say, giving him a 'don’t try me' look. His jaw falls before giving your hair a tiny soft pull.
"You said you wouldn’t bring it up," he laughs before shaking his head with a chuckle. "Well..." you just shrug.
“Fluttershy reminds me of you,” Jungkook stands behind you, his fingers playing with your freshly curled hair. “Until you act like a brat,” he tugs on your hair, making your head snap backwards, where he leaves a big fat smooch on your lips.
“Okay, princess, let’s go,” he says before unplugging the curling wand wire, grabbing your bag and coat, before holding your hand and leading you outside.
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strawbeerossi · 3 months
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You Think, Genius?
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Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid
Description: Being friends with Spencer Reid is an adventure within itself. Movie nights are no exception.
Content/Warnings: Friends type humor, tension, mention of food/food fight, best friends to lovers trope, heavy kissing, very sweet smut (wild because I hardly write that, I feel like lmao).
Word Count: 2.7k
Anon Request: spencer reid x sarcastic funny reader? not mean but like kinda like Chandler from friends humour? with earlish seasons reid (season 3/4)ish cute smut. ADDING TO THE SARCASTIC!READER SHE AND SPENCE HAVE A BESTFRIENDS TO LOVERS ARC 🫶🫶
Navigation || Criminal Minds Masterlist || Request
RIP Matthew Perry, thank you for playing the king of sarcasm and being my inspiration for this. 🩷
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“Serial killers and childhood neglect have actually been linked together for years. Some of the most notorious serial killers were abused in some shape or fashion at home. Which makes sense whenever you take into account how easy it is to psychologically break a person and cause them to shut down, children being more receptive than most adults.” Spencer rambled on about some study he had been reading about.
Everyone was mostly tuned out besides you, your left hand holding the travel size cereal box up in clear view, your eyes wide. “That explains why I can’t stop eating this cereal! My mom made my life a living hell and now, all I think about is cereal. Oh god.” You said in a sarcastic tone, causing Derek to chuckle from his desk.
“She’s a cereal killer.” He joked while you both were giggling, making Spencer look between you and Derek, a confused expression on his face.
“She’s not a serial killer. I don’t think she’d be working here if she was one.”
The laughter continued on at your coworker’s obliviousness. “No, Spence,” JJ shook her head as she approached your chair, gently taking the little box before holding it up. “The joke is that she’s eating cereal. Cereal killer.” The blonde explained as you were turning back to Spencer.
“Oh, it’s no joke. I’ve got six bodies in my apartment right now. Just waiting to get home to do away with them.” You continued on, a little snort leaving your lips as you were getting your cereal back.
As you were pushing a handful in your mouth, you watched as Spencer looked at you with his head tilted to the side. “You haven’t killed anyone. I know that for a fact. You’re too nice.” He said while he was tapping his pen against his desk, JJ let out a huff and waved him off before she was walking away from your desk to get to her office.
“Isn’t there such a thing as killing people with kindness? That is my big move. I will be nice to them and boom,” You punched the palm of your hand to appear menacing. “I go in for the kill.”
Spencer was shaking his head with a soft giggle at the mere idea of it, your sarcasm slowly seeping through the cracks in an obvious way where he could see it.
“Right. How foolish of me to not understand it.” He joked softly while looking back down to the page he’d been doodling on. Your humor was new to Spencer, something he wasn’t really used to. You were a very sarcastic person, hardly ever having a conversation without injecting the encounter with your wit and sarcasm. He was still pretty clueless with it, however he felt he was getting better. Especially now that you had him saying his own sarcastic phrases at random times. It was weird for the rest of the team seeing the way you’d slowly brought Spencer out of that little bubble he was used to.
He was always the one who didn’t understand jokes or take sarcasm, appearing confused a good chunk of his career from the jokes and lighthearted banter. Being friends with you was a good way to learn how to understand though, which was why he was so lucky that you were his best friend.
“I was thinking of watching a movie. Do you wanna join me?” You asked, packing up your things as you looked over at Spencer as he raised an eyebrow.
“Tonight?” He asked, making you shake your head.
“No. Next week.” You answered with a deadpan expression while he crinkled his nose.
“You’re.. Being sarcastic..” He began while you rolled your eyes fondly with a smile.
“You think, genius? Come on, are you gonna come over or not?” You asked while putting your bag over your shoulder.
“I don’t see why not. Can we watch that new show that’s airing tonight?” He asked curiously, already following you out of the bullpen. He knew you’d give him a ride rather than sending him to go on the metro and meet you there later.
“Sure. I’ve been interested in it anyway. The new sci-fi one, right?” You asked as you made it to the parking garage with him as you were both in search of your car.
“Yes! It actually looks very interesting because from what I’ve read, they don’t make up their own rules as they go. They are using actual scientific data and evidence.” He gushed while you were clapping your hands together.
“Like learning in school! Oh how I loved school!” You were laughing as he had taken notice of the sarcasm and nudged your arm.
“Seriously. It’s going to be great! You may not think it now but you’ll enjoy it while learning about the real world when it comes to tech and space exploration.”
“We’ll have to see about that Dr. Reid.”
The ride back to your apartment was peaceful, the sounds of some radio station filling the quiet atmosphere of the car as you passed by numerous street signs. The comfortable silence was something you liked, never needing to strike up a conversation to enjoy Spencer’s company. Even if he was just reading while you were on your phone.
Back at your apartment, you’d just gotten the channel you needed pulled up, having about ten minutes until the show was supposed to air. Spencer made sure to tape it back at his own apartment, wanting to go back and watch alone to fully appreciate the show for more than its entertainment quality.
“Do you want me to run to the kitchen and get snacks?”
“You don’t have to run, Reid. You can walk.”
“Ha ha. So funny. Snacks or not?”
You were waving him off with a little laugh, offering a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Please go get some snacks. I think I have a big bag of that buttered popcorn you’re obsessed with.”
Spencer practically skipped to the kitchen upon hearing the news, retrieving one of your mixing bowls from one of your cupboards. After filling it up generously with the snack of choice, he was stopped by the fridge to grab two water bottles. With the two cold beverages under his arm, he was hurrying to the living room.
“I think we are all set.” He beamed with pride while placing the bowl on the table.
“Perfect. You’re right on time. It should start after these commercials.” You informed him while leaning forward to get a handful of popcorn from the bowl. While pushing a piece of popcorn into your mouth, you were only raising an eyebrow when you felt a pair of eyes on you. “What?” You asked, head turning to face Spencer as he quickly put his hands up in self defense.
“Nothing! I just wanted to see if it was good, that's all.”
“Right. I hate to tell you this, it tastes like buttered garbage. I don’t think you should subject yourself to eating it.” You joked, picking up a piece before flicking it in his direction, his eyes widening as he felt the snack hit his cheek.
“That could’ve taken out my eye!”
“Too bad it didn’t. We could get you an eyepatch.”
That was when Spencer took it a step further, getting a small handful of popcorn before throwing it in your direction. He was too busy laughing at your expression that mirrored his shock from earlier, pieces of popcorn in your hair and some on the couch.
“Is it a war that you want?”
“Me? You started it! Call it returned fire.”
That kickstarted a popcorn fight that didn’t seem to let up. Spencer was reaching into the now empty bowl before letting his eyes widen. He had no more ammo yet you had two handfuls. He was done for.
“You can apologize and we can end this.” You warned, your body now propped up on your knees as you had eventually turned to face him on the couch. “Just one ‘I’m sorry’ can end this bloodshed.”
“Never.”
“Suit yourself, Reid.” You were winding back one hand whenever Spencer was moving quickly to grip your wrist. There was some screaming, some laughing, and eventually you were being wrestled down onto the couch.
“Drop it!” Spencer laughed, both of your wrists being pinned down. “You do that and this will be all over.”
“No way.” You laughed, panting as you were being pinned down, some of Spencer’s long hair tickling the skin of your cheeks. You had both been in that position for a few more minutes before things calmed down, leaving you and the man above you to stare at one another and wait to reach a stalemate.
There was a growing tension, your faces only inches apart as he had you trapped between his body and the couch. Those beautiful eyes were looking down at you, almost as if Spencer was using the close proximity to take in every feature on your face. It was enough to make your face flush, cheeks hot from his gaze fixed on you and only you. The sound of the opening credits for the show you were supposed to be watching was playing in the background yet you could only look at each other.
There wasn’t a beat missed as he leaned down, lips against yours in a soft, yet cautious kiss. He felt like he had to play it safe, although the way you were feverishly returning the kiss told him all that he needed to know.
There was a fiery passion as your lips slotted together, almost as if they were made for one another. Your hands were moving to tangle in his hair, legs now wrapped around his waist as you both gave in to your urges that were always bubbling under the surface for however long you’d known the loveable genius.
It felt right, in a way. The way your were wrapped in one another’s embrace while having a moment of passion that you never expected to happen. However you had to admit, this was better than you ever thought.
Spencer was pulling out of the kiss, face flushed as he stared down at you with a shy smile. “It felt right. I’m sorry.” He whispered, only being pleased with the way you responded by pulling him down to connect your lips again, wanting to savor another moment as if he were going to disappear in thin air if you let him get too far.
The kiss had escalated soon enough, both of your clothes in a pile on the floor as you were tangled up on the couch, nothing but underwear separating you from each other. “Are you sure that you want this?” Spencer soon asked, his forehead against yours. Your friendship was always special to him, so naturally, he was worried about preserving those positive memories and the relationship as a whole.
“Definitely sure. I’ve thought about this for years.” For once, you were genuine. There was no hint of sarcasm dripping from your tone. That’s how he knew this was serious. “I’ve always loved you. I know you know that because I tell you all the time but it’s.. It's different than loving your best friend.”
Your confession had Spencer’s cheeks bright red, head nodding slowly to show he was paying attention. “Y-yeah. I love you more than a friend too.” He said slowly while he was bringing his hands down your hips, his fingertips tracing over your hot skin as he was hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties.
Your hips lifted to assist him tugging your underwear down, your own cheeks hot from being exposed in one of your most intimate areas. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex before and you had confidence when you did but this seemed different.
“I need.. Hold on.” Spencer began while pushing himself up a bit, your watching with a raised eyebrow as you propped yourself up on your elbows. He went for his slacks, getting his wallet.
“Are you gonna pay me for this?”
“What?! No! I-I just..” He began, shuffling through the wallet before he was pulling a condom from one of the wallet folds.
“You have a condom? You were planning for this?”
“No! I have.. I asked Derek for one. Obviously not for tonight but I had to be prepared!” He said quickly while tossing his wallet on the table.
You didn’t tease him any farther, instead your eyes gazing over his body as he was shimmying out of his boxers while standing. Just kissing you had his cock semi-hard, his hand wrapping around his shaft to give a few pumps in order to complete the process although it wasn’t too hard with the anticipation of what was to come tonight.
After sliding on the contraception, he was heading over to get settled between your legs. His eyes were glancing over your glistening pussy, your arousal shining in the dim light of the living room. “Wow.” He whispered, hand moving between your thighs as his thumb pressed against your throbbing clit. The pressure alone was enough to make your mouth go slack.
“Fuck.” You breathed while feeling the pad of his thumb start to rub your clit, your arousal coating it with each swipe. He was taking his time with teasing you, at least.
When he was finished with massaging the bundle of nerves and he couldn’t hold back any more, he was grabbing his cock before lining his tip along with your entrance, thick tip breaching your slick cunt as he was slowly pushing into you when you were both ready enough.
There was a pleasurable burn as he was stretching out your inner walls, your hands tightly gripping onto his shoulders as you pulled his body down onto yours just to feel his skin against yours. It was oddly more intimate than you could’ve expected, even with him staying perfectly still with his cock nestled deep inside of you.
There was a soft gasp leaving your lips when he gave a slow thrust, just testing the waters for now as he didn’t wanna go too crazy before you were ready. He didn’t plan on going super hard anyway, that wasn’t who he was. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Keep going.” You urged.
Once you proved comfortable enough due to your persistence, Spencer’s thrusts began to pick up a steady pace and rhythm. Your moans were enough encouragement for him to feel confident enough in the act, not shying away from you as much as anyone would’ve expected.
They rhythmic sound of his skin slapping against yours coupled with your gasps, shaky breaths and moans were filling the living room, the long forgotten show still filling the background noise. Spencer had since embraced you, one arm wrapped under your frame as the other kept himself pushed up over you. He just wanted to feel you close, to hold you as he made love to you.
It was beautiful to him, the way you were holding him and keeping him close in return. It was like you were the only people in the world, no responsibilities other than being close to one another. The warmth of your flushed skin against his was all he needed to be happy.
It was a dream, essentially. A dream so vibrant that Spencer didn’t want it to end, even if he knew that realistically he couldn’t be in a dreamland forever.
As he was torn from his thoughts at the feeling of your hands on his cheeks, he was offering you a smile as you were locking eyes with one another. “I love you.” He said softly, repeating what you’d both confessed earlier while leaning down to press his lips against yours.
It was after the fact whenever you were finally speaking again, body sitting up from the spot you were in on the couch as Spencer had retreated to the kitchen to dispose of the used condom. “Do you wanna come take a shower with me? No funny business.” You put your hands up in defense.
“No. It’s too personal for me to see you naked.” For the first time, Spencer was the one to be sarcastic with you, making you both burst into laughter.
“I’ve taught you well. Come on.”
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viennakarma · 4 months
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Everything I Wanted II.
LESTAPPEN X READER (PART 2)
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Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.
Word count: 8.9k
Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, angst, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read
Relationships: Lestappen x Reader
Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader
Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader
Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. This chapter is very angsty and none of it is an attack at the drivers nor their fans and personalities, please.
I know I KNOW, this got out of hand, AGAIN. I promise next part (and hopefully last) is more focused on the romance, and the happy ending reader deserves.
Find me on Twitter!
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
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You spent Christmas with your mom, sharing a lot of presents and watching a bunch of stupid Christmas movies. New Year’s was now a tradition to spend with the Raikkonen Family, joined with the closest friends for a little get together. It was a good opportunity to reconnect with Kimi’s kids who missed you a lot during the season.
Charles never contacted you during winter break, which you were sure was the best after that mistake. You hated each other too much and the only thing that could come out of that was toxicity from the both of you. You refused to even acknowledge what had happened and its implications, that wouldn’t and couldn’t mean anything.
During the pre-season testing in Bahrain, you and Charles were back to whatever your relationship was before that one lapse in judgment months before.
Nobody noticed anything.
One day, Fernando pulled you aside for a little chat. You two sat side by side on big moving boxes, sipping on energy drinks.
“There’s something I have been wanting to talk to you about since last year,” he started, seemingly pensive, distant.
“Is everything ok?”
“Yeah, yeah. Remember after we first met when you asked me if I had advice for you regarding your career?” Fernando said, and you remembered.
Right after you had gotten close, you asked him for advice, you always did, especially about racing. But one day, you were chatting about his career, and you asked if had any lessons you should never forget. He had laughed joking about read all your contracts then asking if you were calling him old, but he said if he ever had any advice, he would tell you.
“Yes, have you got my answer yet?”
“Sí, Nena,” he paused, looking deep into your eyes, “enjoy.”
You frowned and he saw the confusion on your face.
“I see much of my younger self in you, you know? The same passion, this fiery desire to win, your goal for the championship, to conquer the world…” Fernando paused, looking up to the clear sky, the sunset coming around, “And I did. But I wish I had enjoyed it more. I should’ve gone to parties, I should’ve visited the countries we went to and tried the food, I should’ve made more friends, I should’ve had more lovers… I was so focused on winning, on getting my hands on that trophy of champion of the world, that I missed out on a lot.”
You felt your eyes tear up, and you wiped it before the tears came down. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you smiled at him.
“It’s such an honor race with you. And an even greater honor to have you as a friend, Nano” you whispered to him, you two laughed as his eyes watered too, and slapping his shoulder you laughed, “don’t make me cry, you old softie!”
You took his advice to your heart.
You went to the parties, you met new people, and that’s how after two entire seasons, you managed to befriend Lando, your teammate. You two had to open your hearts a little bit and meet in the middle. Which proved to be great, the whole team loved the change in your dynamic. You still weren’t besties, but you were close colleagues, and that was great. Everyone noticed the change and it reflected on how you started racing as a team instead of individually.
The car was even better than the year before, and the first race of the season you got a promising win.
That win, Lando’s pestering, and Fernando’s advice was how you ended up in a party after the Bahrain GP. Wearing a skimpy mini dress and 5 tequila shots deep, swaying your hips to the sound of Rihanna. You were dancing and singing with Lando and a few of his friends, loudly screaming the lyrics.
When it was way too hot for you, you grabbed a water bottle and beelined your way out of the crowded dance floor. You found a corner of the VIP section where the AC seemed to be working better, and as you stumbled inside the small space, you ran chest first into someone.
“Sorry,” you said, taking a step back and pressing your back against the cold wall.
“Enjoying your win?” Your head snapped up as you recognised Max’s voice. You had run into him.
Lando had mentioned inviting Max to the party, he had gotten a P2 in the race but you doubted he would go to a party he knew you would attend. You were obviously wrong.
“You know I am,” the victory was so good that nothing could ruin your mood.
“Well, then enjoy it. I’m coming for the win, again.” He warned you but his voice was devoid of anything, just sounded like he was casually telling you about the weather. But you knew that he was implying his championship the year before, rubbing it in your face.
“Don’t be so confident, Max,” you finished your water, smirking at him, “Enjoy the view of my rear!”
You flipped your hair, feeling his eyes on you the whole walk back to the dance floor.
And yet-
Somehow-
You ended up back at that small corner, dancing with your body pressed between Verstappen’s and the wall, his hand holding your jaw firmly, you rolled your hips against him, feeling the way his body responded to yours.
“We can’t-” he said to you, still, his eyes hadn’t left your lips, like he was so oh so tempted.
You rolled your eyes, annoyed. Sober you would never do that, but then, that was a problem for later. Checking to see if anyone was looking at you, you hooked a finger around his waistband and pulled him towards the bathroom.
As soon as the two of you were inside, you locked the door and Max pressed your back against the door, latching his lips to yours in a very desperate open mouthed kiss. You hugged his shoulders, opening your lips to him, his hands went down your sides and he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. But that wasn’t enough, so he held your thighs and pulled up, carrying you. You locked your legs around his waist, and he stopped the kiss to walk, sitting you on the marble side of the sink, still between your legs, forcing his bulge against your panties, and eliciting a moan from you.
He took a half step back to hike your dress up, palming your cunt over your panties feeling the dampness of it, he tried to press his hand under your panties, but the lacy fabric didn’t leave much space, so he simply tore the bottom of them, exposing you to him. He just ran a finger over your slit, collecting your wetness for a brief moment before pushing a finger into you. Max watched your face with concentration, studying your body’s responses. Your hips shaking at the movement of his finger, and when the second one joined, you got louder. He curled his fingers up, his thumb pressing your clit, and you had to use both hands to hold onto him, your head lolling back against the mirror.
“Take it and shut the fuck up,” he grunted between clenched teeth.
He was pressing your insides so good, the slick sound of his fingers going in and out, his heavy breathing, the loud music outside and his laser focused fingers had you coming against his fingers in minutes. When he noticed you close, cunt spasming against his fingers, he pressed the other hand against your mouth, covering your moans when your toes curled and you orgasmed on his hand.
Max barely let you recover as he opened his jeans and stroked himself twice before pushing his cock into you in one swift move, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.
“That’s what you wanted, right? Fucking teasing me all night,” He pushed particularly hard, hitting your g-spot, making you see stars, “you’re a fucking menace, y’know that? Fucking insufferable,” then his words became a mumbling of something dutch you couldn’t quite catch anymore with the way his hips snapped against yours, taking all your focus away and turning you into a mess of moaning.
Max fucked like he raced, focused and relentless, brutal. He hugged you with one arm around your waist to keep you in place and the other held you face, tilting your head so he could kiss you, or whatever that mess of saliva, tongues and teeth was. Your orgasm crashed through you unexpectedly, and you only hugged him tighter, pressing your face against his chest, biting into his skin through the fabric of his T-shirt to silence yourself, your teeth sinking into him was enough to send him also over the edge, coming with moans against your ear.
That night, you went home with shaking legs and an incoming headache, as Max left with the scraps of your panties in his pocket and your lipstick stain on his shirt, above his chest.
It was the seventh race of the year, Monaco, and you absolutely hated that specific track since your years of F2. During your two first years in F1 you had awful experiences, the rookie year you DNF and the year prior you had barely managed a P7. You were trying to keep your head up, be hopeful that you could at least try for top 5.
But since you couldn’t catch a fucking break, an old video of your teenage years resurfaced.
You were walking to your first round of interviews when Amanda, your PR manager, started walking by your side.
“There’s something. An old video of a karting competition resurfaced, where Max and Charles pretty much call you stupid,” Amanda was always direct, you could give it to her.
“Let me see the video” you asked, offering your hand for her phone.
“We don’t have time, but everyone will ask you about it. I need you to be the bigger person and act like it isn’t important, yes? They will try to taunt you and get a bad reaction from you, I need you to dismiss everything they throw at you. Agreed?”
You sighed. You knew the stuff from your teens were pretty bad, you rarely badmouthed Max or Charles, but they always felt threatened by you, so there were lots of instances they attacked you. Honestly, you just didn’t want to come out of this victimized. So as you entered the first round of interviews, you decided you were going to downplay anything they asked you.
“Y/N, have you seen the footage of you, Max and Charles from your teenage years that resurfaced recently?”
“No, uh, I haven’t.”
Someone pushed an iPad in your hands because of course, they wanted a live reaction from you. You pressed play, reading the subtitles someone put on the video. It was an amateur recording like a post race interview made by another teenage guy. First as Max walked out of the track, the guy asked what he thought of your win.
“It was luck, she’s not bright enough to think of a strategy,” Max said, walking away, clearly pissed having lost to you.
There was a cut and the camera was turned on again when Charles walked toward the guy asking the question. He repeated exactly the same question he had asked Max.
“Y/N, I don’t worry about her long term. She’s not going very far in this sport anyway,” Charles shrugged, seemingly unbothered.
As the video cut again, it showed your face, you remembered when that was. You were 14, and your dad had dropped you a few months earlier, so you were working your ass off balancing school, work and karting.
“Hey, Y/N. What do you think of your result today?”
“Uh, I tried a new strategy I learned earlier this week, thankfully it worked in my favor,” teen-You dried your forehead with your coat’s sleeve.
“What are your plans for this competition?”
“Well, I hope to be good enough to get into F4 next year, and work my way up into Formula 1,” you smiled softly and walked away after a quick bye.
The video ended and you still spent a few seconds staring at the black screen of the iPad. This interview didn’t come to your mind in more than a decade, but it was nice seeing how you made your 14-year-old dream come true.
“So, what do you say?” The reporter extended his mic to you.
“I guess I proved them wrong, right?” You giggled a little, “don’t take it to heart, really. We were all hormonal teenagers, I’m sure if someone digs, they will find a video of me saying the same stuff about them,” you shrugged, despite that being a lie, sounded dismissive enough.
“So it doesn’t upset you?” The reporter insisted, and you knew he wanted a scandal you weren’t willing to give.
“Of course not. I’ve always known my worth, and I’m P1 in the driver’s championship as of right now. So I don’t really care.”
The interviewers soon let the video go, when they realized you didn’t care about it. You weren’t sure if anyone would also approach Charles or Max with questions about the same video, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to avoid drama for the time being so you could focus on the championship instead of this bullshit.
On the morning of qualifying, you were in your room, trying to meditate and clear your mind, when a knock interrupted you.
“Guys, I asked for twenty minutes so I could-” you stop yourself when you realize it isn’t anyone from your team, but it’s Max and Charles, “what are you doing here?”
“We came to apologize about the video,” Max started.
“Did your PR teams send you here?” You looked around, trying to catch a camera or even a phone recording.
“No uh, we realized we were very immature with you, and this video is just proof of how silly that was,” Charles sighed, seemingly embarrassed.
“You don’t need to apologize, I mean- the two of you really had it out for me, you called me dumb a lot,” you pointed to Max, then Charles, “and you called me ugly countless times. I don’t know why it would make any difference now.”
You were just so used to being defensive, to protect yourself from hatred you found it hard to believe them, to give them a chance to apologize because you couldn’t believe it to be genuine.
“Even if you don’t take it, or believe it, I would like to apologize for that behavior. I was just a stupid kid.” Max looked deep into your eyes, which could’ve made you uncomfortable if he didn’t seem so honest.
“I’m really sorry, Y/N. It was too idiotic to be like that to you, growing up. You were just a kid too.” Charles added.
You understood where that apology came from, it was stupid and embarrassing for all three of you this teenage rivalry when you all were barely mid racers back in the day. Sighing, you looked around, dropping your façade for a second, allowing yourself to display the same honesty they showed you.
It was hard and required some sort of deprogramming because you could only see them as rivals, like your dad had whispered in your brain so many times before, like their actions towards you had cemented dad’s words. They had said things that were on your mind for so long, that had made you defensive and deflective.
“Look, don’t worry about it. Whatever happened back then, it’s water under the bridge,” You shifted on your feet. As they started walking away, you added “this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”
They only nodded before leaving. Your routine went back to the same, and as the next scandal went on, people forgot about the silly video, but a very specific part of the fans started shipping you and both your rivals.
The rivalry never died down though.
Then, out of nowhere, Sebastian pulled you and Lewis aside to a conversation. Then he told you that he was going to retire by the end of the season. It was the first time the two of them saw you cry, and Sebastian hugged you tight, shushing your crying softly.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, petting your head.
“No, don’t apologize,” you let him go, drying your face, “I have listened to you talking countless times about how you missed the kids. Don’t apologize for choosing to be a great dad. I know Hanna and the kiddos will be ecstatic.”
“You two are my closest friends here, that’s why I wanted to tell you first, before my announcement.”
“Thank you, Seb,” you said, eyes still watering, “I’m going to miss having you around.”
“Thank you for telling us beforehand,” Lewis said, also visibly emotional.
The season was writing itself to be just as close as the year prior, but now you were slightly better at keeping the lead most.
That is until Zandvoort. This GP was always a nightmare to you, because it was full of Max’s fans, and they absolutely hated you for being his rival. You had been booed when you were on the podium the year before, so now, you and Amanda decided it was best to keep your head down during the whole week. Not out of shame, but more of a matter of safety, you didn’t know how far the crowd could go in antagonizing you. When you were booed the other year, Max had said it was part of the sport and dismissed the conversation.
The morning of free practice, you went into the paddock very low-key and kept to yourself. You arrived with a little cup of coffee and got mentally ready for a hostile environment the whole weekend. That, until you spotted a small group of people dressed with your color and wearing your number, waving wildly to you.
In a spur of the moment decision, you went there, getting close to the barrier to sign a few caps and take a few selfies. In retrospect, you knew you shouldn’t have done that, especially with only two bodyguards accompanying you.
You were finishing chatting with your fans when you felt something heavy hit the side of your head and the impact made you stumble backwards, you were confused as you heard the screams and felt one of the bodyguards pull you back, as the other jumped the barrier and started running. You patted your temple and something wet and sticky was dripping down the side of your face. You stared at the small group of fans who were looking at you horrified. Staring at the hand, you saw the red staining your fingers, and as the bodyguard kept pulling you away to somewhere safer, the thing flowed even more and  got into your left eye.
You wondered if it was blood as you touched your temple but felt nothing, not a gash nor small cut. You covered your left eye as it started to sting from what you supposed smelt like paint.
“Hey, hey, what happened? You’re bleeding!” Max jogged up to you.
“Not blood, just paint” you muttered, trying to use your coat to clean your face.
“Someone threw a paint ball at her,” the bodyguard said.
“Fuck, it’s burning!” You exclaimed, feeling tears in your left eye.
“Come here, the RB hospitality is close,” Max said, holding your wrist, he stopped shortly pointing to your bodyguard, “and you, sort this and find the person who did it.”
You let yourself be taken by Max into the RB territory, the burning so annoying that you rather take whatever solution he was thinking of. He held your waist and placed you sitting on a sink, and then you felt water streaming down your face.
“Stay still,” Max commanded, holding a hose over your head, pouring water down your face, “now blink slowly, let the water wash it,” his voice soft as you did what he told you to. Slowly but surely, it washed the paint away, relieving your left eye from the stinging. Max held the hose up and held your chin, tilting your head up so he could check your eye, still letting the water stream down your face.
You took a few minutes, breathing and regulating your heartbeat from that scare, trying to come back to normal and understand fully what was going on. From what you gathered, you were chatting with fans when someone else came and threw something with paint at you.
“How does it feel?” 
“It’s better, already stopped burning,” you told him, feeling your heart miss a beat at the close proximity you found yourself to him. You were sitting on a sink, Max standing between your legs pretty much like you two had done months before for entirely different reasons.
“Open your eye, let me see,” he asked, and you tried to blink it open, “can you see?”
“It’s a little blurry but I believe it will get better,” you explained, and he didn’t let go of your chin. Suddenly, he covered your right eye with the other hand, leaving you only with your left eye sight.
“How many fingers am I putting up?” He showed it to your left eye. The vision was a bit blurry but you still could make out the shapes very clearly.
“Four, Max. It’s just a little bit blurry, probably will get better in a few minutes” you sounded annoyed, you tried to move but he pressed a hand against your waist, keeping you in place.
“Now, what happened?” He asked finally. You ignored the proximity, and the hand still on your body.
“We’re in Zandvoort, that’s what happened,” you shrugged, really annoyed about it.
“What do you mean?” He was visibly confused. You scoffed because you knew it wasn’t something he didn’t know, since the year before he has dismissed the importance of how hostile people were to you.
“We’re massively surrounded by your fans, Max.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They hate me because you hate me, and they think because you hate me they’re justified in their hostility towards me,” You explained, with a sigh, you pushed away from Max, “this GP has been like this for me ever since Rookie year.”
“I don’t hate you,” he said, brows furrowed.
“You do. And they do too,” you pointed down at the paint that had also stained your shirt as proof.
“I don’t,” he insisted and you rolled your eyes, jumping off the sink, but he didn’t give you space, which made you stand chest to chest with him, “I promise.”
You stared at him, breathless. That wasn’t part of the game you played, being kind, sounding worried and making promises. None of that was part of this whole rivalry. Pushing his chest, you tried getting away but he caged you against the sink, body flush against yours.
“Do you believe me?” He asked and your eyes fell to his lips, and you allowed yourself to remember the desperate and chaotic kisses you had shared in a dimly lit bathroom, “I don’t support any of this behavior.”
You heard voices and steps approaching, which made you finally push him away, walking towards the door. Whatever little magic had been happening between those walls was undone the moment you remembered none of that would’ve happened if he had politely put a stop to it earlier.
“It’s part of the sport and I have to deal with it, right?” You returned the very same words he had said about you when you were booed by the crowd the year prior.
As you opened the door, you were faced with Sebastian. He stopped, taking you in and then pulling you in a hug.
“Are you ok? We just heard what happened!” He murmured, guiding you out of the bathroom. He held your shoulders and looked at your face, checking how your left eye was still a little red, “we should take you to see a doctor, come on.”
Lewis soon arrived at the entrance of the RBR station, he warned about the reporters crowding outside, waiting for a glimpse of you after the attack. The British man gave you a Mercedes coat so you put it over your head and avoid the cameras waiting outside. With the bodyguards and both Lewis and Sebastian leading you away, you ended up at the medical center, and after a quick examination, the doctor gave you eye drops to put throughout the day.
Your Principal suggested you sit the FP1 out, letting the reserve driver take your place while you recovered. By the middle of FP1, your eyesight was 100% and you went to get ready for FP2. The whole day you felt like everyone was being extra careful, tiptoeing around you. You hated feeling like you were being pitied, so when the inevitable round of interviews came, you knew what you had to do.
“We heard about your incident earlier today, how are you feeling about it?” Someone asked.
“I’m pretty upset, to be honest. Formula 1 is a sport loved around the whole world, and the paddock overall is supposed to be a safe place not only for the fans, but also the workers and drivers. What happened today is unacceptable and could’ve been much worse. I’m voicing my dissatisfaction and I intend to, through legal means, take this complaint to the FIA.”
Later that night, as you laid awake on your bed, scrolling through the repercussions of the day, you stopped when you saw a snippet of Max's interview.
“What happened today was dangerous and unacceptable, I don’t support this behavior and I stand with Y/N,” that was all he said, but Max usually was a man of few words, always knowing when it was enough.
You knew he should’ve voiced that much earlier in your career, specifically after the booing the year before, but still- He also could have opted to not say anything at all, and he didn’t.
Amanda also sent you the news that the fan who had attacked you was found and banned for life from Formula 1.
After calling Sebastian, you managed to get ahold of Max’s phone number and texted him a simple message.
Thank you. Twice. - Lioness
The text went to read almost immediately, and the three dots appeared from his side of the screen. You wait, and wait, and wait. And then the dots disappeared, and an answer never came.
After a solid P2 that weekend in Zandvoort, you went home for the summer break. You and your mom had planned to go to Monaco for a little while since you were planning on buying a place there. From there, you and your mom would go all around the French Riviera to enjoy the sea and spend a few days in a spa resort. Then, you would go back home and relax before going to Ibiza for a weekend to meet Lando and his friends to enjoy some partying.
Everything went according to plan, but one day when you came back home after the trip to the French Riviera, you found your mom passed out on the living room floor.
You called an ambulance, quickly taking her into the hospital. Everything was a blur, the tests and scans, your mom still unconscious on a hospital bed, and the results. The results that pulled the floor from under your feet.
Your brain couldn’t fully compute what was said. Cancer Stage 4. Surgery. Palliative care.
The world was muted around you as you sat on a chair in the waiting room, hands shaking when you tried to understand what was happening. You somehow ended up calling the one other person you trust.
“Y/N? What happened?”
“I don’t understand- she just- she just passed out and I thought- but- but they said- palliative care” you try to come up with words.
“Talk to me. Are you sick?” Kimi’s voice is so focused and a little soothing.
“It’s mom”
“Send your location, I’m going there,” that’s all he said.
Waiting for Kimi gave you some sense of purpose, because it’s Kimi. He could fix anything. He fixed your life when you were 14, he can do it again. He would get there and find a way to help. Your mind got so clouded when the word cancer was thrown in the conversation, that you probably missed the part about treatments and- and surgery and stuff.
In your mother’s room there was a comfortable couch where you tried to settle to sleep, but you only spent countless hours awake. You hoped to see the doctor again to try and get him to explain everything for a second time.
You wished you were smart and quick, but no, you just sat there holding onto the hope that Kimi had a way to fix this.
Kimi arrived early the next morning, knocking on the door before entering. You stood up, hugging him tight.
“What happened?”
“It’s pancreatic cancer, they said. We need to see more about surgery and- and treatments.”
You and Kimi found the doctor, who explained again, and in that moment you finally understood what he meant the first time around. She was in a late stage of pancreatic cancer, which was usually a very difficult illness to find before it is too late, due to the placement of the organ in the body and late symptoms. The only options were either to try a very risky surgery and chemo so she could extend her life for around 8 months to a year. Or she could go home to live her last few months the way she wanted.
You begged and cried and bribed and offered every single solution your brain could muster to try and save her. Kimi held you when you fell to the floor, sobbing.
When your mom woke up and you and Kimi told her the diagnosis, she cried too, sobbing in your arms as you tried to hold it together for her sake. It took a couple of days for her to choose to go home. The two of you spent the last days of summer break traveling around the world a bit more, visiting temples and statues, and seeing nature and everything good the world had to offer, going to places motorsport hadn’t taken you to.
Your mom went to every race week from there on, even when she felt especially weak, even when you had to hire a full time medical team for her. 
Your focus on the season was solely on the moment between entering the car and leaving the car. You still managed to race like you’ve done before, calm and controlled, with the help of your engineers and team, you still could put the car where you wanted it, paving your way for a solid world championship that year. It was like your brain was seeing racing as the one thing in your life you had full control over, so sometimes you even felt like you and the car were one.
You didn’t tell anyone about her. Though every driver noticed how distant you were, even Charles and Max and the ones that weren’t very close to you noticed how you were only fulfilling your obligations and leaving, you weren’t even celebrating your wins, leaving the fastest you could after a race.
The Singapore GP was tough for you, having to leave your mom home alone with the medical staff and a couple of friends from her book club, since she wasn’t strong enough to travel anymore. Your attention was failing all throughout media day and free practices. Qualifying was shit compared to your performance the rest of the season.
In Q3 you did a reasonable sector 1 and 2 but you messed up sector 3 completely. It was a complete accident when you got in the way of a Ferrari when he was doing his fast lap, and you ended up messing his qualy too. Jace let you know it was none other than Charles Leclerc, who was setting the pace for a pole position. Out of 19 drivers, you had to ruin his lap. In the end, Max got pole, Charles qualified P3 and you qualified P5.
You went through the motions during the post qualifying press. You were about to leave after debriefing, when Charles Leclerc found you on the way to the parking lot. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself protectively as he walked up to you. You were hoping to escape his fury at least until after the race the next day. Before he could even get a word in, you started.
“Look, I know I messed up your pole. I know you won’t believe me, but it wasn’t intentional. I really thought there was no one doing fast laps on the track, I thought everyone was either still doing out laps or in the pits, so when you-”
“Calm down, breathe,” he interrupted you, “I’m not here to fight.”
“No?” You frowned, confused with the kindness in his eyes.
“We know you’re going through something, and I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but you’re not alone. And you should really consider talking with someone on the grid. They’re all- we’re all worried about you.”
The words felt alien coming from his mouth, but the gentleness was so comforting you felt a lump in your throat.
“Why do you think I’m not ok?” You muttered trying to sound confident, but your voice failed, betraying you.
“You’re skinny and you look sleep deprived for a few weeks now,” Charles said directly.
“Damn, thanks.”
“I don’t mean it like that, you know it,” he paused, putting both hands on his pockets, “have you been eating?” Your lack of response made him press further, “have you eaten today?”
You pressed your lips together, not wanting to answer that.
“Let’s go, I’ll drive you to the hotel, we’ll stop on the way to grab some food,” Charles gestured to his car, a few meters away. You stood there, shocked as he started walking away, then he stopped looking over his shoulder, “come on, I don’t have all the time in the world.”
As you sat in his Ferrari, Charles put music on and you didn’t do much talking, but it was tranquil. He called the restaurant to order take out on the way, and 30 minutes later he dropped you off at the hotel with a bag full of food.
“Thank you, Charles.” You whispered before leaving the car.
You ate the food while on a video call with your mom.
You recovered well during the race, finishing P2, behind Max and ahead of Charles.
Your mom passed away a few days after the Japanese Grand Prix, the one you had won and dedicated it to her from the top step of the podium, even if she wasn’t there, just watching from home. You went home and stayed with her, holding her hands and hugging her as much as you could.
Some part of you knew she was somehow fighting, because she had promised you the year before she would be there when you became world champion. You could see she was hoping to make it to the end of the season, but you also knew she wouldn’t, and you rather she didn’t have to endure any more pain just for your sake.
“You don’t need to fight anymore, ma,” you whispered before she went to sleep, “you raised a strong woman, too. I will see you on the other side, ok? You can rest now, I love you.”
“I’m so proud of you, honey. I love you to the moon and back.”
You made it through her small funeral, following what she had written down before passing. An intimate funeral, full of flowers and a toast to her life. You cried the whole time, with Kimi and Minttu taking turns at comforting you as they could. Coming back to an empty home smelling of cleaning products made you almost lose your mind, and the sight of you in such despair was enough for Kimi to convince you to stay with them until you had to travel for the next race, in almost seven days.
The days passed in a crying blur, you let part of your team know about your mom’s passing. Only Amanda, Jace and your Principal. Jace tried to convince you to take a break and not go to the next race in Austin, but you quickly shut it off. Not only because racing was the one thing keeping you sane amidst the chaos, but because you were so close to the championship, and  it was still close competition with Max and Charles, so you couldn’t afford to lose a race and the points that could come with it.
You had to honor your mom in some way.
That’s how you ended up on a plane to Austin with Kimi and Amanda. You knew Kimi had convinced you to let him go because he was sure you’d have a mental breakdown anytime along the weekend, but deep down you appreciated the company. Arriving there, Jace was the first to hug you and whisper his condolences, as well as your TP too.
You survived the entire weekend without breaking down crying in public, but that was your worst race in a few months, the first time out of a podium since Spa. You ended up P5, which luckily wasn’t too bad because Max finished P4 which you were grateful for as he was the one who was P2 in the driver’s championship close behind you.
After that week, you packed your stuff and moved to the new condo in Monaco you had bought during summer break. Despite loving your mom to pieces, you couldn’t manage to live alone in the house you bought for her a couple of years before, it was lonely and it hit you with overwhelming waves of sadness all the time. You distracted yourself a lot with buying furniture and decorations for the new place, and discovering Monte Carlo in a whole new way. The one comfort in all that, was knowing your mom wasn’t suffering anymore.
Then you went straight to Mexico for the next Grand Prix, this time, Kimi left you because he had to come home to Minttu and the kids. Amanda had been such a support for you, that you knew you had to give her something special for the holidays, out of gratitude.
Everything was going as expected until the press conference. You were there with Charles, Max, Sebastian and Lando. You suspected they were putting you always in the same group as Max and Charles because, as the season nearing the end, only three races left, they were your close competition.
While someone asked something of Charles, you were whispering with Sebastian, chatting about Mexican foods you wanted to try after the race. Then, something bizarre happened, and phones started to ping all around the room, between reporters, cameras and everyone else started checking their phones. It seemed like something out of a black mirror nightmare.
You reached for your phone but then remembered you left it to charge in your room.
“This question is for Y/N,” a reporter asked, reading something from his phone, “there’s a new article that just came out saying your mom passed away a couple of weeks ago, is that true?”
Your blood ran cold, and every sound felt like it was muted inside the room. Wide eyed, you searched for Amanda, who was somewhere on the opposite side of the room, and when you found her, she was pale. Then, there was a cacophony of voices and cameras and questions, that made you suddenly overwhelmed.
Swallowing, trying to reassess, you found Sebastian already standing, holding your shoulders. Looking around you noticed how the other three drivers had stood up, making some sort of shield around you, protecting you from the cameras and reporters swarming around. 
“We can go, ok? Come on,” Sebastian was saying when Amanda caught up to you, leaning beside Sebastian.
“We can leave, right now,” she said, holding your hand.
Still a little confused, you nodded and let them both guide you back to your room.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sebastian hugged you, running his hands on your back for comfort.
“How- how did they find out?” You ask Amanda.
“An article came out, I’m not sure. Someone was probably digging into your life, but don’t worry, I put the team on it already.”
“How do- how we diffuse this? How do we proceed? We need to address this, right?” You started blabbering, trying to wrap your head around everything.
“That was very disrespectful of them to ask like that!” Sebastian exclaimed, making you two jolt.
“We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with. Do you want me to release a note asking for privacy?” Amanda suggested.
“Can I write something and then run it by you?” You asked, she only nodded.
After a moment, both Amanda and Seb left you alone as you typed a note on your phone. You rewrote and deleted a few times before settling on something heartfelt and respectful but also, calling out the invasion of privacy.
My mom passed away a few days ago after battling with cancer for the past few months.
She had requested of me to keep it a secret until after the season was over, so I could mourn her without the weight of racing over my shoulders. 
But obviously someone went digging and disrespected not only one of her last wishes but also disrespected my grief and my right to privacy. I love my mom but I’ll not be answering any more questions about her illness or death, please respect me and respect her memory.
All the love, Y/N
Nobody asked anything over the weekend, but again, it felt like everyone was tiptoeing around you. As soon as you first saw Nano the next day, he held you tight for almost a minute whispering his condolences, and it made you almost cry again. Lewis also spared you a hug, saying if you ever needed anything, to contact him.
You survived that weekend, and decided to go straight to Brazil for the next GP instead of going back to Monaco. In São Paulo you mostly slept your worries and fears away. You had promised yourself to try and focus on the season only, to make your dream come true, to fulfill your mom’s promise in some way.
With Ferrari’s bad strategy in Mexico, they had ruined Charles’ chance at the championship. Now your only competition was Max and the Red Bull rocketship.
You rewatched the race a couple of times as you usually did, to try and catch any mistakes you or your team may have made, to fix it for the next one. But also to try and notice any weaknesses of your rivals, if it was something you could use in your own favor.
You noticed right away in the FP1 that your car wasn’t adhering to the track, you were losing balance and needed more force than usual to keep yourself in place. By FP2, you managed to control your car better, but that caused your tyres to wear off way more quickly.
Quali was one of the shittiest you’ve ever done in your career, taking you out in Q2 for the first time that year, placing you for a start at P12.
“Listen, we’ll do better tomorrow, ok?” Jace told you as soon as you entered the garage, seeing Max still out with a shot at pole position.
“Give me a few minutes to unwind, please,” you asked, dropping your helmet, balaclava and gloves at a nearby table.
You went straight to your room, searching for your phone. Immediately calling Kimi, you waited for him to pick up.
“I watched it,” he said first and foremost.
“If I do bad in the race tomorrow, and Max does well, then I’m gonna lose the championship, Kimi,” saying that out loud made you shiver in horror, “FUCK!” You screamed, kicking a chair.
“First of all, even if you did bad tomorrow, you’d still have a chance to fight for the championship in Abu Dhabi. You know that,” Kimi warned you as if he was scolding a little kid, “second of all, I never taught you this loser mindset. You’ll have to find a way to work around the problems in your car tomorrow.”
“Shit, I’m so fucked! How? How could I even-”
“Remember when I first met you? Your kart was with almost this same problem, yeah? Remember you got P2? You went ahead and fixed it. That’s what I need you to do tomorrow, don’t focus on what you can’t do, only focus on what you can do.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“No trying. Do it.”
After spending the entire night crafting plan A, B, C and Z with you strategists and engineers, you barely got any sleep, but you forced yourself to rest. In the morning, you went to the track early to meet with your team again, to run your strategies one more time, when you had an idea. You’d still follow the plans you had carefully crafted with the team, but you decided to make a Plan Star, as you had called. Interlagos didn’t have any safety car in the last two years, so it was dangerous to fully count on one. But your plan star consisted in the case of a safety car in this one specific window of laps, you’d go to the pits for hards, counting on everyone else being on old softs or mediums at that specific point in the race. But for it to work, you had to be the first of the front field to go in.
As the lights went out and you accelerated, you got already three positions up, landing in P9, and luckily, the points zone. Jace was worried in your ears, talking about the car and the tyres management. With controlled calm and Kimi’s voice in your head, you managed a few more positions in the first 14 laps, landing P7. You lost a bit of time there, since Nando was P6 and everyone knew how tough it always is to overtake him. But you eventually managed to get the position. Unfortunately, it was the moment you had to go to your first pitstop. Due to the problems in your car wearing off your tyres, you would have to go for a two-stop, which ended up costing you three positions again. But you were patient and you were rewarded when the other cars had to pit, which gave you back the four places you had lost.
The race you went on and you barely moved up or down from your P5, but you managed to concentrate.
Jace, on the other hand was sounding more and more worried about your second pit stop, about the difficulty in get closer to P4, about the P6 trying to enter DRS zone behind you, with your tyres wearing off, with the-
“Jace, I love you but please shut the fuck up, I know what to do,” you were praying for a miracle when suddenly, there was a yellow flag, and the safety car went out during the perfect window of laps, “fuck, Jace, this is plan star.”
“Copy,” he paused, his voice sounding secure, “Box, box.”
You changed into hards, no one else went to the pits, and the race restarted after three more laps. The safety car had closed the gap between you and the P4, which made you overtake him easily.
Jace was still keeping quiet to help your concentration, he only interrupted to warn you about overheating your tyres, and your velocity per lap compared to the next position. You started overtaking like a madwoman as much as your tyres allowed.
“That’s P1, Lioness,” Jace told you.
“Copy that.” You said with your voice shaken.
As you managed your P1, you went back to be aware of your surroundings, seeing a Red Bull right behind you, trying to overtake but you managed to hold position.
When you took the checkered flag, you sighed with relief, Kimi was right.
“Congratulations, Y/N! That’s a brilliant, brilliant win!” Jace’s voice was sounding shaken too.
“You’re crying, Jace?” You laughed softly.
“It’s an honor to tell you that you, Y/N Y/L/N, are a Formula 1 world champion!” Jace shouts, and behind him you can hear more people screaming.
“What? Jace you’re fucking with me!”
“No, Lioness, you’re the 2022 champion of the world!”
“But- but how? There’s one race left? And Max was right behind me!”
“No, Verstappen DNFed during that one yellow flag. Behind you was Perez.”
You made the calculations quickly in your head. Max was P2 in the championship, but this DNF meant no points, and even if he managed to win the last race in Abu Dhabi, he wouldn’t be able to equal you in points. So-
“OH MY GOD, oh my god!” You screamed your lungs out, feeling the tears streaming down into your balaclava, “Fuck yes! I’m Formula 1 World Champion! Thank you, thank you so much guys! Jace, holy shit, I’m the champion!”
“You’re the champion!” Jace confirmed.
You felt joy in a way you hadn’t felt in a long, long time, as you stopped your car on the number one spot. Still a little dizzy from the thrill, you left the car, going straight to your team, heavily waiting for you. They all hugged you, hitting your helmet, saying congratulations and everything. You took a moment to hug Jace and Amanda, who had been of great support throughout the year.
After getting weighted and being congratulated by the other two on the podium, Perez and Hamilton, the latter hugging you tight as he took you off the floor, you drank water as you waited for the post race interview with Nico Rosberg.
You were giddy, barely holding yourself together with how happy you were feeling, how you wanted to hold the trophy, how grateful you were and more importantly, how you felt a great weight being lifted off your shoulders.
“Y/N, congratulations on becoming a World Champion! I have to say, as a girl dad, it is great to see you become the first woman ever to win this title. How do you feel? What do you want to say?” Nico offered, with a kind smile.
“To be honest, I can barely contain myself. It’s such an honor to be here and be the world champion. I look at the past and see my younger self who never thought would make it to Formula 1. It’s such a dream come true, after this year’s hardships, I’m glad to achieve the greatest dream of them all!” You said, kinda quickly, rambling as you tried to put into words all the emotions mixed with the happiness, “I’m sorry, I know I’m taking up all your time, I just want to dedicated this win, and this championship to three people who saved my life: Kimi, thank you for being the salvation of my career when we first met; And my mom, who’s not here anymore, thank you for being the light in my darkest days. And lastly, I want to thank myself for working my ass off and never giving up.”
You muttered a thank you as Nico only laughed at your rambling. Before you moved to the cooldown, you grabbed the mic back again.
“May I add one last thing?” You asked for Nico, who only nodded, pointing to the camera again, “This is to my father: I made it, you asshole.”
You wanted to send the middle finger too, but you knew you couldn’t because of the FIA’s guidelines, and you were already risking a penalty for cursing on live TV. In the cooldown room, you sat beside Lewis, watching a few highlights of the race on the screen. It showed a couple of your overtakes.
“Damn, you overtook like crazy,” Lewis muttered, seemingly amazed.
“I pulled a Lewis Hamilton in Interlagos last year,” you joked, and he laughed.
That podium felt like the culmination of everything you had worked for your whole life, felt like recovering your love for the sport for what it was, for the fast cars and the adrenaline. Being on that podium in Brazil as a World Champion shifted something inside you forever. During your anthem, you laughed, and when you got the trophy, you cried, pointing the trophy to the sunny sky with a silent prayer to your mom. You barely noticed, but you felt the champagne raining on you, and opened your arms to shower in it. Putting the trophy down, you splashed the other bottle, laughing and wetting everyone that was close to you, Lewis, Checo, Jace, who had gone up representing the team.
When the celebration ended, you stayed behind a little more, watching the crowd from the podium, and they started chanting. It took you a few seconds to realize they were chanting your name.
You raised your trophy at them, and they cheered even louder. Then you pointed it to the sky again.
“Look, ma, I made it” you whispered to yourself, feeling the tears streaming down your face.
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brattysiren · 27 days
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what liking the Love and Deep Space guys says about you
note: it’s all just jokes, I’m calling myself out as well so pls don’t take anything to heart pls muah xx it’s NOT going to be accurate of course !!!
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Zayne-
- daddy issues
- he’s a good guy but gives an ‘I can fix him’ vibe
- you feel like you have to earn affection
- you probably also like characters like Levi Ackerman
- you dream of being with someone who’s kinda cold towards other people but has a really soft spot for you
- you like to date older men (even tho he’s only 27) just very mature
- sexual office fantasy
Rafayel-
- you usually tend to go for tsundere characters
- you’re the mom of your friend group, always looking after everyone
- you own or just really like cats
- if you play Obey Me, Mammon is your favourite
- you tend to be romantically interested in people who make fun of you playfully or tease you
- you’re pretty extroverted but also love your time alone
- you’re easy to get along with
- you overthink too much
- abandonment issues
Xavier-
- you’re very affectionate
- you are attracted to the shy, quiet people
- you’re not a morning person
- you listen/watch ASMR
- you’re an only child or act like an only child
- you owned a bunny at some point in your life or really wanted one
- you enjoy true crime documentaries
- you’re pretty introverted but feel extroverted with your close friends/family
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sundrop-writes · 5 months
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if Mike fell asleep with you...
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Word Count: 750
Horror Characters Masterlist
Warnings: this is mostly pure fluff - Mike and the reader are in an established relationship, the reader's gender is not described in any way (the main pronouns used are you/yours), Mike calls the reader angel, the reader takes on a caregiver role for Abby, mostly just short and fluffy. This is set before the main events of the movie, when Mike is working as a security guard at the mall.
A/N: So, I've seen so many people in the tags going 'just let him sleep!!! that man is so exhausted!!' and saying that he's too tired to fuck in the way that people are writing fanfics about him. And as much as I love super horny fics, I do thought this up, because I agree - the man should be allowed to sleep. This is largely inspired by that scene in Grey's Anatomy where Meredith walked in and Owen was asleep on Cristina's chest while she was reading a book (I think it was when she was reading through Mer's mom's diaries?) - anyway. I love that scene so much because it shows how easily he sleeps around her because he's so comfortable around her. And that's why it deeply inspired this. Let him sleep.
...
Mike was exhausted when he came in the door. 
He heaved out a sigh as he closed the door behind him, toeing off his shoes - pure, stiff tiredness radiating through his whole body in the worst way. 
You knew that sound anywhere. 
“Long day?” You inquired gently from your position on the couch, lightly craning your neck to look at him. 
He shuffled further into the house in an almost zombie-like fashion, only giving you a solitary grunt in response. 
You felt kind of bad that he had been stuck at work late when you had been lucky enough to have a morning shift and been treated to a relaxing evening with Abby. She was a relatively easy kid to take care of, and generally fun to be around. 
And after you had put her to bed, you laid out on the couch, relaxing and reading a novel that your friend had recommended. Generally, you were having a nice evening. And it seemed that Mike was not. 
As you kept an eye on Mike, you folded over the page of your book to mark it and put it on the coffee table for later. 
“Dinner’s on the counter.” You told him. “I made lasagna. I can heat it up for you if you want.” 
You hated that before he started dating you, all he knew was freezer burnt crap - but you were slowly showing him how to cook, and a world of vegetables that didn't come in a can. 
Mike took off his jacket and the heavy belt he had to wear for work (his large walkie talkie and his taser were in his locker at work, as mandated, but the thing was still damn uncomfortable) and he hung them both up. 
He didn’t respond to your queries about dinner as he walked around the couch. Instead of speaking, seeing you laying there so relaxed - the sight was all too inviting, and he eased himself to lay on top of you in a form of very natural intimacy before he grunted a few words into your neck. 
“Did Abby eat?” He asked softly as he laid on top of you. 
It was oddly comforting to have the bulk of his weight on top of you, especially as he melted against you, letting out a small moan as the tension melted out of his bones. He adjusted himself to get more comfortable and his face rested against the softness of your chest - you glanced down to see that his eyes were drifting closed. 
“She ate two platefuls, and had some peas.” You assured him. “Did her homework, had a bath, and she practiced her spelling words before she went to bed.” 
Mike grunted again - a more positive pitch to this one. He couldn't ask for anyone better than you. Sometimes he worried about her - all the time. But when Abby was with you, that worry lessened a lot. 
“You’re an angel.” He hummed against your chest. “I don’t-” He let out a gentle yawn. “I don’t know how I got so lucky with you.” 
“You look hot in a uniform and my job at the bookstore gets boring.” You replied, half-joking about the circumstances of how your relationship with Mike had formed. 
You reached out to him and began running your fingers through his hair, soothing him even further into the realm of sleep with the comforting touch. 
He let out another tired moan in reply - something that almost stretched into a rolling sound with the gentle pleasure of your hand in his hair. With the way his body was so slack against yours, his breathing even and quiet, you knew this was only leading one place. 
“You wanna go get ready for bed?” You asked gently. 
“In a minute.” He answered softly, barely parting his lips to get the words out. 
You glanced over to the table and reached out, picking your book back up as his breathing deepened and his body went even more slack. You were preparing to get comfortable for the next few hours. You weren’t all that tired yourself, and you still had a few chapters left to go. When you got to the next chapter, he began to snore lightly and you felt drool dripping down your neck - which didn’t bother you all that much. You found it cute, in fact. 
You were comforted by the fact that he relaxed enough around you to get such a good sleep. You knew that he needed it. 
...
A/N: also, this is my first time posting a fic completely from mobile by copy/pasting something from google docs on my phone. So hopefully the formatting isn't too messed up and hopefully this goes well! And I hope you guys enjoy this short fluffy fic 💖
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tartarusknight · 4 days
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Steve had this habit, a habit which most of the party were annoyed by. They understood it, God did they understand. But after everything was over and the Upside Down was gone for good, it kept happening. Months and months of daily calls. Just Steve checking in and asking them about their day.
Mike hadn't understood why he was on the list of names Steve would call, but if he didn't pick up the phone, there would be a knock on the door within the hour. And Steve, sometimes followed by Robin, would stop by like he was that important to them. Once, it had been on their way to work, and Steve had only locked eyes with him and raised an eyebrow. Mike just flipped him off and continued reading his comic.
Dustin had told him it was Steve's way of coping, and Lucas had turned the calls into workouts with the older teen. Will had just gone a little red and nodded along. El smiled and told Mike about the tips for hair care she got. Max just rolled her eyes and said that Steve had taken to stopping by with food most days.
Steve would be there. He was always there. It was annoying, but it was a constant. Maybe that's why Mike laid awake as the clock ticked closer and closer to midnight. Normally, he could fall asleep within minutes, a habit he had inherited from his dad. But he could bring himself to sleep as his phone didn't ring. As the walkie stayed silent. As the door remained untouched, no knock to be heard.
And it was stupid. Because Mike didn't want Steve to call him every day just to ask him if he was okay. It made him feel like a kid. It reminded Mike of his mom, but even his mom wasn't that bad. No, no one really did that for Mike. No one checked in day after day even as he remained uncaring towards them. No one but Steve.
Until now...
Mike watched the clock as it passed midnight, and his stomach twisted into knots. Fear bubbled up, and he pictured Steve getting into a fight he couldn't walk away from. He pictured a car crash so great that Steve was unable to reach for the walkie he carried with him everywhere. He pictured the worst- the Upside Down still around. The demogorgon coming up and dragging Steve into that hellpit.
Mike was up and pulling on a warm sweatshirt before those images were fully formed. He crawled out his window and down the roof, not too unlike the way Steve had done to visit Nancy. It left him already out of breath by the time he climbed on his bike. But that didn't stop him. He pushed off the ground, biking as fast as he could towards Loch Nora.
The cold air hot his face, and the road seemed to go on forever, but Mike didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until Steve's place was in view.
Mike tossed his bike uncarringly onto the pavement before slamming his fist into the Harrington's nice door. He didn't let up. He couldn't as an image of Steve dead in his own pool floated in his mind.
However, then the door was opening. Steve stood there, looking like he hadn't been asleep either. A smear of white powder on his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes. But still, something eased in Mike the same time Steve lost some of that weight in his shoulders as well. "You- you didn't-" Mike started, still out of breath. "Call. Why didn't you- call?" He gasped and Steve looked at him with a weird expression.
"You- What?" Steve questioned, sounding lost.
Mike crossed his arms, "I- you can't just stop!" He gasped out, and Steve's brow furrowed.
"But you don't like it when I do? I annoy you," he tries to point out, and Mike huffs.
"God, of course you annoy me! You track our days more intensly than my mom, and you always make dumb jokes, and I hate that I find them funny! You always call when I'm in the middle of something, and you make it easy to stay on the phone! You are always there like some weird older brother that I never asked for!" Mike shouts and Steve's eyes are wide.
"You don't have to stay around or call, but you do! You do, and you actually care. Like when you call and ask me if I'm okay, it feels like you care, and I don't understand why! I don't get you! I didn't ask you to care about me, but even when you were dating Nancy, you cared! You took Holly and me to get ice cream even though Nancy had to study! You give me and my friends rides everywhere! You care!" Mike throws his hands up in the air.
He glares at the older teen, "You care so much that I stupidly care about you! I care enough to come and check on you because when you didn't call, all I could think was that you were like dead or something," Mike snaps and takes a step back. "But you're obviously fine so-" and he wants to run suddenly. To run from the way Steve's eyes are filled with tears or the stupid words he just told the older teen.
Steve runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. "Mike, I stopped because I didn't think you wanted me to. You always acted like I was your least favorite person in the world and I guess I just- I didn't feel like it was fair to force you to put up with me just because I can't handle not knowing if you were okay." Steve said, and it didn't sound like the normal Steve. He sounded tired and nervous. He sounded like someone had finally beaten him
Mike bites his lip and tastes salt like he had been crying. Or maybe he still was. He crosses his arms like he can shield himself from this conversation. "But now you don't care enough to keep calling?"
Steve rubbed his face, a sigh shaking his whole body as he did. "I still care, kid."
Mike scoffs, "You didn't call."
Steve drops his hands to his sides. "Just come inside. It's too late for you to bike home. I'll call your place and leave a message." Steve says, his voice sounding close to tears. Mike is stiff when he lets Steve pull him inside.
They are quiet as Steve guides him towards the kitchen. The kitchen that has music playing softly and smelling like a bake sale. He blinks as he steps into the room and spots cookies cooling on a rack and a pie stilling uncooked on the counter. The top crust is sitting on the counter next to it. There's a smell of something in the oven, and Mike states at all of it in confusion.
"I bake when I can't relax," Steve admits, and Mike glances over at him. "I still care, and I was trying to give you space. I was trying not to crowd you, so I just," and he waves his hand around the mess everywhere. The smear of white on his cheek now makes sense.
Mike hugged himself, "I don't- I don't mind the calls." He whispered, and it got a snort from Steve.
He looked over at Mike, "I kinda got that from your speech."
They stood there in silence for another moment before Steve moved to finish putting his pie together. "I know that we aren't close or anything. But I care, it's not just the Upside Down making me anxious, it's just that-" and Steve went quiet. "I went overboard, I get it. But now I just- I can't stop." He admits, and Mike hates how upset Steve sounds. How guilty he sounds.
"I fall asleep easier knowing that if someone wasn't okay, we'd know because of you. It's like you take all the stress from me just by being around." He says, and Steve's eyes are wide. "Maybe we just do a sound off every night so you don't have to play phone tag all day." He shrugs, and Steve wrinkles his nose.
"I don't really get how to use the walkie. Like Dustin tried to show me, but he got distracted and started talking about radio waves and well..." Steve mimed it going over his head.
Mike snorted to hide how much that terrified him. The thought of something bad happening and Steve not being able to respond. But he pushed it away as Steve looked at him as if waiting for Mike to tease him. "That's fair. We did modify them, so they worked better. It's not as simple as your average walkie. I can show you," he offered, and Steve's face split into a grin.
"Cool, want to help me finish this so I can put it in the fridge until tomorrow? Then you can teach me the ways," Steve says, going all dramatic, proving to Mike he'd been spending too much time with Eddie. Mike groaned but came over only for Steve to shove him to the sink to wash his hands.
Steve showed him what to do, and Mike was glad to have Steve around. Because sure Steve's habit was annoying, and sometimes it interfered with Mike's plans, but it was nice too. Steve was nice. And that was something Mike ever believed would happen. But as Steve joked that Mike should not become a baker, he was nice. Like the way Mike was nice to Holly or how Nancy was nice to him. He was part of the family, annoyingly nice habits and all.
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archivistofnerddom · 1 year
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A Human author once classified Earth (and its residents) as Mostly Harmless.
By the time the rest of the galaxy realized that is a joke, it was too late. Earth was considered to be relatively mild and not much of a threat because Humans, the planet’s dominant species, classified their cradle world and species as such. Most aggressive species in the galaxy considered it to be an easy target for conquest. They had no idea how wrong that assumption was.
It took one ill-timed and easily stopped planetary invasion for the Cprix, generally accepted as the galaxy’s boogeymen species, to fear Humans and their cradle world. By the time word got out that the Cprix had launched an attack on Earth and for a response to be mounted, the invasion had been repelled. The Cprix fleet was retreating from Earth’s solar system at a fast rate.
No Cprixen would ever disclose what happened or what caused them to be defeated.
No Human gave the same answer about what happened. Some said the invaders made the mistake of landing in Australia or Canada or the Amazon or in the Yellowstone super caldera. Some said it was the honey badgers or some deep sea creature. A few even joked about more obscure (possibly cryptid) Earth creatures were involved, such as the chupacabra or the kraken or the mama bear/mom friend. There was discussion about natural phenomenon, like hurricanes and volcanoes. Some cited the variety of military technology that was so low-tech or outdated by comparison to the rest of the galactic standards. The only thing that Humans would agree on was that they didn’t know why the Cprix fleet was afraid of them. Earth was just Mostly Harmless, after all.
Those answers from the Humans generally prompted more questions. Earth suddenly received more interested visitors from their alien friends. That’s when the other species began to realize that Earth was far more frightening than they had previously realized and Humans more deadly.
A self-professed Mostly Harmless death world is still incredibly terrifying by most generally accepted metrics. Only a Human would call their cradle world Mostly Harmless.
They had no reason not to see it as anything other than that.
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nolovelingers · 8 months
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ETHAN LANDRY AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚
headcanons — // cw ! : dark themes ,, obsession ,, nsfw !! just a reminder that this man is in fact a killer, it’s not gonna be all lovey lovey goody goody 24/7. !!
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SFW !!
ETHAN LANDRY AS YOUR BOYFRIEND . . . would be an experience like no other. you’ve never met anyone quite like him, and though he can be one of the sweetest and most thoughtful boys you’ve ever met, he often has mood swings that can scare you heavily.
easy to anger, if you say one bad joke about him, do something he doesn’t approve of or if he catches you suddenly growing distant, he throws tantrums, yelling, punching things and performing the best crocodile tears you might’ve ever seen.
he’s never had a girlfriend before, and before you he’s never even held hands with a girl; so he doesn’t know quite exactly how to love properly, and it doesn’t help that he’s quite a twisted person all together since hes, well, a serial killer.
there is no inbetween with ethan. he will hate you, or he will love you obsessively. there is no “talking stage” or “getting to know each other” with ethan. he will jump straight to the point.
if he feels you slowly cutting ties with him or that you may try to leave him; he takes extreme measures. threatening to hurt himself, your family/friends, and if it gets drastic maybe even yourself. though he has absolutely no initial intention to harm you, if he feels he must just to get you to stay with him, he will do what needs to be done. nothing too bad of course, maybe just a few cuts.
however, if you’re good to him and give him nothing but your love and affection, the both of you will practically be on cloud nine the entire relationship.
he’s always wanted a girlfriend and you’ve made his wishes come true, he can never repay you for enough.
he gets jealous quite easily, and though he does a good enough job at hiding it in the moment, he’ll get quite confrontational when it’s just the two of you.
he’ll help you study, carrying all of your books for you, your bags, your backpack, keep your phone in his pocket when you have none, anything you need help with hes there to assist.
he can still get a bit shy around you even several months into the relationship, sometimes the feeling of love and joy he gets around you too much for him to wrap his mind around.
to be frank, he sucks at flirting. when he’s not hiding behind his fake personality; a shy schoolboy, he’s typically very blunt about things, straight to the point, or he’ll avoid it all together simply because he’s never had the practice of flirting. you’d need to give him a few tips.
he’s very dorky, actually. big into all sorts of movies, comics and shows. especially horror movies, not to be cheesy but they are just something he adores.
if you’re sensitive to horror movies, it’s even better. he loves when you jump, seeing your scared face as you clutch onto him for support, or hide your face under the blanket which never fails to make him smile.
however if it’s the total opposite, and horror does nothing to you, he’ll have no problem in taking on the roll of being scared just to get closer to you and have you soothe and cradle him in your arms, hiding his face in your neck and whining about the scary jump scares or the blood being too much.
your first kiss was honestly pretty bad. he had no idea what he was doing and he kissed you like how your mom would kiss your forehead after wishing you a good day at school. it was terrible, he didn’t go for your top or bottom lip, he literally touched his lips to yours and puckered up for a few seconds.
after practicing for a little bit though, he gets the hang of it and become a decently good kisser.
going into the relationship anytime you kiss it was a little awkward, he wouldn’t touch your body or your face, just lean his head in and expecting you to do the rest. as he gets more comfortable though he eventually becomes the type to rest one hand on your cheek and the other loosely behind your back.
he loves hickeys. he likes to give them, of course he does, marking you is one of the best experiences ever in his mind, but he has such a weak spot when he’s on the receiving end. begging you for more, chest rising and falling as you suck at his most sensitive spots, small groans of arousal falling out from his plumped lips, sore from the make out session you two had just shared while his mouth hangs slightly open and brows furrowed closely together in ecstasy.
if you try to cover the hickeys he gives you, he gets a bit offended. even if it was for school or because you had to see your parents, he would never dream of hiding the dark patches you gave him, from anyone, proud to show off the fact that you loved him; and he sees no reason why you would wish to conceal them. if he notices blobs of makeup trying to wash away the love marks depending on the mood he was in he’d either a) roughly rub the concealer off with his fingers, asking you why you’re so ashamed to be with him and guilt you to death, or b) purely suffer in silence, pouting at the sight and giving you the cold shoulder. not that it would last long anyway, he hates when you don’t talk.
ethan would kill for you. he really would. whether it be some poor old woman who knocked her cart into yours by accident at the grocery or some built guy who tried flirting with you on campus; it wouldn’t be even two days before the news reports them as deceased, brutally butchered with a knife.
he loves to take notes for you, dumbing them down better than how the teacher explained so it wouldn’t be so difficult for you to understand, taking a yellow highlighter and going over the key points of the lesson and marking a few (poorly drawn) doodles.
you lost your notes? don’t worry, take his entire notebook! oh, you only needed yesterdays history notes? well, now you have his entire notebook in your possession. it’s no big deal, he’ll just make more.
joining him in econ dates from time to time are a must. he loves study dates, and anytime you attempt to have one at his or your dorm it just ends in notebooks tossed aside and his lips on yours, so your safest bet to actually get work done is to just join him in econ. holding hands under the table and watching him do his work with a concentrated face.
he’s not the richest guy around, but if you want something he’s either going to buy it assuming he can afford it, or just kill and mug some person on the street for the money. trust me, he’s tried to steal before and it didn’t go so well. theft is not something he’s good at getting away with, so he’ll just stick to murder for the time being. he’s not good at being discreet or locating the cameras.
ethans smart, he genuinely is. he’s at the top of almost all of his classes and teachers favor him, which means they favor you. he was a genius before, however ever since he got with you he’s done nothing but excel even further.
he’s so proud to have you as his partner, you’re genuinely the thing he’s most proud of. the best part of him is you. his notes app is filled to the brim about everything there is to know about you, what you like, your past hyperfixations, important information, stuff you’ve mentioned you wanted.
you are both his home and lockscreen and everytime he sees your face pop up on his phone his heart flutters a bit.
you’re pinned to the top of his messages and the only person he has notifications on for. everyone else is on silenced, and he only has a total of 4 other contacts saved that aren’t you. his dad, his sister, chad and tara. he didn’t even bother for mindy, anika or sam; and besides them he knows no one else.
he’d drop anything for you in seconds, no matter how important it was. all you have to do is ask, and god forbid if you beg him. he’d drop to his knees right there. even if he was in the middle of an important family meeting about how to continue executing the ghostface plan, if you beg him to cancel (not knowing what exactly it was he had to do anyway) or even gloss your eyes slightly to give him the illusion of tears he’s all yours for the rest of the day.
he’s extremely touch deprived and is awkward when initiating it unless it’s something like slinging his arm over your shoulder, which he never once had a problem with. you’re usually always the first to initiate hand holding and cuddles, which he’s so grateful for. he doesn’t know how to go about asking.
when you do hold hands though, he’ll literally never let you go. even if you have to leave, do something with two hands or just try to remove your hand from his; he’ll tighten his grip (not so rough that it hurts) to stop you from doing do without even noticing, so you basically have to ask him to stop holding your hand which is far more embarrassing than just letting go, but he really doesn’t even notice when he does this.
he loves the way you smell, and there has definitely been a number of times where you catch him sniffing your hair on the perfume/cologne on your neck, potentially even asking you for the name of it so he can go out and get his own to spray on his pillows and a few of his shirts.
this also applies with your shampoo and conditioner. he doesn’t primarily use the ones that you do, but he’s got the exact type stored under a cabinet so that when he’s particularly missing you he’ll use them in his locks instead of his usual kind.
sharing headphones and having a joint playlist is a must with him. you two have a collaborative playlist that you both add songs to and listen to when you’re together that ethan has just started listening to constantly now.
he doesn’t have much social media. he doesn’t have snapchat. he does have an instagram that you forced him to download just so you could send him reels but he never posts on it. he has tiktok, but he’s literally just not logged in so he doesn’t have an actual account. he does have twitch though which is what he uses the most.
he’d never let anyone hurt you, and if they do he doesn’t just get angry, he becomes furious, their death much more brutal than any past ones. their was a time where he took a stab to the shoulder after quinn charged at you with a knife as ghostface, even after ethan specifically told her not to lay a finger on you. she hadn’t planned on killing you but she wanted to get a couple hits in, which ethan was extremely against. their father later lectured the both of them about the situation.
he specifically made sure you were at the hospital with mindy when the reveal went down.
NSFW !!
he really wasn’t lying about being a virgin, he had no idea how the body worked and he was always way too nervous to initiate anything sexual between the two of you.
you had definitely turned him on before, his dick growing hard at the sight or thought of you; and he always wondered what it would feel like to be buried deep inside you. or to have your pretty mouth wrapped around his shaft, gagging from his length and the vibrations of your moans sending shivers down his spine.
but no words could ever do justice to how it felt the first time you slept together.
he didn’t finish as fast as you assumed he would and actually did a decent job at holding out, but he definitely didn’t break any records or anything.
he’s 100% a switch, quick to go from whining and crying out for your touch to holding you down beneath him, hand pushing your jaw upwards and fingers carefully wrapped around you neck as he takes everything he wants and more; those are on his most aggressive days.
he loves receiving head more than he likes to give, but if you ask him he’s definitely eager to please you. he’s just nervous he’s not doing well, and to be quite honest he’s not the greatest at picking up your body language at what you’re enjoying and what you’re not unless you really make it noticeable.
one of his favorite things is the sounds you make. he absolutely hates it when you try to silence or muffle your noises, making sure to go harder or rougher so that you’re not able to even try.
he buries his head in your neck as he’s rutting into you, watching the way your body bounces around his dick and unable to stop his own sounds from falling out as his mind goes blank in ecstasy.
he’s more of a whiny and grunty type than a whimper guy, but there are definitely moments when a string of curses mixed with desperate whimpers fall from his lips.
when he’s feeling more violent and powerful, he’ll definitely take it out on you in the bedroom, pounding into you ruthlessly and breath shaking as a bead of sweat forms on his forehead, the only thing able to clear his mind is being deep inside of you.
started 08.05.23. finished 08.05.23.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ a/n : idk how I feel ab this one it’s kinda low tier effort but wanted to get smth out today🙏 make sure to leave notes, reblogs and comment!!
©️nolovelingers 2023
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Dirty Thoughts
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Wanda X Reader 18+
Summary- While babysitting the twins, Wanda is left to listen to all the sinful thoughts of her flickering through your mind.
Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI, Oral sex, Multiple orgasms, Overstimulation, Dom/sub undertones, Bottom Wanda/Top Reader, Dirty thoughts, Age difference, Sexual Tension, Face-sitting, Fingering, Grinding, Implied/reference cheating, Fluff and Smut
General Master List
W/c- 4.3k
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"Prepare to lose Tommy," you tease, stretching your arms above your head in a joking manner, twisting your body to warm up for the most important event ever.
"There's no way I'm going to lose to an old person," he sticks his tongue out at you, a gasp leaving you at his insult.
" Old? I'm twenty-one," you splash a bit of the water at him earning a chuckle from Billy from the side of the pool.
"Exactly, old." You roll your eyes at the boy, turning and getting yourself into position for the race. You couldn't back down from the silly remark Tommy made, declaring he could swim faster than you, which now led to a race happening between you two. Billy was to watch from the side lines, judging who would win the race and ending the debate.
"On your marks, get set," Billy dragged out the starting call, laughing at how serious you and his brother were taking this. "GO!" he called, and you both started. Being older than the boy by around ten years helped as you quickly took the lead. You probably should have gone easy on him, but you were too competitive to do that. You looked behind you to see him trying to catch up, a look of determination on his face making you laugh. You were nearly halfway across the pool when you heard a mischievous laugh erupt from your side. "Sabotage!" Billy screamed, jumping onto your back, the air being kicked out of your lungs as you went underwater with the added weight. You gasped for breath when you reached the surface, Billy like a koala clinging onto your back as you tried to continue the race.
At the sound of shouting, Wanda came outside after just arriving back from work to see the chaotic scene unfold in front of her. A smile took over her face as she watched Billy try and halt your movements while Tommy swam past you, your arms trying a last-ditch effort to win the race by grabbing at his legs but failing. She took a seat in one of the longue chairs outside, laying back to admire the race.
"I win!" Tommy pants out, just about reaching the other end of the pool before you despite his brother on your back. Billy remained clinging onto you as you stood up in the water, wiping your face and trying to push some of your wet hair out of your eyes. You watched as the boys high fived over you, Billy's arm quickly wrapping around you when he pulled back as he was scared to fall off you.
"You cheated," your face in disbelief as you held onto the boy who ruined your chances of winning.
"I didn't do anything," Tommy taunted, looking at the boy on your back with a triumphant look. You shook your head at the cheek of the boy, chuckling at how happy he was and giving in.
"Fine, you win," he immediately erupted into cheers along with his brother. You decided you had enough of Billy at the moment and playfully leaned backwards.
"No, no," he rushed out as he hovered over the water, his grip on you increasing. Standing up straight, he sighed in relief before his eyes widened when you squatted down, submerging both of you in the water. You came up quickly and he let go of you, swimming over to where his brother was so you couldn't do it again.
"You deserved that Billy," a voice spoke from the side, all three of you look over to see Wanda watching with an amused look.
"Mom," he complained, "You're supposed to be on my side." Both you and Wanda chuckled at him making him turn around to talk to his brother, pretending to ignore you both.
You climbed out of the pool, letting the water drip off your toned body and walked over to where Wanda was. Her eyes briefly scanned your body before you could notice and watched as you flopped down onto the chair next to her. She let silence wash over the two of you and returned her gaze to her boys in the pool, the only sound your quiet pants as you recovered from the race and being jumped on.
You look over at Wanda and couldn't help but stare. She was beautiful, absolutely breath-taking and seeing her in that light summer dress made your thoughts run wild.
You sent the boys inside, making sure you and Wanda were alone before crawling on top of her. She sent a sultry smirk up at you, her hands ghosting your sides as you leaned down to press your lips to hers. A sinful sound escaped her throat, moaning into the kiss as your knee came in contact with her core. Pressing harder against her, she started to grind her hips against your knee, her dress hitching upwards to expose her thighs.
"Please," she sighed out as you pulled back from the kiss to mark her neck. Her hands clawed at your back as her hips moved against you, pleas tumbling out of her mouth. Your kisses moved to her neck then lower, worshiping the exposed parts of her breasts with small bites and open-mouthed kisses. The sounds she was making were intoxicating, making you addicted to trying the pull them out of her. "Fuck," she groaned, her accent coming out as she lost herself in the pleasure.
"You're so beautiful," you mutter while returning to crash your lips to hers. She whines into you, your tongue exploring her mouth while her hips move frantically against your knee.
"I'm so close," she moans, her hands moving to grasp at your toned arms that were supporting you upright.
"Do you want to come for me?" you husked out earning another whimper from her along with a nod, "Beg me."
"Please," her voice dripping with desperation, "I've been so good and I'm so close. You're making me feel so good so please let me come." You chuckled against her lips at her needy state and continued to press your leg down onto her core.
"Come for me," you rasped out before her body tensed and her orgasm ripped through her. A guttural moan erupted from the back of her throat as her body fell back against the chair. You kissed down her neck towards her chest before venturing lower and hovering at the bottom of her dress. Your hands itched upwards toward her soaking core, a finger running over the wet fabric of her panties. You moved-
A choked cough from your side knocked you out of your fantasy, Wanda on the other chair seeming to clear her throat with a blush painted across her cheeks. You quickly placed your hand on her back to see if she was ok, the skin hot under your touch as she looked at you with slightly darkened pupils.
"Are you alright?" your voice was concerned at the way she was acting but she quickly dismissed it.
"I'm fine," her voice a little breathless but you assumed that was from coughing. "It felt like there was something in my throat," you didn't fully believe her but pushed it to the side when refused to meet your eyes.
Soon the boys came running over, asking for you to play with them again, well, they more dragged you away, but it was fine. You jumped into the pool, the boys following straight after you, leaving Wanda to deal with what had just happened.
Wanda felt confused as she watched you innocently play with her boys as if you didn't just think of fucking her right here on the chair. She couldn't help but listen into your mind, your thoughts racing as you imagined her body squirming under you, being brought to pleasure again and again. She had heard your thoughts before, but they were smaller comments that flattered her, maybe making her heart flutter by the way you thought them, not anything like this before. You looked different in her eyes now, the idea of you wanting to dominant her sending a thrill down her body, especially between her legs. You were always attractive to Wanda but now she felt this urge of want for you as she heard how much you desired to her. She tried to push these thoughts away as she stood on shaky legs, making her way towards the kitchen to start dinner.
Later on, you found yourself stood by the sofa as the twins laid down, taking up most of the cushions and leaving you no room to sit. To be fair, you probably weren't supposed to be there, your babysitting hours over ages ago but when Wanda asked you to stay for dinner and a movie, you couldn't resist. Both boys cheekily smiled up at you and you rolled your eyes at their antics.
Vision sat on the armchair that was next to the sofa with the boys and Wanda, the woman squeezed on as her boys refused to move.
"Come on," Wanda's voice in mother mode, "Make some room for Y/n." They groaned but remained the way they were, and you chuckled before making your way around the sofa.
"It's alright I'll just sit on the floor," you said, taking a seat in front of where Wanda was sat. "Do you mind if I lean back?" you ask while looking over your shoulder, a smirk on your face as you look at her. Not trusting her words, she nods at you, and you move to rest against the sofa, her legs dangling next to your shoulders as you make yourself comfortable. You stick your tongue out at the boys, leaning your head back between Wanda's legs to put your head on the gap on the sofa. You moved your gaze over to Wanda who looked at you with a curious look as a mischievous expression took over your face. "So, Mom ," you teased the older woman making her roll her eyes. "What film are we going to watch?"
"Well," she leaned forwards and ran her fingers through your hair, ruffling it up as a joke making you pout at her, "It's Billy's turn to choose so it's up to him." Her eyes stayed trained on you as you craned your head back to look at her, the sight of her still stunning even upside down. You moved to face the Tv as Billy chose a film and tried to ignore the way your body craved for her to run her fingers through your hair again.
Vision sat with a small scowl on his face, not a huge fan of you as you always somehow caught his wife's attention. He knew he was away a lot for work but when he came back, he wanted to spend time with his family, yet you were always there.
Soon everyone seemed to be engrossed in the film, but you couldn't shake the thought of Wanda.
What would it feel like with her thighs wrapped around your head? Her smooth skin encased around you as you kissed her inner thighs, teasing her and making her squirm on top of you. She could be a wet shaking mess as you edge her again and again, leaving her to beg you to make her come. Opposingly, you could have her seated on your face, hands gripping at your hair while she screams your name all night long as you make her come as many times as possible. How many times would you be able to make her come in one night? Would she be able to squirt if you-
A low moan from behind you disrupted your thoughts, yours and Visions attention going to Wanda as she flushed red, the twins too busy with what was happening on the screen to notice. The older woman couldn't stop the sound that escaped her at your thoughts. The idea of being give an orgasm would have been satisfactory for her, Vision being careless about her during sex, while you wanted her to do it as many times as possible. She subtly clenched her thighs together, desperate to relieve the heat building there.
"Are you alright dear?" Vision asked while you continued to look up at her from your seat on the carpet. She avoided your intense gaze, not wanting the idea of you below her at the moment and cleared her throat.
"Yes, I'm fine," she dismissed, trying to quickly think of an excuse to cover up the noise.
"Are you sure?" he looked at her with a quizzical look, her mouth opening before the sound of his phone ringing cut her off. "Sorry I need to take this," he leaves the room answering the phone and you turn your gaze back onto the film, trying to understand what was going on as you missed part of it with your thoughts of a certain person.
A few minutes later Vision returned, a small bag packed with him as he rushed around the room.
"I'm sorry but I have to go to London for a meeting about a new deal with a large investor," his words made the boys frown, complaints about how he's always away for work spilling out of their mouths. He quickly says goodbyes to them, kissing each of them on their foreheads along with a short peck on the cheek to Wanda. The door shut with a small thud; the twins sad at how he had gone. You tried to cheer them up while Wanda walked outside to try and catch her husband. Looking at the time, you asked them if they were ready for bed, their heads nodding as they had lost interest in the movie. It didn't take long to get them into bed as they were already in their pyjamas, tucking them in so they were comfortable and able to drift off.
When you arrived back to the living room you saw Wanda sat by herself, eyes moving off the screen towards you. Offering a small smile, you sat next to her and started to watch the film when she spoke up.
"I need to have a word with you about something," her voice was nervous and that caused a small panic inside you. "It's probably going to sound stupid but-"
"Nothing you say is stupid, Wanda," you reassure despite being anxious about what she wants to talk to you about.
"I can read minds," she says, eyes watching you and waiting for you to burst out in laughter, but you don't, you just look at her trying to understand what's going on, "And I've been hearing your thoughts recently as they've been quite loud." Your face pales momentarily, knowing how sinful your thoughts about her have been. Your mouth opens and closes, trying to say something but not sure what to but she speaks before you can. "They were...flattering" your eyes hesitantly meet hers and when you see the blush on her cheeks and how her eyes darken you don't feel as anxious. "They um made me feel..." she trailed off, clenching her thighs together which you notice, the action making your lips twitch into a smirk.
"How did my thoughts make you feel?" you purred out, confidence running through you as you watched her attempting to keep her composure. The blush on her cheeks deepened and you moved a hand slowly to her face, giving her time to move away if she wanted, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was her turn to be speechless, her body focussing how close your body was to her, your hand lingering to cup her cheek. "Did you like them?" your hand moved from her face to her thigh, squeezing gently while leaning closer to her face.
"Yes," she whispered out shyly, your lips millimetres away from hers causing her gaze to lower.
"What did you like about them?" her brain was clouded by arousal as you teased her lips, a shaky sigh leaving her when you bit your lip in anticipation of her answer.
"They made me feel so," she dragged out her words, removing her gaze from your lips to your eyes to tell you why she liked them, "Wanted, hot, wet ." You let out a small groan at her words and moved your hand up further on her thigh, her breath hitching.
"Can I kiss you?" she answered your question by crashing her lips to yours, her hands moving to your shoulders to keep you close. You bit her lip and dragged it back gently before delving in for another kiss, this time exploring her mouth with your tongue earning a groan in response. Her body moves forwards, straddling your lap as she tilts her head down to move her mouth against yours. Her hands return to your hair like you wanted, nails scratching at your scalp while her hips softly grind down.
"Shit," she muttered when your hands glided over her stomach and brushed the underside of her breasts through the summer dress she was still wearing. A smirk engraved itself on your lips as you placed kisses from her ear to her jaw, venturing down her neck and sucking faint red marks into the soft skin. Your hands gently cupped her breasts, a sigh leaving her lips, and squeezed softly.
"Please," the tone of her voice sending a shiver down your spine at how desperate she already sounded. You chuckled at her collar bones, determined in kissing every inch of skin exposed to you and worked your fingers at stimulating her nipples. You could feel them harden under your fingertips and pulled on them earning a loud gasp and a harsher grind of her hips in your lap.
You looked up briefly to see her biting her lip, trying to contain her sounds as the way her hips were moving against you meant the fabric was brushing against her clit in the most perfect way. Your hands left her breasts and ran down her body to reach the hem of the dress. Your eyes asked the question if this was alright to which she nodded at and moved her hands to pull the dress over her head.
"Wow," you murmured while scanning over her exposed body, the sight of her breasts making your mouth water. She chuckled at your awed expression but that swiftly turned into a moan when you took a nipple into your mouth and sucked. You alternated between sucking and licking around the sensitive flesh, one of your hands mimicking the actions on the other breast while your other hand rested on her hips, guiding her movements. Her hips started to move more frantically as she neared her orgasm, her breathing becoming more laboured as she desperately moved against you.
"I'm- Fuck," her hips stuttered and legs tensed around you as a guttural moan erupted from her throat. You let go of her breast with a pop and moved to muffle her sounds with a bruising kiss. She whimpered against you as she rode out her high, her panties now well and truly soaked.
"That's one," you rasp out, her eyes fluttering open as you kissed around her face. "I didn't even need to use my hands," you teased, "I wonder how hard I can make you come with them." You returned to her chest, worshipping them while your hands drifted to her thighs to caress them. Lightly, you trailed your finger up and down her dripping panties, her hips bucking at the touch, and slowly started to circle her clit through the wet fabric.
"Y/n," she whines, hands clutching at the back of your shirt. You shush her by going back to her lips, the faint reminiscent of wine on her lips addictive.
"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you," you mutter before moving her panties to the side and slipping a finger through her folds. She moans into your mouth at the feeling, your finger teasing her entrance.
"Please," she begs quietly in between kisses making you thrust your finger into her. Her walls clench around the digit, her hips moving to grind down on your hand as you slowly thrust it in and out, curling it inside her. You can't help the groan that leaves your lips when Wanda moves to suck at your neck in attempt of hiding her moans. Her teeth nip at the hot flesh and her hands scratch your back through the fabric of your shirt. You add another finger into her and start a leisurely pace of pumping them into her which slowly drives her mad. All she can feel is you, the skin under her mouth as she marks you, one of your hands gripping her ass while the other is buried knuckle deep inside her, slowly dragging another orgasm out of her.
"Faster," she pleas, her hips practically trying to ride your fingers to reach her high. You listen to her and increase your pace whilst moving your other hand to circle at her clit. Her walls tighten around you as her body tenses on top of you again. To muffle the scream that leaves her lips, she bites down hard on your shoulder, the sound still reverberating around the room as she comes for a second time. Pants of breath fill the room as she closes her eyes and leans her forehead against yours, trying to stop her body from trembling.
"That's two," you whisper earning a breathless laugh and a smile. You let her recover and wait for her to set the pace again as her mouth slowly moves against yours before the kiss turns hungry and passionate. You let her take control for a few minutes, her tongue exploring your mouth while her hands searched your body. When she pulled back because air was necessary, you moved to nibble on her ear lobe and husked, "I want a taste," before moving your body so you were on your back on the sofa, her still straddling your waist.
Your earlier thoughts came to mind when you looked up at her, Wanda's mind racing as she remembered how you wanted her to sit on your face while you brought her pleasure. She stood briefly to remove her drenched panties, her fully naked now in front of you and climbed onto you so she could hover above your face. Your eyes were lust filled as you stared at her core, her wetness dripping and coating her thighs causing you to stifle a groan at the sight.
When she lowered herself onto your face, you both moaned at the action. The feeling of your mouth of her pussy sent waves of pleasure through her while you couldn't help but moan at the taste of her. Eagerly, you took her clit into your mouth and sucked at the sensitive flesh. Her hands threaded through your hair, encouraging you to continue eating her out by gently trying to move you where she wanted. Eventually, you flattened your tongue and just let her grind against it, her hips thrusting at your face in search of another orgasm. It didn't take long for her to be on edge again and her moans turned to whimpers as the coil in her stomach snapped. She came with a silent scream this time, hands gripping your hair making you moan into her, the vibrations prolonging her high.
"Three," you murmured while kissing and licking up her juices around her thighs and core. She panted above you, smiling down at you as you lathered her in affection. She motioned to get off your face, her body tired and sensitive but you wrapped your arms around her thighs keeping her sat on your face. "Come on," you mutter against her core, the hot breath causing her hips to move subconsciously, "I know you can do one more." Your tone was low and sultry making a new wave of arousal sit in her core. "Your body is basically begging for it," you taunt, noticing how her hips were already moving closer to your face. "Is this ok?" her face softens as you check she's comfortable and she nods in response. Yes, her body was tired from three powerful orgasms already, but the image of you between her legs and teasing her was too big an opportunity to miss out on.
Your hands stroked the soft skin of her thighs, feeling how they trembled under your touch while your tongue licked through her folds. You teased her briefly before thrusting your tongue into her, groaning at the feeling of her wrapped around you. You wasted no time in swirling your tongue inside her and thrusting it in and out of her. She moaned on top of you, hands groping at her chest while she moved across your face. After repeating the motion a few times, she came with a small cry, her throat becoming hoarse from moaning so much. Her thighs shook around your head, so you soothingly moved your hands across them to let her calm down and counted once again, "Four."
"I can't feel my legs," she whispered from above making you chuckle as they still spasmed slightly around you. You helped her move off your face and onto the sofa so she was laying down. Her green eyes stared at you as you collected her scattered clothes and threw them into the washing machine in the kitchen before returning with a soft smile.
"Are you alright?" you whispered while tucking your arms under her to carry her to her room as she yawned. She hummed in response, her eyes fluttering close as her body wanted reset and you placed her in bed before wrapping the duvet around her.
"Stay, please," she sleepily whispered. You listened to her drowsy request and climbed in behind her, wrapping your arm around her middle and cuddling her. It didn't take long for both of you to tangle under the sheets, locked in an embrace, and drift off to sleep.
---
Have I ever been sabotaged in a swimming race like this before? Yes, yes I have and I'm still salty about it 
I hope you enjoyed :)
Please leave any thoughts/comments/votes <3 They're much appreciated!
Ao3- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger 
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nightdiary · 15 days
Text
first dates with enhypen
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word count: 5.4k genre: fluff, gender neutral reader, suggestive bits in jake's and hoon's but nothing too crazy imo author's note: been wanting to write more for enha so this was born... i am down bad for all of them i fear ): also it was almost too easy to get carried away in some spots but i didn't! i'm thinking of making more specific and individual bf posts for each of the members... saving my juicier ideas for then 🤍 as always, feedback is appreciated greatly<3!!!
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✧ heeseung - tinder date
you have a routine with all of your tinder dates. after three months on the app, you’d learned how to cycle through the guys quick enough so as not to waste a minute on someone who you didn’t see fitting into your life.
there are three stages to the cycle: one, they had to pass the initial profile check. simple enough, and yet most failed right at the beginning. half-naked photo holding a fish? swipe left. in a douche-baggy frat you’d never heard of? swipe left. 27, not sure what he’s looking for, and republican? hard swipe left.
the second and third stages took the longest, but that’s when the disappointment came in. after a few days of texting, the inevitable message about meeting in person would come. if the guy seemed normal enough, you’d agree, and finally meet. you’d build up the moment in your head and pick out a cute outfit and dance excitedly in your room beforehand, going through the possible conversation starters you could use if it got awkward.
you’d sit through a date with them and wait to be asked questions, wait for them to express some sort of interest in you as a person, but it would never come. instead, you would sit and listen to them harp about themselves for hours. every time, without fail, it was almost as if they didn’t care enough that you were there.
then, they’d presumptuously ask if you wanted to come home with them and, well, your decision couldn’t be clearer.
as much as you hated generalizing, the men from your tinder dates were proving to be pretty shit. they looked good on paper, but when it came down to dating you, they fucking sucked. and you were beginning to lose hope.
you’d sworn that you would take on one last date before deleting the forsaken app. lee heeseung is everything you’re looking for in a man, and you think it’s a wonder he matched with you instantly. the texts you exchange pass your perception of normal, and before you know it, he’s proposing you meet up at a japanese restaurant downtown.
you find yourself sitting across from a man you think god sent as an apology for all of the other 4 billion and some men.
“you are suspiciously perfect,” you frown, squinting at your date across the table. “like it’s weirding me out. what is wrong with you, lee heeseung?”
“quite a lot actually,” he jokes, “but my mom says i’m a good boy. i’d trust her, if i were you.”
snorting, you reach to snatch the last dumpling with your chopsticks. heeseung’s grab the dumpling before yours do, but he’s quick to place it onto your plate and tell you he’ll order more. as he politely calls the waitress over and thanks her when she brings over a new plate of dumplings, you can’t help but think you’re fucked. either your standards are low, or heeseung is just one remarkable man.
but as the afternoon progresses, you begin to lean towards the latter. heeseung takes a genuine interest in your hobbies and work, asking you thought-provoking and personal questions that don’t toe the line of being intrusive and passive-aggressive. you realize that this is the first date you’ve been on where you’ve talked so much, and it feels so weird to not spend the entirety of your date looking forward to going home.
“i think i’ve found out what’s wrong with you,” you tell him once both of you are standing outside of the restaurant. heeseung had paid for the bill no questions asked, and when you’d gotten up to shrug your coat on, you realized with a start that the sky outside was pitch black.
as heeseung hums unassumingly and fixes you with a questioning look, you grin and say, “you hate mint chocolate. you’re a walking red flag, lee heeseung.”
your date bursts out into laughter and shakes his head. the wide smile stays on his face as he offers his arm to you, bringing you close to his side when you take it. “fine, you’ve got me there. can i at least walk you to your bus stop before you block me?”
you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your forefinger, before sighing and agreeing with a matching smile. your walk to the stop takes you through a busy central street that’s alive in the early evening, and you can’t help but press yourself closer to heeseung. he steers the two of you through the crowds with relative ease, and you somehow manage not to bump into anyone for the entirety of the walk, all thanks to him.
as you sit on the bench together and wait for your bus to show up, you use the cold as an excuse to huddle up to heeseung’s side. he laughs again, a lilting noise that tugs at your heartstrings, and you quickly realize you’ve gotten yourself in far too deep from the first date.
you have to move off his shoulder when he begins taking his jacket off. confused, you watch as he drapes the material over your back and urges you to slip your arms in through the sleeves so he can zip it up. you notice your bus rolling up to the curb and panic, turning to heeseung with a frown.
“don’t worry about it,” he reassures you. kissing your cheek sweetly, he helps you get up and walks you toward the bus door. “you have to walk home from the bus, i don’t want you getting cold. just give it to me on our next date, yeah?”
stunned, you nod shyly and step into the bus. as you scan your card and take a seat next to the window, you peer outside and grin when you find heeseung waiting to wave goodbye. he’s a bit blurry because the glass has fogged up from the heat, but you can make out the way his face softens when you trace a heart into the window.
with the promise of a second date and heeseung’s cozy coat on your shoulders, you begin making your way home, feeling oddly warm and thrilled beyond belief.
maybe tinder had finally worked out in your favor. you’d make sure to leave a 5 star review when you got home.
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✧ jay - rollerskating rink
for what it’s worth, you weren’t the one that chose the location for your first date.
you’d left the decision up to jay, who, in all of his dependable glory, seemed to have chosen the worst possible location– at least for him.
“jay?” you call to the panting boy behind you. “are you sure you’re okay? we can always go sit down for a bit and come back later.”
your date shakes his head adamantly and pushes himself forward using the railing, scrunching his eyes shut like he’s anticipating another fall. he looks awfully adorable in the hot pink skates that the rink had lent him, even if he’s faring worse than a newborn deer with them on. the juxtaposition of his carefully crafted and sophisticated outfit with the cartoonish design of the skates is oddly endearing to you.
“wow, i really thought this looked harder than it actually was,” jay pauses by the railing, leaning down to rub at his ankle with a pained expression. “these skates are beating my ass.”
“why’d you choose this place if you’ve never been rollerskating before?” you can’t help but ask.
“okay, don’t laugh,” jay warns, avoiding your curious eyes. his cheeks are all red as he continues to massage his ankle, and you doubt it’s entirely because he’s exhausted from skating. “your best friend told me you like to come here a lot, but that you never have someone to go with. figured i’d be that person for you, even if i suck a lot.”
the thought of jay willingly sacrificing his comfort and the wellbeing of his ankles for you makes you feel warm all over. you help him stand up and regain his balance without relying on the rail, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek as encouragement. poor unsuspecting jay crumbles down immediately after, clutching onto the rail for support. you can’t help but laugh, though it isn’t unkind.
“just know i appreciate all of your sacrifices,” you tell him. offering your hand, you pull him up and continue to hold on to him as you lightly push backwards with your skates. “we can go slow, i’ll teach you some basic moves to get you moving around on your own.”
jay gulps but nods nonetheless, staggering forward after you. it’s relatively easy to keep him upright when you’re going at such a slow pace, his soft hands encased between the firm fingers of your own. you throw a look over your shoulder every now and then to make sure you don’t run into anyone, but the rink’s empty enough at this hour that you have enough space to move about freely with jay attached to you.
“bend your knees a little– yeah, that’s good, now glide forward one foot at a time, lean into your strides a bit,” you instruct, gaze focused on your date’s wobbly legs. the tight fitting jeans he’d worn are admittedly hot, but you feel a bit guilty thinking about jay’s thighs while he’s trying not to break the bones in them.
as soon as jay gets the basic motions down, you switch to skating side by side with him, your linked hands suspended between the two of you. he’s still slow and careful with his movements, but you can tell he’s fallen into a rhythm that works for him. you don’t mind having to inch your way across the rink with him. if anything, it’s nice having him by your side.
“i think this was just a big ploy to get me to hold your hand,” you tease.
jay flushes and, very tellingly, doesn’t say a word.
snickering, you begin to swing your hands between your bodies. jay’s hand is big and warm, and you don’t want to let go soon. “you should know i would’ve held your hand anyway. next time, let’s hold hands at a place that won’t break your tailbone.”
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✧ jake - bowling
“you know what they say about men and bowling?” 
“no, jake,” you deadpan. you knew exactly where this was going, and yet you still decide to give jake the satisfaction. something about being a good date, even if jake has always been a friend you’d teased first and foremost. “what do they say?”
“they’re either good in bed or at bowling,” jake steps back from the lane and looks over his shoulder to wink at you. his arm swings back an exaggerated amount as he walks toward the foul line, sending the ball rolling onto the wood with zero coordination. it immediately goes towards the gutter. “these are mutually exclusive, scientifically proven.”
but in all of jake’s infinite luck, the ball veers towards the middle at the very last minute, hitting the front-most pin and knocking down the rest in succession. above you, the screen plays a cute animation of bowling pins running away from the ball, only to be smothered with a large neon text spelling out STRIKE! in bold letters.
“oh this is so bad for you,” you bite back the urge to laugh. jake’s mortified face turns towards you and you almost lose it at the sight of his heartbroken expression. “you’ve got another turn, by the way. let’s see if you can get a double, babe.”
jake’s next ball ends up in the gutter and he cheers loudly, earning him very confused looks from the kids in the lane next to you. one of them offers their dinosaur bowling ramp to help jake out, but he kindly turns them down and tells them he’s trying to let you win.
unfortunately for the both of you, you don’t hold up too great score-wise either. even with your one lucky spare and otherwise average abilities, jake ends up winning by 20 whole points, a feat he doesn’t seem too keen on celebrating. the light in your lane turns off after the round is over, and jake proposes you two get some well-deserved food.
“do you think this is a lame date?” he asks you once you’ve sat down at one of the plastic benches. you instantly frown at the question and reach out to spear a handful of fries with your fragile plastic fork.
“don’t worry, i think it’s sexy when men are good at sports,” you reassure him, “also it’s cute that you wanted to let me win. and that you bought me loaded fries with extra cheese. it’s super romantic.”
jake snorts, but you notice how his shoulders visibly relax at your words. navigating your friendship-turned-something-bigger was harder than you’d anticipated it would be, and acknowledging your reciprocated feelings was proving to be the easiest part.
you knew that jake was equally on edge about fucking this whole thing up. there was a lot more at stake here than with someone you hadn’t known for years prior. you were afraid of diving headfirst into something that could potentially rip away an important part of you, afraid that one wrong move would send jake tumbling out of your life. you had cherished him long before you had realized you loved him differently.
but as you watch jake chew through a forkful of fries, you realize that there’s nothing complicated about this. things have always been simple with him, and they’ll continue to be no matter if you’re dating or not.
“cmon, next round is on me,” you stand up and wipe the last of the cheese from your mouth. “if you can beat me again, i’ll consider letting you prove that silly bowling theory wrong to me.”
the speed at which jake gets up is dizzying. he’s at the counter paying before you can even catch up to him, sliding a few bills over to the employee and turning to you with a playful grin. “we’re at lane 7, babe. go get warmed up.”
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✧ sunghoon - laser tag
your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your head. clutching the plastic gun to your chest, you press yourself closer to the wall and still your breathing. the red light on your heavy vest has stopped blinking, meaning you’d recovered from the last hit, but you know you can’t risk running just yet.
the undeniable sound of footsteps creeping closer makes you inch toward the corner of the wall, where you know sunghoon is waiting for you. you bite your lip and tense your finger on the trigger, peering over the bricks that are obscuring your vision.
surely enough, even in the darkness of the laser tag arena, you can make out sunghoon’s determined face. he’s crouched down behind a beat-up car, wearily scanning the area. most likely looking for you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet.
the blue on his vest has dimmed down– you’d hit him several times earlier and knew this was probably one of his last lives left. your own indicator showed that your lives were also running low, and based on how exhausted you felt, you knew you couldn’t have much time left from the round. you had to move in soon, or risk tying with sunghoon.
in your case, you thought that would be worse than losing.
taking a deep breath, you lift your gun and peer around the corner one more time, and in the split second it takes for sunghoon to notice you, you manage to send a shot straight at his vest. but the light on his vest doesn’t budge, and as you realize you had horribly misaimed, your date takes the opportunity to aim at you properly.
your vest makes a video game-like noise of defeat and you feel your gun power down. you know you have to hide for the next minute to let it recharge, but as you spin around and try to figure out where to run toward, you notice sunghoon already closing in.
“such a shame,” he drawls, holding up his gun with a smirk. you frown, backing up until you feel your shoulders hit a concrete wall. sunghoon’s voice is quiet enough not to draw attention from your teammates, but it sends shivers down your spine nonetheless. “thought you’d finally beat me this round. what happened, babe?”
“i still have one more life left, don’t get all cocky.” you mumble, shaking your gun frustratedly. the minute needed to pass by quicker.
looking over his shoulder, you realize with a frown that you’re in quite possibly the most secluded part of the arena. there’s no hope calling out for help or trying to make a run for it.
sunghoon squints down at your indicator and moves in even closer. you feel your breath quicken when the front of his vest hits yours, and you’re left caged in to stare up defiantly at him. he’s grinning at you like he’s already won.
“i’m not going to let you win,” you lean in toward him and whisper. sunghoon’s eyes flit toward your lips, and you try not to think about throwing your chances out the window and kissing him.
“you don’t have anywhere to run,” he places a hand next to your head on the wall, and to really drive the point home, you feel him press the muzzle of his gun against your side, where you know your sensor is. you’re pretty certain he can hear how fast your heart’s beating, and it makes you flush red from embarrassment. “you ready to admit defeat yet? or are you going to keep being stubborn?”
there’s no reason you should feel this lightheaded, but sunghoon’s so, so close to you that you can’t think properly. he’s practically pressed up against you, warm and solid and he’s barely a few centimeters away, and if you lean in just a bit more, you’ll be able to kiss him.
so that’s what you do.
“sure,” you say simply, and lean up to softly brush your lips against his. you grab at his neck with your free hand, bringing him flush against you so that you can fully slot your mouth with his. he’s surprised– you can tell from the way his gun clatters loudly to the floor next to you, and you try not to smile into the kiss.
seconds later, you distantly hear your gun make a familiar rebooting sound. you hold sunghoon firmly against you as you blindly aim your gun toward the sensor on his side, and with one last peck to the side of his mouth, you pull the trigger.
sunghoon’s vest goes dark. you don’t think he registers this, though, because he stares at you wide-eyed and adorably confused as you pull back from the kiss.
“i win,” you tease, and your date blinks down at his indicator.
“you win,” sunghoon affirms quietly. conveniently, the overhead lights turn on as the round draws to a close, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s reddened all over.
“victory kiss?”
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✧ sunoo - picnic
ten minutes into your date with sunoo, you make the most devastating observation ever: sunoo has freckles.
they’re visible for only seconds at time, when the sun hits his face at just the right angle, but it still makes your breath catch in your throat every time you see them. they’re littered across his face like miniature stars, dipping across his cheeks in multitudes and scattering off toward his temples and brow bones.
your hands itch to reach out and trace them.
“–and then once we finally got to the place, it turned out to be super cute and they had some of the best lemonade i’ve ever had.” sunoo’s voice slowly trickles back into your ears, and you blink the world into focus once again.
you find your date looking at you with crinkled eyes, studying your features with amusement. almost like he knows exactly what’s been going through your mind.
“sorry,” you laugh sheepishly, reaching out to grab another chocolate-covered strawberry. sunoo had made them himself for the occasion, that much he’d eagerly disclosed within the first few minutes of the date, and you had found it too endearing for your poor heart. “i got distracted. what was this place called again?”
"auntie lim’s diner,” he answers slowly, smirking when you nod off-handedly. “hey, what’s on your mind?”
“lemonade,” you respond just a bit too quickly, face blanching when sunoo’s grin grows impossibly wider. whining and covering yourself with your hands, you try not to focus on the way his melodic laughter rings out like bells.
“lemonade, huh?” sunoo’s teasing is light-hearted, but that doesn’t stop your heart from leaping up into your throat. “was there some on my face? because you’ve been staring an awful lot for the past few minutes.”
groaning, you duck your head and try to focus on finishing your strawberry. you can feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your ears though, and are certain sunoo’s made note of this when he giggles and leans forward to get a better look at you.
“you’ve got freckles,” you mumble, picking at the leaves of the strawberry. when sunoo doesn’t respond for a while, you look up and bravely gesture toward his cheeks, pointing at where you’d seen the aforementioned spots with a shaky finger. “and like– it’s super cute. you’re super cute. but it caught me off-guard so, like. yeah. sorry for staring.”
sunoo hums. you can feel his eyes roving through your face, but you immediately look away once they finally meet yours. then, you feel something warm encasing your hand, and nearly jerk in surprise when your fingers come to brush against the soft skin of sunoo’s face moments later.
“don’t apologize,” he mumbles, leading your hand down the side of his cheek, where you’d pointed just seconds ago. “i’m really flattered you noticed. and you don’t have to be shy about stuff like this, i’d honestly be a bit worried if we were on a date and you didn’t find me attractive.”
reveling at the supple skin beneath your fingertips, you feel the weight ease off of your chest almost instantly. despite having known each other for a limited amount of time, sunoo’s come to be quick at recognizing when you feel out of place or uncomfortable, and he’s become too good at easing you back into safe waters. he’s too good to you.
“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease back instead, unable to handle the growing wave of emotions in you. “i only said your freckles were cute.”
sunoo looks up at you through his lashes, and your hand freezes where it’s fallen by his chin. flitting your eyes downwards, you watch his rosy lips part, almost like they want to voice your hidden intentions. gulping, you subconsciously feel yourself draw in closer, until you can feel his breath wash out against your cheeks like water on shore.
your heartbeat’s in your ears and sunoo’s pretty mouth is right there. glancing back up at his eyes, you notice that he’s also looking down at your lips, tracing the minuscule movement of your tongue peeking out to wet them.
he’s so close. you can almost just lean in a bit and–
“yeah? so then my second date invitation to auntie lim’s diner has been rejected?”
pausing, your eyes widen as you stare back at sunoo in bewilderment. he’s grinning at you slyly, the edges of his eyes crinkling with laughter as his whole body shakes with amusement. you can’t help the string of giggles that bubble out of you almost like second nature. it’s nice, you think, having someone like sunoo to laugh with.
“i mean, i guess i’ll have to try this lemonade you speak so highly of."
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✧ jungwon - boba place
in retrospect, choosing a first date location for you and a total stranger was easier than you thought it would be. yang jungwon, as your best friend had briefly introduced him to you, seemed simple enough to enjoy normal things. you already had a place in mind before your friend showed you his photos, but you really couldn’t help it once you laid eyes on him.
“has anyone told you your eyes look like tapioca pearls?”
jungwon’s cat-like features curl in amusement and he pops his lips off of the boba straw. he chews through his last gulp, wiping at the droplet of milk tea that had trickled out onto his bottom lip. you follow the movement with your eyes, coughing when you absentmindedly swallow a pearl without chewing it fully.
“no, but should i take that as a compliment?” jungwon asks, passing you a napkin.
you take it and wipe at your own mouth, cheeks growing red out of embarrassment. “yeah. but now that i think about it, it does sound kind of weird. i don’t want to eat your eyes, i promise.”
jungwon laughs, mouth pulling into an endearingly wide grin. okay, your friend had definitely undersold him. jungwon was cute as fuck.
“why’d you choose a boba place, anyway?” he continues, fiddling with the cup in his hold. he’d finished his drink surprisingly fast, and you have half a mind to offer him some of your own. “not that i don’t like it. great choice, honestly. but why?”
you shrug. “the atmosphere is nice. and if you’re going to go on a date with someone you don’t know that much, might as well go somewhere you can talk. it would be pretty awkward to watch a movie with a stranger, don’t you think?”
jungwon nods seriously, hair bouncing along with his movements. “your friend was right about you being smart.”
“yeah?” now that you thought about it, you hadn’t considered how your best friend had sold you to jungwon. given that he’d agreed, you figured it must’ve been pretty alright. that, and the fact that it was your beloved best friend in question, you had no doubt you were probably oversold, if anything.
still, there was a nagging curiosity in your head that you couldn’t ignore. “what else was my friend right about?”
“that you’re easy to talk to, and that i’d feel comfortable around you,” jungwon muses, glancing down as he traces the rim of his plastic cup. he seems to be mulling over his next words carefully, lips twisted into a cute pout. “they also said that you were pretty. the photos they showed me really were great, but you’re even better in person. not that looks are the most important thing but, y’know. you’re a package deal, basically.”
you feel the way your ears burn red from his words, and you stutter your way through a shocked thank you. jungwon grins knowingly, but doesn’t comment on it further. instead, he asks you if you want to share one of the cake slices in the display window that you were eyeing earlier. you try not to look too eager as you nod, choosing to ignore jungwon’s mumble of cute as he walks away. for your well-being, of course.
jungwon returns with a slice of red velvet and two forks in hand. he waits for you to take the first bite before sinking his own fork into the cake. “your turn. what’d your friend tell you about me?”
you know you have to word your answer carefully, or else you worry you’ll come off as a weirdo. jungwon’s too good to chase off just yet, and you haven’t had this much luck with a date in a long while. or ever, you think.
“my friend told me that the most important things about you were that you’re a psychology major and that you look like that one campus cat,” you trail off, unsure, “charles? was that his name?”
jungwon barely manages to set his fork down before he’s bursting into laughter. you would think you’d said something wrong but his entire face is crinkled with amuse and you can’t help but join in on the giggling, ignoring the glaring teenagers from the table over.
“charlie, yes, of course i know him,” jungwon manages to squeeze in between giggles, “oh my god, i didn’t know people outside of my friend group knew about this joke."
“so you’re the cat that’s always hanging around the quad,” you say, dead-serious, and jungwon meows cutely as if to agree with you.
“okay, so,” he puts his hand up and begins listing off on his fingers, “i look like a boba ball, the infamous cat on our campus, and what else?”
“my next boyfriend,” you say before you can stop yourself, and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise as your cheeks color in embarrassment.
jungwon grins. “that can be arranged.”
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✧ niki - arcade
“okay, now i’m actually convinced you’re cheating,” niki whines loudly, letting go of the controller and slumping back in his seat with a pout.
the game you’ve been going at for the past half hour– a car racing game set in an alternate reality– dramatically replays the moment your character crossed the finish line and won. the stark contrast of the accompanying confetti on the screen next to niki’s misery makes you giggle, and you reach out to slip the tickets that the machine spits out into your backpack.
“will you feel better if i get you something with these?” shaking a strand of tickets enticingly, you watch as your date immediately sits up and abandons his sulking to nod at you eagerly.
the teenager working the prize desk looks at the two of you with such a deadpan expression you nearly mistake him for a robot. gathering your pile of tickets onto the counter, you look up at the various different stuffed animals and boxes on display, frowning once you notice the ticket prices taped onto them, denoted with far too many zeroes for your liking. almost like inflation’s gotten to the arcades as well.
“see anything you like?” you turn to niki, brushing your shoulder against his.
you watch him survey the different rows, expression growing grim once he comes to the same exact realization as you.
“um,” it’s almost comical how you can hear the frown in his voice. “actually nevermind, these prizes are crazy. holy shit, three thousand tickets for a snorlax plushie?”
“right!” you nod, ducking your head and stifling your laughter when the employee sighs out loudly.
with your meager six hundred and thirty-seven tickets, you and niki manage to get a handful of smaller, yet arguably better things: a sticky frog, two chinese finger traps, a whistle that sounds like duck quacks, and three boxes of different pocky flavors.
“i had no idea that coconut pocky existed,” you mumble in awe, reaching into the packet to draw out another stick. you observe it under the fading sunlight, popping it into your mouth with a happy hum.
after you and niki had spent your fortune of tickets, you’d decided to take your business elsewhere (or, alternatively: leave before the employee ended up kicking you out). you found yourselves on a bench right outside of said establishment, going through each of the prizes that you’d tucked away into your backpack.
“me neither, but i really like ‘em. here, have some of the mango ones,” niki holds out a second box towards you, and you eagerly reach in to pull out some of the sticks. 
the sun’s begun to descend down the horizon, and you realize with a start that you’d managed to spend the entire day in the arcade with niki. the date seems to be drawing to an inevitable end, much to your disappointment, but you can’t help and savor the warm feeling that the day has left you with.
“it’s getting dark,” niki seems to read your thoughts. you hear shuffling and turn to see him stand up and collect his belongings, reaching out to offer his hand to you once he’s done. “i should walk you to your bus stop.”
staring up at him, you blurt, “do you want to go get a proper dinner instead?”
the words rush out of you before you can think, but no matter your shyness, you’re glad you’ve said them. niki’s surprised expression quickly morphs into something gentler, and he nods almost like he’s relieved. “oh thank god, i didn’t want to go home yet either.”
laughing, you take his hand and stand up from the bench you’d been sharing for the past hour. but even after he helps you up, niki doesn’t let go of your hand, instead threading his fingers through yours to hold you more comfortably.
you don’t say anything, but when niki looks over at you to make sure it’s okay, you smile at him brightly.
“so– fried chicken?”
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