𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼

⭐️: satoru can expand my domain 🐱♡

[lucyiennealt]

DULO NG HANGGANAN

SYPNOSIS. being friends with Satoru after you confessed is harder than you think.

filipino!satoru gojo x reader

NOTES. NO ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS. based on a crush of mine, im devastated and mad while posting this, refused to post this in main cuz im too lazy to put translations, idfk i just want to let this out one last time<3

[singse]

"Baby?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do they keep calling me Mr. Clean?" Aang asks, puzzled as he stares down at his phone. You blink, momentarily speechless, before Aang's showing you the latest picture he uploaded onto Instagram.

It's a really good picture that you took of him yesterday. It's nothing grand, just his side profile highlighted by the gorgeous rays of the setting sun—simple but breathtaking.

The picture already has hundreds of likes and growing section. Which is normal for an Aang picture because he's got a hoard of admirers even though he rejects that he does. And with those admirers, the comments can range from cute and respectful to...downright depraved and shocking most days.

Today, Aang's more confused than horrified by the comments and you count that as a win. So you look through comments, spot the Mr. Clean ones and immediately start laughing.

Aang, pouting, asks, "What? What's so funny? What does that mean?"

When you search up an image of Mr. Clean and show it to him, Aang falls quiet for a good ten minutes, his gaze wistful and searching.

You screenshot one of the comments to make it your lock screen.

The comment reads:

Mr. Clean can GET IT.

[singse]

had a really sad thought the other day about bender!reader whose bending is tied to their life force. so the more they bend, the more minutes, days and years they lose off their life. so they only use their bending for genuine emergencies in order to prolong their life for as long as possible.

when aang finds out about this, he's adamant in you not joining in on missions and if you absolutely have to be there, he's very protective and watchful of you. everyone in the gaang is and won't let you get involved in situations where you need to bend. it gets to a point where it becomes a point of contention for you and the gaang, especially between you and aang because even though you can't freely use your bending, you can still fight.

aang's deepest fear is losing you and he knows that's a very real possibility because you are the type to sacrifice yourself for the greater good and for those you love. and it pains him that he knows he's one of those people you'd give your life for. so he doesn't care how angry it makes you or how it causes a minor rift between you both—as long as you are alive, he'll be fine with being hated by you for the rest of his life.

but a day comes where you're needed for a mission and that mission goes south. the enemy is stronger than anticipated and one by one, your friends start to drop. until it's only aang and he's barely able to hold on, battered and bruised and bleeding but trying so hard to finish this because aang knows what will happen if he fails.

and like out of his dreams and nightmares, you appear with a set look of determination, ready to strike with your bending fired up and aang's deepest fear is coming true.

he's going to lose you.

[issalovescandyclouds]

Toji loves his chronically online wife!

The sound of skin being smacked erupted in the kitchen, followed by a grunt of surprise and a giggle.

“Stop doin’ that shit.” Your husband grumbled, his voice holding no real malice. 

“Not my fault it’s so tempting.” You replied. “Especially when you’re bent down like that…” your voice trailed off, a slight smile on your face as you ogled your husband.

Toji was peacefully looking for something in the fridge when you came over and smacked his ass that was on full display in his sweatpants. He should’ve expected it, really. You always took any chance you got to do it, and that was the perfect moment.

He chuckled, standing up straight. “Y’know, usually a man is the one who does the stuff you do to his wife.” Your husband murmured, pulling you closer by your waist.

“Are you insinuating that you’re my malewife?” You retorted. “I mean, I am the breadwinner here, so it checks out.” The comment earned a scoff behind a knowing smirk. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m your ‘malewife’ or whatever bullshit you see online nowadays.” He teased, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Even throughout all the jokes and random comments, he still loved you. It was something he enjoyed being around.

——————————————————————————

“Babe,” you called out, laying on the couch with your eyes glued to your phone.

Toji didn’t tear his eyes away from the TV displaying some random show he liked, responding with a simple “Hm?” 

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Silence.

What the fuck did you just say?

“… what?” He questioned, slowly turning his head towards you.

You repeated the question.

“No, I heard you. I said ‘what’ because what the fuck does that even mean?” He understood these questions less and less every single day.

You sighed dramatically. “Oh okay, so you hate me and want me to die. Gosh.” 

“I didn’t say that!” He retorted with a laugh, leaning down to lay his body on top of yours without completely crushing you. “I’m gonna put a timer on your screen time.” He threatened.

“No.” You immediately shielded your phone from him. 

This went on for about five minutes before a groan was heard from your stepson.

“Get a room.” He grumbled, heading over to the kitchen.

“This is our house.” Your husband shot back, getting up from the couch before helping you up as well. 

“Are you hungry, Megs?” You asked, following him to the kitchen. Toji followed you as well.

——————————————————————————

Toji stirred in the middle of the night, glancing over at your side of the bed to see you not-so-silently snickering at your phone.

“Hey, why aren’t you asleep?” He rasped, turning over to wrap his arms around you. “Don’t you have work in a few hours?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I needed to use the bathroom and I couldn’t sleep anymore when I came back.”

He rolled his eyes. “Could’ve just woken me up.” He said to you, “c’mon, babe. Put the phone down.”

When you didn’t oblige, he sighed and grabbed your phone from your hands before placing it on his nightstand. “Hey-” you protested.

“Nope.” His arms tightened around your torso and arms, caging you in with your face pressed against his chest. “Sleep.” He demanded.

“I can’t if you’re suffocating me.” You retorted, your voice muffled by his skin. “But I guess I’ll die a happy woman between your pecs.” You teased. 

“Enough.” He lifted your body only slightly so you wouldn’t be smothered. “Just go to bed. Can’t have you fainting at work later.” That earned a sigh from you.

You really just wanted to watch your phone until you eventually fell asleep. “Fine.” You mumbled reluctantly.

——————————————————————————

Toji arrived home from work, surprised that you were already home. You usually got home after he did, but he was happy nonetheless. 

Until he heard you giggling at some random video as you made dinner.

“Oh, God, what are you watching now?” He asked before hearing probably the most insane sentence he’d ever heard in his life.

“WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN IS THAT I’M ‘BOUT TO STRIP ALL MY CLOTHES OFF AS SOON AS I END STREAM, AND I’M GONNA TAKE OFF RUNNING AND I'M GONNA RUN SO FAST MY BUTTCHEEKS ARE GONNA CLAP THE WAY THERE'S GONNA BE TURBULENCE THAT’S GONNA LIFT ME INTO THE AIR AND I'M GONNA BE FLYING IN THE AIR BECAUSE MY BUTTCHEEKS ARE CLAPPING SO FAST TOGETHER THAT IT’S CREATING WIND RESISTANCE AND I FLY OFF INTO SPACE AND I BECOME A NEW PLANET THAT THEY DISCOVER AND THEY’RE GONNA NAME ME ‘SETON B’ OR SOMETHING, THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT’S ‘BOUT TO HAPPEN.”

“What the fuck?” He scoffed, watching you laugh your ass off at whatever some streamer you liked said. “Babe, no, seriously, what the fuck?” He repeated, coming up behind you and turning the video off. 

“Sorry, babe. He’s so funny.” You said, stirring the food.

“I really need to manage your screen time.” He mumbled.

@hypnoticchar

[spideyjimin]

close your eyes (masterlist) | jjk

—  summary: you stopped expecting anything from love a long time ago. four years on your own taught you that much until you crossed paths with jungkook at yoongi’s birthday party. what begins as a chance encounter quickly becomes something real. and now, are you ready to close your eyes and trust him?

—  pairing: jungkook x fem. reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, ceo au, biker au, slow burn, angst, fluff, and smut

— total word count: 50k in total

— author’s note: soo this happened... this started completely naturally, i never expected to write a fanfic this soon, but i've been having so much fun working on it, and i wanted to share it with you all 🥰 i'm still working on it, but as i've been writing a lot the past few days, i already know that by mid-may both parts will be over. jungkook was used as a visual only on the fic, as this had no chosen member at the beginning 🤗 i guess this puts some kind of an end to my hiatus (still not sure though), and i hope you'll enjoy this as much as i'm enjoying writing it ❤️ thank you so so much for your support guys!! means always so so much ❤️

18+ | warnings listed in each part

join the taglist ✨

PART I

⤷ meeting jungkook at yoongi’s birthday was unexpected, but in less than twenty-four hours, he made you feel more alive than you have in years. letting him into your life felt just natural, but that doesn’t mean it’s simple. as you slowly get to know him, you find yourself trusting him more… but should you really? or is he hiding something from you?

PART II

⤷ finding out about his secret from someone else hurts more than expected. you’ve always hated lies, and he knew it, which made it even harder. his intentions were never meant to hurt you; he just wanted to be seen for who he truly is. despite it all, your heart burns for him. you’ve never loved anyone this intensely, but are you truly ready to trust him again?  

[seokbite]

PROCEED WITH CARE ﹒❀ m.yg

─── HANDLE ME WITH CARE ꕤ⠀ՙ When Yoongi stays quiet every time you’re together, never letting a sound or reaction slip, doubt slowly takes root in your mind, leaving you wondering if he even enjoys being with you at all. The insecurity builds until, the next time, you force yourself into something more performative, but Yoongi notices immediately, and what starts as confusion turns into an honest conversation neither of you expected. ✶﹑

🥣 min yoongi x f ! reader ﹐☆ established relationship  ﹐ꕀ miscommunication trope slight angst slight arguing faking an orgasm smut rough sex missionary hickeys grinding hair pulling riding doggystyle ➜﹒minors do not interact

▹ word count ✶﹐11.6k

The room is dim, lit only by the thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the half-drawn curtains. The air feels thick, heavy with the scent of sex and Yoongi’s cologne, something woodsy and cool that always clings to his skin. Your back is pressed into the mattress, sheets already twisted beneath you from how long he’s been moving above you.

Yoongi is buried deep inside you, hips rolling in that slow, deliberate rhythm he always uses when he wants to take his time. Every thrust is precise, angled just right to brush against that spot that usually makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. His hands grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to ground you, but never enough to bruise. He knows your body so well— better than anyone ever has.

It feels good. Of course it feels good. It always does with him.

His cock stretches you perfectly, sliding in and out with a wet, obscene sound that fills the quiet bedroom. Each time he pushes forward, the head drags along your walls, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your core. You can feel the slight tremor in his thighs where they press against the backs of yours, the way his abs tighten against your stomach with every controlled roll of his hips. He’s sweating lightly, a faint sheen glistening on his collarbones and the sharp line of his jaw, but his face… his face stays almost serene.

That’s the part that’s been haunting you lately.

Yoongi is quiet.

Painfully, unnervingly quiet.

While you’re trying to lose yourself in the feeling of him— his thickness, the way he fills you so completely, the heat of his body pressed to yours, you keep getting pulled out of it by the silence. There are no desperate moans spilling from his lips, no broken curses, no rough growls of your name. Just the occasional low grunt when he sinks in particularly deep, or a barely-there groan that vibrates through his chest when his pace picks up for a few strokes. Even his breathing stays measured, controlled, like he’s meditating instead of fucking you senseless.

You bite your lip as another slow thrust drags a real spark of pleasure from you. For a moment, you let your eyes flutter shut and try to focus only on the sensation: the drag, the fullness, the way his pubic bone grinds lightly against your clit with every forward motion. It’s good. So good. Your walls flutter around him involuntarily, and you feel yourself getting wetter, slick sounds growing louder between your bodies.

But then your mind drifts again.

Why doesn’t he make noise? Does it not feel as intense for him as it does for you? Is he holding back because he’s not actually enjoying it that much? Or worse… is he bored?

The thoughts creep in like smoke, curling around the edges of your pleasure and slowly choking it out. Your orgasm, which had been steadily building, starts to slip away. The heat in your belly dulls, turning from a roaring fire into something distant and lukewarm. You clench around him on purpose, trying to chase the feeling back, but it’s already fading.

Yoongi doesn’t falter. His rhythm stays steady, deep, unhurried strokes that should be driving you crazy. One of his hands slides up your side, palm rough and warm as it cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow circles. It sends a shiver through you, but it’s not enough to pull you fully back into your body. Your mind is louder than the pleasure now.

You don’t want him to know.

You don’t want him to stop or pull away or ask what’s wrong. So you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.

You start faking it.

A soft, breathy moan slips past your lips— higher and more theatrical than the ones that usually come naturally. You tilt your head back into the pillow, letting your mouth fall open as you force another moan out, longer this time, letting it tremble at the end like you’re right on the edge. Your hands slide up his back, nails digging in just a little harder than before, and you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts with more exaggerated movements, making sure your body moves like you’re lost in it.

“Oh… fuck, Yoongi,” you whimper, voice pitched just a touch too sweet, too performative. You clench around him again, purposefully this time, and add a little gasp at the end for good measure. “Feels so good…”

Your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now. The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you keep going, layering on more moans and whines, letting your breathing come faster and more ragged than it actually is. You arch your back dramatically, pushing your chest up toward him, and let your eyes squeeze shut as if you’re overwhelmed with pleasure.

Inside, the real pleasure has almost completely slipped away, replaced by a tight knot of anxiety in your stomach. But you keep the act going, hips rolling, moans spilling out one after another, all while Yoongi continues to fuck you in that same devastatingly silent, controlled way.

His skin is hot against yours. His cock still feels perfect inside you. But your mind won’t shut up, and now your body is performing instead of feeling.

You just hope he doesn’t notice. You keep the act going, layering moan after moan as Yoongi’s pace stays steady and deep. Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears— too breathy, too eager, too loud in the quiet room. You tighten around him deliberately with every thrust, rolling your hips up to meet him with exaggerated movements, letting your nails rake down his back a little harder than usual.

“Yoongi… oh god, right there,” you gasp, forcing the words out like they’re being torn from you. Your back arches off the bed in a dramatic curve, breasts pressing against his chest as you whimper and whine, building the performance higher and higher. The real pleasure has long since faded into the background, drowned out by the loud buzzing of insecurity in your head, but you push through, faking the climb with everything you have.

Inside, your stomach twists. You hate this. You hate lying to him like this, but the fear of him realizing how disconnected you feel is worse.

You feel his rhythm falter just slightly— only for a fraction of a second, before he drives in deeper, hips snapping forward one last time. A low, guttural grunt escapes his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as he buries himself to the hilt. His cock pulses inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep as he cums with that single, restrained sound. His body tenses above you, muscles locking up, fingers digging harder into your hips for a moment before he slowly relaxes.

You fake your own release right after him, letting out a long, trembling moan that peaks sharply and then dissolves into shaky little whimpers. Your walls clench around him rhythmically, body shuddering beneath him as if you’re riding out wave after wave. You even let your thighs tremble and your breath hitch dramatically, clutching at his shoulders like you can’t handle how good it feels.

When it’s over, Yoongi stays buried inside you for a few long seconds, breathing steady against your skin. Then he slowly pulls out, the wet slide of his cock leaving you feeling empty and strangely hollow. He presses a soft, almost absent kiss to your collarbone before rolling off you and sitting up on the edge of the bed.

The room feels colder without his weight pressing you down. You stay exactly where you are, flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. The fan above spins lazily, casting faint shifting shadows across the white paint. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are still too fast, but not from pleasure anymore. Cum slowly leaks out of you, warm and sticky against your inner thighs, a reminder of what just happened. Your body feels used in the best physical way and yet emotionally distant, like you watched the whole thing from somewhere outside yourself.

Yoongi stands, the mattress dipping and then rising as his weight leaves. You hear the rustle of fabric as he picks up his discarded boxers and sweatpants from the floor, the soft sound of him stepping into them. He doesn’t say anything. He never really does after sex. The silence that felt intimate before now feels like a weight pressing on your chest.

He pads out of the bedroom barefoot, footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor, heading toward the kitchen. You remain motionless, eyes fixed on that spinning fan, the aftershocks of your faked orgasm leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The sheets beneath you are damp with sweat and slick, clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Your heart is still racing, but it’s anxiety now, not desire.

A few minutes later, you hear the faint clink of a glass and the sound of the faucet running. Yoongi returns, the soft glow from the hallway light outlining his silhouette as he steps back into the room. He’s shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his narrow hips, black hair slightly messy from your fingers earlier. In his hand is a glass of water, condensation already beading on the outside.

He sits on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The glass is cool as he gently presses it into your hand. “Here,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough from disuse. His dark eyes search your face in the dim light. “Drink.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, taking the glass with fingers that feel slightly shaky. The water is cold and refreshing as it slides down your throat, but it does nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. Yoongi watches you quietly, one hand resting on your bare thigh, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin.

When you lower the glass, he asks, voice tentative and softer than usual, “You okay?”

You force a small smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah… of course. It felt really good. You always fuck me so good, Yoongi.”

The lie slips out easily enough, but your voice sounds a little too bright, a little too rehearsed. For a split second, you swear something flickers across his face— those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, lips parting like he might say more. Your heart stutters. He knows. He has to know.

But he doesn’t push.

Instead, Yoongi lets out a slow, quiet sigh, running his fingers through his damp black hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The motion makes the muscles in his arm flex subtly in the low light. He nods once, almost to himself, then swings his legs onto the bed and lies down beside you.

“Come here,” he says gently, reaching for you. You let him pull you against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, one of his arms wrapping securely around your waist. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady and slow beneath your cheek. He smells like sex and sweat and that familiar cologne, and for a moment the closeness makes the ache in your chest ease just a little.

“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness, lips brushing the top of your head.

Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”

He reaches over with his free hand and clicks off the bedside lamp. The room plunges into complete darkness, broken only by the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. Yoongi’s breathing gradually slows, becoming deep and even as sleep claims him. His body relaxes completely against yours, arm heavy and comforting around you.

But sleep doesn’t come for you.

You lie there wide awake, eyes open in the dark, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breaths. The fan continues its lazy spin overhead. Every time you close your eyes, you replay the scene: your fake moans, the way you performed for him, the single low grunt he gave when he came. The insecurity gnaws at you, sharper now in the silence. You feel raw and exposed, even though he’s holding you so tenderly.

Hours seem to pass. The glass of water sits forgotten on the nightstand, condensation pooling beneath it. Your mind races in circles— wondering if he really bought the lie, if he’s truly satisfied, if something is wrong with the way you make him feel. Yoongi sleeps soundly beside you, completely unaware, while you stare at the ceiling again, the weight of your doubts pressing heavier with every passing minute.

The next afternoon, sunlight filters through the large café windows, casting warm golden patches across the wooden table. The scent of fresh coffee and sweet pastries hangs in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversations and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. You’re seated across from Wonyoung in a cozy corner booth, both of you cradling warm lattes in your hands. She looks effortlessly pretty as always, long hair cascading over one shoulder, a soft pink sweater making her glow in the natural light.

You’ve been stirring your drink absentmindedly for the past ten minutes, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug. The conversation started light, but you finally let it spill, the thing that’s been weighing on your chest since last night.

“So… things with Yoongi have been good, really good,” you say, voice quieter than usual. “But… during sex… he’s just so quiet. Like, almost completely silent. I mean, he’ll give a little grunt here and there, or this low groan when he pushes in deeper, and that’s basically it. Even when he cums, it’s just one low sound. Nothing more.”

You take a small sip of your latte, the warmth doing little to ease the knot in your stomach. “It feels amazing physically, he always makes sure I cum, he knows exactly what he’s doing. But I keep getting stuck in my head about it. Last night… I actually started faking it. The moans, the way I moved, everything. I felt so stupid afterward, lying there while he held me and told me he loved me. I couldn’t even sleep.”

Wonyoung’s eyes widen slightly, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing in concern. She sets her mug down and leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “Oh, honey… that sounds really tough. Have you tried talking to him about it?”

You shake your head quickly, fingers tightening around the handle of your mug. “No… I’m scared. What if I don’t like his answer? What if he tells me he doesn’t find me sexy anymore, or that the spark is gone for him? What if he’s just going through the motions because he feels obligated? I don’t think I could handle hearing that.”

Your voice cracks a little on the last part, and you look down at the foam art slowly dissolving in your coffee. The café suddenly feels too bright, too exposed. You can still feel the ghost of Yoongi’s quiet body against yours from last night, the way he fell asleep so easily while you stared at the ceiling for hours.

Wonyoung reaches across the table and gently squeezes your hand. “I get it. That fear is valid. But bottling it up is only going to make it worse. You two are so good together, communication is important, especially about something this intimate. Maybe there’s a reason he’s quiet. Or maybe he doesn’t even realize how much it’s affecting you.”

You nod slowly, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah… maybe. It’s just… Yoongi always been this quiet, from the very beginning. I didn’t really think much of it at first because everything else felt so intense. But then you told me about you and your boyfriend, how vocal he gets, the way he moans your name, how he tells you how good you feel… I don’t know, it made me realize how different it is with Yoongi. I started craving that too. I want to hear him. I want to know I’m making him feel as crazy as he makes me feel.”

Wonyoung gives you a soft, understanding smile, tilting her head slightly. “I remember telling you those stories. And yeah, my boyfriend is loud in bed— it’s hot, it makes me feel desired. But Yoongi… he’s always been a quiet guy overall, right? In everyday life too. He speaks when he has something important to say, but he’s not the type to fill the silence just to fill it. Maybe during sex he’s the same, maybe he just processes pleasure differently. Still… you should talk to him. Even if it’s scary. Tell him how it makes you feel without accusing him. Something like, ‘I love being with you, but I’ve been feeling a little insecure because you’re so quiet, and I want to know if you’re enjoying it as much as I am.’”

You let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping as you trace the rim of your mug with your fingertip. “You’re right… I know you’re right. It’s just terrifying. What if talking about it makes things awkward? Or worse, what if he confirms my fears?”

She squeezes your hand again, her touch warm and reassuring. “And what if he doesn’t? What if he opens up and you both end up even closer because of it? You won’t know until you try. You deserve to feel confident and wanted in every way.”

You manage a small, grateful smile, even though your chest still feels tight with uncertainty. “Thank you for listening. I really needed this.”

The two of you finish your coffees slowly, the conversation drifting to lighter topics— work, a new drama you both started watching, Wonyoung’s latest shopping haul. But your mind keeps circling back to Yoongi, to the quiet of last night, to the conversation you know you probably need to have.

When it’s time to leave, you both stand and gather your things. Outside the café, the spring air is mild and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the nearby park. You pull Wonyoung into a tight hug, breathing in her familiar perfume.

“Thank you again,” you murmur against her shoulder. “For the advice… and for not making me feel crazy.”

She hugs you back just as tightly, rubbing your back gently. “Anytime. Text me later if you need more pep talks, okay? You’ve got this. Just be honest with him.”

You nod as you pull away, offering her one last smile before turning to head home. The walk back feels longer than usual, your steps slow on the sidewalk as the weight of her words settles over you. The sun is warm on your skin, but inside you’re still torn— part of you wanting to listen to her encouragement, the other part terrified of what Yoongi’s answer might be. By the time you reach your apartment door, your heart is already beating a little faster at the thought of seeing him again tonight.

-

That evening, you chicken out completely.

The conversation with Wonyoung plays on repeat in your head the whole walk home, but the moment you step through the apartment door and see Yoongi already there— barefoot in the kitchen, stirring something that smells like garlic and soy sauce, the words die in your throat. He glances up at you with that soft, small smile he reserves mostly for you, black hair falling slightly into his eyes, and your resolve crumbles. Not tonight. You’ll talk to him tomorrow. Or the day after. Just… not right now.

Instead, you both settle into a quiet movie night.

The living room is dimly lit by the glow of the TV screen and a single lamp in the corner. The couch is piled with soft blankets and pillows, the faint scent of buttered popcorn still lingering in the air from the bowl now sitting empty on the coffee table. Yoongi sits in his usual spot, legs stretched out, one arm draped casually around your shoulders as you curl into his side. Your head rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his body warm and solid through the thin black t-shirt he’s wearing.

For a few blissful hours, the sex issue fades into the background.

You laugh together at the ridiculous comedy on screen, his low chuckle vibrating through his chest whenever something genuinely funny happens. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, occasionally brushing through your hair in that absentminded way that always makes you feel safe. You steal glances at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he blinks, the subtle curve of his lips when he smirks at a joke. For once, your mind is quiet. No overthinking. No insecurity. Just the simple comfort of being wrapped up in your boyfriend, the two of you tangled together like you belong there.

As the movie credits start to roll and the second film begins autoplaying, the comfortable haze starts to shift. The room feels cozier now, warmer. The blanket draped over both of you traps heat between your bodies. You become hyper-aware of how close you are, his thigh pressed against yours, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fabric softener on his shirt. Looking up at his face in the flickering light of the TV, something stirs in your chest. His expression is relaxed, peaceful, those dark eyes reflecting the screen. A sudden, sharp wave of want washes over you. You want him. Not just the quiet, controlled version from last night, but something more. You want to climb into his lap, feel his hands on you, lose yourself in him again— but this time without the doubts.

Maybe you were just being paranoid, you tell yourself. Maybe Wonyoung was right and he’s simply a quiet person in every aspect of life. Maybe last night was a fluke, and if you initiate tonight, it’ll be different. Better. You could make him feel good enough that he finally lets go.

The decision settles in your mind, warm and impulsive.

You shift slightly, turning your body toward him. Your lips find the side of his neck first— soft, slow kisses pressed just below his ear, where you know he’s sensitive. His skin is warm, slightly salty from the long day, and you breathe him in as you trail kisses down the column of his throat. One hand slides up under his shirt, palm gliding over the smooth planes of his chest, feeling the faint ridges of muscle and the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Yoongi’s breath catches for just a second. He turns his head toward you, and a small smile tugs at his lips.

But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something off about it, too tight at the corners, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it smooths out. It’s odd, a tiny detail that nags at the back of your mind, but you push it aside. You’re already too far gone in the moment, desire overriding caution.

Encouraged, you let your hand drift lower, sliding down his stomach until your palm presses over the front of his sweatpants. He’s half-hard already, and you rub him slowly through the fabric, feeling him twitch and thicken under your touch. A few firm strokes, your fingers tracing the outline of him as you continue kissing and gently sucking at his neck, leaving faint marks that will probably fade by morning.

For a moment, it feels promising. His body responds, hips shifting ever so slightly under your hand.

Then he moves.

Yoongi lets out a quiet sigh, long and heavy, the kind that carries weight. He sits up straighter, gently but firmly catching your wrist to stop your movements. His other hand runs through his black hair, pushing it back from his forehead, then drags down over his face, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose like he’s suddenly exhausted or stressed. The TV light flickers across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

You pull back, staring up at him in confusion, your hand still hovering where he stopped it. The warmth that had been building in your belly cools rapidly. “Yoongi…?” Your voice comes out softer than you intended, laced with uncertainty.

He doesn’t look at you right away. His gaze is fixed somewhere toward the TV, shoulders slightly slumped. The comfortable cocoon of the movie night suddenly feels fragile, like it could crack at any second. The blanket slips down to your laps as the distance between you grows, even though you’re still sitting right next to each other. Your heart starts to pick up speed, that familiar knot of insecurity creeping back in, stronger than before.

The room is quiet except for the low dialogue still playing from the movie, but the easy laughter from earlier is long gone. The silence stretches between you like a taut string, ready to snap.

Yoongi sits there on the couch, still slightly leaned forward, one hand lingering over his face as if he’s trying to wipe away whatever thought just crossed his mind. The TV continues playing in the background, the low murmur of dialogue and soft soundtrack now feeling intrusive instead of comforting. The air in the living room suddenly feels cooler, heavier. Your heart hammers in your chest, the earlier warmth of desire replaced by a sharp, anxious flutter.

You can’t take the quiet anymore. “Do you… not think I’m sexy?” The question slips out in the middle of the silence, small and fragile, barely louder than a whisper. Your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds.

Yoongi’s head snaps toward you instantly. His dark eyes widen, the relaxed expression from the movie night completely gone. For a second he just stares at you, like the words don’t compute. “What the hell?” he says, voice low but sharp with disbelief. “Why would you even think that?”

The intensity in his gaze makes your stomach twist. You look down at your hands, fingers twisting together in your lap, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. The confession starts pouring out, slow and halting at first, then gaining momentum as the insecurities you’ve been carrying finally break free.

“Because you’re so quiet during sex, Yoongi,” you say, voice trembling slightly. “You barely make any sounds at all. Just… a grunt sometimes, or that one low groan when you cum. That’s it. Nothing else. We never really switch positions much either, you stay on top, controlled, like you’re holding back the whole time. It always feels good physically. Really good. You know exactly what to do and I cum almost every time… but lately I keep getting stuck in my head. I start wondering if there’s something wrong with me. If I’m not doing enough, or if I don’t turn you on the way I used to. If maybe you’re just… going through the motions.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, swallowing hard. The words hang in the air, raw and exposed. You feel stripped bare, sitting there in the dim glow of the TV, the cozy movie night now feeling miles away.

Yoongi lets out a deep, heavy sigh. “Fuck…” he mumbles under his breath, the curse quiet but laced with frustration, not at you, but at the situation. He runs both hands through his hair, messing it up further, then drops them to his lap. For a moment he just sits there, shoulders tense. Then he shifts closer and sits fully beside you again, the couch dipping under his weight. His thigh presses against yours, warm and solid, but he doesn’t reach for you yet. He’s silent for another long second, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, jaw tight. The pause feels endless, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Then he speaks, voice low and careful. “Was that why you faked it last night?”

Your breath catches. You turn to look at him, eyes wide with shock. “You… you knew?”

Yoongi nods slowly, still not quite looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a heaviness in it now. “Yeah. I could tell.” He pauses, swallowing. “I know your body. I know the way you sound when it’s real, the little hitch in your breath, the way your thighs shake, how your voice gets all breathy and broken. That wasn’t it. Not even close.”

He finally turns his head to face you fully, those sharp, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “Why did you do it?”

The question is gentle, but it still lands like a weight. You feel heat rush to your face, a mix of embarrassment and relief that he noticed, that he cared enough to pay attention. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket as you answer, voice barely above a whisper at first.

“Because I go into my head about it… about how silent you are when you’re fucking me. It makes me think I’m not affecting you the way you affect me. That maybe it doesn’t feel as good for you, or that you’re not really lost in it. So last night I just… performed. I faked the moans and the movements because I didn’t want you to know I was doubting. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

The confession leaves you feeling drained, exposed. The room is quieter now, the movie long forgotten in the background. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Yoongi’s presence beside you is steady, but the air between you crackles with everything unsaid.

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, eyes never leaving your face, that deep sigh from earlier still lingering in the way his shoulders remain slightly hunched. Your heart is still racing, cheeks warm with the vulnerability of having finally said it all out loud. You feel raw, like you’ve peeled back a layer of yourself and handed it to him.

Yoongi doesn’t speak right away.

Instead, he leans in slowly, one hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes tenderly over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. Then his lips meet yours in a slow, gentle kiss. It’s soft at first— barely more than a press of warmth, then deepens just enough to feel reassuring. His mouth moves against yours with quiet care, tasting faintly of the popcorn from earlier and the familiar comfort of him. There’s no rush, no demand, just the steady reassurance of his lips and the way his fingers thread lightly into your hair.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, breath mingling warmly between you. His eyes are closed for a moment, silver lashes brushing his cheeks, before they open again, dark and earnest. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, voice low and rough with emotion. The apology settles over you like a warm blanket, sincere and heavy.

He stays close, forehead still pressed to yours, sharing the same air. “You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues, the words coming out quieter than usual, but no less intense. “I’ve never once not been satisfied with you. Not even close. Every single time… you drive me crazy.”

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly. A faint blush creeps across his pale cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears pink. He glances away for a second, toward the darkened TV screen, as if the admission costs him something. His fingers twitch where they rest on your thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to hide.

“I’ve been holding myself back,” he admits, voice dropping even lower, almost shy. “Because… I get embarrassed. I don’t know why exactly, but if I fully let go… if I let myself indulge in you the way I want to… I was scared you wouldn’t like it. That you’d think it was too much. Too loud. Too intense. That it would change how you see me.”

The confession hangs between you, surprising in its honesty. Yoongi, usually so composed, so in control, looks almost vulnerable sitting there with that soft blush and averted gaze. It makes your chest tighten with affection and a rush of heat at the same time. You let out a low, soft laugh, the sound gentle and warm in the quiet room. It’s not mocking; it’s full of fondness and relief. You reach up, gently turning his face back toward you with your fingertips on his jaw.

“Yoongi…” you murmur, smiling softly as you look into his eyes. “You are the hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever been with. Seriously. Nothing about you letting go could ever be ‘too much’ for me. I want it. I want to hear you. I want to feel how much I affect you. All of it.”

You take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining slowly. His palm is warm, slightly calloused from years of playing instruments and producing late into the night. You give it a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“Do you want to try?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper, but full of quiet hope. “Right now?”

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes searching yours. The blush on his cheeks deepens just a fraction, but then he nods— slow, deliberate, decisive. “Yeah,” he breathes. His voice has shifted, gaining a new edge of determination beneath the softness. “I’m going to show you just how much you affect me.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. There’s a promise in them, dark and heated, wrapped in that familiar low tone of his. The air between you thickens instantly, the earlier tension transforming into something electric and anticipatory. Yoongi’s hand tightens around yours, his thumb stroking once over your skin before he leans in again, closer this time, lips hovering just inches from yours.

The living room feels smaller, warmer, the forgotten movie long irrelevant. All that matters now is the way he’s looking at you— like he’s finally allowing himself to unravel, just for you. He leans in and captures your lips again, but this kiss is different from the gentle one moments ago. It starts slow, almost reverent, his mouth moving against yours with deliberate care. Then it deepens. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he tilts his head and kisses you harder, tongue brushing against the seam of your lips, asking for entry.

You open for him instantly.

The kiss turns heavy, hungry. His tongue slides against yours, slow and thorough, tasting you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. A low, barely audible hum vibrates from his chest into your mouth— the first real sound he’s let slip tonight that isn’t guarded. His lips are soft but insistent, sucking gently on your lower lip before diving back in, the wet slide of tongue and shared breath making your head spin.

Your hands come up to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his black t-shirt as you kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in. The earlier insecurity melts away under the heat of his mouth, replaced by a growing ache low in your belly. He kisses like he’s pouring years of restraint into this one moment— deep, consuming, and just a little desperate. Without breaking the kiss, Yoongi leans back against the couch cushions, pulling you with him. You follow eagerly, shifting until you’re sliding into his lap, knees settling on either side of his thighs. The position brings your bodies flush together, your chest pressed to his, the heat of him radiating through his thin shirt. His hands settle on your hips, gripping firmly as he tugs you closer, encouraging you to settle your weight fully on him.

You can already feel him hardening beneath you, the thick length of his cock pressing up against your core through the layers of fabric. It sends a spark of arousal through you, sharp and insistent.

Your fingers slide up into his black hair, threading through the soft strands. At first you just hold on, but as the kiss grows more heated— tongues tangling, breaths coming faster— you tighten your grip and pull. A low, broken groan escapes Yoongi’s throat. The sound is deep and raspy, vibrating against your lips. It’s not the restrained grunt you’re used to, it’s raw, involuntary, and it shoots straight to your core. You tug again, a little harder this time, nails lightly scraping his scalp, and another groan follows, louder this time, his hips twitching up into you instinctively.

“Fuck…” he breathes against your mouth, the curse muffled but unmistakable. His voice is already rougher, lower, the composure cracking. He kisses you even more desperately now, one hand sliding up your back under your shirt, palm hot against your bare skin, while the other stays anchored on your hip, guiding you to rock slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. The friction is delicious, sending little waves of pleasure through you with every grind.

Yoongi’s breathing has grown heavier, no longer perfectly controlled. Each exhale comes with a quiet, shaky sound, half groan, half sigh as you continue to pull at his hair and roll your hips. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, then down to your neck, sucking and biting softly, leaving faint marks that make you shiver.

You can feel the tension in his body, the way his thighs are tight beneath you, the subtle tremor in his hands as he touches you. He’s letting go, piece by piece, and the sounds he’s starting to make— those low, gravelly groans that rumble from deep in his chest are everything you’ve been craving.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen and wet, eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hair is already messy from your fingers, falling into his eyes in a way that makes him look devastatingly attractive. “See what you do to me?” he murmurs, voice husky and strained. Another soft groan slips out when you roll your hips again. “This is just the start, baby.”

You roll your hips again, slower this time, dragging your core along the thick ridge of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction is perfect— hot, teasing, not enough and yet almost too much. A shaky breath leaves Yoongi’s lips, and this time it’s accompanied by a low, rumbling groan that vibrates straight through his chest and into yours. “Shit…” he mutters against your neck, the word barely formed but heavy with need. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in as he guides you into another slow grind. "Feels good."

The praise hits you like a spark. You’ve never heard him talk like this during sex— never heard him say much of anything and it makes heat flood between your legs. You pull harder on his hair, tugging his head back slightly so you can look at his face. His eyes are half-lidded, dark and glossy, lips parted as another quiet groan slips out when you circle your hips just right.

You love it. You love every single sound he’s letting escape. Encouraged, you start moving with more purpose, rolling your hips in deep, deliberate waves, pressing down harder so the seam of your pants rubs right against his length. Each grind makes his cock twitch beneath you, growing fuller and harder until he’s rock-solid and straining against the fabric. The heat of him radiates through the layers, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, slickness starting to soak through your own panties.

Yoongi’s head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long line of his throat. Another groan tears from him— deeper, rougher, this time when you drag your clit along his cock again. “Fuck, baby… keep doing that,” he breathes, voice husky and strained. His usual composure is cracking wider with every roll of your hips. “You’re gonna make me lose it right here.”

You whimper at his words, the sound genuine and needy, and grind down harder, chasing the building pressure. Your hands stay buried in his hair, pulling and tugging in time with your movements, and every little yank draws another sound from him— a low curse, a broken groan, a shaky exhale that sounds almost like a whine. He’s talking more now, the words spilling out between heavy breaths as his restraint unravels.

“You have no idea… how much I want you,” he rasps, hips bucking up to meet your grind. “Every time I’m inside you I have to hold back so I don’t sound like a fucking mess…you feel too good.”

His hands slide up under your shirt, palms hot and greedy as they roam over your bare back, then down to squeeze your ass, pulling you even tighter against him. The new angle makes his clothed cock press right against your clit with every roll, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. You moan softly, real and unrestrained, and Yoongi responds with a deep, guttural sound that makes your walls clench around nothing.

“Yeah… just like that,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “Let me hear you too, baby. Don’t hold back for me.” You grind faster, more desperately, the couch creaking softly beneath you both. The fabric between you is starting to feel like too much, too many layers keeping you from what you really want. Sweat is already beading along Yoongi’s hairline, his hair sticking to his forehead in messy strands. His chest rises and falls quicker now, breaths coming in short, ragged pants punctuated by those beautiful, broken groans every time you drag your hips over him just right.

You lean down and kiss him again, messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding hotly together. He groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hips jerk up involuntarily, chasing more friction. One of his hands leaves your ass to slide between your bodies, pressing firmly over your core through your pants, rubbing in tight circles that match your grinding rhythm. “God, you’re so wet already,” he mutters against your mouth, voice thick with awe and lust. “All this just from grinding on me? Fuck… I did this to you?”

You nod frantically, pulling his hair again as another needy sound escapes him. You’re loving every second of it, the way his voice is getting raspier, the way he’s starting to talk dirty in that low, gravelly tone, the way his usual quiet control is shattering because of you. “Yoongi…” you whine, grinding down hard, “I love hearing you like this. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a groan when you tug his hair particularly hard. His hips buck up sharply, pressing his cock right against your clit. The grinding has turned desperate, both of you breathing hard and chasing friction like you can’t get close enough. Yoongi’s hands are gripping your hips tightly, guiding every roll of your body against his, his cock rock-hard and throbbing beneath you

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and glassy with lust. His voice comes out rough, almost pleading. “Ride me,” he says, the words thick and heavy. “Please, baby… I need you to ride me.”

Your heart stutters. You’ve never ridden him before. Almost every time you’ve had sex it’s been missionary— him on top, controlled and steady, quiet and composed. The idea of being on top, of taking him like this, makes nervous butterflies erupt in your stomach. But the way he’s looking at you, the raw need in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly on your hips… you can’t say no. You nod, voice barely a whisper. “Okay… yeah.”

Relief and hunger flash across his face. Yoongi moves quickly but carefully, helping you peel off your shirt and bra, his hands warm and eager as they slide over your skin. He tugs your pants and panties down your legs, lifting you slightly so he can yank them off completely. You do the same for him, pulling his t-shirt over his head, exposing the lean, toned lines of his chest and stomach, then helping him shove his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip, hard and curving slightly upward.

You’re both completely bare now, skin hot and flushed in the dim light of the living room. Yoongi leans back against the couch again, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock, holding it steady for you. His other hand rests on your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles. You swing one leg over his lap fully, straddling him. Your hands find the back of the couch on either side of his head, gripping the cushions for balance. Slowly, you lower yourself, the head of his cock brushing against your slick folds. You’re so wet from all the grinding that it glides easily at first, but as you start to sink down, the stretch hits you.

Yoongi is big— thicker and longer than you sometimes remember in the heat of the moment. You pause halfway, breathing shakily as you adjust to his size, walls fluttering around him. The fullness is intense, almost overwhelming in this new position. A broken, needy sound escapes Yoongi the moment you start sliding down. “Fuck… oh my god,” he groans, low and guttural, head tipping back against the couch. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, lips parting as another deep moan rumbles from his chest. “You’re so tight… so fucking wet around me.”

He sounds completely gone already— pussy whipped in the best way. The usually quiet, controlled Yoongi is unraveling right beneath you, and you haven’t even taken all of him yet. You sink lower, taking another inch, and his hips twitch up instinctively. “Shit— baby, you feel incredible,” he rasps, voice strained and hoarse. His hands fly to your waist, not pushing, just holding on like he needs the anchor. “So good… taking me so well. Look at you…”

Another long, shaky groan leaves him when you finally bottom out, your ass flush against his thighs, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. His breathing is ragged now, chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel him throbbing deep inside, hot and heavy, stretching you perfectly. “Fuck… I’ve wanted this,” he confesses, the words tumbling out between heavy breaths. “Wanted to see you on top of me like this… wanted to feel you ride me. You’re so sexy, baby. So fucking sexy.”

You stay still for a moment, hands gripping the back of the couch tightly, adjusting to the new angle and the overwhelming fullness. Every little shift of your hips makes him groan again, loud, unrestrained sounds that go straight to your core. Yoongi looks utterly wrecked already: eyes half-lidded and dark with lust, mouth open as more soft, desperate noises fall from his lips.

He’s never been this vocal, never this lost in it, and the sight of him like this— because of you—makes heat coil tight in your belly. You love it. You love how he can’t hold back the sounds anymore, how every tiny movement from you pulls another moan or curse from him. Yoongi’s hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he looks up at you with pure reverence.

“Whenever you’re ready… babe,” he murmurs, voice husky and pleading again. “Please. I need to feel you move.”

You take a shaky breath, hands gripping the back of the couch tighter as you adjust to the deep, full stretch of him inside you. Yoongi’s cock feels even bigger in this position— thick and hot, pressing against every sensitive spot with no escape. The fullness is overwhelming in the best way, sending little sparks of pleasure radiating through your core with every tiny shift of your hips. Slowly, you begin to move.

You rise up carefully, feeling every inch of him drag along your walls as you lift until only the head remains inside you. The stretch when you sink back down is incredible, slow, deliberate, and devastating. You let yourself fall fully onto his cock, taking him to the hilt in one smooth drop. A soft, breathy moan escapes your own lips at the sensation, but it’s nothing compared to the sound that rips from Yoongi. “Fuuuck…” he groans, long and deep, the word breaking at the end. His head falls back against the couch again, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dig into your waist. “Baby… just like that. God, you feel so good sliding down on me.”

The praise makes your stomach flutter. You repeat the motion— rising slowly, savoring the drag, then letting gravity pull you back down, impaling yourself on his thick length. Each time you bottom out, his cock nudges deep inside you, pressing right against that spot that makes your thighs tremble. The wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet living room, mixing with the growing chorus of his sounds.

Yoongi’s hands slide from your waist down to find yours. He laces your fingers together, gripping both of your hands firmly in his. His palms are warm and slightly sweaty, thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands in a grounding rhythm even as his breathing grows more ragged.

You hold onto him like that, hands clasped tightly as you start to find a steady pace. Up and down, rolling your hips in a smooth, sensual rhythm that has pleasure building low in your belly. Every rise lets you feel the thick drag of him leaving you, every fall lets you feel the delicious stretch as he fills you completely again. The angle is perfect; his cock rubs against your front wall with every movement, and when you grind down at the bottom of each stroke, your clit presses against his pubic bone, sending sharp bursts of ecstasy through you. Yoongi’s groans grow louder, less controlled. “Shit… yes,” he rasps, squeezing your hands harder. “Ride me just like that. You’re taking me so deep… fuck, I can feel every inch of you.”

His hips start to buck up gently to meet your downward strokes, not taking over but adding to the rhythm, driving him even deeper. The new pressure makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You both moan together, your sounds mixing with his deeper, rougher ones. He’s completely lost in it now, no longer holding anything back. “Look at you…” he breathes, voice husky and reverent. His eyes are open again, locked on where your bodies connect, watching his cock disappear inside you with every fall.

You squeeze his hands tighter, using the leverage to bounce a little harder, finding a pace that has you both seeing stars. The couch creaks softly beneath you with every movement. Sweat beads on Yoongi’s chest, making his skin glisten in the low light, he looks up at you with dark, blown-out eyes. Every time you sink down, he lets out a broken groan or a whispered curse. “Right there— fuck, baby, right there…” When you rise up slowly, dragging along his length, he whines softly, the sound so needy it makes your walls clench around him. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”

You’re both panting now, the pace steady but building— rising and falling, grinding at the bottom of each stroke, hands clasped tightly together like an anchor. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the stretch and fullness combined with the new freedom of being on top making everything feel more intense. Yoongi’s sounds keep feeding your own arousal, each groan and rasp pushing you closer to the edge. He squeezes your hands again, thumbs stroking desperately over your skin. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep going like this,” he admits, voice strained and raw. “But don’t you dare slow down… I want to feel you fall apart on me first.”

You lean down slightly, lips brushing near his ear as you breathe out, voice soft but teasing, “Just like that, baby?” The words have an immediate effect. Yoongi’s eyes snap open wider, a low, guttural growl rumbling from deep in his chest. The sound is primal, nothing like the quiet grunts you’re used to. His fingers tighten around yours for a second before he suddenly releases your hands. Instead, his palms slide down to grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh with clear intent.

“Fuck yes… just like that,” he growls, voice rough and strained.

Before you can react, he plants his feet on the floor and starts thrusting up into you from below. The change is sudden and powerful— his hips snapping upward hard, driving his cock deep inside you with each powerful stroke. The new pace makes you bounce on his lap, breasts jiggling with every impact. The wet slap of skin against skin grows louder, echoing in the living room as he pounds into you relentlessly. You gasp sharply, hands flying to the back of the couch again for balance as he fucks you from below. Each thrust is deep and precise, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. The stretch feels even more intense now, your walls clenching around him with every forceful plunge.

Emboldened by his reaction, you keep talking, voice breaking with every hard thrust. “How does my pussy feel?” you ask breathlessly, the dirty words spilling out before you can overthink them. “Tell me, Yoongi… does it feel good?”

Another deep, animalistic growl tears from his throat. His grip on your hips tightens almost bruisingly as he pulls you down to meet his upward thrusts, impaling you harder on his cock. The pace turns punishing— fast, deep, desperate. The couch creaks loudly beneath you both from the force of his movements. “So fucking good,” he snarls, voice low and gravelly, eyes locked on yours with raw hunger. “Your pussy is so tight… so wet… sucking me in like it was made for me. Fuck— I’ve never felt anything this good.”

He punctuates his words with sharper thrusts, hips snapping up brutally. Each powerful stroke makes your head spin, pleasure crashing through you in waves. You can feel how deep he is, how perfectly he fills you, the slick sounds growing wetter and messier as you drip around his cock.

Yoongi’s breathing is ragged, mixed with constant growls and broken moans. “Keep talking to me, baby,” he demands, voice hoarse. “Tell me more… I want to hear you.”

You moan loudly, the sound genuine and unrestrained as he continues pounding into you from below. His hands guide your hips to meet his thrusts, the rhythm relentless. Sweat slicks both of your skins, making your bodies slide together hotly. His hair is completely damp now, sticking to his forehead, and his face is flushed with exertion and lust. You ride the wave of his thrusts, letting him take control from below while you still set the angle. “You’re so deep like this,” you gasp, voice trembling. “I can feel you everywhere… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep fucking me like this.”

Yoongi lets out another feral growl, hips stuttering for a moment before he doubles down, thrusting even harder. One of his hands slides from your hip to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you down onto his cock with every upward snap.

“Yeah? You like when I pound into you like this?” he rasps, eyes dark and wild. “My baby talking dirty now… fuck, it’s driving me insane.” The new dynamic has you both spiraling, your words pulling more sounds and filthy confessions from him, his powerful thrusts from below making stars explode behind your eyes. The pleasure is building fast and intense, your walls fluttering around his thick length with every brutal stroke. Yoongi looks completely lost in you, growling and groaning with every thrust, no longer holding back even a single sound.

Yoongi’s grip on your ass is bruising as he uses it for leverage, pulling you down onto his cock with every powerful upward thrust. He’s pounding into you from below with relentless force now, hips snapping up hard and fast, driving his thick length deep inside you over and over. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fills the living room, mixing with his low, animalistic growls and your broken moans.

One of his hands stays firmly on your ass, squeezing and spreading you as he fucks up into you, while the other slides up your back, fingers digging into your skin. Every brutal stroke hits that perfect spot inside you, the angle making his cock rub against your front wall relentlessly. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, winding like a spring ready to snap. “Yoongi—fuck, I’m—” Your voice breaks as the orgasm crashes over you without warning.

Your entire body jolts violently on top of him. Your walls clamp down hard around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as waves of intense pleasure rip through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, toes curling, back arching sharply as you cry out. Bright sparks explode behind your eyelids. You grind down desperately against him, riding out every pulse, your slickness gushing around his length as you cum hard on his cock.

Yoongi groans loudly at the feeling, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrates through his chest, but he doesn’t let himself follow you over the edge. His thrusts slow just enough to help you ride it out, but his cock stays rock-hard and throbbing inside you, denying his own release.

The moment your shaking starts to ease, he moves.

In one swift, fluid motion, Yoongi pulls out of you, leaving you feeling devastatingly empty. You barely have time to whimper at the loss before he’s manhandling you with surprising strength. He flips you over the arm of the couch, bending you forward so your chest and stomach press against the soft cushions while your ass is raised high for him. Your knees sink into the seat, legs spread wide.

You gasp sharply as he grabs both of your arms, pulling them behind your back and pinning them there with one strong hand. The position leaves you completely exposed and at his mercy, breasts squished against the couch, cheek resting on the cushion.

Yoongi doesn’t give you a second to adjust.

He slams back into you in one hard, deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt in your still-spasming pussy. The new angle is even deeper, stretching you wide and making your eyes roll back. A loud, broken moan tears from your throat at the sudden fullness. Then he starts fucking you hard and fast. His hips snap forward with brutal precision, pounding into you from behind like he’s lost all control. The sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass is loud and obscene, echoing through the room. Each powerful thrust rocks your entire body forward, the arm of the couch digging into your stomach as he rails you relentlessly.

“Fuck— yes,” he growls, voice rough and feral. His free hand grips your hip tightly, using it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with every stroke. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Me losing control… fucking you like this.”

You love it. You love every second of it.

The way he has your arms pinned behind your back makes you feel deliciously helpless, completely owned by him. Every hard thrust sends fresh sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your sensitive walls still fluttering from your orgasm. The new position hits even deeper, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You’re moaning loudly, unrestrained, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts as much as you can in this trapped position.

Yoongi’s sounds are constant now— deep, guttural growls, broken groans, and filthy words spilling from his lips with every slam of his hips. “God, your pussy is gripping me so tight,” he rasps, pounding harder. “So fucking wet… you came so hard on me and you’re still this greedy for more?”

He leans over you, chest pressing against your back, lips brushing your ear as he fucks you even faster, building another orgasm dangerously quickly. You’re trembling, moaning into the cushion, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure of being taken so roughly, so desperately by him. Yoongi’s pace never falters— hard, fast, deep, his hand keeping your arms securely pinned while he claims you completely.

Yoongi is fucking you so hard that the entire couch shifts beneath you with every brutal thrust.

Your arms are still pinned behind your back by his strong grip, your body bent helplessly over the arm of the couch as he rails into you from behind. Each powerful snap of his hips drives his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin echoing loudly in the room. Your pussy is soaked, fluttering and clenching around him with every stroke, still sensitive from your first orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure has tipped over into something almost too intense — your moans have turned into broken sobs, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body jolts forward with every thrust.

“Fuck… you’re taking me so well,” Yoongi growls, voice rough and strained, but he doesn’t slow down. His hips piston into you relentlessly, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Look at you… sobbing on my cock. So fucking pretty.”

He leans closer, chest pressed hot against your back, lips brushing your ear as he keeps pounding into you. “Tell me, baby… whose pussy is this?”

You can barely form words through the sobs and moans tearing from your throat. Every hard thrust knocks the breath out of you, making your voice come out shaky and wrecked. “It’s yours,” you sob, the words breaking apart. “It’s yours… only yours, Yoongi— ahh!”

The moment the confession leaves your lips, his free hand comes down hard on your ass in a sharp smack. The sting blooms hot across your skin, making you cry out louder. He doesn’t stop there, smack after smack lands on your ass, alternating cheeks, each one timed perfectly with a deep thrust. The pain mixes deliciously with the pleasure, sending sparks shooting straight to your core.

Your ass burns under his palm, but you push back against him desperately, craving more. You’re losing yourself completely— mind hazy, body trembling, tears streaming down your face as he claims you so thoroughly. Yoongi growls in approval, landing one particularly hard smack that makes your whole body jolt. “That’s right. This pussy is mine. Only mine. No one else gets to feel how tight and wet you get.”

Then he releases your arms only to slide his hand up and fist tightly into your hair. He yanks your head back firmly, arching your back deeper as he slams into you over and over and over. The angle is devastating — his cock drives even deeper, pounding that sensitive spot with brutal precision. The pull on your scalp sends fresh waves of pleasure-pain through you, making your sobs turn into high, broken whimpers.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he snarls, hips snapping relentlessly. “Take it. Take every fucking inch.”

You’re completely lost now, body shaking violently as another orgasm builds fast and unstoppable. Your walls flutter wildly around his cock, clenching down hard as the pleasure crests.

“I’m— I’m cumming— Yoongi!” you sob loudly, the words dissolving into a broken cry.

Your second orgasm hits you even harder than the first. Your entire body convulses, pussy spasming and gushing around his thick length as waves of intense ecstasy crash through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, vision blurring with tears, sobs tearing from your throat as you cum hard on his cock, soaking him and the couch beneath you.

Yoongi follows right behind you.

A deep, trembling groan rips from his chest as his hips stutter. He slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard, thick ropes of hot cum spilling deep inside you. His whole body trembles against your back, muscles locking up as he pulses and fills you completely. Low, broken sounds keep falling from his lips— raw, unrestrained groans and shaky curses as he rides out his orgasm, hips grinding shallowly against your ass to push every last drop into you.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your combined heavy breathing and soft, lingering whimpers. Yoongi’s grip on your hair loosens gently, his hand sliding down to stroke your back soothingly even as his cock continues to twitch inside you. His body is still trembling slightly against yours, sweat-slicked chest pressed to your back, heart hammering wildly.

He stays buried deep, both of you panting and shaking in the aftermath, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy and electric in the air. His chest is still pressed to your back, heart pounding wildly against your skin. Then, slowly and carefully, he pulls out of you with a wet, slick sound. A soft whimper escapes your lips at the sudden emptiness and the gush of his cum that immediately starts leaking down your thighs.

Your body gives out completely.

You slump forward against the arm of the couch, completely spent, limbs heavy and boneless. Your cheek presses into the soft cushion, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Every muscle feels deliciously used— your thighs still quivering, your ass warm and stinging from his smacks, your pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of two intense orgasms. Tears of overwhelming pleasure still cling to your lashes, and your breathing comes in shaky, ragged gasps.

You hear Yoongi move behind you, his footsteps soft on the floor. He disappears for a moment, then returns with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, almost reverently, he cleans you up — wiping away the mess of your combined releases from between your thighs, along your folds, and down your legs with careful strokes. His touch is soothing now, completely different from the rough way he’d handled you just minutes ago. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your overheated skin.

When he’s done, he helps you shift off the arm of the couch and onto the cushions properly. You curl onto your side, still breathing hard, body limp and glowing. Yoongi grabs the glass of water from earlier (the one that had been forgotten on the coffee table) and refills it in the kitchen before coming back. He sits on the edge of the couch and carefully helps you sit up just enough to take a few slow sips. The cool water slides down your throat, soothing and refreshing.

You look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he sets the glass aside. Yoongi’s hair is a complete mess, damp strands sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are still flushed, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, but his expression has softened completely— those sharp eyes now warm and full of affection as he looks at you. “That was…” you start, voice hoarse and wrecked from all the moaning and sobbing. You swallow, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

Yoongi lets out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound low and warm. He leans down and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally to your lips— slow, gentle, and full of love. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the last traces of tears. “Yeah,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice still a little raspy. “Me too, baby. Best I’ve ever had. Hands down.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time but still so tender, lips moving softly against yours like he’s pouring every ounce of his feelings into it. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a moment as he savors the closeness.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words quiet but heavy with meaning. “So much. And I’m sorry I held back for so long. I never want you to doubt how crazy you make me… how much you affect me.”

You smile tiredly, reaching up to thread your fingers through his messy hair. “I love you too. And I’m glad you finally let go. It was… everything.” Yoongi hums softly in agreement, shifting so he can lie down on the couch and pull you into his arms. He tucks you against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while his other hand strokes slow, soothing patterns up and down your back. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady beneath your ear now that the intensity has faded.

The living room is quiet again, the TV long forgotten, only the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint hum of the apartment filling the space. You feel safe, cherished, and thoroughly satisfied— the earlier insecurities completely washed away by the way he just proved exactly how much you mean to him. Yoongi presses another soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you close as you both come down together, bodies tangled and hearts even closer.

perm taglist ﹐ → @merakoo @rpwprpwprpwprw @littlejeanskirt @mikrokookiex

[hamburgerndsprite]

Sprite's Favourite Fics {Min Yoongi Fics} Masterlist

Note: well... I kind of disappeared for a while, but I’m finally back again 😭 Before I vanished, I started making member-specific fic rec versions because I realized my original masterlists were getting a little too long and hard to search through. The fics in the older masterlists and these reblogged versions are the same! This is mostly just a different way of organizing everything, so hopefully it’s easier to find specific tropes, genres, or aus without digging through super long lists ♡ this is Yoongi’s version <3 I’ve already finished the OT7 and Jin versions, which I’ll link below along with my older masterlists in case anyone wants to check those out too: ↠ OLD MASTERLIST ↠ OT7 masterlist ↠ Seokjin's masterlist ↠ Namjoon's Masterlist ↠ Hoseok's Masterlist ↠ Jimin's Masterlist ↠ Taehyung's Masterlist ↠ Jungkook's Masterlist I’ll slowly keep working on the rest whenever I can, but for now, I hope you find something fun to read here 🩷

✦ TYPE

• Series • One-shot • Two-shot • Drabble

✦ RELATIONSHIPS

• Friends to Lovers • Enemies to Lovers • Strangers to Lovers • Established Relationship • Friends with Benefits to Lovers • Soulmates • Exes to Lovers

✦ AU / SETTINGS

• College AU • Hybrid AU • Royalty AU • Idol AU • Fantasy AU • Office AU • Social Media AU • Sports AU • Mafia AU • Dad AU • Racer AU • Model AU • Ghost AU • Cafe AU • Infidelity AU • Arranged Marriage AU

✦ GENRES

• Angst • Fluff • Smut • Crack • Slow burn

✦ TYPE

• Oneshot • Drabble

✦ RELATIONSHIPS

• Established Relationship • Exes to Lovers • Strangers to Lovers

✦ AU / SETTINGS

• Assassin AU • College AU • Hybrid AU

✦ GENRES

• Smut • Fluff • Angst • Crack

[ziyuanyuan1113]

If Shoko and Gojo had noticed Geto spiralling.

Sort of a rough continuation of the previous set of drawings on what would have happened had Geto called them.

[sketchedasclepion]

FUCCKCKKKKKKK

[yuucide]

:: ꒰ my favourite fics from jan - june⠀੭ ֹ. mdni

⠀⠀۫ ⊹ series/oneshots 命

𝒞　˳　 CRAVE ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀@yenayaps ⠀ ⠀ ➼ ⠀ceo gojo will never get old, and the way yena writes him in this fanfic had me drooling like a waterfall from both lips, and he's a soft yan!jo ooo 　⏖ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀︶⠀⠀link⠀ ݁⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓂂　

𝒞　˳　 academic misconduct ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀@nanamisbbygirl ⠀ ⠀ ➼ ⠀I don't like the gojo twins but guys TRSUT ME when I say this fanfic changes lives, I love Satoru Gojo, go support this fanfic now I need the next chapter bruh 　⏖ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀︶⠀⠀link⠀ ݁⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓂂　

𝒞　˳　 tokyo drift ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀@neossence ⠀ ⠀ ➼ ⠀ jjk men in illegal street racing does something to me... also THE SUGURU GETO PART? HAD ME SPREADING MY LEGS LIKE YES PAPIIII　⏖ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀︶⠀⠀link⠀ ݁⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓂂　

𝒞　˳　 read reciepts ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀@sxtellary ⠀ ⠀ ➼ ⠀bro... this is THE BEST FANFICTION IVE EVER READ. I'm not joking or exaggerating, this one had Yandere!gojo and psychopath!gojo and it's literally so peak, trust me when I say you won't regret reading this, JUST TRYYYY 　⏖ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀︶⠀⠀link⠀ ݁⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓂂　

𝒞　˳　 rumor has it ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀@tojicide ⠀ ⠀ ➼ ⠀VICKIE YOU'VE DONE IT AGAIN *dusts off hands* ladies and gentlemen, may I show you all one of the most well written richboy!gojo fics of this year. Academy award. I also got sad at the sukuna part because he's hot but wtv 　⏖ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀︶⠀⠀link⠀ ݁⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓂂　

𝒞　˳　 business or pleasure? ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀@yailuxe ⠀ ⠀ ➼ ⠀I read this fic half asleep after one of my tests and needless to say that nanami kento got a few rubbed out of me that night, the tension written into this fic is INSANEEE omg must read 　⏖ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀︶⠀⠀link⠀ ݁⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓂂　

𝒞　˳　 Venus as a boy ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀@satofuu ⠀ ⠀ ➼ ⠀ NERDJO NERD JO NERDJO NERDJO NERDJO NERDJO NERDJO NERDJO NERDJO NERDJO NERDJO NERDJO NERDJO　⏖ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀︶⠀⠀link⠀ ݁⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓂂　

𝒞　˳　 frat bro turned dad of the year ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀@meowharaga ⠀ ⠀ ➼ ⠀ I read the first chapter a few weeks ago and I was HOOKED, they way this person writes sukuna in a modern au is so spot on and im BUZZINGGGG for the next update omfg　⏖ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀︶⠀⠀link⠀ ݁⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓂂　

⠀⠀ ۫ ⊹ drabbles 命

◟ ͜ , . suguru taking care of ur holes. ◜ ˚𝄞 @slvttyplums 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . chef sukuna ◜ ˚𝄞 @sunasbon 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . sitting on nerdjo's lap. ◜ ˚𝄞 @loreshonour 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . husband!nanami. ◜ ˚𝄞 @gojosteddy 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . suguru teases you & drives. ◜ ˚𝄞 @st4rlightisa 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . toji realises his feelings for u. ◜ ˚𝄞 @satoruined 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . taking care of sick sukuna ◜ ˚𝄞 @kmrbii 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . toji suffers from success. ◜ ˚𝄞 @serpenttine 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . sukuna says no more birthing ◜ ˚𝄞 @fre4krena 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . suguru sleeping on ur tits ◜ ˚𝄞 @polaroidsex 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . birthday sex with toji ◜ ˚𝄞 @tojislittleslutt 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . satoru gives ultrasound ◜ ˚𝄞 @iamsoclone 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . marriage sex w/ gojo ◜ ˚𝄞 @fricks 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . nerdjo fucking his pretty tutee ◜ ˚𝄞 @ryoride 𓈒

◟ ͜ , . telling gojo you want his babies ◜ ˚𝄞 @satoyesha 𓈒

𑣲 send ask if you want different fic recommendations, or if you want your fic to be promoted !!!! ︵ Ꮺ

[kkunai]

SINCERELY YOURS ˓˓  SATORU G.

[𝝑𝑒] ⠀::⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your boyfriend buys you a pretty golden necklace with his initials, not knowing it’ll only intensify the urge to claim you as his.

tags. olderbf!gojo satoru x gf!reader. smut, pwp. age gap (reader early 20’s, gojo early 30’s). possessive. breēding kink; crēampies. pregnancy kink? reader gets called ‘baby, sweetheart, mama’ :: wc. 1.7k :: ac. @/3-aem

“look at that, baby,” satoru coos as he watches the golden necklace bounce around your collarbone with each wet thrust. it’s a 24k gold necklace he bought just today, with his initials on it. a pretty damn expensive purchase.

something inside him stirred the moment he put it on you. satoru couldn’t help himself from pinning you to the couch and claiming you as his own for the nth time. it doesn’t matter how many times he fucks you; it’s never enough.

the letters ‘sg’ are shimmering under the light of the living room. he’s grinning from ear to ear, nearly cumming from the sight of you wearing that necklace alone. it’s a sign of possession to him.

you’re his—you’re only his. he’s the only one who can touch you like this.

“shit, ‘t makes me wanna put a ring on it,” satoru hisses, one of his hands pressing down on your lower tummy.

you gasp and clutch at his broad back, nails digging into his flesh quite painfully.

“i think i’d engrave my initials on the inside of the ring too, what do ya think?”

each word is punctuated with a thrust. his hips are non-stop ramming into yours, claiming even the deepest spots of your body beneath him. he leans down to trail kisses down your sensitive neck, eliciting a couple whines from your lips.

“d’y wanna get married, sweetheart?”

the sudden proposal takes you off guard. you can’t believe satoru would ask such a thing while being balls deep inside you. you’re blabbering nonsense, your voice muffled due to the saliva building up in your mouth.

“m— married? babe, are you ser-” your question is left unanswered as your boyfriend kisses your plump lips.

satoru switches to a slow and gentle pace, grinding into your needy cunt until it leaves you shaking. his fingers play with the golden jewelry around your neck.

a necklace will do. as long as you’ll wear that accessory from this day forward, he’ll be satisfied. the urge to make you his forever partner could be satiated. for now, that is.

he knows you still have a bright future ahead of you, like getting your degree and first ever proper job.

“let’s have you finish university first, yeah?” satoru smiles down at you after detaching his lips from yours.

he watches the string of saliva hang between your mouths, giving a short hum once it snaps. his big hand slithers down to cup your breast and knead it, kissing your nipple whilst holding eye contact, “i can wait for you.”

satoru sighs as he rolls his tongue around your hardened nipple. he’s drooling over your breasts, a drunken glint in his eyes. he’s so obsessed with you to the point that he’d marry you right now if he could. that proposal wasn’t really a joke—but he figured that it also wasn’t the smartest.

he’ll give you a proper and serious proposal one day. though, now you know for sure that he’s gotten into this relationship with the thought of actually marrying you.

“but i also—fuck—can’t wait,” satoru whines, feeling your walls clamp down on his thick cock.

his dick is pulsing with need, exploring your squishy insides while his balls prepare to release all semen stored right into your fertile womb. even if you may take a pill to get rid of any unwanted consequences, the thought of seeing your tummy swell with his child is making the older man go insane.

satoru buries his face between your breasts and breathes heavily against your sweaty skin. his hips move with renewed vigour, his energy never depleting when it comes to pleasuring you, “wanna make you my wife ‘n breed this pretty pussy.”

you moan repeatedly, unable to stop yourself. especially after satoru frantically spews such lewd words. he’s getting lost in your cunt and the way it’s swallowing him in—into your pretty pussy that he owns. his pussy.

“wanna be your wife so bad, ‘toru,” you hiccup, nearly crying from the intense pleasure.

you’d love to be satoru’s wife. he already treats you so well while you’re his girlfriend, you can’t imagine how much better it’s going to get once you’re officially his. your stomach fills with butterflies at the thought of being able to call him your husband.

the white-haired man chuckles. his blue eyes stare down at you with nothing but love, “yeah? mh, i’ll treat you so well every single day. g’nna come home to you ‘nd give you some proper loving.”

satoru can already imagine it. coming home to you after a long day of work, needing a quick release. seeing you greet him at the door will send him into a frenzy. especially if you’re wearing an apron—he’s a sucker for domestic stuff.

you, his wife, taking care of him after a rough day at work. . . it’s a dream come true. he’ll spoil you with materialistic gifts and his unending love so you’ll live a happy life.

and don’t get him started on kids.

satoru ruts into you like his life depends on it, the hypnotising rhythm of your boobs jiggling in circles is making him drool. having a little family with you is his end goal. you’ll be such a good mother and he’ll be such an amazing dad; a perfect combination.

satoru can already picture the amount of times he’ll dump his cum inside of you, without any restrictions. without you taking a pill or him wrapping a condom around his dick. his libido is going to be at an all time high when the time comes.

even if he ages a bit, he’s sure that he’s going to be able to have sex with you non stop. you get him hard without fail every single time. you’re his everything—the apple of his eyes.

satoru nearly chokes on his own saliva. he pushes his cock in to the base, burying it as deep as possible. your fingers curl around the pillow you’re holding for support, your eyes rolling back. his pink tip hit the right spot. that sweet spot that makes you cum without fail.

satoru bites his bottom lip. the way he’s looking at you, with a possessive kind of love and lust, is simply too much. his oceanic eyes are glimmering with need. erotic images flash through his mind of him impregnating you, “going to put a baby into you as soon as you’re ready.”

your tummy fills with butterflies. the way he’s talking to you like you’re already a married couple is making your pussy even wetter than it already is. it’s like it’s begging satoru to give it to you already—to make it store all his cum.

his eyes roll back as he leans his forehead against your shoulder. he has to hold himself back from cumming too soon. he wants to cherish every second spent inside of your warm body.

satoru attaches his lips to your breasts again, “mhhh, y’re gonna look so beautiful pregnant, mama. those tits of yours. . .”

his voice is barely audible because he’s busy sucking on your nipples. your boyfriend is imagining the pair growing with each semester, filling out perfectly to store milk for the baby.

satoru cannot wait to be the reason why your body will change so much. you’ll be even prettier than you already are, that he can tell already. he’s going to give you gifts every day, to thank you for carrying his child. he’s going to spoil you rotten because you deserve it and so much more.

he can’t wait for the married life with you. many men dread that life, but that’s not the case with satoru. every day of his married life will be spent with his wife—you—and the honeymoon phase will never end. ever.

satoru’s cock is twitching and begging for the much needed release. he pounds you into the couch until you’re screaming in pleasure, feeling him so deep inside you. he’s so big, he’s stretching you out so well to the point of no return.

the older man grins at the sight of your already fucked out face, “y’r cunt is gonna be so swollen because of how much i’ll pleasure her—paint her all white with my cum.”

satoru’s nasty words are causing unspeakable things to your body. you’re on the brink of reaching that euphoric state. the dirty talk is too much to handle at this point. your limbs are tingling and your cunt is aching to be stuffed full of his hot semen.

“s-satoru, don’t say such stuff,” you comment in a shaky breath.

your head is spinning and your hands desperately reach out to hold onto his shoulders, squeezing the skin. your hips are bucking up lightly, your clit bumping against satoru’s pelvic area with each thrust, “i’m gonna cum if you keep saying that.”

your lover’s grin widens even more. he knows you enjoy it when he whispers such dirty stuff in your ear. that’s mainly the reason why he does it. he’s talked you through multiple orgasms before—it’s quite easy to do so with his husky voice and manly touch.

“that’s fine, baby,” satoru coos and leaves one last, sloppy kiss on your nipple before leaning in to attach his lips to yours. his tongue swirls around yours as you share your spit, the mixture trickling down your chins.

his hips don’t stop. he positions his lower body in an angle that gets you screaming for mercy, which he won’t do. he craves to ruin you on his cock, to see you melt with pleasure underneath him.

“make a mess on my dick while i make a mess inside of you,” satoru encourages you which seals the deal.

your body shakes as you feel the waves of pleasure run through your system. you can feel hot ropes of cum nestle deep inside of your cunt. your boyfriend shudders at the sensation and helps you ride your climax out.

he pushes in and back out a few times, lazily, his finger finding your clit to rub until you’ve calmed down. “good girl. y’ took all of it, hm? lovely,” satoru nearly collapses on top of you after the energy leaves his body, careful not to crush you underneath his weight.

he doesn’t bother to pull out. he keeps his cum plugged into you—relishing the moment of ecstasy. even if he can’t fully breed you now, he’ll wait until the day he can.

“i love you, wifey,” satoru kisses your temple, tiredly giggling at the nickname he gave you. in his mind, you are already his one and only woman.

his wife and partner for life.

[its-luna-noel]

the sun will set for you | gojo x reader

summary: when satoru is released from the prison realm, his top priority is getting home to you. but his time sealed away proves to you both that no future is promised, even to the strongest. after a secret ceremony far away from jujutsu society, the two of you enjoy this small moment of forever in each other's arms.

contents: 18+ MDNI, honeymoon smut!, foreplay, oral (f! receiving), multiple orgasms, squirting, mutual body worship, missionary into mating press, inappropriate use of RCT, breeding, creampie, talks of pregnancy, implied angst, implied spoilers for the end of jjk

word count: 7.3k

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hello! this fic is for @nitroheart's event rei-dio frequencies, based on the lyrics "sometimes beginnings aren't so simple; sometimes goodbye's the only way" from "shadow of the day" by linkin park. i hope you enjoy! <3

The honeymoon suite is decorated with red rose petals and the sounds of your breathless giggles as Satoru guides you slowly backwards towards the bed.

"Honey," he mumbles against your neck, the words muffled against your skin as he presses obnoxiously noisy kisses all over your face and neck. "Baby. Love of my life." His large hands settle at your hips, pulling your body further into his as he continues to lead you backwards with sure, confident steps. "I'm trying to love on you here. You know," he nips playfully at the corner of your jaw, and you can feel his immutable smile as he speaks, "me, your beloved husband. And you're kind of stomping all over my pride here, laughing while I'm trying to seduce you."

You just giggle again, tipping your head back to offer up more of the canvas of your neck. You know you should be taking this more seriously — there's unimaginable darkness hanging over both your heads at every turn. But you just got married, and he's kissing all over you and it tickles just a little and his voice is in your ear and his hands are on your body and he's back.

After nineteen days of hell, he's back.

You let out a happy hum, your eyes fluttering closed as his kisses move down the curve of your neck towards your shoulder. His mouth is warm, his hands are warm, his chest is warm against yours. He's warm, and he's here, and so solid against you that you finally allow yourself to soften against him once more.

"Wasn't today so beautiful?" you breathe as your head drops just a bit further, your back arched like a dancer's into his body. He lets out an appreciative hum, mirroring yours, fingers curling tighter into the white lacy fabric at your hips.

"You kidding?" he says, and his kisses start to slow. His tongue brushes against your pulse just enough to send a shiver through you. "It was perfect. Fucking perfect." His fingers dig a little deeper into your plush hips, forcing your body to curve more sensually against his. "You looked so beautiful. Always do, but fuck, something about you wearing this dress, wearing my ring…" He lets out a playful little growl and starts up another barrage of kisses.

And you just laugh, and you close your eyes, smiling so broadly that your cheeks ache, and you remember what it's like to be loved by him so wholly and completely.

As he makes his way down your neck, his tongue now joining his lips as he licks a line of heat up the curve of your throat towards your ear. A delicious shiver runs up your spine, desire pooling deep in your pelvis as his breath fans across your cheek. He nips at your jaw again, but this time it's not so playful; it's a graze of teeth meant to make your breath hitch.

Which it does.

You can feel his grin — taunting, now, predatory — against your skin as his hands finally start to roam. It starts with him gently circling your hip bones through your dress. Then his hands move up, one following the curve of your spine and the other tracing up your belly and chest. His palm passes purposefully over one of your breasts but doesn't linger, instead moving to cradle the side of your neck.

Then, finally, he raises his lips to yours. And this kiss is ravenous.

It's all tongue and teeth, like he's devouring you, tasting every inch he can reach because for so long he was trapped without even the faintest memory of you. He had to keep his mind clear, after all, so he couldn't think about your taste, about your body beneath his hands, against his chest, under him while he—

He has to pull away to take a ragged breath so he doesn't push you face-first into the mattress, pull your panties aside, and fuck you into oblivion.

Because this is supposed to be the start of forever, and he wants to do it right.

He wanted to do all of it right. He always promised you a grand wedding, with as many guests as you wanted and no holds barred. He wanted to give you everything: the flowers, the wedding gown, the fancy venue, the overpriced food and an open bar and the best photographer he could find to capture the whole thing on camera.

He always promised you everything.

And then he got sealed.

He never doubted he'd get out. Not really. He spent the whole time honing his technique even further, wiped away every memory of you and anything else he'd lost just to stay sane.

Just to survive.

He never doubted he'd get out, but he knew that you were starting to wonder.

He knew it was hard not to. You trusted him, had the utmost faith in him, but as days passed without him, you couldn't help but fear the worst.

How were you supposed to live the rest of your life — a life you'd planned to live alongside him — all alone?

So when he was finally released, he came home to you as quickly as he could. He didn't knock on the front door of your shared home; he teleported straight inside, and when you turned around from making yet another microwave meal, you dropped the shitty pasta that tasted like the plastic it came in onto the kitchen floor with a splatter of red sauce.

Neither of you stopped to take in the wreckage before you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your limbs tightly around him to keep him from disappearing again.

You planned the wedding in secret. The two of you snuck away in between grueling strategy sessions, and you bought a cheap white cocktail dress with just enough lace to look like a bride, and you made Ijichi take five minutes to get ordained online.

He pronounced the two of you husband and wife, and Satoru kissed you like he still expected forever.

It wasn't the wedding he promised. It wasn't the wedding either of you dreamed of. But you couldn't stop smiling when he kissed you for the first time as your husband.

Then he reserved the most expensive honeymoon suite in town, for one single night. Just enough to celebrate your first night married before he has to leave.

Because both of you know he has to. It's never been a doubt that when a world-ending threat presented itself, Satoru would have to go.

He'd have to face it, and ultimately, he would be alone when he did.

But, at least for now, he's got you here with him.

He lets out a shaky breath as he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, letting his eyes close as he tries to slow down. He wants to cherish this moment. Wants to be able to hold this memory in his mind when he faces Sukuna — the curse inside the body of the boy he raised — and fight like he isn't terrified to end Megumi's life, too.

He wants to take you with him, even if it's only in the back of his mind and the ring on his finger.

You raise a hand, gentle as always, cradling his cheek in your palm like he's fragile. He lets out a small little huff, because you're the only one who treats him like that, like he's a treasure beyond mortal value.

"You okay?" you whisper, and when he opens his eyes again, he sees you looking up at him with equal amounts of tenderness and concern in your eyes. Your brows pinch together a little in the middle in the way he loves so much, because it means you care about him enough to worry.

At the sight, his lips curl up just a little at the corners, and he turns his head just enough to press a lingering kiss to your palm, so meaningful it makes your heart ache in the sweetest way. But the smile doesn't quite touch his eyes. After all this time, you can tell.

"Yeah," he whispers back, his lips brushing against your palm, and he looks at you with those eyes of cracked quartz, and you can see that flash of vulnerability there before he schools his expression back into that playful joy he always exudes when he's with you. "I'm perfect. Actually…" His fingers start to roam once more, dipping beneath lace as he puts on that familiar wolfish smile and lowers his voice, "I'm really eager to fuck my wife. That okay with you?"

You can't help it; you let out a breathy little laugh, eyes sparkling up at him as you allow him to skirt the question. You let him pull you into his chest once more, and he's looking down at you like he wants to eat you up and lick the plate clean, and you feel equal parts prey and beloved under his heated gaze. "You can't be a little more romantic?" you tease, though you don't really mean the complaint. You love when he tells you exactly what he wants to do with (to) you; it makes anticipation clench low in your belly as his voice coaxes you towards inevitable pleasure.

But he, as always, takes your tease in stride, his smile broadening into a grin as he leans down and murmurs, "You want me to say I'll make love to you? That I'll take my time, unwrap you like a gift? That I'll kiss every part of you just to profess my undying love?" His fingers toy with the edge of lace lining your skirt as he leans in just enough for his lips to brush your ear again, his voice lowering even further until it reaches an intimate purr, "But, baby…" His touch dips just slightly below the lace trim, his hands hot on your skin, "didn't I already do that at the altar?"

This time, you're not laughing. This time, at his touch, your breath hitches softly in the back of your throat. The heat of his hands seems to seep all the way through you to your very bones until it pools low in your belly.

And Satoru's six eyes follow the trail of fire, his grin never faltering.

Then he lifts those dangerous, taunting, loving eyes to meet yours, and both of you are already leaning towards each other, your lips parting before they even meet his.

When they do, it's like the raging inferno inside you finally erupts.

This kiss doesn't start slowly, romantically, sensually. It starts like he's trying to crawl inside you and taste every inch, like he wants to break you open like ripe fruit and devour your sweet flesh. His tongue swipes at your lower lip, and his hand is already coming up to squeeze your jaw and open you up for the taking. The kiss is sloppy, spit collecting at the corners of your lips, but he drinks it down like ambrosia, like he's desperate for it.

As the taste of you fills his mouth, he lets out a raged groan — equal parts relief for what he's been given and frenzy for what he still needs. His hand moves from your jaw to the back of your head, long fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head further. He's insatiable, now that he's had a taste of his newly wedded wife, his other hand gripping your thigh and sliding up, up, up under your skirt towards your ass, pushing up the lacy hem of your dress.

Then, before he can reach the curve of your backside, his fingers bump against something frilly and elastic, and he lets out a low, pained groan when he realizes it's a garter.

"Fuck, baby," he pants — almost whimpers — against your lips, his fingers toying with the scalloped edges. "I thought you said this shit was — what did you call it? — trad wife propaganda to make a spectacle out of your virginity?"

You pull back just enough to smile up at him, your teeth lightly grazing his lower lip as you do. He chases you momentarily, dilated pupils trained on your swollen, spit-glossed lips. You whisper, quiet and intimate, "Well, I'm not a virgin, and there's no one here to watch. Do you like it?"

Teasingly, so he doesn't lose the upper hand, he pulls the garter an inch and lets the elastic band snap! back into place against your outer thigh. You jump a little at the slight sting, a soft gasp escaping from between your lips. "I love it. Now, let me do this right." And before you can protest, or even ask what he means, he's finally backing you up against the edge of the bed and laying you down across the sheets and rose petals.

He takes a moment to look down at you, his bright eyes — lidded, now, with lust — trailing over every perfect inch of you. They trace your facial features, your pretty eyes and tempting lips, even the angle of your chin that leads lower. They trace the elegant slope of your neck, the curve of your collarbones into your shoulders, then back to your sternum where his view is obscured by your sweetheart neckline.

He grunts at the sight, the sound playful but needy at the edges. His large, warm palms glide up your plush thighs, pushing underneath your skirt.

And then his lips follow the path his eyes took, kissing his way down your face, your neck, your chest. Then he moves lower, settling his broad shoulders between your thighs, and ducks his head under your skirt, too.

His breath ghosts over your inner thighs, and your back arches just a little off the bed, expecting him to kiss his way up towards your cunt. But instead he kisses his way towards the top curve of your thigh, pausing when he reaches the frilly white garter.

He parts his lips and takes the lace between his teeth, and he slowly, teasingly, reverently tugs the elastic band down your thigh. As he does, his warm breath causes goosebumps to rise along your skin, and his lips brush your thigh as he drags the garter towards your knee.

Your pussy clenches at the languid, intimate sensations.

You can't see his expression beneath your skirt; he's fully obscured, hidden beneath the lace. But you can feel every movement he makes like electricity crackling over your skin, and your breathing starts to hitch at his light touches. You feel his rumbling hum against the sensitive skin of your thigh, and when the elastic finally crests your knee, he drags the garter off in one final, fluid movement. He finally emerges from beneath your skirt, his hair rumpled and his eyes heated as he meets your eyes once more.

The sight of that lace between his teeth makes the flame in your belly burst into an uncontrollable burn.

He turns his head and drops the garter to the bed beside you, and then he's moving back up your body, his hands still roaming your thighs beneath your dress, hiking the white fabric up around your hips. Both of you are breathing heavier, now, sharing heated air between your lips before he finally kisses you again, his mouth insistent on yours. His hands reach the curve of your ass and start kneading the plump flesh there, his fingers digging in as he pulls your hips forward to rock against his.

The delicious friction of his bulge nudging your thinly covered clit makes your head fall back against the pillows. You feel sparks of pleasure all the way to your fingertips every time your hips roll against each other. His eyes watch your reaction, taking it in and filing it away like he does with everything about you. He starts a slow but firm rhythm, the coarse fabric of his slacks dragging against the sheer fabric of your panties.

When your lashes start to flutter, pleasure burning through your core, he raises one hand to thread his fingers through your hair and keep you in place. "Eyes on me, baby," he pants against your lips, forcing you to watch him while he teases you.

You let out a soft, desperate whine, your brows creasing in a supplicant expression. You want him, need him, have waited to have him like this and now it feels like you're racing against the clock and you have to feel him, your husband, inside you before he leaves—

But he doesn't rush. He just grinds against you, soft grunts and little pants escaping. And all the while, your gazes are locked, intertwined so intimately it feels like you really are one soul now.

Bound forever, in love, in life, in death.

His hips start to stutter at the peak of each thrust, now, and you can feel his cock throbbing, twitching against your own swollen clit. A low, breathless groan rumbles through his chest. "Fuck," he whispers, his voice shaking slightly with the effort of holding himself back. "I g-gotta feel you, or I'm gonna—" He swallows thickly, his fingers tightening at your hips. "I'm gonna fucking cum before we get started."

You giggle quietly, your hands sinking into his thick hair. He shivers at the touch, his hips jerking against yours again. "I wouldn't mind seeing that," you tease, leaning in to nuzzle his nose affectionately with yours.

He lets out another playful growl, leaning in and pressing more messy, noisy kisses to your cheek and jaw, making you giggle harder again. "Next time," he promises, pulling away with an obnoxious mwahhh just to move his hands from your hips to the zipper between your shoulder blades.

His hand is warm against your spine as he drags the zipper down, opening up your last-minute wedding dress like you are, indeed, a perfectly wrapped gift.

Then he helps shimmy the dress down your body, and you lift your hips so he can remove it fully and drop it off the end of the bed.

His breath catches at the sight of your sheer white lingerie, and his hands pause at your hips like he can't believe you're so radiant beneath him.

"God," he huffs softly, shaking his head in disbelief as he traces his eyes over every inch of you. Your tits are cupped perfectly in unlined lace, and the white teddy follows the natural curves of your body, a thin lace gusset barely hiding what lies beneath. "My wife is so fucking beautiful." His voice shakes again, but this time it's with the overwhelming emotion flowing through him, affection and awe and astonishment that you're his for the rest of his life, and for every moment after.

Your eyes soften, and one hand trails down from his hair to gently stroke his cheek. "I love you," you whisper, for the millionth time, knowing it will never be enough.

He lets out a heavy breath and leans back in to kiss you, catching your lips with ragged desperation. His palm grazes up your tummy towards your breasts, cupping one and giving a gentle, lingering squeeze before moving to the other.

"I love you, too," he rasps against your mouth, sounding winded, like the sheer amount of love in his body has knocked the breath out of him. "So, so much."

And then he slowly, gently removes your lingerie, leaving you — finally — fully bare beneath him.

He's still fully dressed, even as he lowers himself between your thighs, pushing your knees apart so his shoulders can fit. His eyes finally lock on your dripping, puffy cunt, and he lets his breath brush against your slick folds for one long moment, then two. Your hips rise in anguish, a soft whine bubbling up as you wordlessly beg him to taste you…

He relents, and drags his tongue against your heated core, letting out a deep groan as his eyes roll back at your taste. He licks from your dripping, clenching entrance to your throbbing clit, and you let out a soft sigh of relief as he finally touches you. Your cunt quivers under the stimulation, and your thighs twitch on either side of his head as pleasure sparks deep inside your gut.

And then, all at once, he's no longer teasing. No longer holding back. He spreads your folds with his thumbs and starts to feast, like he's been starving for you all day. He sucks on your clit, shooting another arc of tingling pleasure through you. Your pussy squeezes desperately around nothing, and it's so much so suddenly that you cry out, your hips jolting against his mouth.

His eyes sparkle with satisfaction as he raises them to meet yours, and one hand comes up to hold your hip firmly against the mattress.

He suckles on your clit in deep, rhythmic pulls, his tongue rubbing insistently against it for dual stimulation. You feel your clit throb harder, your cunt clench tighter, and you let out a weak plea, "Oh, god…!"

He never once pulls away, not even to smirk up at you and teasingly ask, "Already, baby?" He knows you need this, need him to draw this pleasure out of you like poison out of a wound, and he knows just how to eat you out to make you lose your mind. You chase the pleasure he so willingly and eagerly gives, feebly rolling your hips against his tongue. The motion grinds your clit so perfectly that you can't help but cry out another symphony of needy whimpers and drawn out moans.

Even after all these years, your climax comes crashing down on you embarrassingly quick. Your head hits the pillows, and you're practically singing for him while he plays you like his favorite instrument. Your walls clamp down hard, your thighs going rigid as you finally tumble over the edge of the peak of tear-jerking pleasure. The moans that fall from your lips are loud and uninhibited, and you can feel the pride radiating off of him as he helps you ride out your orgasm, his tongue never stopping its quick, determined movements against your clit.

But when your hips finally fall still against the mattress and your chest rises and falls with blissed out gasps, he doesn't pull away. He keeps his eyes on your face, his hands on your hips, and his mouth on your clit.

Your eyes roll back, your fingers curl desperately into the sheets for something to hold onto, and your back arches into a brutal curve. Another loud moan rips its way out of you, so intense you're sure the neighbors are already calling the front desk to make a noise complaint. The pleasure that had no chance to recede now continues to build, heat flaring through you so brightly that it's nearly blinding, your vision flashing white. But Satoru doesn't ease up; he just continues sucking on your clit, keeping that same steady, mind-melting rhythm.

Your first orgasm doesn't even have time to end before you're cumming again on his tongue. And still he doesn't stop, too caught up in the sights and sounds of your pleasure to pull away. You try to roll out from under him, the motions thoughtless and instinctual as the sensations crest, almost too intense now. But his fingers dig into your hips more firmly, keeping you locked beneath him as he watches your expression crumple, your moans turning into thoughtless cries as you finally release the sheets, only to grip his hair tightly, sobbing out his name. You're not even sure if you're trying to push him away or pull him closer.

"F-fuck," you hiccup, your back rising off the bed once more as your voice pitches higher and higher, "I-I'm gonna—"

He hums against your clit, never slowing or interrupting his rhythm as he nods, just a little. Encouraging you, telling you it's okay, more than okay, exactly what he wants from you.

With his permission, you shatter.

The tension that has been building in your pelvis and abdomen and thighs, the tightness in your muscles that felt so good it was almost painful, finally gives way to shuddering waves of intensity. Your brain is mush; you're not even sure this is pleasure anymore. It feels more like desolation, destruction, the tearing apart of your mind and piecing it together in the way he conducts it.

As you cum once more, your sobbing moans filling the suite with broken, melodic tones, you feel that tension melt in the inferno of your ecstasy, and that burning heat erupts between your legs, soaking Satoru's chin and lips and parts of his cheeks.

You can't see him through your dark, hazy vision, or past the single tear that sears its way down your temple towards your hairline, but he's looking up at you like you just offered him nectar of the gods.

When the waves finally settle, and your body sags against the bed, Satoru finally lets go with a lewd pop. He doesn't pull away, though, instead slowly and gently licking you clean, his eyes still on your face the whole time.

Your mind is so foggy, pulverized to dust after the back-to-back orgasms, that you don't even really process that he's still touching you. Your body is almost numb in the wake of your pleasure, tingling up your limbs all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. Your chest heaves with each burdened gasp, your eyes half-open but unseeing as you let the aftershocks slowly bleed out of you. It takes you a couple minutes to get your breathing under control, and even once it starts to slow, you still can't lift your head from the pillows. Finally, once he's mostly cleaned you up — there's little he can do about the damp spot in the sheets below you — he lifts his head and grins up at you, pressing a gentle, affectionate kiss to your trembling thigh.

"Good, baby?" he asks softly, pulling away just enough to wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his dress shirt. You just watch him, still panting softly, but a small, hazy smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

He smiles back and presses one last kiss to your thigh before trailing his kisses upwards once more. They're slower, now, more intimate. He pauses momentarily with every press of his lips, letting you feel the heat of his mouth and the adoration behind each kiss. As he works his way up your body, his body finally presses against yours again, his hard, aching dick pressing between your puffy lower lips. His hips settle between yours, and he groans as your heat seeps right through his slacks.

You whimper and move your hands to his sides, tugging impatiently on the crisp fabric of his dress shirt. "Why are you still dressed?" you complain, pouting when he pulls back to look at your face.

He lets out a breathless laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leans in to whisper teasingly in your ear, "Impatient, are we?"

Before you can answer, or whine again, he leans back, kneeling tall between your legs, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You watch as he does, watch his long slender fingers work over the buttons, watch the way the tendons in his hands flex and contract, watch the way shadows shift over the veins there, making his hands look capable and strong. You watch as the buttons come undone, watch his hands move lower with every inch of his thin undershirt he reveals.

He reaches the last button, tugging the fabric away from his broad shoulders. Then he grabs the undershirt at the back of the collar, pulling it over his head in a seductive move that makes your pussy throb every time you see him do it.

He tosses the undershirt aside, and when he looks back at you, you're still staring.

His grin turns lopsided and cocky as he watches you take him in. "Like what you see?" he taunts playfully, reaching for his belt now.

You sit up slightly, pressing your bare chest against his. His breath catches at the sudden contact, but he doesn't push you back down; he lets you raise your hands to his ribs, lets you trace every ridge of his muscular sides and chest.

You slowly dip your fingers along the line between his abs, watching them jump beneath your touch. "Let me," you whisper, running a delicate nail down his coarse happy trail all the way to the waistband of his pants.

As your hands close in around the buckle of his belt, you hear him swallow harshly. One of his strong, capable hands reaches back to thread through your hair once more, just for something to hold onto as you unbuckle his belt and slowly slide the premium leather through the loops, the fabric hissing softly.

You pop open the button and metal closure of his pants, too, and quietly drag down the zipper. But instead of pulling them down, you let the fabric hang open, his obscene bulge only thinly obscured by his tight black boxers. You sit for a moment, letting him stew, just like he had when he was undressing you. Then you lean forward those few final inches and start pressing kisses — equally slow and sensual — against his chest and belly. Your tongue drags, hot and slow, up his sternum, and he shudders against your mouth, his head falling back with a soft groan. His fingers tighten in the hair at the back of your head, pressing your mouth more firmly against his skin.

He worshiped you; now you want to return the favor.

His skin on your lips and tongue is warm and smooth, and he tastes like soap and a hint of sweat. His pale skin is so easy to mark that you can't help but bite down on his shoulders, his neck, his pecs. You suck loving little bruises everywhere you can reach, and as one hand curls through his hair, right above his undercut, to hold his head aside while you kiss and bite and lick his throat, the other runs slowly over his chest and abs, back down to where he's hard and leaking beneath his underwear.

He lets out another groan, this one turning into a needy whine at the end. His cock throbs against your palm, and when your touch ventures lower so you can teasingly cup and squeeze his balls through the fabric, he grabs your hand to stop you.

His voice is strained when he says, "I wasn't kidding before; I'm gonna cum in my fucking pants if you keep touching me like that."

Before you can respond, before you can say that you weren't kidding when you said you'd love to see that for yourself, he gives your shoulder a gentle, guiding push back towards the mattress.

When you're comfortably nestled back against the pillows once more, your eyes never leaving his flushed face, he reaches down and hurries to pull down his pants and boxers in one frantic movement. Once he chucks the fabric off the end of the bed towards the opposite corner of the suite, he's on top of you again, leaning down to kiss you, his lips clumsy against yours.

You moan into his mouth as his tongue messily swipes against yours; you love when he gets like this, losing that omnipresent control he has over his entire body in favor of letting you see and hear and feel him at his rawest moments. His hand trembles and fumbles as he takes his cock in hand and nudges the tip against your sensitive cunt, the tip bumping your clit just enough to make your hips jolt again.

Then the thick head slowly sinks inside you, stretching you open in the most devastating and loving way.

He lets out another breathy whimper, his fingers curling into the pillowcase beside your head. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the willpower it takes to go slow and not ravage you in this bed. He lets out a shaky breath against your neck and pushes in another inch, his motion smooth and slow, even as his hand tightens into a fist to try and control himself.

The fullness inside you is almost immediately overwhelming. He stretches you out so perfectly, fills you to the brim and then a little further, reaching places you've only ever fantasized about before him. The slide is easy, with how wet you are, but he still takes it slow, making you wait to feel him fully inside.

You drag your palms up his muscular back, feeling every swell and ridge as you pull him tighter against your chest until you can feel his heartbeat against yours. You lift your lips to his ear and whisper, "Let me have it… I wanna feel you."

He shudders at your words, his hips jerking as he tries to maintain his slow, tender pace. "I'll f-fucking lose it," he breathes back, his voice ragged, body trembling under your hands. "I can't—"

"Then don't," you say, your voice still hushed in his ear. "I'm yours, however you want me."

His breath stills, and so do the movements of his hips. He's still shaking above you, and his hand clenches even tighter in the pillowcase; you can feel every hard muscle against your body tighten up. You pull away slightly, brows creasing in concern, your lips parting to ask him if he's okay—

Before you can, those strong hands go from gentle and adoring to ruthless and unyielding. He grabs the backs of your thighs and pushes them roughly towards your chest, punching a squeal from between your lips. His gaze is intense, now, trained on your dripping cunt instead of your face, and he watches his length drive inside you mercilessly. His lips part, and those beautiful eyes roll back into his head, and he moans like he's the one getting fucked this deep, this roughly, this all-consumingly.

You, the willing and eager subject of his desperation, can only arch beneath him and let out a wordless cry that rings out loudly in the hotel room.

"My beautiful wife," he whispers, his adoring words soothing the ache that his pistoning hips cause. He hikes one of your legs up further, throwing it over his shoulder to free his hand, just so he can reach up and cradle your cheek, his thumb hooking under your chin so he has a hold on your jaw to tilt your face towards his. You lean into his touch, whimpering as he bullies deeper, holding you so tenderly while he snaps his hips into yours. "Such a p-perfect fucking pussy… so tight and w-warm…" He groans again, leaning in to catch your lips in a bruising kiss before he pulls away just enough to pant into your mouth, "F-fuck, I'm cumming—"

And you, to encourage him, to draw it out, to send him over the edge, let your walls clench tightly around him, your own moans tumbling out as his rhythm falters. He lets out a low groan that pitches into a whine, his movements becoming uncoordinated but no less intense as he chases his peak. His body shudders beneath your hands, between your legs, and then his muscles all tighten and he drops his head to your shoulder, chanting breathless praises as he cums deep inside you, your leg still hitched over his shoulder to keep you open.

"So good," he whispers brokenly against your neck, "so good for me."

You feel every twitch of his cock inside you, every hot pulse of cum painting your walls, and it makes your pussy quiver, knowing that he's filling you up as your husband this time.

You can tell the thought is driving him crazy, too. He's still trembling as his orgasm bleeds out of him, leaving him heavy on top of you, and your hands are soft and soothing on his back. You feel him relax against your body, and you let your eyes close, enjoying the moment, the intimacy, the peace.

Then you feel his chest expand with a deep inhale, and he pulls away from the crook of your neck. Your eyes flutter open, and you expect him to be looking at you in that soft, loving way that usually indicates the night is slowly ending and you'll soon be drifting off, wrapped in his arms.

Instead, you open your eyes to find Satoru's on yours, intense and glowing with a faint, feral light.

A thrill runs up your spine, and you can feel the slight buzz of his cursed energy flaring against your skin. You part your lips to ask what he's doing, to tease if he's finally going to show off what he can do when he's riled up, but then you feel his softening cock twitch once inside you.

Then your eyes widen when you feel him getting hard inside you again.

"Satoru!" you whisper, and his fingers dig into your plush hips, like he's holding onto whatever control he has left. "Are you—?"

He doesn't let you continue. He just grabs your other leg, now, and props it on his shoulder, spreading you open as wide as he can. His chest is still heaving up and down after his orgasm, but his RCT brings his body right back onto the field for another round. He leans back slightly so he can watch his cock slide in and out of your cunt, his glossy lips parted as a thick ring of white forms around the base.

"Fuck, look at that," he chokes out, his hands moving back to your thighs to push them flat against your chest, holding you in half while your feet dangle helplessly over his shoulders. "So fucking pretty. Look so good all full of me. Gonna f-fill you up so much."

You whine at the change in position; every thrust now drives his cock right against your g-spot, and that familiar pressure builds more intense in your pelvis. He leans over you once more, his lips right above yours, panting as he fucks down into you. "Come on, baby," he says, his expression half wild with need. "Tell me you want it. Tell me to fill you up till it's dripping out of you."

He's fucking the air right out of your lungs, and your eyes are dazed and mind hazy as you stare desperately into his eyes, but you manage to breathlessly stammer out, "Y-yes, I w-want it."

He pins your legs further against your chest, smushing your tits under your thighs as he drives in faster, harder. Pleasure sparks down to your toes, and you feel like you're gonna burst again, but he keeps going, going, going, forcing you through it. "How bad, hm baby? How bad do you want it?"

You sob out a moan, thighs shaking between your chest and his. "S-so bad, Satoru. W-want to be f-full of you. Want you to—" —hic— "—breed me."

At the word, at the sheer meaning behind it, his whole body locks up, and even his breathing stops for a moment before he lets out a low, shuddering groan and starts up again with new fervor. "You better mean that," he growls, "because now I'm not resting until it takes."

You nod desperately, eyes rolling back and lips falling open in a silent cry as he abuses that spot inside you that sends you reeling. Sparks flash behind your eyes, and he doesn't let up, even as that pressure in your belly explodes once more into another climactic gush. He doesn't even take a moment to pause; he just fucks you through it, the wet, obscene sounds of skin slapping filling the suite.

When he cums again, he drags his hips against yours in a slow, ragged grind. And this time, he doesn't slow down before his RCT crackles across his shoulders and his dick hardens once more inside you.

He doesn't stop, or even pause, until he's so sensitive it hurts.

Sweat drips down his temples, and every breath is ragged against your neck. His muscular body trembles with the effort to stay on top of you, to fill you just one more time, to make sure it takes because, in the end, he's not sure you'll have much else to remember him by if this all goes sideways.

And fuck, does he hope it doesn't go sideways.

He wants, desires so deeply it carves a hollow in his chest, to have this life with you. This is just the beginning of your story as husband and wife, and he wants all the rest of the plot, too. Maybe he's selfish, but he thinks he deserves to be after all this time.

He tries to convince his body to keep moving. To just gather his strength, like he has so many times before, and fuck his wife like you deserve.

But his arms shake violently as he props himself up over you, and his breath is heavy and ragged, and for a few moments, he can't decide between keeping up the fight and finally letting himself rest.

Your gentle hands — shaking, too, but still cradling him like the center of your universe — convince him of the latter.

He practically collapses on top of you, his worn and exhausted muscles trembling against your soft body. His breath is hot and labored as he presses his face into your neck, and he doesn't even have the energy to pull out yet.

You don't complain; you never do. You just hold him, your own body relaxing beneath his as you both revel in the afterglow.

Time passes in a fugue, the edges of both your consciousnesses hazy, like evening light through the blinds. Eventually he finally lifts himself back up, pressing a tired, loving kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out. Semen floods out of you onto the sheets below, and his movements are tender as he wipes you clean with a warm, soft washcloth.

When he comes back to bed, a towel now beneath your hips so you don't have to lie in the cold, damp spot of the evidence of your mutual release, he gingerly pulls you into his side, one arm wrapped around your shoulders as you rest your head over his heart.

You're both quiet for a while. His fingers, exhausted but somehow restless, trace faint shapes over your belly, like he's imagining what he may have given you there. His eyes are closed, those long frosty lashes resting against the tops of his cheekbones, and you watch your husband for a long, quiet moment.

Eventually, when you can no longer help it, you speak. Your voice shakes a little as you whisper, breaking the silence, "Satoru?"

He hums, his arm tightening around your shoulders. His eyes don't open. "What is it, baby?" he mumbles, sounding half asleep and drunk in the aftermath.

Faintly, like you don't want to admit it, "I'm scared."

His hand pauses its motions on your tummy. But after a short moment, he just lets out a soft, casual chuckle and starts rubbing again. "Don't be scared," he says, his voice quiet and confident. He doesn't even open his eyes. "I'm the strongest."

But you can feel the tension beneath his words, and you know he's scared, too.

You rest your head back on his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you towards sleep. And you don't know what's coming tomorrow, or the day after that, but at least for now, you're in the arms of your lover, your new husband, on a honeymoon you wish would last just a little bit longer.

thanks for reading! -luna xx link to ao3 | masterlist

[missenu]

in the frame (final act.) ✮⋆˙

synopsis: your skills as a videographer gets put to the test when your friend, who happens to be in the same profession, falls victim to double-booking. problem is, you only specialized in weddings, not adult films. despite your initial reluctance, you take the job. cue the lights … you meet jeon jungkook, a pornstar, on set — in his world. you just never expected him to play a part in yours.

pairing: pornstar!jungkook x wedding videographer!fem reader

wc: 21.1k

genre: s2l, pornstar au, smut, angst, fluff

cw: slice of life, miscommunication, anxiety, fear of future, inaccurate adult filming industry discourse/depiction, jk had a tough time at work, mentions of injuries, tension, yearning, angsty confrontation, alcohol consumption, confessions, fluffy moments, 18+ ONLY, oral (f&m), rimming (f receiving), nipple play, fingering, cum eating, jk watches pix, protected sex, accidental orgasm delay, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes, aftercare

a/n: finally here!! 😛🎉 as always, enjoy~

masterlist | prologue | act i. | act ii. | act iii.

Is a glass of water half-full or half-empty?

You observe the glass, hoping for a revelation or answer — a good distraction from your miscalculations all evening; well, miscalculations in the duration of meeting Jeon Jungkook. Tucking yourself further into your small couch, the corners of your lips tug at the reminder of the boy. The icy glass cools your hot skin, which still remembers the flames he left you surrounded in on the dancefloor.

And those eyes — his always spoke to you without words. 

Eyes smitten and playful all evening, you can’t forget how they morphed into fear and panic when you finally moved on the pathway he laid out for you. Were you wrong to assume he wanted more with you?

“Ah, so stupid.” You slam your eyes shut at the memory, shame heats your cheeks at his rejection — at another loss you’ll need to process on your own. Loss, after loss, after loss. It wears on your bones, empties your soul just like how you empty the glass of water clutched in your hand.

Didn’t matter whether your glass was ‘half-full or half-empty,’ the water will eventually be consumed. Jungkook had a way of overfilling your glass with an abundance of hope; however, you later found out the glass you shared with Jungkook contained holes and eventually left you empty.

No one leaves you empty like Jungkook does. 

Sitting up higher on your couch, you dig your lower back into your armrest, wanting to feel some form of support.

Maybe you should’ve stayed and taken the water Jungkook offered. Wake you up from that drunken state and snap you out of your innermost desires for your friend. You’d probably go as far as blaming the alcohol and the night would’ve just ended from there.

Probably would’ve been a better alternative than pathetically running away. Then again, there was no way you were going to last another second in the venue — not after the way he pulled away.

You know it’s rude to leave in the middle of the party. Can’t even bear looking at your phone since ordering a cab outside the club, opting to place it on silent afterwards. Now, the phone rests heavily on your kitchen counter, begging to be checked on.

You should text him. Tell him you’re safe and use indigestion as an excuse for your abrupt departure — no one would ever find fault in that reason. Another pang of anxiety holds you back from touching your phone. What if he didn’t bother checking on you? Upset with your bad habit of leaving? 

He has all the rights to.

Setting your feet into your house slippers, you’re thankful for the flat cushion after a night of dancing in heels. Bathroom first, then you’ll text Jungkook. The order of events seemed the most logical and definitely not your way of avoiding the inevitable. It’s a solid plan—

You jolt at the series of knocks against your door. Although your building was relatively safe, living alone had its downsides, especially at this hour. The grip on your glass changes and you ready yourself for self-defense. 

Best case scenario? A ding-dong ditcher. Worst? Nope. You don’t want your mind wandering there. 

One eye closed, you peer through the peephole.

The fisheye effect warps your vision, but you could easily make out the person standing facing away from your doorway. The dangly, silver five-hooped earrings were a dead giveaway to your visitor. Felt them graze the top of your hand every time he tilted his head in your touch. Felt them when you wrapped your hands at the base of his nape. They glimmered prettily under the club lights, but they look nearly dull now under your complex’s standard lightbulbs. 

He’s a few steps away, pacing, looking anywhere but your door as if it was the most offensive piece of object … as if your home was the most deplorable place he could be at right now.

And it should be. He should be at his party celebrating his wins and accomplishments, surrounded by people who love and care for him — not on shame’s breeding grounds. Shame nearly has you running to hide underneath your covers, hoping he’d leave if you refused to answer. Rather than give into shame’s call for isolation, your fingers flick the locks and wrap around the doorknob.

“Jungkook?” 

He’s still turned away from you, pacing back and forth in your building’s hallway. No longer styled how it was in the beginning of the night, his hair looks to be run through … whether it be by him or a stranger. 

Couldn’t be you.

Your mouth parts, words lodged in your throat, but you manage to utter, “What are you doing here?”

He lets out a breath. So unstable, you could feel the restraint in his action but he stops in his tracks, head tilting up at the ceiling to will the words.

“Why do you keep doing that?” His voice raises, back still turned to you.

You frown, looking around to see if there was anyone in the vicinity. Definitely not at this hour. Your neighbors should be asleep, which is why you don’t want to make a scene outside your home.

“Jungkook—”

Suddenly, harshly, his back shifts and his body whips around, “Why do you keep leaving me? Is that all you know how to do?” 

You’re standing face to face with his wide eyes and desperate furrowed brows. The hand raking through his hair only showcasing more of the distress forming on his forehead.

Your mind flashes back to your meeting at the milestone party. There was nothing wrong with your departure at that time. A small, but selfish part of you, doesn’t think you were at total fault for tonight’s departure either. 

“Jungkook … please,” you stammer, eyes drifting down to your feet. 

“I-I don’t fucking get it, Pix. I just–”

“Can you come inside?” You ask, looking around once more. And although Jungkook hasn’t made far enough noises to warrant a complaint, you’d rather talk inside the privacy of your home. “We can talk in here. Please?” You plead in a small whisper.

Jaw clenched as he looks at you and over the threshold of your home, he nods.

Citrus, with no more lingering scent of cigarettes, wafts past you. Even if he was upset with you, he’s still respectful in your home as he toes off his shoes at the entryway. He exhales through his nose, finally turning to face you. His jaw ticks, eyes bloodshot for multiple reasons but he’ll blame the alcohol and not the exhaustion of looking for you. 

You can’t meet his eyes, can’t even bring yourself to speak in the comforts of your home.

“You keep doing this.” His voice cracks.

“I-I,” Your own voice wavers at his statement, you fight the lump in your throat as you lie, “wasn’t feeling well—”

“Cut the bullshit.” 

You frown, having never seen Jungkook speak nor act this way towards you. He extends patience and understanding towards you like an additional limb on his body; perhaps, you’ve tested them enough tonight. Still, your own emotions come out just as unsteady and unreasonable.

“You’re being unfair.” You croak.

“I’ve been anything but that, Pix.” He retracts his head, brows furrowed. “You’re the one that left. Like you always do when things don’t go your way.”

Your brows pull together, unable to mask the hurt at the accusation. “What did you expect me to do? You—” Your bottom lip trembles.

“What?” He takes a step forward and you’re once again engulfed in his overbearing scent. The action stunts your train of thoughts, and for a split second, you think he’s almost just as affected.

You’re tired of going in circles, chasing but also running away from what appears to be your own desires.

“You led me on all night.” Voice small, Jungkook nearly misses what you say. 

His frustration morphs into surprise, then guilt at the sudden forwardness of your words.

“I …” His eyes widen at the realization as he chews on the inside of his cheeks. He shakes his head, denying the allegations. “I didn’t.”

“But you did.” You walk past him, lower back leaning against the kitchen island. Arms crossed, you don’t miss how Jungkook’s eyes drop to your breasts pushed together. His throat bobs, hands twitching on his sides as he tries to rack up an appropriate response.

“We were dancing. Having fun.” He reasons. “That’s all.”

Friends don’t dance the way you both did tonight; their touches don’t burn. They don’t leave the party after being deserted from a dodged kiss on the dance floor. They sure as hell don’t stare at you like you’re made of stardust. 

“Okay.” As if whatever happened in the last couple of hours could be reduced to ‘just dancing.’

His throat emits a low growl, patience once again tested. “Why’d you leave?”

Truthfully? There was no alternate reality where you’d stay after his rejection.

Your crossed arms drop to your sides, throat tightening to keep the contents in your stomach from hurling out. You can’t bear the truth, which seems to point at the fact Jungkook has moved on and there’s no more room for you in his life and heart. 

He’s left you behind.

Jungkook fills in the silence with the same words circling in your head, slipping from his mouth now directed at you with an ache you’ve done your best to forget. “You’ve moved on.”

Your face falls, having spent months trying to forget him through hobbies, friends, and even another person, only to find out … nothing’s worked.

Unable to meet his eyes, you mutter, “I had to.” 

“I know.” He says, “I know that.”

The filter on your fish tank acts as a buffer for the silence stretched in the small distance.

“You’ve moved on, too.” You don’t mention the woman you saw in his apartment lobby, too afraid of the confirmation that he has indeed moved on.

He lets out a shuddering breath, head hung low. “I tried, okay? I really did.”

Something within you shatters at his revelation. It hurts to be right, and it hurts more knowing no one was at fault in the aftermath of a heartbreak. 

He drags his hand down his face, fighting the drunken exhaustion and confusion. “Things got better, I swear. But then I see you and I’m just reminded …”

“Of what?” You ask.

He stays quiet. So different than the man who was just outside your door ready to scorn the world. You wonder how he has kept his composure during the times of your silence when all you want to do right now is shout for an answer, resolution … or ending. What was left after this? Was there another title after being demoted to friends?

… Strangers?

You don’t wait for his answer, choosing to fill the gaps of the conversation with your reality. “You don’t tell me about your life anymore. Like … like, I’m some sort of afterthought learning all these things about you after the fact.” Tears falling freely, you sniff and palm away the moisture on your cheeks.

“Pix–”

“Why did you push me away?” From his life, from the kiss … no clarification needed — it all bleeds together anyway. “Did I misunderstand?”

“Pix.” He repeats, eyes crestfallen and exhausted. “You’re with someone, there’s no way I would do that to you–”

“I’m not with him anymore.”

He pauses, drawing in a sharp breath. “Still doesn’t make it right.” Despite his words, you recognize a faint glint in his eyes.

Of course he becomes the voice of reason when this conversation shouldn’t exist among supposed friends. Now it’s your turn to stay quiet, too ashamed for further humiliation and rejection.

“All I do is remember you, Pix. All I find myself doing is thinking of you. Could never stop even if I wanted to.” He shakes his head. Your stomach sinks, an uncomfortable mass lodged in your throat as you process his words. “And I’m so tired of having to remember you.” He looks at you with so much anguish, wishing and begging for you to end this turmoil. 

“Jungkook …”

“I still think about the night at the hotel.” He continues, jaw clenched to stop the trembles. “And I feel so guilty.”

You shake your head vehemently. “You never once did anything I didn’t want to do.”

“I knew you couldn’t be with me, but I still pushed for more. It was selfish of me and I—”

“I’ve always wanted you, Jungkook,” you sob. “You never gave me the chance to make things work.”

Your hands cover your face as you heave into your palms, moist from your tears and breath. Jungkook tilts his head up at the ceiling, furiously blinking away the stray tears he thought he had swore away on the cab ride over to your place.

The buzzing travels up from your fingers to the back of your head. Your body convulses from your silent sobs, mind numbing from all the fog and confusion. Like a bee, refusing to leave you alone, you want to cower away from the source of noise. The buzzing continues for another fifteen seconds, too loud even when neither of you utter a word. It’s impossible to avoid when the buzzing happens from within. How do you remedy this? How do you run away? How, how, how—

The buzzing stops.

Zapped away by a strong pair of arms, the bees stop swarming in your mind, all honeyed scent — all citrus consuming your senses.

Jungkook holds you and it’s the closest thing to the security of your home. Possibly better. Home shelters you from the brewing storm, and as you cry into the expanse of Jungkook’s chest, he holds you tighter, chin resting on the top of your head.

“What are we even doing?” Jungkook mumbles against your hair, voice hoarse and tired.

You inhale into your hands and answer honestly, “I don’t know.” 

He swallows, breathing you in, “I hate this.”

Your heart crumbles again. Was this it? Has to be. He’s finally done and wants nothing to do with you anymore.

Instead of his warmth departing from your body like you’ve grown used to, he holds you tighter.

“I fucked everything up.” He says. “I messed you up, and I’m trying to do right by you, I swear, but I–”

His words are cut off with your arms around his waist. Face pressed into his chest, your tears became another source of darkness on his grey shirt, but neither of you cared. 

“You didn’t mess anything up.” You heave. Months passed, things changed. Time was a marker for healing and forgetting old wounds; though, there were just some things — some people — you can’t and don’t want to forget. 

“I missed you so much, Pix.”

You pull back a little to look at his face. Hurt and longing never needed a competition and there’s no winner when both of you were wounded in the process. The frame had always been a little unfocused and hard to decipher, but you’re both in view now.

“I never stopped thinking about you.” You confess.

He blinks twice, hand now coming to cup your wet cheek. Ache and remorse stretches over his face at the time lost in the absence of one another. He needs to be honest, barring out the truth if there was even a possibility to start anew. 

“I can’t promise perfection, P.” He admits, scared and worried for this potential dealbreaker. 

“I never asked for perfection.” You shake your head, breath finally coming out even. Pausing, you let the reality of your recent failures sink in, “I just got out of something and I don’t know if I’m any good, but I wanna figure things out with you — do things properly. Please give me time.” Please give us time.

You both loosen your hold on one another, but maintain your gazes as your hands finally intertwine. The hold is weak, full of uncertainty of the future, but you push forward, “Please?” You ask again, heart in your hands — no, heart in his hands. You pray and hope he handles it with care. He has all the power to do the opposite, turning your heart to cold steel for the next poor soul.

He doesn’t, though — can’t imagine anyone but him holding your heart with delicate hands if you allow him to. 

Jungkook’s always wondered when the world would bend for him; yet, he’s got the world in his arms right now willing to bend for his sake. 

He nods and the night bleeds into the morning as you and Jungkook sit on your small couch to catch up, mending lost time with one another. The hours of bitterness leading up to this moment was well worth it after you finally taste the hint of sweetness lodged behind his growing smiles. The catch up bounces back between idle chatters to late night secrets until you both settle into the mundane and content.

“Group work is the worst, P. Avoid it at all costs.” He recounts the number of times his classmates let him down on a project this past semester.

You laugh wholeheartedly. “Why’d you think I run this business alone?”

“Smart girl.” He grins, and your body warms from the small compliment. 

A natural silence fills you both at this time, between the chuckles and stares. You think you could get used to this. A new norm knowing you both want to start over with an agreed upon future. The two glasses of water on your coffee table gets refilled throughout the night, but sits empty now. 

Yet, you’re both so full. 

And you realize no one’s replenishing the glass the way Jungkook does. Around your imaginary glass filled with holes, Jungkook always does his best to cover and mend them.

“I’m sorry for not keeping you posted on my life.” Jungkook says, knees brushing against yours. “I was trying to figure things out on my own.” He leaves out the part where he wanted to reach out for your opinion, opting to struggle by himself.

“Could’ve reached out to me. I wouldn’t have minded.”

He nods, lips pursed debating his next words.

“What?” You ask, eyes heavy from exhaustion, but you don’t want to miss a single second with your special boy.

“Mm, nothing.” His trademark dimples make an appearance when he hides away a playful smile.

“Come on,” you push, “Tell me.”

He laughs softly, lips pulling to an embarrassed smile, “Wanted you to notice me, so I …”

Your eyes narrow, doing your best to piece together the meaning of his words. Something finally clicks as you lean back against your couch. You’d never peg someone like Jeon Jungkook to do things out of spite or attention, but you suppose love has a way of making people do stupid things.

This was love, right?

“I know. Stupid and immature.” He shakes his head.

“It worked.” You shrug, returning his sheepish smile. He interlaces his fingers with you, relaxed knowing you had been trying to keep up with his life in secret. 

He smiles, but shortly after dips a little at his next musing, “Classes have really taken up a lot of my time. I haven’t been able to work as much, but I still take on projects every month or so.”

Your expression falters a little, guilt filling your system as he relays this information. You nod, head leaning to rest on his shoulder.

“Does it bother you?” He asks another forward question. He doesn’t sound as uncertain as he did months ago in the hotel, courage coming as he knows your inevitable answer. 

“A little.” You admit.

You’ll get used to this just as Jungkook needs to get used to this too — that sometimes he will disappoint and hurt. Your acceptance isn’t a form of a bandaid over a reopened wound; instead, allowing the healing process to take on whatever form is needed. Eventually a scar tissue will rise over the persistent lesion, granting you the chance to perform better this time around.

Around 5 a.m. your sleepy eyes fight to stay open as you watch Jungkook put on his shoes. He stands up, eyes heavy but with so much anticipation. Realizes the moment the door shuts behind him, he’ll be left anticipating the next time he’ll be graced with your company again.

He comes close, and with a soft exhale through his nose, he presses his lips to your forehead. Breath fanning over, his voice is low and gravelly on your skin, “See ya, Pix.”

Life with Jungkook, again, is ever soft and changing. The effort is there, the pace of the relationship slow as it should be. Jungkook’s main focus is school now and you’re there to support him along the way. You come over to work while he’s studying or in virtual lectures.

He wants you close. Giving you access to his apartment by creating your personalized finger scan into his home. You also give him a spare key to your place, prompted by a recent out of the city wedding you had to attend and no one else was available to feed Gum and Bubba.

On his large couch, you sit on the opposite end as you answer email inquiries. Wedding season’s peaking again and no matter how busy you may get, you’re never too busy for Jungkook. Nothing stops Jungkook from remaining close to you — not even his overly large couch. He’s never too far, wanting your legs slung over his lap as he listens to his lecture through his headphones. His hands mindlessly massage the bottom of your soles, knowing exactly where you’re most sensitive and tired after a long weekend of being on your feet.

You aren’t quite lovers, but you definitely are not just friends. What you’re building with Jungkook takes time. Lots of failing and hard days, but there are just as many and if more, softer and gentler days where you’re reminded this was all worth it.

Things move as they intend to. Like your slow evening walks, shared hot meals, and camera shutters when Jungkook needs to work on his portfolio or an assignment for class. He tags along with you on a couple of weddings to keep you company, inevitably revealing to you that weddings aren’t his thing. It’s good to be honest with these truths — one less field he’d find himself dipping with in the world of photography. But no matter his contempt, he likes being where you’re at. 

His lecture finishes and he closes his laptop on his table, leaning back as he rests his eyes after realizing how long he’s been on the computer. Sure, school was difficult, but it was structured — no surprises. Just an obligation he willingly signed up for. 

You don’t look up from your laptop, speaking as you type up a response to an inquiry, “What’s on your mind?”

He debates sharing his predicament, hands haven’t stopped his ministrations on your feet as if you were his version of a stress-ball. You breathe through your nose when he hits a particular pressure point.

“I have to go to work next weekend.” He sighs, working on your other foot now. “I’m tired.”

“Can you decline or postpone?” You look up, blue light from your screen bouncing back to your face. 

He shakes his head. “Can’t. I signed a two-parter contract a while back and this is the last installment.”

You close your laptop, feet swinging down to touch his fluffy carpet rug as you scoot closer to him. You were aware contracts and waiver forms existed to protect a business and their clients. In Jungkook’s case, the production he signed with was protecting their assets and securing their future projects. It’s a little demoralizing to view Jungkook as an asset, but that’s how business worked. He had to fulfill his duties to avoid legal penalties.

You lean in and it’s a familiar sight Jungkook’s grown fond of these couple of weeks: cheek squished on his shoulder, you look up with reassuring eyes. ‘It’ll be okay.’

Slowly, you’ve grown to manage the unease of his work, ache returning similar to tides crashing onto land. Sometimes the waves hit stronger than anticipated, but smaller and more manageable tides come ashore.

“Just one day, and it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll be free to focus on your exams afterwards, hm?” You soothe, setting the scenario to make the finish line easier to visualize.

“Yeah.” He grunts, not completely relaxed at the idea of having to do something he doesn’t particularly want to, but a job was a job.

“Hey,” you sit up higher, “is there anything I can do to make it better?”

Shouldn’t have offered that because there’s probably a number of things Jungkook can list off the top of his head. His tongue grows heavy in his mouth at the mere idea of having anything he wanted from you. 

“Something sweet?” You suggest, brows wiggling up and down.

“Right now?” Declining was never in the books when it came to desserts.

You shake your head with a small laugh, “Whenever you’re done with the project. I can bring something after.”

“Okay, Pix. I’d love that.” His hand holds yours. “Surprise me.”

Nights were always spent like this until it was time for one of you to leave. He walks you to your car, waving at the kind receptionist on the way out to the guest parking lot. No longer embraced in summer’s sweltering heat, fall’s brisk air hits your cheeks when you both step out the complex. You never needed an excuse to press your body closer to Jungkook’s side, hand lodged deep in his coat pocket.

“Bye.” You whisper, tippy-toeing as you press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger on his cold skin just a little longer.

The grip around your hands tighten as he fights off the intrusive thoughts of wishing for your lips to move over any expanse of his skin. There’s no need to deny the fact of having impure thoughts of you … had always been the case whether or not you were with him. It doesn’t help when you press your body closer to his, testing the boundaries of your new relationship with each other. Though, the test always stops where it is needed. 

Passing the test, he gulps, “Text me when you get home, ‘kay?”

“I will.”

Five hours of work and he’ll be free. Considering the masses need to work on average an eight hour shift and sometimes more, Jungkook is fortunate for his work hours to salary ratio. Still not easy doing what he does especially since he isn’t in the right headspace at the moment and school’s been eating up his time — a love-hate relationship when it comes to being in a new learning environment. 

He’s been reevaluating a lot these days, wondering how he’ll juggle his profession with school. And when he finds himself thinking too much of the possibilities, he forces himself to run from those thoughts of quitting everything all together. 

In those difficult moments, thinking about you helps calm his nerves about the future and he feels himself landing back on reality. Not everything needs an immediate answer or decision; moreover, he’s allowed to make mistakes. Much like your relationship with him, the ambiguity doesn’t make him run for the hills anymore. Although you and Jungkook don’t currently have any labels for what you are now, there isn't any uncertainty in his devotion towards you.

He checks his bathroom mirror one more time, piercings taken out because today’s shoot may be a little more physically demanding and he isn’t keen on risking any additional injuries like he had sustained in the first shoot. He signed up for the project on a whim because … well, at the time the money and deal seemed decent. BDSM isn’t something he dabbled a lot in on both the receiving or giving end. However, around the same time he signed the contract, he was still grieving the relationship with you and in need of a distraction — something to make him feel again no matter how painful or rigorous to the body. 

After the first shoot, he needed at least two weeks of rest … both mentally and physically. He isn’t fond of his co-star — Jungkook still remembers the numbers the man did to his body despite signaling his discomfort. 

Locking his door, he makes his way to the elevator. The doors open to reveal a familiar face: Yoona. 

She smiles at him, the lines around her eyes crease from the action. Jungkook nods and steps into the elevator next to her. Her strong perfume permeates his senses; a little too floral for his liking in comparison to the subtle cucumber and jasmine scent on your skin he’s grown attached to. 

“Work?” He asks, looking at his phone. It’s nearly noon, a little late to be going into the office. Then again, what does he know about the corporate life?

“Hyunbin wanted me to visit.” Ah, her ex-husband — explains her appearance and unusual demeanor. He assumes a revenge outfit underneath her long fur coat. “You working?”

“Yup.” He exhales through his nose.

Even without his explanation of his reluctance, Yoona reads him easily … just like how she read him the first two weeks after his split with you, choosing to end things with him because she wasn’t fond of messing with someone who was in emotional distress. She’s already got a lot going on and the last thing she wants is a fuckbuddy using her as an emotional crutch.

She’d rather be a friend or a … mentor? Maybe just a friendly neighbor until he got his shit together.

Be it her years of wisdom or her innate ability to read the younger man, she catches wind of his unwillingness to go to work.

“Hang in there.” She offers, just as her friends regurgitated on multiple venting sessions during the nasty divorce process. It’s the bare minimum as a friend if they aren’t able to do more for you.

“Thanks, you too.” He returns the encouragement with a toothy grin. One of the advantages of being taller than most is his ability to spy over people’s phones. Yoona types away in her phone, the prior messages included a clear image of a male’s lower half and her own response with an image of her freshly showered body in a towel. 

Even with her sunglasses on (which, by the way, are totally unneeded with this gloomy weather), she rolls her eyes under the elevator’s fluorescent lights.

“He’s been begging to make things work again.” She places her phone in her purse. 

“You gonna let him back in?” Surely would lessen the alimony she has to pay him.

Yoona scowls, “I may be single, but I am not lonely.” The elevator dings and signals their arrival on the ground floor. “I can have my cake and eat it.” She smiles, red blooming with her pearly white teeth.

Jungkook laughs under his breath, a surge of sweetness also embraces him now after realizing he also has his ‘cake’ too. Hasn’t quite eaten you the way he wants to, but he’s content. Loves where you are both at and is willing to wait till things settle more in life for the both of you.

Yoona clears her throat, strong floral scent leaving along with her as she steps out of the elevators first. “Take care, Jungkook.” Her heels click on the marble floors as she runs out to the cab waiting for her. 

Jungkook sighs again, making his way to his car and already programming the job site’s address into his Maps app.

Five hours and he’ll be done. 

As promised, you have a sweet treat ready to reward Jungkook after his shift.

It’s uncharacteristic of Jungkook to not answer your texts after a couple of hours. You push away the worry as you make your way up the elevators, tiny brown bag containing something rich and icy you’d typically save for the summer. 

Though, there were no rules on when to consume ice cream, especially if it was made by scratch — especially when you made it with your own spin. Anticipation brews as your steps near the front entrance of his home.

Your fingers press on the knob’s scanner and the latch clicks, ready for you to turn and enter into his home.

The living room’s dark, save for the small light Jungkook programmed to turn on at a specific time. There’s no greeting like you’re used to. Hanging your coat and scarf on the stand, you peer past the entryway as you toe off your shoes.

“Jungkook?” You call out with an air of uncertainty. 

Still no answer. Your eyes adjust to the dim surroundings, eyes eventually falling onto a figure you’d recognize in any condition. 

Jungkook’s laid down on his couch, one arm over his eyes. He’s in his sweats, showered and asleep. Your shoulders drop, tip-toeing past him to put the sweet treat into the freezer. You come back to the living room, not without picking up the fallen throw blanket on the ground, placing it on his body.

You could crack open your laptop to do some work in his kitchen until he stirs awake or just leave and let him rest. Straightening up from your bent position, a sharp inhale comes from below as Jungkook removes his forearm from his face and lifts his head up to peer around his surroundings. He sees you and drops his head in relief, breathing patterns stabilizing with a drag of his hand down his face.

“What time is it?”

“A little past 8.” You reply, sitting near his knees. 

“Sorry, Pix. I crashed.” His throat cracks from sleep, “Time slipped.”

“‘S okay.” You reply, pinkie hooking onto his. “Would you like to rest some more? I won’t bother you.”

He swallows, unsure if he would rather be left alone or if he needed your company. He’s not sure he would be good company.

“I don’t know.” His other arm comes up again to cover his eyes. Misery also needed company too, and he doesn’t want to be away from you.

You seem to get the hint. Couch, stiff and hard as ever, seems to bend at the weight of you both for this moment of tenderness. 

“Hard day?” You ask.

His throat bobs, and that’s when you notice the red marks near his Adam’s apple and his wrist. Your lips tug down, fingers itching to soothe the pain over his skin. You curl closer to him, hoping your presence would be enough to redirect his thoughts.

“Yeah. Was difficult.” He replies, voice shaky. His breath comes out uneven as he sniffles into his arm. “Ah, sorry, maybe it’s better if I’m alone.”

He hadn’t realized a couple tears had slipped out from the corners of his eyes until one of your hands cups his jaw, thumb rubbing away some of the moisture in your touch. He sucks in another breath, chest stuttering as a small sob tumbles out. He turns, burying his face into your chest as his arms come from underneath to hold you.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes repeatedly. You repeatedly tell him you’re not leaving — that you’re here to stay. Fingers running through his dark locks, your touches force his eyes shut, a relieved sigh exiting as he regulates his breathing. 

“I’m here, you’re okay.” You promise, your nails scratching his head produces a soft whimper as he buries his bigger frame deeper into your body. When you try to pull away to assess his face, he only tugs you in tighter. You chuckle, hand patting and soothing the expanse of his back.

“Kook?”

He grunts, too exhausted to verbalize a reply.

“I’m gonna go make something, okay? You stay here and rest.”

He reluctantly loosens his grip on you, and holds onto the fact you were staying. Accepting your proposal, he goes back into a more dignified position with his arm slung over his eyes.

You move with precision; kitchen layout memorized of where all the seasonings and cooking utensils were located, you come back into the living room with a small pot of ramen in under ten minutes. The wooden heat protector clanks onto his coffee table in your descent to the ground. You wince, apologetic for startling him again.

“Didn’t have to make me food, Pix.” He pushes himself up slowly, face contorting in discomfort as he sits upright.

“Wanted to. Come on, have a bite, please?” You had already started rolling the noodles into the spoon, creating a perfect single bite. You blow on the food a little before Jungkook dips his head halfway to receive the food. 

Unlike the painful expression he previously sported, his brows furrow as he chews on the food — a good sign. Nothing’s more healing than a warm meal; a warm meal made with love. 

“Thanks, P.” He smiles, and the parts of him lost during the hours of the shoot are slowly coming back.

“I’m glad.” Your eyes land on his neck first, then over his wrists where the red rings were most prominent. “Did you want to put on ointment? Tell me where you keep your medicine and I can—”

“It’ll heal on its own.” He declines, ready and rehearsed for your concerns. And because he knows there were a billion other questions in that pretty head of yours, he comes clean on his reasons for tonight’s exhaustion. “Co-star went off script towards the end and it threw me for a loop.” He explains, head rested on the back of the couch.

You nod, arms tightening around him. “That sounds awful. I’m sorry …”

He releases another heavy breath. “I-I don’t know, Pix. It’s usually not this bad.”

“What do you mean?” Frowning, you didn’t think you’d ever witness Jungkook in this state: defeated over the profession he willingly chose and stayed for. 

His blank eyes stare off into the distance, zeroing on the corner of his flat screen television. The corners of his mouth twitch, exhaling a shaky breath before murmuring, “I’m scared to quit.”

And despite his discomfort with the subject, he continues, “I … I’ve been thinking about it and it feels like I can’t focus on other things when I have to think about work.” He also doesn’t want to mention the shame he has in quitting, inevitably proving people right that his line of work was not sustainable in the long-run. He doesn’t want to admit he’s outgrown the field that’s built everything around him: his friends, home, experiences, and … you. If it weren’t for his job, he wouldn’t have found you.

But was gratitude and loyalty needed for a profession that brings him more stress and worries?

Though rare, he’s wrestled with these difficult moments in this field, often wondering how life would be if he didn’t need to endure. What version of him exists outside of the industry? He knows what happiness is, but he’s also familiar with the deep dread and disappointment in staying. 

“It’s scary.” You concede, staring off into the same space Jungkook had fixated. “But I know you’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you no matter what you decide on.”

His eyes well up again. He used to think people were crazy for suffering, crying during and off work hours. Now? He’s no different. Change is scary, but remaining the same is scarier. And he’s remained the same for so long, fighting the norms and societal expectations of him.

All this to realize … he’s also just a boy with dreams and aspirations, hope cupped in his hands waiting to be discovered. The industry may be a part of him, but it was never all he was. While he doesn’t know what the future entails, he knows he needs to do something different — his profession does not define his identity.

“Yes, I know.” He lets you rub gentle circles on his bruised wrist, lets you bring up his wrist and blow a cooling breath over his skin before you lay a gentle kiss. “Thank you.”

You and Jungkook remain like this for a while, just sharing each other’s warmth and company until you perk up about the dessert you brought over. He chuckles as you pry open the container and a peek of light orange reaches his vision. Jungkook relishes in the small notes of cinnamon and persimmons hitting his taste buds.

The container of ice cream gets annihilated within fifteen minutes, cold running down your esophagus and tummy, but there’s always a source of heat in your stomach as you sit close to your biggest source of warmth.

Refusing his offer to walk you to your car, you only allow Jungkook to see you out his door in favor of him resting more.

“Thanks for tonight, P. I really needed this.” He needs you more than ever. Holding your hands, he lets his gaze trail down to your lips before he brings them back up to your eyes. He’s been through this route many times, showing restraint because he knows better than to do something too rushed despite his mind and body screaming at him to disobey the boundary you both set. 

As always, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

It’s enough. Because he feels you through the food you make for him, your touch, and your unwavering care.

As you stare up at him with starry eyes, he also realizes:

Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is with you.

Jungkook completed his first semester of courses with flying marks. With a heavy heart, he decided to stop working in adult filming after another week of mulling through his options. In his resolve he tells himself the decision’s indefinite … subject to change. But ever since he let his agent know of his career change, he has not looked back. 

Though the weather remains chilly, spring’s around the corner. The season brings the birds in the early mornings, flowers blossoming around his apartment complex, and the love blooming in his chest whenever he sees you.

Tonight’s a special night for you. Your cohort wanted to do a little social gathering at a club and you invited Jungkook as your plus-one. He wasn’t planning on drinking, opting to be your designated driver for the night. He looks over at you, eyes sparkly with glitter … or perhaps, you glow more under his stares.

Weather’s still cold, but he knows it will warm up at the venue as the night progresses. He lays his brown jacket on your lap as he drives you both to the venue. You’re so pretty in your skin-tight black turtleneck and gold chain necklace. Upon final inspection in your body length mirror, you made a remark how you looked like The Rock minus the fannypack. Jungkook laughed and tugged you along, mumbling how you looked beautiful and how you were going to be late if you did another outfit change. And while the weather is ever turbulent, jumping between hot and cold days, there’s nothing turbulent between you and Jungkook.

Even though you abstained from changing out of your ‘Pre-2012 The Rock’ fit, you were late with how the parking situation worked out. Too many cars, too little parking options when you were deep into the nightlife district of the city. Jungkook parked at an open lot about a twenty minute walking distance. Terrible, you know. But the trip was well worth it with his company. Had you been alone, you probably would have chosen to order a cab, but you’ve never felt safer in Jungkook’s hand as you both walk down the busy streets on a Saturday night. 

“Thanks again for coming with me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Plus,” He squeezes your hand. “You’re coming with me to my friend’s wedding next weekend. So we’re even.”

“Oh no … weddings are so, so, so awful,” you chide with batted lashes. 

He grins, “It is when you gotta be in dress pants.”

You giggle, staring up at the illuminated neon lights around town. “My classmates are excited to meet you, Mr. 9th-Annual-Shutter-Winner.” You grin, the side of your body presses close to him. You look down at his phone where it navigates the leftover walking distance to the club: estimated time of arrival – five minutes.

Jungkook was nervous. Not as a result of meeting your classmates, but he knew a certain someone was going to be there. Kim Taehyung, your best friend and confidant, will also be in attendance. He’s gotten along with him in the past on set. Eccentric guy, a bit of a Namjoon fanatic, but birds of a feather flock together. Namjoon’s creative, kind, and visionary. It’s only natural Taehyung gravitates towards him in this industry.

Regardless, Jungkook’s nervous. He doesn’t voice his concern when you had disclosed that Taehyung was aware of your relationship history with Jungkook. He would never hold you back on talking about your troubles to your friends because it’s important to build that trust and rapport. He hopes his entire persona isn’t completely irreconcilable just yet with the time he’s spent trying to grow and cultivate a healthy relationship with you.

Once in the club, you make your rounds with Jungkook by your side. Lots of new faces, and maybe a select few that were recognizable as a result of the photography competition. 

“Hey Jungkook, heard you were in the photography program,” one of the judges for the past photography competition, Rowoon, smiles, “I know at the end of your photography program they’re going to request for an internship. Let me know if you need help connecting with a photographer.”

“That’d be awesome.” Jungkook smiles.

Jungkook’s appreciative for moments like these, easy conversations blending in with your life. You’ve been surrounded with good people. Well, good enough for you to want to rekindle and meet up every so once in a while.

He watches you from afar now, a mocktail in hand as he lets the ice melt and lessen the syrupy taste of the drink.

You smile into your cup as one of your classmates animate a pose of some sort — probably from a recent project or client. Regardless, he finds himself smiling too, eyes focused on your figure. It’s all tunnel vision, really, how everything around you blurs and this gooey feeling swirls and pools in the pit of his stomach.

He recognizes this, having experienced this similar breakthrough in the past with previous partners. While the hard impact of the realization came far less than this moment, his feelings were undeniable.

He loves you.

An awful realization to have when you guys are out in public and not in privacy, where he can bare his emotions to you freely. His palms sweat, heart accelerating at the welcomed epiphany and rush.

He has been patient and gentle in these last couple of months. That, he’ll give himself credit for. But all the self work he’s done is about to leave as he’s one mocktail sip away from walking over to you and declaring his feelings.

Not the right place nor time. Certainly worse when he can’t drink to distract himself.

“Mind if I join ya?”

Jungkook startles out his thoughts, craning his neck to the side to find Kim Taehyung smiling lazily at him. He simply gestures for the empty stool, all while trying to relocate you after the minor detractor.

Even with the heavy bass of the club music, Jungkook’s eyes still remain on your figure, making sure you’re safe and having fun — as you should always be. 

Taehyung grunts in his descent onto the barstool, gaze following where Jungkook looks at.

“You all socialed out?” Jungkook mindlessly asks — a miracle he’s strung up a coherent sentence. 

Taehyung scoffs at the lack of focus, but replies, “Gets a little tiring explaining my gigs and seeing them react the same way.”

This time, Jungkook stares back at the seated man, completely understanding his sentiment. He knows exactly what Taehyung has experienced being in the industry — their little common ground. 

“You know,” Taehyung begins, “I still don’t get the whole thing with you and her.”

Lips pursed, he drums his fingers on the bar counter, “How so?”

“Friends, but not. Lovers, but not.” Taehyung tips his drink back. “What are you guys even waiting for?”

What was Jungkook waiting for?

“Just want to take our time.” He replies. “Not trying to rush things.”

“Kind of backwards, don’t you think?” He shrugs his shoulders before continuing, “Look man, I’ll be upfront. I’m still on the fence about you.” 

“I know.” Jungkook’s aware he’s far from perfect, knowing his hesitancy in moving forward stems from his insecurities and his fears of hurting you in the process.

“She likes you a lot. And I trust my best friend. If things go sour, well … at least we’ll know how to pick up the pieces this time around.”

Taehyung waves down the bartender for a refill. “I give her a lot of shit for putting herself in a box, but all she does is try. So why don’t you guys try?”

Jungkook’s been so afraid of hurting. In turn, he’s robbing you both of the possibility for something so much more. He loves what he has with you, but was this enough?

You turn, also finding him, and smile.

It’s not enough. He wants more — he needs more.

Taehyung settles back as he watches the scene unfold in front of him with a smug smile. 

Finally.

Jungkook’s on autopilot as he weaves through the crowd. The back of his neck grows sweaty, less from the stuffy venue and more from his nerves and this final act of trying to do the right thing for once. He wants to do right by you, and right now all he wants is to be near you.

He needs to be near you.

You seem to think the same too, placing your empty glass onto the edge of the bar top. There aren’t any remnants of green or cherries, only a sliver of yellow on the bottom he recognizes as his trademark drink.

His heart drums against his chest as you do a quick side hug with the classmate, so eager to get to him in the midst of the hazy, man-made smoke and crowded dance floor.

The path to you was damn near impossible to get to, packed like sardines and people unwilling to move. Though, you both will always find a way to each other. Head tilted, you motion Jungkook to the side of the dance floor. It’s dimly lit, some of the club’s strobing lights don’t touch. Light’s not needed because you’re forever drawn to each other.

“Hi.” You smile up at him, eyes slightly droopy as your hand finds his. “Sorry. Haven’t been able to hang out with you that much tonight.”

He shakes his head, placing your hand behind his neck. Your fingers search for the longer locks he sported in the winter months, but you’ve always preferred his shorter cut. The prickle of the undercut was something you’ve longed for all night long. His silver hooped earrings graze your exposed wrist, the cold metal offering a nice touch on your hot skin.

He shakes his head, “‘S okay, Pix.” You both sway, neither of you really know what song is playing. It all blurs to white noise when you’re with each other. “Did you catch up with everyone?”

“Mhm.” You hum, leaning in to press your face against his chest. There’s a slight drop to your shoulders signifying your exhaustion, but Jungkook reads your demeanor like the back of his hands.

With a hum, he murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”

“Everyone’s in production companies.” You sulk, frown felt on his strong front. 

Your words hold a little bitterness, a hint of dejection at the idea you weren’t exactly doing what everyone was doing. But that’s what made you special. You’re doing what you want to do and you’ve stuck by it.

“You ever think about joining one?” He asks into your hair. 

You lift your head from his chest, chin digging into his sternum. “It’s not for me, but sometimes, I feel like I’m missing out.”

Just like how he thinks he might miss out on something wonderful if he continues as things are, but a club where you’re having a reunion with old classmates isn’t the right time or place for a confession.

Jungkook nods. “Can do whatever you want. The world’s your oyster.”

He doesn’t need any of the strobing lights or a spotlight in the tiny nook you’ve both claimed with the way you smile at him. Not when you stare up at him like he’s the world, ready to be claimed by you. Before he does anything too impulsive, he leads you both closer to the center of the dance floor. Back turned to him, his hands rest on the dips of your hips. Chin tucked in the crook of your neck, he takes in your jasmine and cucumber scent, wondering if you’re just as addicted to his scent. 

“Did you have your usual?” He mumbles into your ear.

You shake your head, shivering from his voice. “Midori sour’s not always on the menu.”

He hums in agreement, thinking back to the arrangements he made at the club he hosted his celebratory party at. Honestly, there was no major issue requesting the addition of the drink; the manager was happy to accommodate. 

“What’d you have earlier?” His voice comes out low, rumbling against you.

You nearly whimper your answer as he circles his arms around your midsection, not wanting to lose any physical contact from you. “Highball.”

His grin stretches across his face, muscle memory as his mouth salivates for the drink. “Did you like it?”

You turn around now, and Jungkook does little to reposition his forehead on yours. This time, another type of restraint courses through his body as his eyes bounce between your hooded stare and pouty lips.

“Mm, I wanted to try what you liked. Not my thing,” you conclude. “Wasn’t sweet at all.” 

Jungkook doesn’t need the additional sweetness in his drinks when he’s surrounded by sweetness in his life. Can do away with sugar because you’re here. 

“What did you have tonight?” You ask back.

“Wild night with some sort of wild berry mocktail.” He teases.

“Lucky, I wish I had that.” Your eyes drop to his lips — he follows your line of vision as you look back up at him.

“Was nice.” He concedes, voice dropping an octave. “Better if it was a highball.”

The music’s loud, but nothing’s louder than the drumming in his ears — the voice in his head yelling at him to close the gap between you two. The same gap you both maintained in these last couple of months. It’s been working so well for you two, reworking your foundation and taking things slow all while hoping it would lead to your desired goal: each other.

Jungkook’s forehead remains on yours, lips parted slightly at your delayed blinks. And although the label had always blurred between the two of you, he had always been yours. Yours, when he entered the establishment with his hand on your hips, guiding you away from rowdy groups at the main point of entrance. Yours, when all you’ve done tonight was match his stares, wanting so badly to be in his company instead of folks you haven’t spoken to in years face to face.

All yours.

“Want a taste?” You ask, making no move to go to the bar. He stays rooted there too, knowing full well he’s not allowed a single drop of alcohol in his system. The entrancement lasts all but a second before a flicker of fear flashes across your features. 

Deja vu.

Was this all a figment of your imagination and it could get ripped from you any moment? If you lean in like you did months ago, would you be punished by rejection again?

Your brows furrow, eyes pleading up at Jungkook to answer your unspoken questions.

And he reads you so easily — remembers you and knows your insecurities before you do sometimes.

He breathes you in, nose now nestled against your own with no intentions of ever leaving.

“Please?” Your warmth fans over to him, a soft plea worthy of ending wars Jungkook would only qualify as his own battles.

He thinks about that night at the club where you had left him, foolishly clutching onto the flimsy cone-shaped cups while the world spun with you nowhere in sight. Thinks about the prospect of you leaving again and how ruined he’d be without you.

Jungkook pleads with you too now, “Please don’t leave me.”

You shake your head. “I’m right here.”

He thinks he deserves a little bit of heaven. Funny, how he thinks the universe could grant him kisses from a million angels, but he’d only want a lifetime of yours. The last thing he sees are two slow blinks from your sparkly-glittered lids, pulling and signaling him into a soft landing: to home — he finally finds his way back home.

He cups your face, delicate in how he holds you because there’s nothing more he’d like to do than to handle you with all the care and tenderness in the world. He sighs into your lips, relieved to finally have you like this. Where you both meet in the middle now.

Highball, in the simplest terms, was bland whiskey. The taste of the drink was probably the furthest thing you can get to the sweetness of your typical midori sour. And yet, you still tried for him. He knows how much you try for him and you’ve done your best to accept him — the work and effort you put into adoring Jungkook never goes unnoticed.

He doesn’t taste the highball, none of the usual remnants of the drink he’s grown to like as he runs his tongue over your plump lips. Perhaps it’s also that he no longer searches for that familiar aftertaste; instead, welcoming something he’s longed for and missed these months. His tongue moves over your lips again, slow and deliberate to savor the sweetness. 

Your mouth parts for him, a tentative push of his tongue and you’re reduced to putty. He trails one hand down your hip, pulling you flush against him. 

It’s all muscle memory, how puzzle pieces fit just for you and Jungkook. He groans against your mouth, the low sound vibrates through your body, sending a shock through your body and heat building in your middle.

Your name is all but a rasp as Jungkook goes straight to your lips again after your small whine. He can’t get enough of you, the background noise and people blurring in his pursuit of you. You kiss him back. Months after months of waiting, slowly rebuilding, knowing exactly where the finish line is … and the kiss now was just one of your many monumental milestones with Jungkook.

He needs to pull away for air, mindful of your own state too despite his unwillingness to stray away. It’s everything he’d expect a kiss from you to be after all this time: sweet, with no hint of the drink he fancied. 

Nose nestled to yours and brazen smiles exchanged, Jungkook does his best to regulate his breathing.

“You’d ever give highball another try, Pix?” He breathes, peppering tinier kisses on your lips, rendering it nearly impossible to properly respond.

“Yeah.” You reply in between kisses. “I’d try it again. It’s worth another chance.”

When he finally pulls away with much reluctance, his heart drums against his chest at your response — at your implication. 

You wanted this with him. 

“You’ll teach me how to properly drink it?” You look at him with the softest gaze.

He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Will drink it with you.”

No one was talking about the drink. Though, much like the drink, love and affection was always better shared and experienced together. 

And it’s so much better savoring those moments with you.

You and Jungkook eventually leave the dance floor to socialize with your other classmates, catching Taehyung with a content smile as he peers down at your interlinked hands. Jungkook’s hand involuntarily tightens around yours and you look up, eyes holding a playful curiosity as to what he wants.

You mouth, ‘You tired?’

He shakes his head no, though, his droopy eyelids and slight sway to his body tells you otherwise. You’re also tired too, wanting nothing more than to be with your desired source of warmth.

You quickly make your rounds, bidding your farewells and blaming your age for not being able to stay longer. Thankfully, a couple of your other classmates left before you, so your attempt to leave didn’t look out of the blue. Your goodbye with Taehyung takes a little longer as he whispers something in your ear, eyes playful as you pull away and lightly smack his arm. 

Jungkook smiles once you’re back by his side, the cold night air hitting you both outside the club. He offered to run to the car while you wait back, but you insisted on coming with him. “Ready for the walk, Miss Rock?” 

With narrowed eyes, you huddle closer, pretty pout on your lips he so wants to kiss. 

“You said I looked great.” You huff, beginning the long trek back to the car. 

“The Rock looked great, and so do you, Pix.” He teases.

Three minutes into your walk, a random downpour starts out of nowhere. 

Jungkook takes off his brown jacket, slinging it over both your bodies as you do your best to run from the rain. Shared incredulous giggles and glances with each other made the trip back even better. Unable to fully avoid the downpour, Jungkook opts to just cover you with his jacket. The theatrics continue once a car passes, wheels producing a splash over your bodies.

Unneeding of the jacket now, you lower the jacket around your shoulder, tugging Jungkook through the rain as you both near the car. He looks at you from behind, catching your stare back while urging him to move quicker. 

But he’s in no rush.

He’s never been in a rush with you.

Steps coming to a halt, you look back again with a questioning expression. His hair’s matted on his forehead, eyes squinting from the rain water, but he can see you so clearly under the yellow of the streetlights.

He says your name, your steps stumble as you land in his embrace. Cold fingers run on your cheek before he admits, “I don’t think I can just be what we’ve been. I want this with you — I want to be with you.” 

He doesn’t ask you if you want the same. Didn’t have the chance as his eyes widened the same moment your lips met his.

Rain beats down on your bodies, hard and punishing. The cold water seeping through your clothing is nothing compared to the heat searing from your bodies. Your fingers run through his hair from behind, urging him closer if it were possible. His hold on you tightens and you unconsciously arch into him, no longer caring how the rain water runs down your face.

Jungkook breaks apart from the kiss, “It’s always been you, P.” Warm breath on your lips as he utters words he's long realized and wanted to tell you, “I … I’m in love with you.”

It’s freeing. Not just his confession, but how the rain continues washing out everything around you both. The good, the bad. The aftermath of a storm allows for rebuilding — for flowers to blossom, for growth and to start anew.

He thinks about all the time spent together and apart — the happiness, trust, and fears … it all inevitably brings him back to you. And as the rain waters continue to fall, he finds himself free falling into your embrace — the easy love.

“I love you,” You profess, brows pulling together tears mixing in with the rain, “So much. You know that, yeah?”

He does. But even so, he still asks, “Please be with me.” He chews on the inside of his mouth, so fearful of rejection as though you could choose any other route. “Please?”

You nod, leaning in for a kiss that could only seal your answer to him. “I’m yours. Always been yours.”

A relieved chuckle stutters from his chest, holding you close. “Home?”

“Home.” You reply.

Jungkook’s home was closer in proximity, so it would only be natural to head over there to change out of your soaked clothes. Even with the seat warmers turned onto the highest setting and his jacket slung over your lap like it was in the beginning of the night, you shiver and shudder in your seat.

“Can use my shower too, P.” He pushes his wet bangs back and reasons, “Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Mmkay,” Your teeth involuntarily chatters, hands tucked in between your thighs underneath his jacket to retain your heat.

His hand naturally finds yours. “We’ll be home soon, ‘kay?”

Back at his home, he gives you a spare t-shirt with some sweatpants, letting you know that he’ll shower at the guest bathroom while you use the master bedroom’s. It’s not your first time in his bedroom, having been there a couple times when he was busy and needed you to retrieve something for him in there. The citrus scent embraces you as you walk in, fingers tightening around his clothes. He’s fumbling around his dresser to get his own clothing, hair dried to a damp mess and coarse at the ends from the washed away hair products. His shirt drags over his large frame, seemingly heavier around the shoulder area from the rainwater.

Back still turned away, he cranes his neck to you and catches your curious stare. “Go on and use the shower, P.”

You nod, clothes feeling unbearingly tight whether it be from the rain or the suffocating dilemma of not wanting to leave Jungkook’s side.

In the shower, he’s still with you through the shampoo and body wash. You run your hands around your body, knowing this is your way of keeping him close. Will you need to go home after this? Does the mirage end here with the suds of soap pooling at your toes?

Does it end with his scent on your body?

All dried and in his clothes, you stare at the mirror, a small smile playing at your lips at the visual of your body drowned in his oversized t-shirt. You roll the bottom of the sweatpants and tug at the drawstrings to secure around your waist.

You peer into his bedroom. “Jungkook?” No response. 

Walking out to the living space, you notice a tuft of hair on the large couch’s armrest. Two glasses of water — all full — just like your heart, rests on the coffee table. Peering over the couch, your lover lays there, eyes closed with a rhythmic breathing pattern nowhere close to being asleep.

You come around and seat yourself on the edge of the couch. An unsuspecting force pulls you down, followed by a small ‘oomph,’ you attempt to sit back up.

“Can we rest a little before I take you home?” He mumbles, breathing into your hair.

Your ear is pressed against his chest, his heart thumping way too fast for rest. Working up your courage, you snuggle into his warmth as you murmur, “It’s late. Don’t want you driving at this hour.” Before he could ask if you’d want him to fetch a cab, you follow up with, “If it’s okay … can I stay over tonight?”

The drumming in his chest speeds up, but his words come out assertive. “Of course, P.”

The guest room sits empty as Jungkook leads you back to his bedroom, a sleepy smile on his face as he catches your yawn and places the glass of water onto the nightstand closest to where you’ll sleep. He hooks his index fingers in the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head, tossing the article of clothing on the ottoman near the foot of his bed.

You swallow, eyes raking over his toned body you’ve grown so familiar with. His tattoo lines look darker under the warm hues of his nightlight. Underneath his covers, your eyes fight to stay open, only allowing them to blink shut when he encircles his arms around you.

“Night, P.” He mumbles.

“Good night, Kook.”

Around 5 a.m. you wake up with the worst case of dry mouth, having already drank the glass of water in the middle of the night, and another time Jungkook refilled without your knowledge. You pout at the glass sitting pretty and empty on the nightstand.

There’s an unfamiliar weight on your midsection causing you to suck in a breath as you look down. Intricate patterns and faded colors greet you before you turn your head to meet their owner.

Jungkook’s on his front, pouty mouth parted and lashes kissing the top of his cheeks. His rhythmic light snores tell you he’s still in deep slumber if not for the sleep-lines on the side of his face where he buries himself further into his fluffy pillows.

There’s a stillness in waking up next to Jungkook like this — at the realization there’s no need to run or leave. He’s here within a distance you can comfortably reach. 

You think back to last night, between the kisses and confessions, everything seemed like a dream. You’re tempted to reach over to brush away the strand of his bangs. Want to see if he’d stir awake and look at you as he did before you both fell asleep last night.

That’s the funny thing about love — can’t bear the selfishness and greed of your own desires. So instead, you do your best to uncurl from his lazy hold, already missing his warmth as you grab the rims of your glass to fetch some water.

You’ve only been over in the afternoon and evening, never knowing the brisk morning air. Jungkook’s room was warm, temperature maintained by the heat of your bodies, but in the open living space, you shiver a little from cold and the absence of a familiar body.

Glass refilled, you make your way back to Jungkook, but something pulls you to an abrupt stop.

You’ve only seen this view at night, always curious how differing the morning view would be. Orange peeks and greets you on the horizon, begging for your presence even when there is another star you rather be with.

Just a couple more minutes and the sun will rise — a view you’ve never seen from here. Lips nursing on your glass, you smile as you hear another pair of feet shuffle in your direction. Not subtle at all. He makes his presence known with a small yawn, standing behind you, he presses his chest against you from behind and wraps his arms around your abdomen.

“Whatcha doing up so early?” Voice laced with sleep.

“Wanted to get water,” you bring the glass up to his view, “sun’s about to rise now.” You nod at the window. 

His body vibrates against yours at a particularly low chuckle. “‘S nice, isn’t it? Can see everything from here.”

You hum in agreement. You love the view, love his touch, love him. And because you love him, you give him the remainder of your water. Glass now empty again, he sets the cup on a small stand. The surrounding air stifles as a strong pair of arms wrap around you tighter, cluing in a shift in the easy morning conversation.

“P, I meant everything I said last night.” He says, afraid you hadn’t retained any recollection of last night’s event — as though all the magic last night was all but a trick and illusion.

There’s no illusion in your adoration for him, turning away from the sun, you realize you have everything in front of you worth orbiting for.

“I meant everything too.” You reply, feeling the sun warm your back, but even that source of warmth wasn’t enough incentive to have you turning away from Jungkook again. “I love you. Wanna be with you.”

You tip-toe, lips pressing delicately against his only spurs on his tiny moan as he meets you in the middle. His teeth nibble on your bottom lip, causing you to part them with a small gasp. He takes this moment to lick into your mouth, tongue running against yours to savor you. He could blame the morning wood on … well, the morning, and not your soft lips, but he’s wanted you like this for so long and now you’re finally his.

He angles your chin, doing his best to distract you from the bulge pressed against your stomach, to which you also push against. Grunting, he huffs into your mouth, “Pix, please.”

You hum a small ‘what?’

So dangerous of you to push something he’s been suppressing for months. Aching for your touch, but he’s respectful of the change in dynamics. He wants to be respectful now, but was there a need?

“I’m trying to be good.” He mumbles, kissing along your jaw and making his way down your neck. His teeth rake against the expanse of your skin, reveling in your shivers and the way your nails dig into his back.

“You are good.” You sigh prettily. “So good to me.”

And because of this, Jungkook wants to show you other ways he could be good to you. It’s what you deserve — nothing makes him happier than making you feel good. Back pressed against the glass panes, the initial cold morphs and changes with the sun and your combined body heat.

His hand snakes up your shirt, large palm halting at your stomach until you nod for him to move. You moan at the contact of his thumb moving over your hardening bud.

“Feels good, pretty?” He mouths against your neck.

You swallow and nod, “J-Jungkook, can people,” another moan slips as he sucks on a particularly sensitive juncture of your neck, “see us from here?”

Being on the thirty-fourth floor had its perks and advantages. He doesn’t have next door neighbors except for the floor above and below him, which works in his favor. 

“No one can see us, P.” He shakes his head, “You want them to?”

He grips your chest a little harder, urging for an answer before he continues. Head lifted to your face, his hooded eyes draw you in. 

“No,” you place a soft kiss on his jaw, “Want this just between us.”

He also can’t imagine having another person watch you both. Can’t imagine sharing an experience like this with someone other than you. 

“Yeah, it’s just you and me.”

The hand on your hip runs up your front, cupping your cheek first before he slips a soft request while looking at your lips, “Open, please.”

Your mouth parts, and his hand drags over your cheek, his middle and ring finger probing and sliding over your wet muscle. His cock twitches in his sweats at the thought of possibly feeling your mouth again. Those thoughts break the moment you close around his digits, warm and wet around him. Your cheeks hollow without command as you eagerly suck on his fingers. You look at him with determined eyes, fighting to stay open but loses the battle before fluttering shut when his thumb runs over your hard nipple again.

“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, “‘s that okay?”

You nod, unable to verbalize a response with his fingers in your mouth. Soon his wet fingers slip out of your mouth and he slips them past the waistband of your folded sweats.

“Oh god,” Your hips buck back from the sudden contact of his fingers, ass pushed against the glass. “P-please.” You beg, unsure of what exactly but Jungkook takes it as a request to move. His middle finger slots perfectly between your wet folds, circling around the bundle of nerves. 

“Wanna touch you, too.” You plead, “Can I?”

He tips his forehead against yours, hips pushed against your hand. “Uh-huh, want you to touch me.”

Your hand slips into his sweats, making contact with his bare length. The angle of your bodies makes it difficult to tug or squeeze as you like, but he shudders just by the mere contact of your soft hand.

“P, don’t—” He moves back slightly to peer down at your hand working over his length. “Don’t tease.” 

Lip tucked between his teeth, his own hand speeds up over your clit, wet sounds growing by the second. He hopes you do the same too, but you keep your lazy strokes, watching him with hooded eyes. “Not,” you pause, eyes closing when he nears you, pressing a dainty kiss, “teasing.”

“Tell me what you need.” You murmur against his lips.

“Faster,” He whines, “need you to go faster—fuck—” He groans when you comply, hand picking up the pace.

And be it from the patience and time endured after months of dreaming of being with you … or he was just that easy, he finishes in his sweats in under a minute. Your hand slowly jerks over his length, hand coated in his cum.

“Koo, did you cum?” You breathe, unsure from the sudden liquidy warmth. He moans a small yes, angling his head for your kisses on his neck, teeth dragging over his collarbone as a reward for his confirmation. Your hand glides over the head of his sensitive cock. “Made a mess all for me.”

He kisses you, deft fingers on your clit as he touches away the embarrassment of cumming before he’s gotten to properly take care of you. It’s no give or take situation, but he wants to give back to you.

He removes his hand and you nearly cry out at the loss of his touch. Your cum covered hand gets tugged from his pants at the same time. Doesn’t care you’re unconsciously wiping away your hand on your shirt — everything was going into the wash anyway, ridding any evidence of the sinful acts you’ll both willingly partake in.

How sinful were they if they were embarked by two people in love? 

Fingers hooked on the waistband of your sweats, he drags them down your hips, leaving both your soaked underwear and pants pool at your ankles. His eye contact never wavers as he drops down on his knees, only breaking at the long shirt length covering your bare cunt. With a knowing glance, you hold the bottom of the shirt, while the other one falls on the side of his head for support as nudges your legs apart. 

“So perfect,” he praises, eyes peering up at you, “All mine.” His fingers form a ‘v’ as he spreads your glistening folds, mouth watering at the sight of your twitching clit. He moves in, placing a kiss on the side of your pussy, just shy of your nub. The action has you furrowing your brows, mouth dropping open as you involuntarily push your hips forward.

You mewl, thighs closing when he finally slots his tongue over the self-made opening between his fingers. He licks, sucks, and kisses the tiny nub. And you stand there, taking everything he’s willing to give you. He loves watching you struggle maintaining eye contact, loves the shy smile you give him when you had a moment of realization of how loud you were in the early hours of his home, and loves the small tug from your fingers in his hair when he repeatedly presses his lips to your clit.

You were already so close before this, but now he has you tipping on the edge again. Jungkook’s eyes close, tongue lapping your cunt.

Your thighs shake, breath caught in your throat as he continues the motions. And even though he’s not looking at you, he knows you’re about to let go as you rock your hips into his face. Using one hand, his fingers dig into the back of your thigh as he brings one of them over his shoulder.

“Baby–” You rasp.

“Hm?” He answers, muffled against your core. The vibrations against your cunt have your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your lids slam shut from the sensation.

You whimper, stomach clenching at the first signal of your orgasm. Your fingers clutch pathetically at the end of the shirt, mindful of the other hand interlocked with his locks. But you’re bolder now, know what you like and need … and what you like is Jeon Jungkook moaning against your core, encouraging you to cum. What you need is to extend this feeling for as long as you can, so you push his head closer as you grind your spasming cunt to his face.

“Cumming,” you manage to get out, “Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”

Jungkook can’t answer, wishes he could; though, all his wishes are being fulfilled as he’s head deep between your legs. He pulls away after your hips press back against the glass, signaling your sensitive state. Hooded gaze fixed, he takes in the visual of your cheek pressed onto your shoulder — a habit he’s noticed every time you’ve cummed. Your eyes blink open slowly, blinded by the light coming in from the rising sun.

“I’m sorry, P.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all with his mischievous grin as he kisses your inner thigh — the one he has thrown over his shoulder. “You missed the sunrise.”

You croon, a small playful pout on your lips. “I did.” You release his hair, hand cupping his jaw. You moan in surprise when he latches onto your clit again, lazy sucks as he peers up at you.

He places one last kiss to your nub and suggests, “Should turn around then, take in the current view.” He leaves out the fact that you’ll have plenty of more chances to see the view.

He places your leg down. While wobbly at first, you plant your feet sturdy before complying with his request. He’s right — the city’s beautiful. 

Jungkook also has the best view in the city too. 

You look back at him from your shoulder, eyes catching his, “You’re not watching with me?”

“Perfect view here.” He scoots back a little, ignoring the discomfort and numbness in his knees. You brace against the glass, fist clenched tightly at the anticipation of what your lover wants to do. No one cares about the prospect of a stained glass as you hinge your hips out to him, the underside of your wet pussy entrances him.

He pushes your shirt up over the curves of your hips and the sight before him has his cock hardening in his sweats again. A creamy white sheen trickles down your slit, begging to be licked up before it dribbles onto the floor.

And he does. With a cock to his head, he slots his mouth over your leaky cunt.

You wail, cheek pressed against the glass as you fog up a small section with your warm puffs of air. His tongue laps over your clenched hole, pleased you haven’t pulled away from him. He rewards you with a small probe of his tongue and you surprise him again by pushing back, tongue gliding into your warm cavern with little resistance.

You both moan, caught in the euphoric moment of this new experience. 

He reels his head back, spreading you wide to look at your gaping pussy — all his doing.

“Please,” you beg, greedy for his mouth. Without warning, he dives back in, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole with a new profound hunger. One of his hands comes from under and rubs at your clit. The new feeling has your legs shaking again, your hand coming around to place on top of his to ground yourself.

He pulls away, placing wet kisses alongside your thighs. “You liked that, Pix?”

“Yeah, I loved it.” You reply, looking back at him through your lashes.

“Good.” He chuckles, stomach warm from your confession, “Keep looking at the view though. Sun’s pretty today.”

The sun’s pretty every day, you think to yourself as you look at your source of light. But you turn away, obedient as you look at the rays the rest of the world relies on. 

“Gonna do something new, ‘kay?” He says, strained as he places a small kiss on one of your cheeks. He lets his teeth graze your skin, fingers digging into the meat of your ass to gain your confirmation. “Tell me if you don’t like it.”

You nod, can’t think of anything you won’t like aside from being away from Jeon Jungkook, but you’re sure to vocalize any discomfort for whatever journey he’s about to embark with you.

“Open wider for me.” He husks. You comply, feet shuffling apart as you hinge lower. 

You couldn’t predict what he wanted to try with you, certainly not anything remotely close to how he parts your ass and you feel his breath on your skin before he leans in.

You nearly cry out at the first lick over the tight ring of your asshole. There was an adjusting period, one that involved your breasts pressed hard against the window, mouth hanging open as Jungkook goes in for another lick.

It’s not unpleasant. New, like he mentioned.

“You taking in everything, P?” His finger slips over your cunt, long index finger teasing the entrance. He takes his time running his fingers between your wet folds, watching your bleary eyes struggle to stay open. It’s fine. You’ll have plenty more opportunities to see the view in the future — he’ll make sure of it.

You moan at the feeling of his finger probing the entrance of your pussy, hole clenched around nothing as he continues teasing you.

“Hm? Answer me, pretty.” His tongue teases around your taint. This time, you relax into it, even going as far as pushing back.

“Mhm,” you try, “‘s pretty.”

You have your head turned again, watching him the best you could, completely unfocused from the view beyond the massive curtain wall. A wrecked moan escapes the moment his long digit pushes into your sensitive cunt — just up to the first knuckle, nothing more. At the same moment, his tongue guides itself past the tight ring of your hole.

You don’t know what to focus on: his tongue fucking into your ass or his finger coated in your arousal as he has you plugged up on both holes simultaneously.

Jungkook’s always been an ass man, and he honors the title as he continuously dives his head between your cheeks. The finger inside your other hole stays in place, never pushing another inch until you whine and reach between your legs. Your fingers touch the top of his, pushing at them to sink deeper into your pussy.

He pushes his digit into you, the full length wrapped around your wet walls. “Do what you need to make this feel good.” He says. “Want you to feel good.”

A content sigh leaves your lips as you rub slow circles, pleasure building again in your stomach as each minute slips by. You’ve never been one to cum multiple times … unfortunately, you’re no better than a man. One and done type of girl, but the eagerness to cum again from this new experience has you motivated and greedy for more. Especially when the experience is with someone you love and care for.

“I-I think I’m gonna cum again.” You announce, pushing your ass back to his face as he continues fucking his tongue into your ass. He groans and nods, picking up the pace from behind with fervor at the mention of your orgasm.

His finger gradually speeds up, curling a little before he decides to add another finger in. 

Oh.

“This okay?” He asks as he senses a change in your demeanor at the sudden intrusion.

You whimper, body stiff and rigid during the adjustment period. The stretch has you halting before you’re rubbing feverishly against your clit, babbling and begging for him to move faster. 

Jungkook’s lucky on the thirty-fourth floor. So lucky no one’s able to hear the the sounds you make both from your mouth and wet cunt as he fucks his digits faster as requested. He curls his fingers and your legs start shaking, your hand no longer able to move as you take everything Jungkook gives from behind.

You gasp, his name falls from your lips as you let go. There’s definitely an imprint of your mouth and cheek on his glass window now, memoirs of the acts you both committed. 

The wetness grows between your legs, both holes pulsating as you finally cum around him again. Jungkook groans, letting you ride out your orgasm as you need.

He removes both his fingers and tongue from your holes and parts your ass to marvel at the mess you’ve made. The puffy ring of your ass shines with his spit, while your pussy quivers from the aftermath of your strong orgasm. He thinks about how it would be if you were stuffed full of him right now, but he’s in no rush with you. Knows there’s no time constraint to loving you right this time around. Your shirt drops from the curve of your hips and down to your knees as you stand upright, turning and pressing your back to the glass again. Jungkook stands up, fingers already in his mouth to lick up any remnants of cum. 

His arms wrap around your waist to hold you up, forehead touching yours as it’s meant to. Doesn’t go for a kiss no matter how much he wants to because he’s not sure of your aversion after where his mouth has been. But you don’t care, looping your arms over his neck and slotting your lips over his for a messy kiss, eventually reduced to small pecks.

“You okay, P?” He asks with round eyes. You nod and ask the same in a hushed whisper.

Why wouldn’t he be when he’s got all he’s ever wanted in his arms? He rubs over your back in a soothing motion, “More than okay, P.”

More kisses are shared, until Jungkook murmurs how he’s still tired and wants to go back to bed. You look at the clock and as tempted you are, you hum and shake your head. His eyes widen at your response, about to offer a quick retort, but you beat him to it.

“You said you had registration for the upcoming semester in a couple hours. Didn’t you say you needed to work on a schedule?”

He tips his head back, both grateful and upset at your memory after he mentioned it to you in passing last week. 

Still, these things can be done while in the comforts of his bed and your company. Hand enclosed in his, he tugs you back to his bedroom, no longer omitting the same warmth when you left.

But perhaps, the warmth was anywhere you were with Jungkook.

Saturn takes twenty-nine years to complete its cycle. When you turned twenty-nine, you thought your Saturn was still out there, taking their sweet time with the journey back home.

“Pixie?” 

“Coming!” You call out, finishing the last touch of your dusty-pink blush. Smoothing out your sage-green dress, you do a small once-over in your mirror before properly greeting your boyfriend. 

Your Saturn’s returned, watching you embark on your new adventure, cheering you on through your wins and losses. Jungkook smiles from the doorway, leather dress shoes placed neatly on the side. His hair is styled as he would for all the wedding events he’s gone to with you, but this was a new suit. Usually in black, the light grey suit brings out his dark features even more — boyish charms emulated with his suit jacket off and hooked on his fingers over a shoulder. The brooches on his vest glimmer on the side, adding a nice finishing touch to his wedding guest look for the evening.

He shines either way when his orbs land on your features, taking in your soft curls and dress you’ve chosen. 

“Pretty.” He’s kind enough to not kiss you, seeing you’ve just freshly applied your lipstick, but you’ve never been opposed to reapplying. You tip-toe to plant a soft kiss, not enough to transfer any product, but enough to tempt him for further damage.

“You look very handsome.” You say, hands automatically coming up to fix the angle of his tie. Spring’s weather is ever unpredictable and today’s one of the more warmer days of the week, but the temperatures rise in the small nook of your home as he stares at you.

To avoid any potential deterrence, you move behind him to get to your shoe rack. He presses his back against the wall opposite to you, watching as you crouch down to pick out a strappy nude heel.

“What if we skipped the wedding, Pix?”

You pout, blowing at the random strands of hair in your peripheral. “Your friend would be disappointed. Plus, we both got all done up. Would be a waste if we didn’t go.”

“It’s not a waste,” he replies, “can just have a night in.”

“Also would give me an excuse to get out of these dress pants.” He adds with a scowl. 

You lean away, doing a double take on the slacks he has on. You’ve always fancied a guy in dress pants and Jungkook was no exception. Loves how his thighs fill up the spaces and how his ass looks in them.

“Couple hours and we can have a night in.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I’ve got a watermelon in the fridge waiting for us.”

The wedding was standard, especially with it belonging to someone you don’t know. Technically most, if not all, weddings you’ve gone to have belonged to strangers. But there was something special about this wedding — it’s the first time you attended a wedding with Jungkook where you aren’t working.

Weddings have always felt magical; the usual string of fairy lights and flower arrangements appear even more enchanting tonight. And you realized, the enchantment started months ago at Yoongi and Hoseok’s union.

During cocktail hour, he made sure to get all your favorite finger foods without request. When the ring bearer and flower girl comes into view during the ceremony, he’s quick to move higher on his seat, letting you peer past him to get a better look at the little ones. And when he holds your waist during the reception’s dance, you know weddings are magical because the moment’s shared with him. 

“This was nice. Thanks for having me as your plus-one.” You sigh in content, cheek rested on his chest as you both slow dance to When a Man Loves a Woman. 

He snorts, lighthearted and warm. “I’m glad you enjoyed.” Meant as a sarcastic remark, he also agrees this evening was a lot nicer than he had anticipated in the month leading up to this day. 

“I really love weddings.” You mumble to yourself.

He loves weddings with you. Jungkook presses his cheek on the top of your head, “I know.”

You and Jungkook stay like this for a while through a couple slow songs until the DJ changes up the genre of the music, signaling older couples to evacuate the dance floors for the younger crowd to reminisce on an era where their knees existed for the thrill of it all.

Your bodies move in tandem: his, warming your back, and your bottom pushed against his groin with your preferred pressure, knowing you’d never go overboard at a wedding but just enough for him to have him let out a shy chuckle.

His breath fans over the shell of your ear, “I really hate these dress pants, P.”

You turn your head to him, sultry expression matching his hooded lids. “Why’s that?”

“Shows everything.” He laughs through his nose, “Can’t leave here any time soon now.”

You ease up a little, facing him again while your fingers slide over the brooches resting on the left side of his chest — where his heart resides. He’d argue his heart is in his arms staring up at him.

“I’ve always loved you in dress pants.” You confess. “‘Cause that’s when we’re at weddings together.”

Considering how he leans down, pressing a small kiss to your lips where you reciprocate with another lingering kiss, maybe being in dress pants isn’t that bad.

“Have we met our quota yet, Pix?” He nudges his nose against yours.

For someone who loves weddings, you’re eager to go home, too. You want nothing more than to just spend time with Jungkook in the comforts of your home.

“Quota met.”

Sheltered by the indoor venue, you didn’t realize how humid it got outside in the time spent at the wedding. Your apartment was practically a sauna by the time you and Jungkook arrived back at your place. Opening up your windows, you have a fan running in the background to air out the space.

“Sorry,” You say sheepishly while cutting into the watermelon. Your eyes rake over Jungkook where he unbuttons his grey vest and rolls up his sleeves to reveal his tattooed arm.

He shakes his head, taking two spoons from your drawers, “It’ll cool down.”

Will it? 

Air heavy with both the atmospheric moisture and tension brewing between you and Jungkook all evening, you’re not so sure if the temperatures will drop any time soon. The watermelon center caves as you both dig with the metal spoons. You favored the center; whereas, Jungkook aimed closer to the watermelon rind. 

He peers over at you where you stand. Hair now put up by a claw clip, he counts the baby hairs sticking onto the back of your neck, momentarily forgetting to dig into the watermelon when it’s his turn. 

“Why do you only pick at the sides?” Your brows twitch, digging into the middle again and turning to him with a center piece.

He shrugs, opening his mouth on cue for you to stick your spoon into his mouth. Sure, the middle pieces were sweet, but he thinks they might be sweeter coming from you. He chews and swallows, tilting his head a little to meet your equally sticky lips.

“Sweet either way, Pix.” He wonders if the salty moisture on your skin would pair well with the sweet watermelon.

Well, one way to find out.

No longer following a script, Jungkook moves on his own accord — loving and falling freely as he likes knowing you’ll be there to catch him. He shifts his body, head dipped in the crook of your neck as he licks a thick stripe over your neck. You gasp, spoon dropping onto the counter as your hands fly to grab onto his forearms for support.

He’s right; you do bring out more sweetness.

The half eaten watermelon sits on your counter, long forgotten in the pursuit of Jungkook’s body pressed to yours. His lips slot perfectly on you, a relieved sigh escapes as your bodies move as it’s desired all evening.

He trails kisses down the column of your throat, marking a pathway on your collarbone. Fingers in his hair, your grip on him tightens as you shyly ask, “Bed?”

Knees digging onto your bed, you sit up taller to kiss your still-standing boyfriend. He’s busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt while you race to unbuckle his belt — a race no one formally declared, but it was an unspoken need. And you both needed each other … badly.

You beat him, of course. The black Calvin Klein lettering on the banding greets you first as the front opening flaps of his pants fall to the side. He whimpers as you run your hand over his bulge. 

“Can I …” Your sentence trails off as you kiss along his exposed neck.

He nods unsure of what you exactly want, but the godforsaken dress pants drop and pool at his ankles without a second thought. You kiss your way down his torso, paying extra attention to his chest. With a determined look, you stick your tongue out on his hard nipple for a tentative lick to glean at his response.

Oh, it’s good — so, so, so good. 

He shivers, hand hitting your claw clip as it flies to the back of your neck to hold you in place. Your teeth grazes over the hardened bud, a sliver of pained pleasure courses through as you bite down with a gentle force. He hisses, mouth dropping open to bite back his moans. You remedy the pain with your tongue, silently apologizing without actually feeling sorry. 

You slither lower on all fours as you take his hard cock out of its confinements. Round eyes look up at him for permission to proceed. 

There’s a slight hesitance in your actions as the last time you wanted to give him a blowjob, he made it a goal to stay protected for both your sakes. He’s always for safe sex, but he knows he’s clean and wants to feel your bare lips around him as long as you’ll allow it. You seem to share the same sentiment as you tilt your head up, eyes burning with want and ownership of his bare skin.

Still, you ask, “Do we need a condom for this?” The thin straps of your pretty evening gown cascades loosely on your shoulders.

“No, but only if you want …” Jungkook pants, a harsh exhale when you give him a gentle squeeze. The small, pleased sound you make, paired with another harder tug confirms your answer.

He releases your hair from the clip, watching it cascade down your shoulders. Bunching your hair in a messy ponytail, he uses it as an anchor as you tug on his shaft. 

“Spit on it.” He pleads, groaning when you comply. Your saliva lands on the tip, dripping over the small bead of precum on his slit. So messy how your thumb glides over his slit, mixing the fluids together. Even messier when you place a kiss on his tip, mixed fluids tainting your pretty lips. His stomach contracts, the dips and ridges of his abs are even more defined as a result.

“Missed this with you, Pix.” He melts. It’s even better than how he imagined over the course of time spent with and without you. 

“I missed you, too.” You reply, tongue darting out and wetting your lips before moving in for a small lick over the head of his cock. “I wanna take care of you.” You mumble as you press messy kisses on the underside of his cock. “Is that okay?”

His stomach warms at your sentiment, knowing it’ll never be one-sided as he’ll always do the same for you. He nods, giving you the go ahead to do as you like. The grip on your hair increases and the hand cupped underneath your chin props you upright to take him fully.

He wonders how a place like heaven could ever beat this feeling with you.

Your eyes never stray from his, watching him through your lashes and how he struggles to maintain eye contact with you. It’s only when his cock begins hitting the back of your throat, your lids flutter shut. You gag from the action, pushing past the discomfort each time to hear more of his grunts and praises. Your skin prickles each time his thumb runs across your skin to soothe your aching jaw. 

“Fuck, Pix, if we keep going like — god,” he hisses, “I’m not gonna last long.” He warns.

“Mmhp,” You try to answer even with your mouth fully stuffed. He pulls back and you whine, robbed at the opportunity of having him release all over your tongue.

“Please,” you breathe, hoarse and rough, “wanna taste you.”

Your mouth falls open again. Instead of sliding in again, Jungkook jerks over his length, fast as he needs with the visual of you on your knees so readily to be ruined.

“Baby–I, I’m gonna cum. Fuck,” He tilts his head up to the ceiling.

And when he finally cums, he does so with your name and a string of praises. The first rope of cum lands on the corner of your mouth. Without another thought, you enclose your lips around his tip. His strangled noises spurs you on in your mission to suck and milk him dry.

When he finally slips out of your mouth, the hand underneath your chin guides you up and your knees walk you close to his standing body again. You still haven’t swallowed, unsure what you want to do with the fluid resting on your tongue.

Reading your expression clearly, Jungkook bites down a smile. “You don’t have to swallow, P.” He chuckles, placing a quick peck to your tightly shut mouth, “Want me to get the waste bin?”

He runs his thumb on the corner of your mouth, catching the stray droplet before wrapping his lips around his digit. Honestly, he doesn’t care for the taste and gets your hesitancy, but you hold his gaze and shake your head no, pressing your lips to his. He groans and opens his mouth for you to slip your cum-coated tongue in.

You whimper at his large hands running up and down your backside, ultimately landing on the bottom of your swelled ass. Absolute sin and filth personified when you both exchange and swallow your mixed fluids. 

Your body aches differently for Jungkook these days. Can’t believe he’s in front of you now in your home, surrounded by everything you love.

And you love him.

“I love you.” He says, as though all your internal thoughts and feelings are tethered to him. It’s no secret, and unworthy of hiding. 

You kiss him again, pulling him down with you. He giggles and shrugs off the rest of his clothing as he hovers over you with starry eyes.

Cupping his jaw, you reply, “I love you. Want this with you.”

The relationship. The love. The experience.

His heart — it’s all yours.

The long dimples appear again, disappearing from view once he lowers his head to kiss your neck all while fumbling on the thin straps of your dress and tugging it to expose your bare breasts.

He's said this before and thinks there’s no greater truth than this, “You’re perfect.” Leaning down, he places a wet kiss on your sternum, mouthing, “so beautiful.”

You keen into his touch, back arching when he takes one nipple in his mouth. He does this for a few minutes, teasing your nipples and rotating between them with equal amounts of love and attention.

Again, the ache runs through your entire body, gathering right at your core when his teeth bites down on your sensitive nipple. Your hand detaches from his hair and makes its descent down to his crotch.

He’s only half-hard, still sensitive from his first orgasm. 

Sensing your impatience, he chuckles against your skin. “Gimme some time, P.” Eyes closing as you squeeze around his length again.

You pout, but nod nonetheless, letting go of his shaft because the last thing you want is to do the opposite of keeping him hard.

“But,” he muses, “you could help me.”

And this is how you end up as equally naked as Jungkook on your bed. You’re supported by your numerous pillows as you lay there, watching his eyes jump between your face and closed legs.

His hands are on your knees, soft as he pries them apart to reveal your soaked core. 

You instinctively move to cover your mound, suddenly feeling shy even though Jungkook has seen you bare from below multiple times. His bigger hand covers yours, pressing against it just enough for you to feel the relief it brings. 

“‘S just me, pretty.” He says, eyes never leaving yours. His words and stare makes you sling your free arm over your eyes, blocking the visual of him: kiss-swollen lips, locks no longer in its styled state, red flush on his chest — a stark difference from the dark, solid ink on one of his arms … you can’t bear to look at him in this state. 

Can’t bear him looking at you either.

“I know,” you reply, “I’m just … embarrassed.”

You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s giving you one of those smiles. One that asks ‘What for? You’re amazing.’

You think about the sheer amount of people who have watched Jungkook — yourself included — and wonder how he isn’t shy. And because of that, you feel yourself growing braver at the thought of giving Jungkook something to watch and appreciate.

Still, you keep your forearm over your eyes, but the other hand covering your pussy nudges Jungkook’s warm hand away. You move up a little. All practiced precision in how your middle finger dips between your slit, rubbing slow circles on your swollen clit.

“Oh, fuck.” He lets out a breathy laugh. Your senses are heightened in this self-visually impaired state; his swallow is heard in the distance.

You think about whether he’s just looking at your hand on your pussy or if he’s watching your covered face — if his eyelids are hooded … if the visual of you playing with yourself is ‘helping’ him. Perhaps it’s these thoughts that also make you grow wetter in between your legs, the wet sounds reach your ears through your staggered breaths.

You feel his lips press on the top of your knee, his breathing also coming out haggard.

“Is this enough?” You whimper, wanting him to take rein of your pleasure.

“A little longer, please?” He begs. “For me?”

He moans at your compliance, noting the speed change in your fingers. The bed shifts too, he nears your body again and you feel his warm breath fanning over your fingers. Suddenly, a dribble of wetness slides on top of your digits and trickles down to the entrance of your pussy, mixing with the rest of your arousal.

The feeling has you removing your arm, finally looking down where he’s at in between your legs. A small playful smile on his lips as he sits back up in his kneeled position. He's more than ready — just wants to see more of you. 

You take note of his hard cock in his hand, a slow stroke up before he thumbs at the slit like he likes to. A twinge of pleasure hits your core again and you’re forced to rub harder circles to relieve yourself of the heavy ache building up at the sight. He laughs again, a mixture of disbelief and horniness as the pace on his cock speeds up too.

“So much better seeing this in person.” His eyes involuntarily shut as he tilts his head to the side.

Huh?

The movement of your hand pauses and so does he with widened eyes. He clears his throat, trying to find the words before you ask, “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”

A sheepish smile stretches across his face and instead of explaining right away, he leans over your body now. Nose against yours, he places a tiny kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Promise you won’t get mad?” He asks, his hand moves yours away from your pussy and slots his cock in between your soaked folds. Meant as a distraction or to ease your worries for his next words, he finds himself breathing heavier at the feel of your bare cunt with his shaft. The head of his cock slips over with ease onto your swollen clit, twitching as he moves his cock side to side now.

“I–fuck–Pix, you’re so wet.” He drops his head to your neck.

You nod, almost distracted as well, but you bring his head back to your eye level. He swallows nervously, wrist slowing the movement with his cock. Jungkook should’ve rephrased his question to ‘promise you won’t get embarrassed,’ because shortly after he slyly recounts the details of Your Video™ popping up in your living room, you lay there surrounded in the flames of humiliation.

“So embarrassing.” You mumble, unable to meet his eyes. 

Jungkook giggles, kissing your cheek, “Hey, I liked it a lot.”

You turn your head, nose touching his now, “Did you?”

“Uh-huh, more than you’ll ever know.” His hips shift, resuming the grind on your cunt again. “But I like this more.”

His movements get you worked up again, forgetting about your mortification just moments ago. You whine, whimper, and mew into his shoulder; the ache comes and goes — reminding you need more than just this.

“Jungkook,” You gasp at the taps of his cock against your folds.

“Hm?” Eyes hooded, he watches you through his lashes, mouth dropped open when your hands run down his torso.

“Need you.” You plead, hip angled up so you can press harder against him.

“I know, I know, pretty. Just–” He shuts his eyes, “I gotta get you nice and ready for me.”

He senses your hesitancy again and he stops to stare down at you.

“I-I’ve had sex already,” You say, teeth worrying on the bottom lip and debating if you should say your next words. “With, um, Mingyu. So, we don’t have to prep.” While both unnecessary to tell him and unreasonable to feel this way, guilt courses through your body at the confession.

“Doesn’t matter to me if you’ve had sex.” Jungkook says, “I always want you to feel good and comfortable.” He kisses you, soft just like the fingers he trails at your entrance gathering your arousal.

You swallow, “Are you upset it happened with someone else?”

He blinks, head tilting in confusion, “Not something for me to get upset over, P.” Studying your face, his brows eventually relax as he asks you, “Are you upset?”

You shrug, looking to the side. “It was … whatever.” That’s all you’re willing to say about the experience and you’re sure Jungkook doesn’t want to hear about another man while he’s just about to get intimate with you. At this point, maybe he’d opt out to stopping in general, but he sighs a small hey to gain your attention.

“The experience will always be yours.” He kisses your forehead. “Nobody can take anything from you.”

You nod, eyes closing at the feel of his finger at your entrance. He keeps his lips at your forehead, feeling it furrow as he sinks one finger into your pussy. It’s a slow and leisure pump, easy to have you forgetting about the prior conversation and putting the focus back on him. Penetration has never been your thing; technically, it’s still not. But there’s some relief as Jungkook curls and massages his finger against your walls, stretching you out as he intended to. He refuses to take his eyes off yours, especially when he decides to add in another finger.

“That’s it, baby. Taking it so well.” He praises, voice cracking at the end of the sentence.

“You make me feel so good.” You sigh, eyes closing as he speeds his fingers inside you. “Always feel so safe with you.”

He curses, mentally prepared to hear your choked whine when he removes his fingers from your sopping hole. He says your name sternly, followed by a thick swallow. You hum in response, hips mindlessly chasing after any part of his body for friction. He slots his hard shaft against your wet folds again, giving you both some form of pleasure in the interim. He looks down, moaning at the sight of his cock coated with your arousal.

“Need you inside me.” Your hands hold his waist in place to stop him from grinding against your clit, head of his cock positioned at your entrance. You bubble with anticipation, wondering how he’d feel inside you.

And as much as he’d like nothing more than to finally sink inside, a small part of his lovesick brain still holds some form of logic and manages to utter, “Birth control?”

You blink, a slight falter in your response as you shake your head shamefully. There wasn’t a medical necessity for you to be on birth control before and you didn’t think far enough when it came to intimacy with Jungkook.

He chuckles, “That’s okay, P. I just wanted to check.” He hops off the bed and fishes for his wallet. Another ten seconds go before he drops his wallet onto the ground with a triumphed smile and brings up the small squared package between his fingers. The smile drops a little at the sight of your tiny pout.

Beating him to his question, you remark, “I wanted to feel you …” 

He exhales hard through his nose. Keeping the condom in between his fingers, he makes his way back to you on your bed. You both seem to fall back into position again. 

“Not sure if either of us are ready for kids, P.” The thought of having kids is scary, but weirdly … he finds the fear lessening at the thought of it with you. Seen how you reacted and smiled around children — he wonders if his future kids would have your smile. Either way, too early for these thoughts.

“Okay, okay,” You let his words simmer a little and he suddenly wants to do away with the little package in his hands when you look up at him. “You’re right.” 

He’s right, knows he is when you blink away those irrational thoughts. The same thoughts get pushed to the side when the foil packaging tears and a sweet scent fills your nostrils. This time, hints of rich chocolate and confectioned goodness. You relax back onto your mattress, watching as he positions himself between your legs.

“Do you only have flavored condoms?” You ask, impish smile lifting the awkward conversation from before.

He grins, “Someone gifted a five hundred flavored pack for my birthday last year.” Hint: it was Hoseok. “So … we’re stuck with this for now. Do you hate it? I could stop using them–”

You shake your head and his eyes soften at your answer. There’s relief in knowing it’ll always remain sweet between you and Jungkook. 

“I wanna feel you, too.” He admits as he lines himself at your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet, watching how your hole clenches around nothing … for now. “We’ll figure something out.”

The defaulted option is to simply have you go on birth control, but that’s something to discuss and for you to decide. If need be, he isn’t too opposed to a vasectomy. You both have all the time in the world to discuss.

“Okay,” you stutter as he begins pushing the head of his covered cock in. That’s all he does for now, opting to drop onto his forearms to kiss you, praise you — love on you. You do little to hide the sting, face contorting before you let out a couple shallow breaths.

“Too much?” He asks, hips stalling and fingers brushing away your hair.

You shake your head, “Hurts a little, but,” you lift your hips a little, legs parting to accommodate Jungkook's body. “Wanna keep going.”

He doesn’t move. 

Tattooed arm dropped in between your bodies, he rubs practiced circles on your clit. You sigh in content, wiggling your hips to push more of him into you. Eyes fluttering shut, similar to how your pussy flutters and gushes around his length after every little push inside as a reward for taking more of him. He shudders and grunts deeply, mentally counting backwards from a hundred to keep himself distracted by how snug your walls feel around him.

You moan, soft and saccharine at the stretch of his full length inside you.

“You feel so good.” He husks into the shell of your ear. “Feel that, Pix?”

“Yeah …” You keen, unable to verbalize a proper response.

“You gotta tell me how you feel, ‘kay?” He lifts his head up and connects his forehead on yours, but his heavy eyes observe how your lower halves connect.

“M-mhm,” You reply, eyes shutting at the fullness below. “Can we stay like this for a bit? I-It’s … it’s a lot.”

He nods. A part of him is thankful for this pause, allowing his mind to think of other things in the meantime so this experience can be better for you. The other part is worried you’re uncomfortable. He wants to make this good for you — wants you to feel good, so it doesn’t matter how long he needs to stay still inside you. Sex could end right now and he’d be okay with it.

“Kiss me, please?” Your request comes out small, but he feels the harsh drumming of your heart against his chest. Your hands are bunched up on his nape, not relaxed how they usually are when you’re with him. 

What else could he do but comply with your wishes?

Kissing’s good — the belief he’ll die on a hill for. Kissing’s even better with you; he loves your lips, the way you lick the seam of his lips, how you sound when you’re being kissed as you deserve. Could stay like this forever with you. The heavy making out goes on for another two minutes, until he unconsciously bucks his hips which forces you to detach from his lips in a loud gasp.

He immediately searches for your face, eyes swelling with concern. “Sorry, I–”

You shake your head, thighs clamping around to hold him still before he pulls out. “‘s okay,” you reassure, “That felt good. Just, go slow.”

The pace he sets out is controlled — slow, as requested. And god, is it good. Your bed creaks with every movement, but the sounds are overshadowed by your shared breathy moans and praises only heard between each other. His fingers move swiftly over your pussy, so love drunk with your body, he feels his balls tightening — a sign of his forthcoming orgasm.

Call it selfish or greedy, he doesn’t want it to end, pulling out at the last second to delay his orgasm. Typically so well-versed in your body cues of an impending orgasm, his own dilemma clouded his judgment when you let out an involuntary frustrated cry at the loss of contact. 

Your chest stutters, stomach clenching from your heavy breaths. And although you should question why he did that, you can’t think when he guides his cock into your warm cunt once more.

“You were gonna make me cum again, pretty.” He lets out a breathy laugh, hips resuming its pace.

You whine, “Was gonna cum, too.” You look down where he fucks his thick length into you. He makes up for the accidental edging by rocking his hips faster into you, fingers once again finding home on your clit forces a high pitched squeal from your kiss-swollen lips.

“Yeah? I’m sorry.” He truly is. Your pleasure’s always his top priority — you’re his priority. 

“You deserve to cum.” His fingers flatten on your mound, and the wet squelching sounds increase with the fastened movements. “Give it to me, pretty.”

So sensitive and lost in the pleasure, you gasp and arch your body into his, eyes slamming shut at the onset waves of pleasure building below. 

“Jung–” Couldn’t finish your sentence before you’re squeezing tightly around him. He doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers, but he stills himself in you, giving you a couple hard pumps while you ride out your sudden orgasm.

He doesn’t think he ever wants to forget this feeling. 

Finally letting off your clit and pushing himself up again, Jungkook marvels at the thin sheen of sweat in between your chest and the white ring of cum coated at the base of his cock where the condom doesn’t fully reach.

“Please, need you to cum inside me.” You beg.

He can’t, not with the condom on, but the sentiment makes him act like he doesn’t have one on. Parting your thighs wider, he thrusts in slowly, mindful of your oversensitivity. The ring of cum builds and thickens at the base, transferring some of your arousal over his pubic bone in a messy haze. Alas, the visual combination of your chest moving in tandem with his thrusts, your scrunched brows, and hand on his stomach was enough for him to release once more. 

Though, the final blow came from your soft declarations of love while you tell him how good he makes you feel.

“Baby,” He manages, hands dropping your thighs, his front also comes down onto your chest as he lazily pumps inside of you with his cum-filled condom. The pleasure continues in the form of your fingers raking up and down his back, drawing shapes and patterns of love.

You know things will always remain sweet between you and Jungkook — like the giggles, doting questions, and soothing hands as he brings you to the shower. It’s not the hot water you feel on your skin, but Jungkook’s tender kisses and embrace forever etched on your body.

“P, sit still, won’t you?” Jungkook stands behind the tripod, angling the camera.

“You ever consider modeling? You’re a natural.” You say as you sift through the album on the tablet. You’re doing everything to avoid Jungkook’s latest assignment in class. Sure, it’ll be a good headshot update for your business card and website, but you weren’t keen on having your picture taken. It was always better behind the camera.

He rolls his eyes, gentle smile on his lips as he walks over. “Flattery won’t get you out of helping me. You promised you’d be my model for this semester.”

“Camera shy.” You pout. “You know that.”

“I know.” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll teach you.” Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your lips.

The thing with teaching is that he inadvertently learns as well. Knows it’s also the same for you too. Skills refined, new ideologies unlocked, and discoveries waiting to be explored. He no longer follows a script anymore — no longer feels like he’s boxed in … life is forever limitless as long as he makes it to be.

A shutter goes off from behind capturing the two of you in the frame.

fin.

ending a/n: beta’d by @takeitawaykenny who sat thru my ridiculousness but also entertained it. prologue wouldn’t have existed without her, yall … she rly was brain behind rkivedshots' beginnings on god love u bookie ;__; and @lovieku who’s been nothing but supportive and rode thru my (many) moments of doubt. she was the angel i needed on my shoulder during the makings of my first series and helped shape so much of itf!! couldn't have done this without your guys unwavering love and support!! oceans of gratitude to my two champions 😭🫂

🧚🏻‍♀️࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

alas, thank YOU all for joining me on this fun ride. i hope you guys got something out of this whether it be a chuckle, life lesson, or soiled panties, i’m lucky yall stuck with me. to my lovelies who have been here since the beginning and cuties we picked up along the way: i appreciate your trust, patience, and overall enthusiasm for this series — you’re my dream!! i told yall i’d guide us to my desired ending with so much love and care. ain’t no way this couple wasn’t gonna be end game … i just had to make the journey difficult. oop. anyway call me #aftercarequeen 💅

with that said … epilogue? send your thanks to lovieku for convincing me bahaha it won’t come any time soon cuz i have other things i wanna work on, but do not fear … i have something planned!

in the meantime, feel free to send in your reaccs/thoughts for our lovely itf!couple. i’m here for ya just as you’ve been here with me xoxo ♡

epilogue.

[mimisitaugu]

Absolute masterpiece from start to finish.

[oddarling]

Even though you're killing me, I need you like the air that I breathe.

SYNOPSIS. Your husband, Fire Lord Zuko, has a tendency to be somewhat... overbearing. It comes from a place of love, sure, but it doesn't change just how annoying it is. He seems decided on protecting you from an invisible threat, one long lost to the past. CONTENTS. firelord!zuko x firelady!reader, hurt/comfort, no spoiler of the new movie (i havent watched it lmao, any spoilers are coincidences), iroh wisdom, iroh is the only one with common sense, zuko has childhood trauma (canon), reader gets a small scar, beta read WC. 5.4k AUTHOR'S NOTE. heyyy it's been a while, huh. anyways, i had to write something for one of my first fictional crush ever (i had the vision even when he was half bald, 11 yo me knew ball) especially now that he actually has hair, we cheer

Zuko knows first hand what life in the palace is like.

He knows the good, the bad, and the ugly. Especially the ugly.

Walls echoed with taunting whispers and the night was cold, unforgiving. A single misstep was enough to cause the downfall of many. People were always lurking in the shadows, waiting, watching.

There was no such thing as peace, rest. One only had themself and vigilance quickly became their closest friend.

Zuko knew that better than anybody.

Because he had learned it too late.

Years later and he could finally say he was doing better.

He had surrounded himself with people he trusted, people who didn't look at him like a prey, ready to pounce at the first opportunity.

First and foremost, you.

Bringing you to the palace was a decision he was sure to never regret. Yet, a certain unease settled in the pit of his stomach, leaving a bittersweet feeling in his mouth.

He should be happy, he should really. However, the 'what if's and the 'but's that he had pushed to the confines of his mind had a way of coming back.

His best efforts were in vain compared to the way his mind had been tailored, one carefully crafted lie upon another. Although he was doing much better, the memories plagued his every waking moments. After all, just looking in the mirror or touching his face was enough to bring it all to the surface.

So, he dealt with it the only way he knew how.

"Be careful with that, it's hot."

His hands hovered over yours, clearly itching to do it for you, yet holding back to avoid your chastising. A simple look from you told him he would regret not letting you have your independence.

"Yes, Fire Lord Zuko, I am aware fire burns," you deadpanned.

His brows frowned at your words—at the title—, however he didn't move away. His eyes stayed focused on your hands, determined to stop you from coming into harm's way. His concentration would be cute, if only it weren't so patronizing.

You almost sighed, before reminding just who you were with. If Zuko could barely handle you adjusting your position without forcing you to lay down—on the finest bed in the four nations, of course—surely, he would not take kindly to you sighing.

Instead, you focused back your attention to the task at hand, careful not to get hurt, more for your lover's sake than your own. Surely, he would grow out of this awkward phase.

Turned out, he didn't grow out of that phase.

Days flowed into months and his patient hands were still glued to your waist, holding you steady like you'd hold an infant taking its first steps.

Every rock that crossed your path was a threat to your life, every misplaced object an attempt to harm you. And God forbid someone talked to you, they surely had murder on their mind.

You loved him, you truly did. But when each of your comments fell on deaf ears, your patience was thinning by the day. At night, you lay awake, Zuko's arms snugly wrapped around you as you prayed to whatever Spirit could hear; 'Please, get him far away from me.'

The Spirits seemed to have been listening indeed, for just days later, a letter arrived signed by the one and only Avatar. A little adventure on far away lands would surely help him realise the corner he had backed the both of you into. And finally, finally, you'd be able to breathe the fresh air, smell the fl—

"I'm not going."

"What do you mean, you're not going. Of course you are!"

He put down his spoon with a sharp noise before deliberately wiping the corner of his mouth and then placing his napkin back on his lap.

"I mean, I'm not going."

"He's the Avatar!"

He looked unimpressed, his gaze almost insulting in its bluntness, "and I'm the Fire lord. If I say I'm not going, then I'm not going."

"He's your friend. You know, the one who changed your life forever and helped you become who you are?" You were wildly moving your arms around by now, his rejection too frustrating to handle.

"Yes, I know, I was there," he continued, his expression controlled in a way it only was when he grew irritated.

"Why wouldn't you go then? Give me one good reason," you crossed your arms, not willing to let it go despite his clear want for the conversation to end.

"Because I don't want to," his tone was still monotone, emotionless like you'd only heard in council meetings. His obvious refusal to engage in the topic at hand made something boil in you. Or, perhaps, it was already boiling, simmering for months as you had let Zuko indulge in his overly careful fantasy.

"You will tell me why, and you will tell me now. Because I don't want to hear any more about this 'I don't want to' bullshit. I know that's not why, you've left plenty of times before to go be with your friends, so why is it that now you can't," you were fuming by that point, your voice getting louder and louder with every word you spat in his face. "And don't say your duties or…"

me.

The sentence was left hanging in the silence. Neither of you willing to interrupt it.

A beat passed. You searched for Zuko's eyes but they avoided yours, looking down.

Another beat passed. You returned to your food, picking at it without eating a single bite.

"I…," began Zuko, pondering his words carefully. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer, smaller. "I don't want to leave you alone. In the palace."

This time, it was your turn to avoid his eyes, your thoughts swirling with his words. You weren't sure what to say. Easing his worries with white lies would hardly help the situation or his unease.

"I won't be alone. Not really," you started. Then, your voice dropped, just a whisper remaining, "not in the way you were."

He didn't say anything, his silence answer enough. Deciding to give him space, you carefully got up, placing your hand on his arm and a kiss on his cheek before leaving. As you reached the door, you turned around one last time. "Please, just think it over. I don't want you to have regrets."

The next morning came slowly. Sleep eluded you.

Zuko was mere centimetres away from you, his everlasting heat warming you despite the distance. You didn't dare move and he didn't either. You weren't sure he was awake. Maybe he was. Like you. Pondering over the question, his sleep far gone. Or maybe he wasn't. Finding rest in the night's arms, away from all the concerns that plagued his everyday life.

You didn't know which option you liked better. Guilt churned at your insides, yet the want for him to be just as bothered as you were still didn't leave you.

When dawn finally came, you didn't wait another second—couldn't—before getting up. As you got ready, you could feel eyes on you. His eyes. You did your best to ignore him, instead focusing on your hair. Your attire. Your face. Anything but him.

Regrets flooded you. Baring his past crossed lines that couldn't be uncrossed. He might have stayed silent at the time, however you knew it wasn't the end of that. You felt it. The feeling was uncomfortable, an all-consuming dread that weighed on your shoulders. So you ignored it. Stood up straighter, muscles held tight.

Leaving the room, you didn't turn around. You said nothing. Not this time.

The day passed dreadfully slow. Minutes stretched, never-ending, leaving you with the turmoil of your thoughts.

Perhaps it was better that way. Not seeing him, not feeling his hand on yours, not hearing his voice in your ears. But nothing seemed to keep him out of your mind.

You pondered a lot, maybe too much. You wondered too. About him, about what he was doing, what he was thinking.

The stillness of the garden enveloped you, taking hold of you. It felt suffocating. A silence you had craved, and yet that you now feared.

"How gloomy is the day," a familiar voice broke through. "Isn't it?"

You turned to find Iroh, standing with his usual calm, hands tucked carefully behind him.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?"

He didn't mention the tears in your eyes, nor the shaking of your hands. You were most grateful for his consideration. So, with a small nod, you invited him to join you. His timing seemed intentional, a steady support right when the storm was about to take you under.

Your gaze fell to your lap, your attention far away. The gentle clicking of the tea cup set in front of you suddenly brought you back to the present. You lifted up your eyes, only to find Iroh's own already on you.

He offered you a gentle smile, before drinking his tea. His movements slow and careful, he seemed to simply enjoy the moment, refusing to rush or fill the silence.

His hand came back down as slowly as it had gone up, letting his still steaming cup of tea sit on the small table. "I remember when Zuko was small, he always did his best to protect the ducks in the pond. He wouldn't let anyone get anywhere close."

His gaze was lost far away, and a dry chuckle escaped him at the memory, "it was quite an ironic sight. He, himself, didn't even get close to the ducks. He called them his own, yet…"

The wind picked up again, and a chill crawled up your spine. "But one day, he found them hurt. A nasty burn that traced patterns on the mother's feathers. He was inconsolable, of course."

The story left a bitter taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the cup of tea sitting untouched in front of you. Iroh didn't elaborate, as was often the case, yet the meaning seemed clear.

"Lovely tea, isn't it?"

Startled, you looked down at the still steaming liquid swirling around like it somehow could answer for you. "Yes. It is."

For a while, he left you to your thoughts, not oblivious to the predicament you found yourself in. Somehow, he always knew when to give people just enough space to feel free to breathe, yet not too much to feel lost.

You lost track of time quickly, the turmoil of feelings brewing in your heart relentless. Thinking didn't seem to help and the stillness was becoming suffocating. You got up, not saying a word to the man on your right, still happily sipping his tea.

Just as you reached the door, you finally heard the cup being settled on the small table and a voice broke through. "Zuko means well. If nothing else, I hope you'll remember that."

You turned on your heels, intrigued.

"Oh," he sounded surprised, "don't take it the wrong way. I don't mean to pressure you, I'm sure whatever choice you'll come to will be the right one."

Unsure your voice wouldn't betray, you simply turned back around and left.

And if your eyes started to sting, well maybe the wind was too harsh.

Days passed, so slowly you felt like you were watching paint dry.

Zuko was nowhere to be found, you hadn't even had a peek of his red robes. You weren't sure whether to be relieved or antsy, so you lived somewhere in between, always on your toes.

Eventually, it happened. It had to at some point, yet you couldn't help but think that any other time would have been better.

Standing in the middle of the room was your husband, the Fire Lord, in all of his naked glory. Yes, naked. In your defence, he hadn't been to your chambers in days, who could blame you for simply marching in?

Nonetheless, the maids that followed you could probably blame you for bearing witness to the sight. Or perhaps, they should be thankful. It didn't matter. They were quick to drop their baskets and slam the door shut behind them.

"Fire Lady, hi," began Zuko, stuttering like never before.

"Yes, Zuko, hi," you dryly replied.

Silence. God, this was gonna be awkward.

"Hi." Maybe silence really was better.

"Yes, hi," you replied again. "You are aware you already said that part, right?"

That seemed to get him out of his daze, as he finally uttered his first full sentence, "Yes, yes, I meant, how are you? It's been a while."

"Yes, a while indeed. I wonder why." You almost felt bad. Almost.

"Yes, since the fight," he visibly winced at his non-existent smoothness. He stayed silent for a few seconds, seemingly deciding to actually think over his next words, for once. "We… we should talk about that."

With a sigh you agreed, his punishment had gone on long enough. "But, you must be wearing clothes."

He looked down at himself, as if expecting clothes to magically appear, and seemed genuinely surprised when that didn't happen. "Oh, right."

He visibly flushed and you chuckled at the sight. Although you quickly caught yourself when his gaze snapped up to you, just a little too happy to know he made you smile.

He quickly got dressed and you called back in the maids to clean up the baskets they had dropped in their hurry to leave. You asked for tea to be served and settled in the large couch Zuko had installed when you first settled in the Fire Palace.

The man in question awkwardly shuffled to take the spot next to yours. However, your glare quickly redirected him to the seat in front of you. He kept his hands in his lap and, this time, it was his turn to leave his cup of tea alone as you happily sipped your own.

At the very least, it seemed your little speech had done its effect. You were quite pleased at the notion, to say the least.

"I… well, I should say my uncle, actually, helped me realise a few things." Of course Iroh did. It seemed you weren't the only who was granted tea time. "And I should apologize. For overstepping. I've done it a lot, haven't I?"

"That you have," you agreed, yet you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. "I should apologize too, then. I shouldn't have thrown your past in your face, that was uncalled for. I'm sorry."

Zuko stayed silent for a moment, pondering his next words. When he spoke his voice was small, quiet, "You weren't exactly wrong."

He seemed so small now, no longer the impressive Fire Lord, but simply the boy who wanted to be loved. The notion tugged at your heart strings, the sight steering something in you. "It doesn't matter now. You're here with me. And your friends, and all of the new people you've brought into the Palace. You've truly made this place your own."

"I did, didn't I?" he asked, almost in disbelief. The smile growing on his face was small, tentative yet real. "And I have you to thanks for a lot of that. I don't want to lose you. Help me be better, I'll do my best."

He seemed so earnest in winning your trust once more. And everything wasn't magically better, yet it was finally looking up again. That brought a smile to your face, mirroring his own. "Of course I'll help you. I don't want to lose you either."

"You won't. I'll be better." His hand reached across the table to your own, enveloping it in the warmth you missed so much in the last few days.

"Well then, starting now, you have to keep in mind what I tell you. Not just brush it off."

"Yes, ma'am," said Zuko without missing a beat.

Your eyes narrowed. "That means going with the Avatar."

His jaw fell and you could almost hear the complaint sitting at the tip of his tongue. Your gaze sharpened and he didn't dare say more. He clearly didn't agree but knew better than to disagree. Still, just to make sure, you clarified, "so, you're going to write back to him, right?"

This time, his voice was smaller, begrudging, "…yes, ma'am."

"Today."

"…yes."

"Now."

Finally, he took the hint, quickly getting up and scrambling around for some paper and ink.

The problem wasn't exactly solved, yet this step in the right direction brought you so much relief. To see him mirroring your own feelings of want and hope in this marriage made you believe you could do it. Together, as one.

Perhaps you should have expected something to go wrong.

In the face of his childhood memories, years upon years of hardship overcome alone, his good will stood no chance. His promise didn't seem to be at the front of his mind, especially now, his hands hovering once more at your sides.

"Zuko, I'm collecting fruits, I'm not going off to war," you reminded him once more.

He bit his lip, focus still on your movements, "still…"

You climbed back down the ladder only to end up wrapped in his arms. You gave him a little squeeze and moved out of the way to go back inside. His steps followed you, softly rustling the growing grass beneath his feet.

The scene should have felt refreshing, sweet, romantic even. Yet, it was none of those. It only left you suffocated and upset. Zuko wasn't stupid and he certainly wasn't blind, even he could see it written on your face. Yet, his heart told him otherwise.

"The Avatar arrived two days ago already, you shouldn't be making him wait so much."

He stopped in his track as you turned around to face him. You seemed tired. Drained. Yet, he knew it had nothing to do with your sleep. He made sure you slept plenty.

"Aang isn't just the Avatar, he's an old friend. He'll understand."

"Shouldn't you want to see him if he's an old friend? What are you doing in my garden?"

Your garden. Not his. The one he had given you as he place to rest and relax. On your own.

He swallowed whatever he had to say, instead opting for a simple, "yes, I'll go see him then."

As you watched him leave, you couldn't help the anger that started bubbling inside you. The anger you didn't let rise in his presence, the one you kept for yourself.

"I can't believe that idiot! Who does he take me for? A baby? I can collect my own fruits in my own garden, thank you very much," you muttered to yourself as you raised your knife and aggressively slammed it down, the fruit in front of you receiving the worse of your hate. "And look at me now, I'm monologuing like some kind of second rate villain, I didn't sign up for this!"

Little pieces of fruit were left everywhere on the table, becoming smaller and smaller with every sharp cut of your knife. And if you imagined his face on the remaining chunks, well let's just not think about that.

By that point, your knife was being thrown around wildly, your arm only controlled by the rage steadily building in your chest. Before long, it was no longer cutting the soft flesh of the fruit but your own instead. The sharp pain let you drop the blood-stained blade in favour of taking hold of your injured thumb.

The blood was overflowing and you couldn't see anything through the liquid oozing out of the cut. You could however feel the sting and even your own heartbeat as it started to pick up. You rushed to the small fountain resting in the middle of the garden to plunge your thumb in it. The blood left a thick red cloud just below the surface as the cool water lessened the pain.

After most of the blood had washed off, you carefully raised your hand to inspect the wound once more. You winced at the sight, it was not pretty. Part of the nail had been cut off and a chunk of flesh was missing.

That was going to be hard to hide from Zuko's prying eyes.

The thought crossed your mind before you could stop it, and your heart churned at it. Is this truly where your relationship was headed?

Yet, despite the guilt that had made itself at home in your heart, you still bandaged your thumb tightly before slipping on a silk glove. You wiped the blade with careful hands and took a place at the table. Collecting little pieces of the cut-up fruit, you placed them softly on your tongue and savoured the taste of them.

When Zuko came back in, he found you as he had left you. He extended his hand to you and you placed your gloved hand in his.

And when he seemed surprised at the glove, you simply smiled as you explained the wind had picked up in his absence.

Just two days later was the day of the departure.

Zuko's luggage was already waiting for him on Appa's back. It was a small backpack, barely big enough to hold a change of clothes and snack. A small picture of you was tucked in between the fabric. Just the strict minimum for the journey ahead.

Your luggage, on the other hand, came in the form of bags upon bags of 'what if you need this and you don't have it' and 'you love it so much, you should take it'. The packing process had been a long one, you'd had to fight Zuko every step of the way, always negotiating for just one more item.

"Are you sure you have everything you need? Maybe you should take the book you showed me the other day?" came his voice, worried beyond measure.

You raised a brow at that, "the one I already read? And hated?"

"Well, you never know, you might want to read it again to make sure," he said with absolute certainty, like there was no flaw in his logic.

"No, Zuko, I'm not taking it with me," you sighed. "I should be the one asking if you have everything, fussing and worrying over my husband leaving to save the world for the nth time."

"We'll be fine. And you know we can't take too much stuff, Appa does have to carry it all."

"Very well, then I wish you a safe journey. They are waiting for you," you nodded at his friends, already settled on Appa's back.

"I'll be back before you know it. I'll leave you in my uncle's care," he turned around to the man in question. "If I find a single scratch on her skin, you'll pay."

Iroh simply chuckled at the threat, "I'll be sure to bring her back exactly as she was, dear nephew. Now, go, before we all die out here in the sun."

With a final kiss to your cheek, Zuko was gone and relief flooded you.

Guilt too.

Your new-found freedom was very appreciated.

No more 'be careful' and 'I'll do it for you'. You could live like a functional adult. And as much as you loved your husband, you were just a little too happy to have him gone.

Iroh, your new company, was lovely, although the amount of tea the both of you were drinking was obscene to say the least. His cryptic words of wisdom also seemed weird, always just a little too on the spot to be as random as he claimed they were.

Days bled together as you happily lived on, carefree like never before. Seasons changed, the warm weather being replaced with heavy rains and eventually even some snow.

News of Zuko's journey were rare and you could only pray for his well-being wherever he was. Eventually news of return came and you couldn't help but feel like time had gone by so fast.

Perhaps, you should feel bad for that. Guilt had become an old friend. Every time you dared to be happy in your husband's absence, the familiar feeling churned at your insides. You did your best to ignore it, but it never truly went away.

As you were getting ready to leave Iroh's estate in favour for returning to the Fire Palace, your hands picked at the skin of your thumb where a light scar was now visible. It did nothing to calm your heart, neither the excitement nor the guilt went away.

Once the luggage were charged, it was time to go. You turned to Iroh, a warm smile on your lips. Before you could hesitate or regret your choice, you raised your arms to hug him, a stray tear escaping you as you murmured a 'thank you'.

He simply pat you on the back like this came as no surprise and laughed softly. "It was lovely to have you here. Thank you for playing Pai Sho with me."

You laughed as you pulled away, not quite managing to pull your gaze away from him.

"I hope you'll remember that you're my niece as much as Zuko is my nephew."

You nodded, not quite sure what he meant but appreciating it nonetheless. Reluctantly, you finally turned around to leave, a few unshed tears still in your eyes.

The next day, tea time felt empty at the Iroh estate.

The man sat alone, the steam from his tea curling in the air.

No companion to make jokes to, no laughter in answer. No game laid out on the table.

Just silence.

Although it didn't last.

Before Iroh had even finished his first cup of tea, the door was kicked down with a violent throw.

"Uncle," growled the Fire Lord as he entered. "I told you, if I found a single scratch on her, you'd pay."

"And I told you, I'd bring her back exactly how she was."

"You didn't," accused Zuko, his finger pointed right at Iroh.

"I did," answered the older man, still carefully holding his cup of tea and drinking the steaming drink.

"You didn't. She has a scar. On her thumb."

Patiently, as he did everything else, Iroh explained, "she was already injured. It wouldn't have scarred if only she had gotten it treated earlier."

"She wasn't. I would've noticed."

"Would you really?"

Zuko was the one steaming now, his anger boiling up to reach the surface. He was at his breaking point and his uncle was just a little too calm for his liking. "Yes. I would have noticed if my wife was injured, I don't need you to tell me that. So. Explain."

"She wore gloves before you left. How could you have noticed?"

"She likes her silk gloves. What's the issue with that?" answered the Fire Lord without missing a beat.

"In the middle of summer? And I must say, they went horribly with her dress. No colour scheme, no shape. It's a shame, she usually dresses so well."

Zuko was going to kill him, he was sure of it by now. "I don't care about her dress, I care about her scar."

To that, Iroh simply chuckled. "You're quite stubborn."

The Fire Lord was ready to refuse the accusation, but his uncle didn't give him enough time. "Do you see your mother in the Fire Lady?"

"No," he answered without missing a beat.

Iroh looked at him, watched his face fall little by little as the words really sunk in. "Take a seat, my nephew. Perhaps you'd like a cup of tea? We have much to discuss."

It was late into the night when your husband finally came back.

You laid awake in cold sheets, with no one to heat them. You toyed with the skin of your thumb as you so often did, unsure what to think of Zuko's disappearance. Should you be worried? But he was close with his uncle, it wasn't that unusual for him to spend long periods of time with him.

As time went on, sleep claimed you little by little. Eventually, Zuko walked quietly into the room and you barely stirred at the noise.

He settled into bed and two strong arms snaked their ways around your middle to softly tug you into him. His nose nuzzled into your cheek as he had done so many times before, yet the few months apart made the gesture seem unfamiliar.

His lips left a kiss on your jaw and you moved your hand to rest over his. He linked your fingers together but didn't say another word. Just a few minutes later, his breathing softened and you were sure he was asleep.

The next morning felt awkward.

In between your guilt, your excitement, and the time that had passed, your husband had become somewhat of a stranger to you. You weren't sure how to act around him, what to say. He didn't seem to know either, for he said nothing and did little.

Yet, the way he reached for you as you served tea, like he would have done months ago, tugged at your heartstrings. He stopped himself before actually touching you and you weren't sure why. Was it out of consideration for you or because… you'd rather let that thought go unfinished.

You were unsure where you stood with him and the feeling didn't go away in the next day.

The banquet thrown in honour of the Fire Lord's return was grand and kept him far too busy to speak with you. As he sat on the throne, receiving gifts and congratulations, you stood on the balcony, enjoying the fresh air of the evening.

A server came out with a tray of champagne, wordlessly offering you a glass. You took one and downed in one go as soon as he was gone. When another came by, you took a glass once more, the server polite enough to ignore the first empty glass sitting on the edge of the balcony. A third server arrived and a third glass was emptied and made to join the first two.

Eventually, you lost count and simply held on to the railing, watching into the distance.

A cloak suddenly landed on your shoulders. You startled and turned to find your husband, a small smile on his lips.

"You managed to escape the government officials?"

"I did," he nodded. "I wanted to come talk to you the whole time. I'm not even sure what they said."

You should have probably laughed. That was the normal reaction to have. The expected one. Instead a tear escaped you. And another. And suddenly, a lot more than you can count.

"Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?" The concern in his voice was evident, his hands coming around your shoulders to hold you up as your knees buckle. "Did something happen while I was away? Did… someone—"

"N— no," you hiccuped through your cries. "I'm f-fine."

"Fine is not bursting out crying when I try to make a joke. Not a funny one, but surely not that bad."

The scene became silent once more, your sobs the only thing disturbing the peace around.

Finally, you spoke again, your voice shaky. "I missed you. And I hated you. And I was so scared for you."

"I missed you too." His arms tightened around you. "So much. You have no idea."

Silence.

"I talked with my uncle yesterday. Well, to be more accurate, he told me off. For not keeping my promise to you. For not following through when I said I would. I'm sorry. I didn't know how to do better. But I do now. And I will. So if you'll just give me one more chance."

You pulled away from his chest to look up at him. Something broke in your chest at the sight of his face. The fear, the worry, the doubt, they were all painted clearly on his features. When he spoke again, his voice broke, "please, just don't leave."

That did nothing to stop the tears streaming down your face. "I won't, I swear I won't. I love you so much it hurts. You're such an idiot but you're mine."

"Yours. As long as you'll have me."

oddarling — all rights reserved. do not copy, steal or feed to ai.

[kkunai]

SINCERELY YOURS ˓˓  SATORU G.

[𝝑𝑒] ⠀::⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your boyfriend buys you a pretty golden necklace with his initials, not knowing it’ll only intensify the urge to claim you as his.

tags. olderbf!gojo satoru x gf!reader. smut, pwp. age gap (reader early 20’s, gojo early 30’s). possessive. breēding kink; crēampies. pregnancy kink? reader gets called ‘baby, sweetheart, mama’ :: wc. 1.7k :: ac. @/3-aem

“look at that, baby,” satoru coos as he watches the golden necklace bounce around your collarbone with each wet thrust. it’s a 24k gold necklace he bought just today, with his initials on it. a pretty damn expensive purchase.

something inside him stirred the moment he put it on you. satoru couldn’t help himself from pinning you to the couch and claiming you as his own for the nth time. it doesn’t matter how many times he fucks you; it’s never enough.

the letters ‘sg’ are shimmering under the light of the living room. he’s grinning from ear to ear, nearly cumming from the sight of you wearing that necklace alone. it’s a sign of possession to him.

you’re his—you’re only his. he’s the only one who can touch you like this.

“shit, ‘t makes me wanna put a ring on it,” satoru hisses, one of his hands pressing down on your lower tummy.

you gasp and clutch at his broad back, nails digging into his flesh quite painfully.

“i think i’d engrave my initials on the inside of the ring too, what do ya think?”

each word is punctuated with a thrust. his hips are non-stop ramming into yours, claiming even the deepest spots of your body beneath him. he leans down to trail kisses down your sensitive neck, eliciting a couple whines from your lips.

“d’y wanna get married, sweetheart?”

the sudden proposal takes you off guard. you can’t believe satoru would ask such a thing while being balls deep inside you. you’re blabbering nonsense, your voice muffled due to the saliva building up in your mouth.

“m— married? babe, are you ser-” your question is left unanswered as your boyfriend kisses your plump lips.

satoru switches to a slow and gentle pace, grinding into your needy cunt until it leaves you shaking. his fingers play with the golden jewelry around your neck.

a necklace will do. as long as you’ll wear that accessory from this day forward, he’ll be satisfied. the urge to make you his forever partner could be satiated. for now, that is.

he knows you still have a bright future ahead of you, like getting your degree and first ever proper job.

“let’s have you finish university first, yeah?” satoru smiles down at you after detaching his lips from yours.

he watches the string of saliva hang between your mouths, giving a short hum once it snaps. his big hand slithers down to cup your breast and knead it, kissing your nipple whilst holding eye contact, “i can wait for you.”

satoru sighs as he rolls his tongue around your hardened nipple. he’s drooling over your breasts, a drunken glint in his eyes. he’s so obsessed with you to the point that he’d marry you right now if he could. that proposal wasn’t really a joke—but he figured that it also wasn’t the smartest.

he’ll give you a proper and serious proposal one day. though, now you know for sure that he’s gotten into this relationship with the thought of actually marrying you.

“but i also—fuck—can’t wait,” satoru whines, feeling your walls clamp down on his thick cock.

his dick is pulsing with need, exploring your squishy insides while his balls prepare to release all semen stored right into your fertile womb. even if you may take a pill to get rid of any unwanted consequences, the thought of seeing your tummy swell with his child is making the older man go insane.

satoru buries his face between your breasts and breathes heavily against your sweaty skin. his hips move with renewed vigour, his energy never depleting when it comes to pleasuring you, “wanna make you my wife ‘n breed this pretty pussy.”

you moan repeatedly, unable to stop yourself. especially after satoru frantically spews such lewd words. he’s getting lost in your cunt and the way it’s swallowing him in—into your pretty pussy that he owns. his pussy.

“wanna be your wife so bad, ‘toru,” you hiccup, nearly crying from the intense pleasure.

you’d love to be satoru’s wife. he already treats you so well while you’re his girlfriend, you can’t imagine how much better it’s going to get once you’re officially his. your stomach fills with butterflies at the thought of being able to call him your husband.

the white-haired man chuckles. his blue eyes stare down at you with nothing but love, “yeah? mh, i’ll treat you so well every single day. g’nna come home to you ‘nd give you some proper loving.”

satoru can already imagine it. coming home to you after a long day of work, needing a quick release. seeing you greet him at the door will send him into a frenzy. especially if you’re wearing an apron—he’s a sucker for domestic stuff.

you, his wife, taking care of him after a rough day at work. . . it’s a dream come true. he’ll spoil you with materialistic gifts and his unending love so you’ll live a happy life.

and don’t get him started on kids.

satoru ruts into you like his life depends on it, the hypnotising rhythm of your boobs jiggling in circles is making him drool. having a little family with you is his end goal. you’ll be such a good mother and he’ll be such an amazing dad; a perfect combination.

satoru can already picture the amount of times he’ll dump his cum inside of you, without any restrictions. without you taking a pill or him wrapping a condom around his dick. his libido is going to be at an all time high when the time comes.

even if he ages a bit, he’s sure that he’s going to be able to have sex with you non stop. you get him hard without fail every single time. you’re his everything—the apple of his eyes.

satoru nearly chokes on his own saliva. he pushes his cock in to the base, burying it as deep as possible. your fingers curl around the pillow you’re holding for support, your eyes rolling back. his pink tip hit the right spot. that sweet spot that makes you cum without fail.

satoru bites his bottom lip. the way he’s looking at you, with a possessive kind of love and lust, is simply too much. his oceanic eyes are glimmering with need. erotic images flash through his mind of him impregnating you, “going to put a baby into you as soon as you’re ready.”

your tummy fills with butterflies. the way he’s talking to you like you’re already a married couple is making your pussy even wetter than it already is. it’s like it’s begging satoru to give it to you already—to make it store all his cum.

his eyes roll back as he leans his forehead against your shoulder. he has to hold himself back from cumming too soon. he wants to cherish every second spent inside of your warm body.

satoru attaches his lips to your breasts again, “mhhh, y’re gonna look so beautiful pregnant, mama. those tits of yours. . .”

his voice is barely audible because he’s busy sucking on your nipples. your boyfriend is imagining the pair growing with each semester, filling out perfectly to store milk for the baby.

satoru cannot wait to be the reason why your body will change so much. you’ll be even prettier than you already are, that he can tell already. he’s going to give you gifts every day, to thank you for carrying his child. he’s going to spoil you rotten because you deserve it and so much more.

he can’t wait for the married life with you. many men dread that life, but that’s not the case with satoru. every day of his married life will be spent with his wife—you—and the honeymoon phase will never end. ever.

satoru’s cock is twitching and begging for the much needed release. he pounds you into the couch until you’re screaming in pleasure, feeling him so deep inside you. he’s so big, he’s stretching you out so well to the point of no return.

the older man grins at the sight of your already fucked out face, “y’r cunt is gonna be so swollen because of how much i’ll pleasure her—paint her all white with my cum.”

satoru’s nasty words are causing unspeakable things to your body. you’re on the brink of reaching that euphoric state. the dirty talk is too much to handle at this point. your limbs are tingling and your cunt is aching to be stuffed full of his hot semen.

“s-satoru, don’t say such stuff,” you comment in a shaky breath.

your head is spinning and your hands desperately reach out to hold onto his shoulders, squeezing the skin. your hips are bucking up lightly, your clit bumping against satoru’s pelvic area with each thrust, “i’m gonna cum if you keep saying that.”

your lover’s grin widens even more. he knows you enjoy it when he whispers such dirty stuff in your ear. that’s mainly the reason why he does it. he’s talked you through multiple orgasms before—it’s quite easy to do so with his husky voice and manly touch.

“that’s fine, baby,” satoru coos and leaves one last, sloppy kiss on your nipple before leaning in to attach his lips to yours. his tongue swirls around yours as you share your spit, the mixture trickling down your chins.

his hips don’t stop. he positions his lower body in an angle that gets you screaming for mercy, which he won’t do. he craves to ruin you on his cock, to see you melt with pleasure underneath him.

“make a mess on my dick while i make a mess inside of you,” satoru encourages you which seals the deal.

your body shakes as you feel the waves of pleasure run through your system. you can feel hot ropes of cum nestle deep inside of your cunt. your boyfriend shudders at the sensation and helps you ride your climax out.

he pushes in and back out a few times, lazily, his finger finding your clit to rub until you’ve calmed down. “good girl. y’ took all of it, hm? lovely,” satoru nearly collapses on top of you after the energy leaves his body, careful not to crush you underneath his weight.

he doesn’t bother to pull out. he keeps his cum plugged into you—relishing the moment of ecstasy. even if he can’t fully breed you now, he’ll wait until the day he can.

“i love you, wifey,” satoru kisses your temple, tiredly giggling at the nickname he gave you. in his mind, you are already his one and only woman.

his wife and partner for life.

[minyoonjin]

LOOK HOW HAPPY HE IS 😭

[opalwyn-deactivated20260524]

Almost forever

Pairing: ex-husband!nanami x ex-wife!reader

Synopsis: Five years after a quiet divorce, you find yourself face-to-face with your ex-husband, Nanami Kento, at a dim jazz bar. In a handful of stolen minutes between songs, there are shared glances, familiar laughter and unspoken words in the air. Love is still there, but the timing isn’t... Some people aren’t meant to be forever. They’re meant to be almost.

cw: mentions of divorce, angst!! sorry (no im not ✌️😛)

a/n: my first and maybe only fanfic lolol idk idkuhhh... it was just sitting in my notes :P this all started bc once upon a time my friend and I were on facetime goofing around bc we obvi had nothing better to do so we both decided to write a fanfic. I opened my notes app so fast that night. @sixxels it is now unleashed! 😈 okay but srsly this is NOT accurate likeee who would divorce my boo thang nanami? Not me thats for sure. I even made a playlist while writing it bruh bc i had too much time on my hands. So if anyone was wondering what i was #jamming out to here it is [playlist] i gotta feel the vibes 😍 anywho enjoy!! I remember rubbing my hands together like a darn fly and giggling to myself. Oh yeah, if anyone knows who drew that lovely fanart of my shawty in the banner 🫦 pls lmk so i can credit them!! Thanks 🤩

˚₊⋅───────/ᐠ - ˕ -マ─────────˚₊⋅

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

Nanami was a stoic man, but that never bothered you. At least, not at first.

He was loyal in a way that felt immovable, dependable to the bone. Every morning, he brewed two cups of coffee, measuring 2 teaspoons of sugar in yours, just the way you liked it. He would pause by the door, waiting for you to fix his tie before heading off to work.

A quiet attentiveness lived in him. Making sure you were fed, warm, taken care of. He provided steadily and without complaint. And most of all he loved you with devotion that never wavered.

Beneath his stern exterior, Nanami was gentle. He was affectionate in the moments that mattered most. In the quiet spaces, when no one else was watching.

The way his rough hands would find yours in the dark, wedding rings brushing together. The gentle press of his lips into your hair before falling asleep in each others arms.

Never loud, always sincere.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

Sundays were your favourite. Lazy mornings spent tangled in sheets, breathless laughter slipping free as his lips traced slow, ticklish kisses across your skin. Kissing that dainty ruby pendant on its thin gold chain resting against your chest like it was sacred, murmuring promises that made butterflies bloom in your stomach.

Arms wrapped around you tightly, as if loosening his grip might make you disappear. He promised you everything; Loyalty, priority, a love that would stay even when things grew difficult. Promising to never leave. It felt like a soul tie, something unbreakable.

Even on his most exhausting days, Nanami never raised his voice. Never dared to lash out. He never came home empty handed either, always with a bouquet of lilies, your favourite. He would pull you into his chest by the waist, the familiar scent of his cologne enveloping you as he held you there, grounding himself in your presence. As if you alone were enough to steady him.

And for a long time, you believed you were. Until that unwelcoming question crept in quietly.

Were you?

As years passed, you expected the marriage to deepen. To grow not just physically, but emotionally. You wanted Nanami to let you in, to unravel sometimes. To be vulnerable. You wanted him beside you in your lowest moments, not just as your protector but as your equal.

He was always there.

He gave you his shoulder to cry on every time. Offered reassurance, solutions, safety. He never failed you in ways that were practical. But, there were moments when his calm logic and careful answers weren't what you needed.

Sometimes, you needed him to fall apart with you. Just once, so you wouldn’t feel alone in the breaking. Nanami never did. As if letting himself break meant risking something he couldn’t afford to lose.

Marriage was supposed to be growth, wasn’t it? Sharing the ugly moments as much as the beautiful ones.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

You were ready. Ready to build a life that extended beyond the two of you. Ready for children, for chaos, for the unknown. Ready for the future you had always imagined with him.

Nanami wasn’t.

You felt it long before he could ever say it out loud. If he ever would. And still, You owed each other honesty.

So that sunday morning, the morning that stays with you.

Sunlight spilled through the curtains of your shared bedroom. You lay beside him, tracing slow circles over his bare chest while his fingers brushed slow patterns along your shoulder, the strap of your nightgown slipping lower with each brush. Wrapped in his warmth, you hesitated longer than you should have, wondering why your chest felt tight at the thought of asking something so simple.

He was your husband, after all. You shouldn’t have been afraid. When you finally spoke up, easing the topic of children and parenthood into the conversation. You felt it immediately.

The subtle shift.

Not anger, not refusal. Just distance. The way his body retreated just enough to hurt, and that scared you more than any argument ever could.

Nanami went quiet, jaw tense as he searched for words.

You waited.

The phone rang.

His boss. Asking if he could come in.

And knowing Nanami, of course he said yes.

Just like that, the moment slipped away. He kissed your forehead, promised to finish the conversation when he came home that night, already pulling himself away from the bed.

From you.

The conversation didn’t finish, it simply never resumed. And somehow, that felt worse. The subject became something unspoken, carefully avoided. And eventually, you learned to stop bringing it up. 

His overtime shifts grew frequent, nights stretching longer than you thought possible. You found yourself watching the clock on the kitchen wall, heart tightening with each passing minute.

At first, coffee tasted different. Not wrong, just unfinished. Dinner plates cooled on the table while the clock crept past nine, the house too quiet for two people. Lazy sunday mornings, once full of warmth and laughter, vanished without a trace. His tie stayed crooked. He didn’t wait for you to fix it anymore. Just rushed goodbye kisses before he was out the door.

He came home late, tired and empty handed. The lilies wilted, then stopped appearing entirely, unnoticed at first, like his absence itself. He no longer pulled you into his arms.

You lived together, but barely existed in the same space. Somewhere along the way, your husband became a roommate. And the house you once shared felt stranger than any place you'd ever been.

Every time you tried to talk, Nanami retreated into himself. Always mentioning how tired he was. Work was overwhelming. Clients, paperwork, responsibilities... Living in his office more than the home where you waited, you felt the distance grow with every passing day.

You wanted more from him, from the marriage. But the words never made it past your lips. Afraid they would sound selfish. Ungrateful. After all, the bills were paid. The fridge was full. Every practical need met. You had everything anyone could want.

Everything…except him.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

The night where it all ended was quiet.

You sat at the dining table where you once shared meals, laughter, conversations and tears that were mostly yours. A glass of wine rested beside you as you stared at the divorce papers laid neatly in front of you. Your signature already inked at the bottom of each page.

The clock ticked loudly.

The front door opened.

Nanami stepped inside, loosening his crooked tie, exhaustion carved into his features. His blonde hair was slightly disheveled, dark circles beneath his eyes. He froze briefly at the sight of you waiting, clearly not expecting you to still be awake.

His gaze then shifted to the papers.

He didn’t ask.

Nanami wasn’t stupid.

Your throat tightened, tears burning behind your eyes as you waited for him to say something…anything. To fight. To question.

To feel.

Instead, he reached for the pen.

Signing each page with a steady hand. No hesitation, no protest. As if this, too, was simply another responsibility to be handled.

And that was what broke you.

Your head fell forward as sobs tore from your chest, grief swallowing you whole. Nanami said nothing. Did nothing.

All around you was silence, broken only by your sobs paired with the scratch of pen on paper. You wondered how something that had once been so full could end this quietly, without a word, without a fight.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

Eventually, you moved out.

Nanami was cooperative, as he always was. You let him keep the house. The walls, the furniture, the life you had built together. It felt wrong to take any of it. The only things you carried were memories you once believed would last forever.

The engagement ring and wedding band came off last. Fingers lingering where gold had pressed into your skin for years, where promises and vows had lived. You hid them away in the small red box he once held out to you on one knee. The pieces of jewellery you had worn everyday now collected dust.

At 2am you lay awake in a cold bed, staring at the ceiling, your phone heavy in your hand waiting for something that never came. A call, a text, even an email.

You told yourself you’d put it down after five minutes.

You never did.

Imagining him knocking on your door one rainy night, lilies in hand, finally ready.

You stopped waiting eventually. Not because it stopped hurting, but because you learned how to live with the quiet.

However...that was five years ago.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

Your bed is warm now. A silver engagement ring rests on your finger, not your preference but you never complain. The man beside you, your fiancé, loves you openly. He waits patiently. He wants children and whatever the future brings. He stays when you grieve, falling apart with you when you need it, never rushing, never withholding.

And yet, Nanami still lingers. In the quiet corners of your mind. In the nights you should be sleeping. You wonder if he’s doing well. If he ever thinks of you. If he’s finally ready.

And the thought makes your chest ache, because you’re no longer supposed to care.

Then came the night at the jazz bar.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

Low warm light bled into dark wood, the room wrapped in amber and shadow. Conversations hummed softly beneath the music, blending with the soft wail of a saxophone and a delicate pulse of a piano. Trumpet notes bent slow and aching, stretched thin with want, as if trying not to cry.

You sat alone at the bar, dirty martini sweating beneath your fingers, waiting for your fiancé to finish work. The glass was cold. The air was warm. Time moved strangely here, slowed by sound and memory.

“Whiskey on the rocks”

Your heart dropped. No, it can’t be... You didn’t even have to turn.

That familiar voice. That expensive cologne.

Nanami sat beside you, taking the only empty seat in the venue. He sat close enough to feel the quiet radiance of his presence. Not close enough to touch.

For a moment, the bar fell away.

“Long time” he murmured, voice low, steady and mpossibly calm.

You turned. Your eyes met, and the years melted.

Time seemed to stop.

Wearing the same suit you last saw him in. Nothing about him had learned how to loosen. The same gaze that once watched you fall asleep, traced your every movement, now lingered just long enough to make your chest tighten. He looked tired, like he'd come straight from another endless overtime.

You caught yourself holding your breath.

His eyes dipped slowly, and you knew.

You were wearing the same dress. Burgundy, soft against your skin yet striking. The one you wore the night you first met him. You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even thought about it when you pulled it from the back of your wardrobe. But there it was, it hugged your skin like memory itself, clinging to you like it remembered him too.

And for a fleeting heartbeat, he looked at you the way he had back then.

Like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

The bar faded. The music dulled in a low thrum, chatter and the clink of glasses—all of it disappeared until it was just the two of you.

“Still suits you” he said quietly.

Your composure slipped, just for a second. Heat rose to your cheeks before you could stop it.

Maybe from the dirty martini you kept sipping. Maybe from the fact your ex-husband was still capable of doing this to you.

Nevertheless, you blamed the martini. Even as the truth settled in...You were blushing at your ex-husbands compliment.

You smiled softly, unguarded. “You noticed.” A smile that never changed, one he hadn’t seen in five years and still knew by heart.

“I always did” He returned a brief smile.

His gaze drifted lower, drawn by memory. To the gold necklace you never took off, the small ruby pendant he had kissed countless of times.

He wanted to reach for it. To kiss it again. But he never did. Not now. Not when you belonged to someone else.

His eyes flicked to your hand, the silver ring catching the light, painfully out of place against the gold. Your skin smelled faintly of the floral perfume he once loved. Sharp pangs of longing hit him, as if five years hadn't passed at all.

Something unreadable passed through his expression.

“I thought you only wore gold.” He sipped on his whisky, hoping it would dull the ache, hoping he could care less that you were no longer his.

But no drink could erase how deeply he missed you. How much he still cared, how often he still thought of you. Five years hadn’t dimmed the sharpness of your absence.

You glanced at the ring. Then back at him.  “I did.”

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

The song changed.

The one you shared your first dance to. The one you danced barefoot in the living room every anniversary. His hands resting low at your waist, your head against his chest, listening to the slow familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. Your arms wrapped around his broad figure, clutching onto him like you were afraid to let go. Hearts full.

Nanami remembered every step, every laugh, every whispered promise. And in that instant, he wanted to sweep you off your feet again. But he couldn’t.

And just like that, the years folded in on themselves. Five years vanished—you weren’t ex-husband and ex-wife anymore.

Just two people sitting at the beginning of something that had once felt infinite.

Conversation came effortlessly. Stories blend into one another, laughter slipping through the cracks of memories. You leaned in when he spoke without thinking, lowering your voice instinctively, like you were sharing secrets instead of memories you already knew by heart. 

Why does this feel like it could last forever?

Knees brushed beneath the bar.

An accident.

Neither of you moved.

The contact was light. Barely there, but enough to make your heart stutter. You shifted, intending to pull back, but Nanami’s leg followed, almost instinctively, pressing lightly against yours. The warmth was deliberate and unspoken.

Close.

So close.

Nanami found himself wondering if your fiancé knew you the way he once did.

If your fiancé knew to add 2 teaspoons of sugar in your coffee. If he knew your favourite flowers were lilies. Or whether he knew where you liked to be kissed the most. He clearly didn’t. That silver ring said enough. Almost too much.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

Time slipped by unnoticed until you saw him.

Your fiancé at the entrance. Roses in hand. Waiting.

Reality rushed back in.

Nanami followed your gaze. He nodded once, slow and understanding, even as something tightened quietly in his chest. You reached for your purse. His hand hovered over yours. Close enough to feel the warmth—never touching.

If this were before, your gold wedding rings would have grazed as his fingers found yours. But now, he didn't wear one. Nanami's ring finger empty, while yours was claimed by another. Still, the space between you burned with all the words left unsaid.  

“I’ve got it,” he said quietly. “Go.”

Your throat tightened. You smiled.

“Take care of yourself, Nanami.”

“You too.”

He let the words hang and let you leave—let reality reclaim you.

You walked away as the bar's dim amber light trailed, the music swelling behind you.

For a few minutes, you let yourself believe in what had almost been.

Then the door closed softly.

Neither of you looked back, not even for one last glimpse. Some things were painful enough already. Leaving only the echo of each other’s presence, the weight of absence and the quiet ache of a love that could never return.

And that was all it would ever be.

[bearlovesajisai]

i finally had the courage to read the angst and it crushed my soul, and I still loved every moment😭🥺

too beautiful🤍🤍🤍

[hangenism]

how gojo makes love vs how he fucks cw: nsfw

gentle!gojo takes his time with you. he worships you from head to toe, trailing kisses down your body. he traces your scars and asks you how you got them. he whispers softly to you: "you're beautiful" and "my pretty girl" until you turn away in embarrassment.

gentle!gojo loosens you up before slipping it in, using his fingers and his tongue to stretch you out. he's sure to make you come at least twice before he's satisfied. your pleasure was his pleasure.

gentle!gojo lovesss missionary because he can watch your face twist in pleasure as you take him. he showers you with praises to keep you going and checks in to make sure you're doing okay. he buries his face in your neck and breathes you in. you smell like sex and your sweet vanilla perfume, his absolute favorite.

gentle!gojo also gets pussy drunk. he presses kisses into your thigh and talks to your pussy. "so pretty, so soaked, just for me? what did i do to deserve all this," he slurs before nuzzling his head deeper in between your thighs.

gentle!gojo understands the importance of aftercare. he runs you a warm bath, lights your favorite candles, and holds you close to his chest. pressing his lips closely to your ear, he tells you how good you did for him and how proud of you he is. he thanks you for trusting him enough to have you like that.

on the other hand..

rough!gojo will fuck the attitude out of you if he has to. he pins your hands up and makes you take everything he gives you. "you done?" he asks, fingers tilting your chin back up when you tried to look away. if you dare to not reply, he snaps his hips against yours and taunts you. "what happened baby? you had a lot to say earlier."

rough!gojo uses you as an outlet to take all his anger out. he pounds into you at a relentless pace, gripping you so hard that you were sure to leave marks in the morning.

rough!gojo is the jealous type. he goes real quiet when he’s jealous, keeping a firm hand at your lower back possessively if a guy even looked in your direction the wrong way. the second you got home, he reminds you exactly who you belonged to.

rough!gojo degrades you in bed. he swears calling you a filthy slut or a dirty whore got you even wetter. he chuckles when you clench around him each time he whispered those words in your ear, balls slapping against your ass with each thrust, hitting that sweet spot deep inside.

rough!gojo loves to edge you. he brings you so close to the edge you could practically taste it, before pulling out randomly. "'toru," you whine. "please," you hiccup, tears forming in your eyes as you realize just how close you were. "i need to co—"

slamming back into you, he smirks as you yelp in response. "i tell you when you get to come. lemme hear baby, let go for me. for real this time."

rough!gojo has the stamina of a horse. he can go multiple rounds with little to no breaks. all he needs is to feel is your cunt fluttering around him and he flips you over onto your stomach, prepared to go again and again and again.

2 sides of the same coin! been a minute since i've posted smut 🤔 art credits: @ satsu1640