#(( please ignore whatever damn typo might be in it ))

[carpentvrs]

VICIOUS – Theodore Nott

pairing :: theodore nott x f!reader (implied Gryffindor!reader but never mentioned)

summary :: (enemies to lovers). when you and theo get paired up for the nightly prefect-patrols, the yearlong hatred between the two of you may come to an end. or not.

based on the song vicious by sabrina carpenter

warnings :: angst!! she/her pronouns, use of y/n & y/l/n (only a few times), lots of cursing, british, mentions of killing someone (not serious), smoking, drinking, typos probably, 4.1k words

a/n :: english isn’t my native language so please don’t mind any mistakes and feel free to correct me! this is my first story published on tumblr so i’m a bit nervous. my requests are open, feel free to share your ideas and I’ll come up with something!!

„As a result of the ongoing danger in and outside of Hogwarts, the prefects will now walk around in pairs during their nightly patrols after curfew. And to show that Hogwarts and the witches and wizards attending this school stick together in such times, we have decided to pair up prefects from different houses.“

Harry, Ron, Hermione and you sat on your usual seats in the great hall as Professor McGonagall made the announcement. The boys and Mione didn’t really care about the announcement, considering none of them are prefects. Hermione at least listened to what the professor was saying, sometimes poking Ron in his arm to make him stop bickering and start listening, too.

You however, you didn’t take the news as easily as your friends.

Once you realized that being friends with Harry had its downsides, you started to appreciate the everyday repetitiveness. The homey things.

Ignoring the strength of the dark side in the wizarding world, you found comfort in the mornings at Hogwarts that were always the same. The fun you had at lunch with the boys and Hermione and the quidditch trainings and matches you could always look forward to.

It gave you a sense of normality in an abnormal world, just like your nightly patrols did.

Whatever may have happened during the day, you could overthink it during those few hours you had for yourself as you walked through the dark corridors of Hogwarts, occasionally greeting and having small talk with the other prefects or scolding the little amount of students you would catch sneaking around from time to time.

Those patrols were your way of coping with stress, wherever it may have come from. Usually school, or the cognition that Voldemort won’t be scared to lift his wand against you and your friends the next chance he gets, whenever that might be. Not very soon, you hoped.

𖤓 𖤓 𖤓

„They’ve got to be kidding! There’s no bloody way I can go on those patrols with this assholes every damn night.“

You were furious. Taking away your alone time was one thing, but pairing you with none other than Theodore Nott, the biggest dickhead to ever walk the corridors of Hogwarts, that just had to be a sick joke.

You hated his guts. You hated his manwhore-behavior and his obnoxious superior complex. He thinks he’s too good to attend any of his classes and simply uses his prefect-advantages to take points from Gryffindor students for fun. You doubted he knew what playing fair even meant.

Every damn house party, he somehow felt the need to judge either you outfit, you hair, your makeup or just anything else he can find to complain about. And as if that wasn’t enough, he loved taking advantage of your resentment towards hookup culture, never failing to somehow end up right next to you while one of the many girls who seem to be kissing the ground he walks on was hanging on his lips as if he’d remember her name tomorrow.

And don’t get started on quidditch. the amount of times you leave the pitch with at least a dozen new bruises just because of him almost makes it seem like having pushed him off his broom that one time wasn’t enough yet.

In comparison to you and Theo, Harry and Draco were just two puppies occasionally fighting over who gets to play with the stuffed animal first.

“Look- maybe it won’t be that bad, maybe you’ll even, I don’t know, start getting along?” Hermione tried to cheer you up, already knowing that “possibility” isn’t that probable.

“Oh come on Mione, Nott just has to look at Y/N and she basically explodes with anger. We have to be careful she doesn’t accidentally kill him one night.”

“Shut it, Weasley, this isn’t helping. I have to go and talk to professor McGonagall. Mione, come with me?” you asked.

“I’d love to, but curfew is about to start. I don’t wa-“

curfew only meant one thing: the nightly patrol

˚ · • . ° . ˚ · • . ° .

He was different than you thought. He wasn’t that bad. Not when you two were alone. A few months had gone by and, even though the first nights were a bit rough, you both managed to get along well. Really well, actually.

It became a wordless understanding that in the depths of the night, in the comfort of the quietness, when the only source of light in the castle were your wands and the lumos spell, you two weren’t hateful classmates. You were friends. Good friends even.

“I’m so tired, and why is this damn school still freezing cold at night? Bloody hell it’s june” you yawned. It was almost midnight and you and Theo had decided to sit down on one of the stairs. It’s been a long day and night, the younger students seemingly wanting to be outside during the warm summer nights. Understandibly so, you thought.

“You’re shivering, want my jumper?”

He handed it over to you after pulling it off of his body, accidentally showing a tiny bit of his toned stomach. You couldn’t help but look, slightly biting your lip to hide your smile.

You happily accepted the offer and slowly pulled the jumper over your head, your stomach suddenly feeling warm and fuzzy when you smelt his cologne. You breathed in and mumbled a small “thanks” to be boy next to you.

It wasn’t the first time he had given you his jumper. And it also wasn’t the first time you’ve felt this fuzziness in your stomach because of him, and you knew what it meant.

And he felt it too.

Theo never liked you either. He hated your goody two-shoes behavior in front of the professors and the way you would scrunch your nose in disgust whenever you saw him smoking. Sometimes he lit his cigarettes near you just to annoy you.

It all started when in fourth year, you accidentally kicked him off his broom during a friendly quidditch match. He didn’t get seriously hurt, he just felt humiliated. Even worse, by you, a girl he had been convinced to dislike ever since you befriended Theo’s best friend’s sworn enemy, Harry.

You wanted to say sorry the next morning during breakfast, but he strutted away right after seeing you on your way over to him. He was mad at you for embarrassing him, and you found his behavior childish. You both would’ve sworn that this hatred was going to be endless. Until now.

And that scared him.

He couldn’t possibly fall for the girl he had despised all these years. It wouldn’t work anyway. Their houses, their families and their friends just wouldn’t allow it. And their egos wouldn’t either.

Who was Y/N to fall for someone who treated other girls so poorly? Someone who dared to call her best friend worthless and walk around in school he as if he was just better than her and her friends.

But in intimate moments like these, with your head gently placed on his shoulder and his warm jumper wrapped around your body, you both forgot. You forgot about you’re prejudices, about your friends and your families. It was just you two.

Sometimes you wondered if he felt the same way. You doubted it.

As soon as the sun rises, the birds start singing and the castle starts awaking from its tranquil sleep, the peace between you two stopped. His smoking annoyed you. At parties he’d still sneak around with girls. After quidditch matches you’d be still fuming with anger.

Therefore you wished you could stay like this forever. You felt safe in moments like these. Perfectly at peace.

Even though the feeling in your stomach when he looked at you or when you smelt his cologne was the same as always, tonight felt different. The usual comforting silence felt awkward and tense, like something that was yet to be said already made things harder.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

Theo sighed.

“My friends would kill both of us if they saw us like this.”

“So what? I don’t care about you friends.” You scoffed. “I mean, they can’t know.” he said, almost in a whisper.

“Know what?” you asked as you slowly lifted your head from his shoulder and your eyes locked together. His gaze drifted from your eyes to your delicate lips and the air surrounding you was suddenly filled with a heavy tension and desire.

Your breath hitched and your whole body felt like it was on fire as he carefully started to caress your cheek. He leaned in and finally, his lips touched yours. The feeling of your soft lips on his slightly chapped ones was intoxicatin. The kiss was gentle yet passionate and in that exact moment, nothing else mattered.

All doubts you had suddenly left your mind, the only things you could think about being the feeling of his lips on yours, and the fact that you never want this to stop.

You wrapped your hand around his neck as the kiss deepened and it went on like this until you both pulled away to catch your breaths.

And ater that kiss, everything changed.

For the worse

His gaze landed on your eyes once again. And as your expression softened, his became harder. And darker. And the eyes you found yourself lost in just seconds ago suddenly turned cold.

“Did I do so-“

“Give me my jumper. I want to go to bed.”

“What?” You huffed. He can’t be serious right now, right?

“Give it to me, Y/L/N. Our job here is done and I’m tired.”

You scoffed and quickly pulled the emerald green piece of clothing over your head, breathing in his scent for the last time that night. He snatched it out of your hands and left without another word, leaving you alone on the huge staircase, confused and upset.

˚ · • . ° . ˚ · • . ° .

The next morning was even weirder. Your friends had to basically drag you out of bed and once you were seated in your usual seat in the great hall, you just couldn’t stop trying to catch his eyes.

But he seemed rather…. busy. Either you were imagining things or Pansy Parkinson was currently seated on his lap. At breakfast. You frowned and slowly picked at your food with your fork, never taking a single bite.

“Y/N, I think that’s your owl!” Hermione said, the daily prophet in one hand, a teaspoon in the other to stirr her tea. Once the letter dropped onto your lap, you swiftly opened it before quickly patting the owl on its head as a goodbye.

“It’s from professor McGonagall”

“What does it say?” Harry asked, seemingly interested.

You squinted your eyes and Hermione immediately went to look over your shoulder, reading it too as you turned the letter to show her.

“It says that she took notice of my complaints about the pairing and that changes will follow quickly. But I never went to complain about it. And we also never talked about it in class.” You scoffed. The letter was clearly directed at you, and professor McGonagall wasn’t exactly known for making mistakes like sending letters to the wrong person.

Meaning, someone else must’ve told her.

“At least you don’t have to spend any more time with that snob.” Ron chimed in, chewing on his breakfast. You just nodded.

You stopped listening to the conversation as Hermione started to complain about Ron’s table manners and you let your mind wander back to Theo. It must’ve been him who somehow told McGonagall about your complaints. It wasn’t that hard to believe him, considering the professors already knew about the hateful relationship you and Theo had going on.

“I’m gonna go tell Alex, maybe I’ll get paired with her.” You said, getting up from your seat. The trio hummend and waved at you, already being used this.

It wasn’t the whole truth. Yes, if Theo wanted to be a bitch then you definitely wanted to be paired with Alex instead of anyone else. But she also was the only one who knew about you and Theo, and you definitely needed to update her on what’s going on currently. You didn’t dare to tell the Gryffindors, afraid of how they might react. Maybe cutting off contact with you wasn’t so stupid of him. But it was so vicious.

Alex and you have already been friends before you even received your Hogwarts letters. You confided in her with everything, hence she also knew what had been going on between you and Theo these past few months.

She waved you over when she saw you walking towards the Hufflepuff table, letter still in hand. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to sit down. You exchanged quick hellos, and then you began talking, sharing every so tiny detail about last night. And the letter. And the still ongoing situation he had with Pansy Parkinson on his lap, giggling about something he said. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. And he didn’t spare you a single look.

“That fucking twat! He can’t just kiss you and then pull shit like this! You should beet him up, honestly. Even better, kick him off his broom again.” Alex suggested, maybe a bit too loudly, as you were on you way towards potions. Breakfast had already ended and because you didn’t want to keep sitting where everybody could hear you, you decided to leave a bit earlier and take the longer way to the classroom.

“Yeah- I don’t know Lex, this is so weird. I used to hate him all this time and now- now I’m crying after him? This is so stupid”, you murmured, “maybe it’s better this way. Everything will go back to the way it was before and I’ll just- forget.”

But it didn’t go back to how it was before. He didn’t go back to calling you names. And whenever he saw you in hogsmead, he didn’t wait for you to cross paths to light his cigarette anymore like he usually did to annoy you. He just ignored you. And that frustrated you even more. Why couldn’t he just act normal? Why did he have to suddenly act as if you died? As if you just didn’t exist anymore? Why did he have to constantly remind you that something between you did change? How were you supposed to forget it about it like this?

Even in classes, when you dropped something, when you gave the wrong answer or when your potions turned into nothing more than a weird bubbling brown liquid and Snape scolded you for it, even when you embarrassed yourself in front of everyone, he wouldn’t comment it. Draco would mock you. And Mattheo would laugh. Occasionally, if he saw you on your way out, Blaize would annoyingly remind you of whatever had happened in class. But Theo? He wouldn’t look. He wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t care.

But, to your luck, every last Saturday of the month, the students threw a party with all students from every house invited. Only if they were of age. The houses always took turns on whose common room the party will be held in, and July was Slytherin’s turn. Meaning Theo would definitely be there.

Originally, you didn’t want to act so petty. But you felt used after all these months of him pretending. So, there was only one thing you had to keep in mind for a few more weeks;

revenge is a dish best served cold.

And you managed. By now, you had already told Hermione about Theo and even though she didn’t like the thought of you and him at first, considering you spent lots of time together, it made sense. After all, she said it herself when you first got the message of having to go patrolling with him. Maybe you’d start getting along.

So, for the next party, Alex, Mione, and you came up with a tiny, harmless plan. You didn’t know if it would work because his ignorance towards you was still going strong, but it was worth a shot. And a little jealousy never hurt anyone anyway, right?

˚ · • . ° . ˚ · • . ° .

You dressed up. You needed to break his façade one way or another. A tight-fitting, almost-too-short red dress and your favorite jewellery delicately hanging around your neck and wrists with a few rings around your fingers.

You weren’t overdressed, but you didn’t usually go to parties like this. You just went there to have fun with your friends, get drunk and take your mind off of things, never to catch anybody’s attention. You were beautiful dressed up or not, boys always tried to ask you out at those parties no matter what you were wearing, but you always nicely rejected.

Today, you wouldn’t.

After you finished off you makeup with mascara and lipgloss, you put on your heels and finally made your way over to the dungeons, Hermione and Alex right next to you. The boys went first, you assumed they’ve already had some drinks, so hopefully the vibe wouldn’t be too bad.

“This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not.”

“He probably won’t even look at me, just like he did the whole past month” you sighed, suddenly not feeling as confident anymore.

“If you won’t catch his attention, then surely someone else’s.” Hermione tried to cheer you up once again. “And it’ll at least help you take your mind off of him.” Alex added.

They are right, you told yourself. Just go inside, drink something to calm your nerves, and don’t focus on him.

Easier said than done. The moment you stepped a foot inside the common room, decorated with green lamps and lights, dark leather sofas and with loud music beaming through your ears, your eyes immediately searched for him. He was sitting there, hidden in a dark corner with a ravenclaw girl all over him, but his eyes focused on you.

You locked eyes.

Your breath hitched.

Goosebumps formed all over your body.

You looked away.

Your eyes settled on Harry who was calling you over, a drink for you in his hand. You took it from him, ready to just enjoy yourself and have a good time. For now.

You were more than just tipsy, stumbling over your words and your own feet. Your feet started to hurt in your heels and the guy you’ve been flirting with started to annoy you. His hand was steady on your hip and his lips grazed your neck as he whispered things into your ear you couldn’t comprehend, mind way too hazed.

Meanwhile, Theo felt as though he was going fucking crazy. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He tried so hard not to think about you. He tried so hard to finally get you off his mind. To finally make these feelings for you disappear.

He was supposed to enjoy himself tonight. Make out with yet another girl and then forget about you completely. Some alcohol would help, wouldn’t it? But no, you just had to show up in that tiny fucking dress, showing off your legs for everyone to see. And as if that wasn’t enough, you let that guy’s hands and lips wander over your body as if you belonged to him. You’ve never done anything like this before. You never dressed up like this, and every bloke who ever came too close to you would be hushed away in a second and now you basically bathed in those boys’ attention.

He knew he wasn’t one to judge. Not when he acted the same exact way every single party he went to. But the way you wouldn’t react to his smoke, the fact your nose didn’t scrunch up like it usually would, the way all of your attention was on that guy and not on him, it made him fucking feral.

“Uhhhm you know, you- you look good and all, and we should reaaaaallyyyy continue this another time, but I need some fresh- fresh air right now, so I’ll go.” You hickupped, actually feeling like his weird perfume would suffocate you if you didn’t leave right fucking now.

“I’ll go with y-“

“Nono, don’t worry, I’ll- I’ll go alone.”

You hurried away, not wanting him to follow you. You needed to get out of this huge castle, go somewhere you could actually relax, because the alcohol, in fact, did not help and finally come to terms with the truth; Theo never once left your mind. And your plan sucked too, having achieved absolutely nothing.

You felt way too hot, the smell of that horrible perfume mixed with smoke and alcohol overstimulating your senses. Plus, your mind was racing. Why couldn’t he just talk to you? Tell you what he was thinking that night, tell you what made him lie to your professors about “your complaints”, tell you what fucking made him run away after such an intimate moment.

“Fuckfuckfuck these shoes are fucking killing me!” you whined once you reached the exit.

“Then take ‘em off”

Your eyes opened wide and the cold rain drops falling onto your skin one after one made you shiver.

And so did his voice.

You knew he was standing behind you, but you didn’t dare to turn around. You stared ahead into the nothingness until you felt his presence next to you, arms brushing against each other. His cologne and the fresh air cleared your mind, sobering you up slightly.

“What do you want, Nott?”

“We need to talk.”

“Finally grew a pair or what took you so long?”

Theo exhaled. He turned around to stand face-to-face with you, his blue eyes piercing into yours. And finally that night, you held his gaze. The tension was palpable and you couldn’t help but fiddle with your bracelets and necklace, feeling overwhelmed with the sudden change of atmosphere.

“Listen, I- I know what I did was stupid. And absolutely, in no way, was what I did okay. I just- I’ve kissed a lot of girls before, we both know that, but that kiss between us- it felt so different and t-“

“So you left? And ignored me? And lied to McGonagall? And proceeded to let a girl sit on your lap during fucking breakfast the next fucking morning? That’s a low bow even for you, Nott. Stop behaving like a slut and then maybe we’ll talk.”

“Oh and how did you behave tonight? You’re allowed and I’m not?” His voice was low, his head bending teasingly low towards yours, eyebrows raised, awaiting your reaction.

You scoffed and dodged his gaze. Guess your plan did work out. “Complaining, Nott? One bloke I flirt with and suddenly you’re after me again? Well maybe next time you should think before leaving me! Because, believe it or not, to one of us that kiss actually fucking meant somethi-“

“You seriously think it meant nothing to me?” He yelled, frustration growing in his eyes. “I left because I was scared of what our friends would think if they saw us together! I- I know it was stupid and I got unnecessarily rude after but I’ve never felt anything like that before and that,” he huffed, “I guess that scared me.”

“So when it’s me you care about others opinions, but when it’s that Ravenclaw, or Parkinson, or just any other girl, then you don’t?” You asked, acting as confident in front him as you could.

“For fucks sake, it’s because I like you Y/N, don’t you get it? I genuinely like you! I left ‘cause you’re not like those girls. ‘Cause you’re actually important to me!”

You pondered for a second, lowering your eyes to look at your heels instead of his face. Your heart thumped loudly inside your chest.

You looked up again.

Took a step forward.

And smashed your lips against his.

Your eyes closed as he didn’t waste any more to kiss you back and finally, you felt safe again. With that fuzzy and warm feeling in your stomach and his lips against yours.

“This dress looks so perfect on you.” His hands steadied on your waist, pushing you lightly against the wall. He kissed down your neck, your skin feeling hot. You began playing with his hair as your body relaxed under his touch. You didn’t care about the rain wiping off your makeup. Or about you clothes being absolutely drenched. Nothing mattered other than having him close to you.

“I like you too, Theo.”

His lips parted from your neck, instead he gave you a small peck on your lips, before embracing you in a tight hug, smiling into your hair.

And neither of you let go.

“You’re shivering, want my jumper?”

“Red doesn’t go well with green.”

“Nah, I think it does.”

last part makes more sense as gryffindor!reader but whatever, I hope you liked it!

[oddballwriter]

Last Warning

Summary: Steven wasn't usually a brat when it came to sex. But sometimes he really acted like one. So sometimes you need to put him back in his place. 

Warnings: Sub!Steven with Dom!Reader. Brat taming and brat behavior. Implied pegging (via strap-on) at the end, the reader's gender is never actually said and there is no mention of their pronouns either so you can apply whatever gender you want or as you identify as. Oral and deep throating (reader receiving). Hair pulling. Manhandling. Steven lowkey being slutted out. This is Steven-centric but the rest of the system gets mentioned and the reader and all three are already in a relationship.

Author’s Snip: I was going to write a whole smut that involved pegging but I lost my momentum and could find it. this fic has been sitting in my head and drafts for a while too and I thought it was so great even without the full idea, so I'm posting it now. The end might be a bit wonky so forgive me for that. Listen I worked hard on this lol. I still put my guy pussy in this and I'll be damned if I don't write it.

Note: I didn't fully proof read this. I just kind of brushed through it once so please do your best to ignore any typos or weird grammar.

If I find underage blogs interacting if this blog then I will not hesitate to instantly block with no buts. I do check. So this is your one and ONLY warning

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request!

"What's taking so long?" Steven complained from the bed, almost completely naked say for his pair of briefs that you told him to keep on. He propped himself on his elbows and looked towards the bed post where you stood.

"I'm fixing the strap." you answer chuckling at his impatience. "Why'd you even take it apart in the first place?" Steven asked, still having the same dissatisfied tone. "I wanted to clean the dildo, sweetheart. You can't be mad at me for practicing good sex toy hygiene." you answer again with a slightly more stern tone, "Just be a good boy for me and wait." you promise.

You already knew that the boys had different things that they were into after a while of being together. As it turns out, Steven, although he did enjoy being submissive and doing whatever you wanted, can be quite the brat, if he's antsy enough. Which he was right now. He had made it not so subtle that he wanted you to fuck him, and you were perfectly fine with giving it to him. But you found it a bit funny that he was acting like he was the one in charge with his little complaints. Usually you were able to talk in a stern tone to up him back in his place.

Usually.

"Well it seems like with how long this is taking, I'll have to be railed up again once you're done fixing it all back in place." Steven grumbled under his breath.

Oh?

So he does want to actually play that game now, does he?

"Steven," you say looking directly at him and creating an even sterner voice, "This is your last warning. If you keep being a brat then you're going to get treated like one." you threaten.

Steven heeds the warning and lays back down completely again as he waits. You could still sense that he wanted his desire to be satisfied now but didn't do anything other than wait for you to give it to him since your dynamic was that he needed to ask and have you satisfy him rather than doing it himself or take whatever you gave him to do such. You were glad that Steven wasn't willing to be a big enough brat to start touching himself without asking.

"There!" you announce, finally having gotten the whole strap on fixed on properly. You were about to give Steven exactly what he wanted until you heard him mumble "About time.", most likely talking to himself and only meaning for it to be heard by himself, but you still managed to hear it. You said it was his last warning.

Steven seemed to notice that you heard him and his face immediately became flushed. "I didn't mean it, love. I swear. I'll behave now." he stammered out as you made your way to where he was on the bed. He tried to scoot away from the edge of the bed where you stood yourself, but you manage to catch his ankle and pull him back towards you.

"Off the bed and on your knees." is all you said to him as you brought him to the edge of the bed with you, "I'll remind you exactly why I clean the parts of my straps." you say as you guide Steven into the position you ordered. Steven lets you manhandle him but continues to talk, "No, please. I wasn't that bad that I have to you use my saliva as lub-" Steven begs. "You'll get your lube." you tell him.

"I just want to put that pretty little mouth to better use since all you want to do with it is give me attitude like you weren't begging me to fuck you ten minutes ago." you explain before firmly grabbing his jaw, putting enough pressure on a specific spot to have you be able to manipulate it's movements, "Now open up." you demand as you guide his face towards your groan by pushing the back of his head. Steven does as he's told and timidly opens his mouth and darting out his tongue like he usually does when you have him give oral to your strap.

Steven wraps his lips around the tip of the dildo with the occasional licks. He gives you little glances up, clearly giving you puppy eyes. But it's not working on you tonight. "Quit being shy with it. We both know you can do better than that. I said use your mouth." you instruct as you push his head closer to you, making more of the dildo attached to the strap go farther into Steven's mouth. Steven lets out a whine before, again, doing as told.

You might not be able to actually feel the sensation of Steven, or any of other boys's mouth, around the dildo but you did get something out of watching them doing it. Like the attempt to do it right and keep a pace, or handle the pace you were making them go at via you grabbing their hair and making them move. Steven was cute, in a way. Sure, making him blow your strap would lead to him making that sort of nasty gawking sound and have drool run down his face and maybe drip. But he made these whining noises that just did something to you on top of the fact that he'd keep his hands both to himself, and off himself, and put them on his lap instead.

After a while of letting Steven go at it you push him away saying "Alright, that's enough.". Upon Steven and the dildo separating, a string of drool sticks to the edge of it and Steven's lips which curl into a little smile as he looks back up at you.

You know he thinks that the punishment and lesson learning is over, which really is a poor sense of judgment since he should also know better on that and that it's usually not that easy. So you decide to be a bit evil by not saying anything other than a simple "get on the bed for me." and nothing else.

Steven gets back on his spot laid out on your shared bed, on his back. But you quickly flip him over onto his stomach and grab a handful of his curly hair to make him lean backwards, keeping him from putting anything other than his hands and knees on the bed.

Steven lets out another whiny moan trying to voice his displeasure without getting himself into more trouble with you. "None of that." you say in a stern voice again but this time with a smile on your face. "I told you you were going to be treated like a brat. You thought that I was just going to give you what you originally wanted after just making you use your mouth?" you ask. You shake your head, "No. You're not getting the pillow prince treatment. If you had just behaved then you would have but not anymore." you scold as you let go of his hair to pull off down his briefs. You move away for a bit with a bottle of lube, "You're lucky I'm giving you this." you say as you come back. "If it were Jake then the spit is all you would be getting." you claim as you lather the dildo part of the strap-on. "But I guess you were good enough taking a strap down your throat. So be thankful for that." you say as you draw near to let the fun really begin.

[badassxbirdy]

Reflect :3

Send REFLECT for me to explain a traumatic event in my muses’s past and talk about their perception of events,  which parts have stayed with them longest and how it affects them now.  (  sender can request specific scenes/backstory  )

Oooo look, we’re testing the new meme banner. I fully expect it to be pixelated as I’m on mobile, but let’s give it a go anyway. 😂 Also I’m writing this at an ungodly hour, so if you see typos shhhhhhh no you don’t. 👀

Now then, let’s talk about the hunter incident! CW: knives, blood, blood letting, and a near death experience.

She doesn’t remember what led to her being knocked out, just coming to in an unfamiliar place with people she didn’t recognise and a pounding headache. The groggy state she was in left her unable to fight back even with her powers, and so she tried to talk her way out of the confusing situation she’d found herself in, telling them that they had obviously made a mistake. She was a hunter too, she hadn’t hurt anyone. That argument became a lot less convincing when they forced her eyes to change with demon blood, confirming to them that they had the right person.

Well… shit.

Tyler had of course met hunters who were absolute assholes before, and had been in a few physical altercations with them here and there. But this was the first time she’d encountered one like him. The one who actually did the cutting. He wasn’t just working, he was enjoying himself. He enjoyed telling her what he was going to do. He enjoyed telling her that her powerful blood was worth more to him than her life. And most of all the sadistic fuck was enjoying the slow death of someone who couldn’t defend themselves. That was one of the worst parts: the helplessness. Not even being able to go down with a fight.

A not-so-fun fact Ty learned: a dull knife hurts more than a sharp one. A sharp knife slices through things easily, but the more blunt the blade is the more pressure is needed to use it. A lot more damage is done to the surrounding tissue as it tears it’s way through rather than making a clean cut.

The wound ran the length of her forearm. She would have bled out in no time at all had it not been for the rope that secured her to her seat. The painfully tight way her arm was tied to the arm of the chair actually slowed the blood flow, rather like a tourniquet, and gave her plenty of time to listen to the awful sound of her blood slowly draining into the bucket underneath. Plenty of time to feel how her heart rate changed and the how the cold began to creep in.

She might have been convinced to view this guy as just a bad apple if it hadn’t been for the other two who were with him. They did absolutely nothing. Trying to appeal to them was useless. They ignored her entirely, as though she wasn’t screaming her damn head off. The only time they reacted was when she nearly toppled the chair in her struggling, one of them catching it before she could fall backwards. They didn’t even seem phased by the behaviour of the man who’d cut her, as if it were just a regular work day for them. Which along with the trauma of it all, made her genuinely pissed off at them on a professional level, something that makes me just 🤦‍♀️. Tyler. Honey. Please. Priorities.

From a thread:

When she had to kill something she at least tried to make it quick, to not let whatever it was linger in pain and fear. That was the way the job was supposed to be done. The hunters who had targeted her had shown no such consideration. Even the ‘professional’ two had seemingly missed the memo on that bit of common decency. Assholes.

And to be fair, she isn’t wrong. If it had been about protecting people from what she was they could’ve killed her while she was unconscious. Waiting until she was awake and aware of what was happening to her was a tremendously cruel thing to do, really adding insult to injury attempted murder.

When it comes to her rescue, Tyler remembers very little of what occurred. She wasn’t conscious enough to fully understand what was happening by that point. She doesn’t remember that she called Mel’s name, just that everything suddenly got very loud. The very last thing she recalls are warm hands on her face and arm. After that there’s nothing until she woke up with an IV attached to one hand and Mel holding the other.

The physical injury didn’t take nearly as long to recover from as the emotional impact. She hadn’t even known what she was herself for very long when this this happened, still reeling from that revelation when this whole new bucket of ‘what the fuck’ was dumped right on top of it all. She was a mess, and is still traumatised by the event to this day. Though Mel assured her that they were dead, she was nervous and skittish for weeks, extremely unwilling to be around anyone but Mel. Just one of many times she’s clung to her adopted sister like a life preserver.

Understandably this was the start of her distrust of hunters. Later events and attempts on Mel’s life only solidified her opinion that hunters themselves are far more dangerous than most of the things they hunt. She began to pull away from that whole community, distancing herself as much as possible from her old contacts in fear that her new family could get hurt, as well as the fear of anyone else finding out what she was. By the time she went missing there were only a handful of people she still kept in contact with.

The scar on her forearm remains a sensitive issue. She hates letting people see it. The other ones she has dotted around her body (some from childhood mischief, the rest from adult idiocy) she is not concerned about hiding, but she still will not go out in public without long sleeves. She doesn’t hide it from Mel, but allowing it to be visible around Eli took quite some time. Even with Killian it was far from easy, the first few times he touched it unexpectedly she became very jumpy.

[thecursedhellblazer]

{ @imthebatman​​ }

(( Look at me actually managing to respect a deadline outside university ones...well, more or less ^^” In my defence, this turned out to be much more than I had planned for it to be, but well, it’s done xD Good thing you told me about the bday thing in advance, otherwise I would have never been able to put this together and I would have gone for something easier and less time consuming >.> ))

(( So, first of all have a shitty edit of a Beebo ready to party: ))

(( But the real present is under the cut. I was kind of tempted to post it elsewhere, like on Ao3, because it came out much longer than I thought and Tumblr posts kinda sucks, but I decided to shove it down here anyway. And yep, I did write you a song fic u.u ))

(( Happy b-day, Palps! ))

“Everyone of us hides a story made of scars and sometimes shelters in a corner„

Thick grey clouds cover the sky, heavy with a rainstorm they might never truly deliver, not a single crack of blue in sight. Then again, the sun has never been a common presence in the sky of Gotham. It would feel out of place in the gloomy atmosphere that surrounds the city and among its many, dark moods. There’s little space for light when the air is so heavy, even in the moments of apparent peace. They are, after all, nothing but an illusion, yet another calm before the tempest comes back raging again, just as the silence of that slowly dying afternoon is.

John Constantine lights up a cigarette, letting the flame linger on its as he inhales the first mouthful of smoke. In the descending darkness, his mind finds it easy to overlap the hostile skyline that stretches before his eyes with his memories of London. Another city known for her gloomy weather, for the fog that so often lingers over her buildings, soaking the people she shelters in her bosom with humidity and cold. If he closes his eyes and tries hard enough, he can still feel it, that wet sensation that dives deeper and deeper, until it settles in your bones with the silent promise of never leaving you, no matter how far from it life will take you.

He lets his head fall back slightly, slowly blowing out the smoke towards the sky, watching as it fades, confusing itself with the clouds. He misses London, hell, he misses England in general. The country was never been kind with him and most of his worst memories belongs there, together with all the unsatisfied and sometimes vengeful ghosts he has left behind, but whether he likes it or not, it still is and will always be home. Assuming that there is a single place, in this world and all the others, that he can call such. He can’t deny that it’s fitting, though. A land that has brought him mostly pain and regrets, just as the physical house he has grown up in has been his personal hell ever since he can remember.

The magician grits his teeth, mouth curling in a frown. That is a whole other set of memories that haunts him and he doesn’t even need to make an effort to recall them. Every sleepless night spent in terror. Every hit, every bruise, every insult. Every time those hands touched him, brutal, merciless, unrelenting. The images and the sensations can get vivid enough to make his stomach turn and his hands shake, even after so many years. That’s the reason why he doesn’t dwell on them, the reason why he never talks about it. Repressing is easier. It’s almost like forgetting, with the different that the phantom burden never goes away. However, the heaviness Is something he is almost used to, by now, since he is constantly carrying on his shoulders the weight if not of the world, at least of all his mistakes and bad choices. And damn, most of the times he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two.

“So vulnerable, human heart’s an animal that doesn’t want to break cover„

It makes him wonder why he is still there. He has closed his case, the umpteenth clusterfuck that has brought him back to that city and to its lurking shadows. He has no reason to linger, especially not when that darkness calls his personal one out, causing it to resonate in tune with it. And yet there he is, perched on the railing of that balcony, skin and clothes stained with mud and blood. Not his own, for the most. It almost never is and, even when that’s the case, he always finds a way to be the last man standing, at the end of the day. The price for his life? Everything that can be taken from him and, especially, from the people who are unlucky enough to be around him, and then some more.

Constantine’s eyes slide close as he brings the cigarette back to his lips. The truth is that, despite what he tells himself, despite all the horrors and the losses he has faced, despite every lesson he has sworn to learn, he is weak. Selfishly so. He is so quick to deny others, and he is so harsh and unmovable in doing it, but with himself, oh, he has always been far too lenient. How that fits with his constant self-hatred, he isn’t completely sure. Perhaps it’s because he inevitably ends up losing everything he allows himself to have and keep, one way or the other. They have a cost, those indulgences, one that he cannot pay because he doesn’t have the means to do it. So Fate or Chance or whoever for them comes and snatches them away, sudden and violent, leaving yet another tear in his already far too broken core.

He bites back a scoff. The approaching night he’s watching now is nothing but yet another of indulgences. He knows where he wants it to lead him and he knows that he doesn’t deserve it. He should climb down the way he has climbed up, like the thief he is, and leave Gotham without looking back. He should and he would if he was enough of a decent person, but it’s been years since he has had any real shred of decency left in him. So, instead, he’ll stay and wait, as he always does. He’ll stay and take everything he can get his hands on, enjoying comforts and pleasures he has done nothing to earn. He’ll take and take and take, until the day when the tiny breach he has been using to crawl inside that small world where he doesn’t belong will be closed and he will find himself in the dark once again, alone and with yet another deep crack in his soul.

Blue eyes lock on the grey, threatening sky. It will happen, eventually, but not tonight. So, for now, he sits and soaks himself in the advancing shadows, his back to the lights that start to colour the windows of the manor. The symbolism isn’t lost to him, it never is, even if most of the times he pretends not to notice it, just to end up mulling over it later on. It’s a taste of what’s waiting ahead for him, once his time would have run out. It won’t be this quiet, though, and it won’t be this painless. The torment that fills his chest, however, that will be there, his eternal companion in death as it has been in life.

“If you want to back down I’ll try to understand but I just can’t help it I would, if I could give you a new innocence so, please don’t fear my caress„

The hand that descends on his shoulder is expected and by now very familiar, just as is the figure that presses up against his side. He has heard, or rather felt, the other man approaching him, even while lost in his thoughts, but he hasn’t turned around. He hasn’t needed to, not when he can easily imagine the whole scene in his mind without having to see it taking place in reality. Oh, his bloody imagination is just that good, but it’s a double-edged sword. His nightmares and lucid dreams are proof enough of what it can do, just as it is of how much it can wreck him when it chooses to.

Strong fingers travel down along the magician’s spine, taking in the tension that lingers in his muscles and the new tears that have been ripped in the worn material of his trench coat. However, in particular, they don’t miss how the exorcist initially reacts, stiffening even more under the touch, struggling until he manages to make himself accept it. It’s been months since they have agreed to let that thing between them officially exist, but the doubts and the reluctance are still almost as palpable as the bumps of his vertebrae.

Bruce bits back a sigh, deciding to pay no mind to it. He has almost resigned himself to the fact that there will always be a part of Constantine that will never accept his most gentle touches. The magician seems to instinctively recoil from them, as if they somehow hurt or as if he expected to get pain out of them. He has tried to bring the subject up, but John can be as stubborn as Batman himself when he chooses to and that has never led them anywhere, if not into an ugly fight. He is tempted to try again, but by now he knows the older man well enough and he can tell that, whatever he has faced that day, has been hard on him. A fact that inevitably destroys the already limited fertile ground there usually is for discussion. So, instead, the vigilante just keeps caressing, until the body under his palm has become as pliant as it’s capable of being.

“You’re a mess, Constantine,” he comments at that point, one eyebrow slightly raised and the lightest hint of amusement in his voice. What he doesn’t say is that he knows. He knows about the missing pieces and the darkness, about the stains and the scars. And he is fine with them, whether John likes to believe it or not, because he himself is far from being unblemished. He will be fine with them as long as the magician is aware that there’s no reason why he should fear Bruce and what he is willing to offer. He isn’t going to press, not even if he wishes he could, not even when he has all the rights to. And he isn’t going to ask for things that Constantine cannot give in exchange. What he demands, however, is to not be shut out and that’s something that it’s not up for discussion.

The exorcist finally turns to face the vigilante, an unimpressed look on his face. It’s a mask, a façade to hide all the thoughts that have been storming inside his mind, and they both know it. However, from Bruce’s indulgent expression, John can tell that, at least for that night, he will be allowed to keep his act up without having to try hard. It makes him feel both relieved and pained, because he has once again wrapped his hands around something he hasn’t earned and he will shamelessly drain that privilege until there will be nothing left to get out of it. Story of his life, really.

“Are we playin’ again that bloody game where we state the obvious? I know ‘m a mess, Wayne. But now, when am I not, hn?” He shoots back with an exaggerate eyeroll. He is hyperaware of the skilful hand that’s still working on the length of his spine. Bruce’s touch is always so warm and welcoming, despite the fact that he is always abusing the younger man’s time, his patience, his presence. That awareness is yet another torture for him, but at the same time he can’t help being greedy for it. “How did you know I was up ‘ere? Didn’t come in through the main door.”

The vigilante rolls his eyes, clearly making an effort to mimic exactly the gesture that has just been addressed to him. “Oh, you know. Alfred mentioned that he has seen someone in a dirty trench coat climbing along the front of the mansion,” he replies and his fingers dig in the magician’s side. It’s a playful gesture and he is pleased to see the obviously exaggerated reaction his lover offers, to play along with him. “I guessed that it had to be you.”

“Bullocks.” Constantine scoffs and turns his eyes back towards Gotham’s skyline, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. “The ol’ codger ‘s always in my bloody way. Damn him.”

“Everyone of us has to face more than once that feelings are just a delusion„

Bruce’s lips curl in the shadow of a rare grin at the comeback, but when the silence threatens to fall upon them, he doesn’t stop it. Instead, he removes his hand from the older man’s back in favour of leaning against the railing with his elbows, eyes locked on the slowly darkening horizon before them. He makes sure to keep touching, his side still pressed up against the magician’s, close enough to feel him twitching and shifting. Movements so subtle that would have been lost to him if he hadn’t made sure that they shared the same space.

He bows his head slightly, to be able to run a hand through his dark hair. It’s odd to be there, willing and somewhat content, with someone who’s so radically different from. John Constantine is a continuous, often rabid flood of energy, always moving, always changing, and he has, more often than not, felt like a rock in the middle of a turbulent river. Unmovable in its stillness, because that’s what he is compared to the other man, firm and steady where the exorcist is constantly shifting and fluctuating. However, even the sturdiest rock is fated to be affected by the constant, abrasive touch of the water and, to an extent, he has known it since the very first time their paths have crossed, among the smoke and the loud music of a London night not so different from many others. Of course, he didn’t realise it, back then, but it has taken him to meet John again, several years later, and be faced with a much darker version of him to understand how deeply under his skin the other had already crawled.

His mind flies back in time, to the years that have preceded that fateful meeting and to the ones that have followed it. He remembers the people who have touched his life, the women he has courted, mostly for fun and to keep his reputation up. Their names are mostly lost to him, aside from the two he’ll never forget, because, despite the bitter end those relationships have met, they have played an essential part in making him into whom he has become.

Selina was everything his younger self has never been allowed to have before her abrupt arrival in his life. Freedom and mischief, broken rules and total disregard for the conventions of the society he has grown up in. She was the adventure, the thrill of the forbidden. Her kisses used to taste like fresh air and carelessness. Her touches were sweet oblivion from the responsibilities. Taking her hand was stepping into new, unexplored worlds. In the end, she had slipped from his fingers while he was distracted by Gotham’s call, going where he couldn’t follow, just as the wild animal she has always been.

Rachel, on the other hand, was sweetness and stability. She was a bright light against Gotham’s endless gloominess, a gentle warmth capable of heating up the coldest night. Kissing her brought back, for the illusion of a moment, the innocence he lost at a far too young age. The way her hands moved on his body whispered promises of a home where he could have, if not forgotten, at least finally moved on from the pain and the losses. Holding her hands used to bring him comfort as nothing else in his life ever has. In the end, she had been a painful but necessary sacrifice, because the world she was promising him, as desirable and tempting, would have implied abandoning his cape and his duty to the city.

“So much wasted time making a fool of our pride just to come to the bitter conclusion„

Bruce slowly licks his lips. Now, both women are gone from his life. They linger, though, as ghosts from his past, reminding him of how fleeting feelings can be and what delusions they charm you with. Leaving them behind has been hard, it has taken a long time and, in the aftermath, it has pushed him to come to the conclusion that the only one he would always be faithful to, the only one he would never be able to resist would be Gotham.

Thinking about it now, he can tell that it has been easier than expected, to choose to wear the mask and the cape and to dedicate all of himself to the Night. She has always welcome him with open arms, with her secrets, her dangers, her battles. It has always felt right, like nothing else ever has. And so he has been fighting the madness that sprouts from her shadows ever since. Or, perhaps, the truth is that he has started his fight much before choosing to become Batman. Perhaps he has been sworn to the city and to its darkness since that night in that alley, when he has been left on his knees, between the lifeless bodies of his parents, screaming at the sky in agony for what had been so brutally stolen from him. Maybe it has been then that he signed his destiny, without even realising it.

A bitter, pained smile touches his lips at those thoughts. Even nowadays, despite everything he has gone through, he can tell without a doubt that he has found his calling and that the prices he has paid to follow it have been worth what he has got. It doesn’t make the sacrifices less painful, it doesn’t make the solitude less heavy to bear, but he is aware that, at the end of the day, the regrets won’t be burdening him enough to cause him to fall in the abyss he can see under his feet.

“I know, it hurts to mend all the shattered hopes but would you truly tell me that it isn’t worth pricking yourself with its thorns if it’s done to pick a rose?„

Bruce’s eyes leave the now dark sky and land on John once again. The man sitting next to him is the one variable he could have never predicted. He materialised on his path like a bolt from the blue, and definitely as dangerous as one. A walking bunch of cigarettes and arrogance, dressed in a trench coat that has seen much better days, incomprehensible but powerful words between his lips and nothing less than real magic on his fingertips. A ticking bomb shaped like a man, dragging the chains of a mysterious and yet obviously wrecked past and of his literally damned future. And yet, there he stood, still managing not to give a flying fuck about everything and everyone.

He remembers very clearly his own reaction, the first time they met after so many years. Batman was utterly annoyed by his flamboyant, caustic attitude and Bruce, from behind the mask, wondered where the messed up but still somehow hopeful young man he had found himself entangled with in London ended up. Constantine is not what he used to be, not even close, not even behind the parts of his act that are just for show. The sharpness and the cynicism in his eyes immediately made it clear, more than any rude word or flare of anger could ever have.

Peeling off all those crusted layers of smugnesss and exaggerated self-confidence hasn’t been easy, especially since the magician has fought him back at every step, but, all considered, it hasn’t taken too long for the self-loathing, the scars and the endless pit of regrets to emerge. John hasn’t lied, with his earlier answer. He always is a mess, a bunch of shattered pieces held together by a lot of bravado and willpower, and none of them is where it should be. He has seen the never healed wounds and the blood on the magician’s fingers, the only results of his vain attempts to get the shards back into a semblance of wholeness. And, before he could realise it, he was being overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and take his hands, mend the cuts, stop him from giving up on himself over and over again.

The truth is that he is still trying. Trying to make himself respect the limitations he has been given, trying to make it be enough, despite wanting so much more. However, Constantine has been adamant and he knows what it would mean breaking the rules he has willingly accepted. For all the contingency plans Batman has, Bruce himself tends to be defenceless, when his feelings are on the line. And he has seen how vengeful John can be, never above playing dirty, never above stomping over every single boundary, if it means achieving his goal. He would have found a way to get back at him, of course, eventually, but the irreparable damage would have been done anyway.

On good days, he tells himself that seeing the shock on the older man’s face that day, when he has chosen to put his heart in his callous hands, when he has chosen that “nasty piece of work” over everything else the world has to offer, has, on its own, almost made it worth the fights, the pain, the struggling. Then, there are the rare times when he has been allowed to see John blooming, with power, wits and a determination as bright as the light of his spells. In those moments, watching his shattered soul soaring, even if just through the hellish sky it is trapped in, aside from making him fall a bit more in love each time, vanishes every lingering doubt.

“I can’t promise you eternity but bare your soul for me Whatever it takes, you won’t regret having yourself let go once again„

“I’ll never bleedin’ get what you find so enticin’ ‘bout this soddin’ place.”

The exorcist’s voice breaks the silence and he turns to find Bruce staring at him. Oh, he has been aware of those eyes locked on him for some time now and that’s the reason why he has decided to speak up. There is something, in the younger man’s expression, that’s making him uneasy. He knows that look far too well by now and that’s the problem. His lover gets it every time he is thinking about something deep, something that involves him, or, rather, them. It doesn’t always lead to an attempt of conversation, thankfully, but it always gets too close to his sore spots for comfort.

His words gain him a raised eyebrow and he shakes his head because, despite what he has chosen to say, he doesn’t want to have that kind of conversation. Also because, among the other things, it would have forced him to admit that his statement is, for the most, a lie. He does understand the dark charm of Gotham far too well, not because he experiences it himself, hell no. As much in tune as that place can be with his own darkness, he is more than content to fuck off somewhere else whenever he has a chance to. No, the reason why he understands the strength of Bruce’s sense of duty, the reason why he knows exactly why the city will be, always and anyway, the younger man’s first priority is what John himself feels about magic. It’s not the same, and in his eyes Batman’s mission would always be, in spite of everything, much purer, less selfish, less corrupted. However, it’s the closest thing to a reflection of his own twisted existence that he has ever found in someone else’s life. And it’s why, perhaps, he shouldn’t be so surprised to see how willing the vigilante is to keep him around, to cherish him, despite all the deadly warning signs. They can be together while still prioritising their respective calling over everything else.

He chews the butt of his cigarette for a moment, and his eyes are looking lost once again. What they have couldn’t be further away from perfect, but, then again, it couldn’t be otherwise when people like them, all bruised and broken in different ways, are involved. It’s part of the reason why it works, even if all the odds are against it. And yet, he still feels bitter, now that he knows the stories behind Bruce’s past relationships. The way life has forced the younger man to choose or put a limit to the time he had to enjoy the bright sides of those bonds. John might have given up, at least for the most, on trying to push his lover to not choose him, but he cannot do the same with the time limit. There’s a clock ticking above his head, eating up, one by one, the seconds that separate him from that spot in Hell that has had his name for a long time now. And he will get himself damned again and again and again, endlessly, before he takes Bruce down with him. Denying the so often sung shared eternity of love is a gift, in their case.

He sucks in the last mouthful of smoke, hard enough that he can feel the burning down his throat and against his fingers, where his skin meets the burning hand of the now finished cigarette. There is no space for wistful poetry in what they share. Everything is harsh and desperate, ruled by the awareness of its limits, even in their quieter, warmer moments. Their shared passion always tastes like stolen time, and each kiss might as well be the last. It’s all just another story damned to end in tragedy, in flames, swallowed by the darkness. And yet, despite what he keeps saying, despite what he believes, there is still a part of him who wants to make it worth. For Bruce, mainly, but for himself too. He ascribes it to a streak of his selfishness, because that’s all it is…isn’t it?

But can it really be just selfishness, when you are fighting to make things better, even knowing that you won’t get to get an advantage for yourself out of it?

“Take me and make me as you want I’ll feed your dreams with my love„

Bruce feels the change in the mood even before John moves. There’s a sudden spike in the buzzing energy that constantly surrounds the magician and it usually indicates that he is about to do something either reckless or stupid. Or both, since when Constantine is involved the two things are, in most cases, the same. He isn’t sure what to expect, because his lover has the bad habit of being too hard to predict, and that’s one of the many things that Batman hates about him, because it makes the exorcist an incredibly volatile, untrustworthy ally. However, there is no cape or spell standing between them in that moment, and so, when the older man climbs off the railing, sets his feet down on the balcony and then lunges at him, he lets him, without a split moment of hesitation.

The kiss is bruising, hard, merciless. All teeth and tongue, no finesse, no patience, no softness. But it’s filled with scorching heat and the vigilante can’t stop himself from going weak, even if he would never admit it, because, when he can’t hold back the intensity that characterises all he is, John Constantine kisses both like a drowning man, lacing to the last gulp of oxygen he is being allowed, and like a starved demon, hellbent of devouring his soul.

Despite the force of the contact, though, he can feel the magician’s hands shaking, from where they are wrapped in the front of his jumper, pinning him against the railing. If it wasn’t so tragic, he could have appreciated the irony in seeing someone so arrogant and bold, a man who has gone as far as conning the Devil himself and mostly got away with it, so terrified of something as natural as love should be. If Bruce didn’t know exactly how it feels like, he would have been fascinated by how something human as emotional closeness can rip apart every barrier Constantine has so carefully built around himself, revealing the vulnerabilities, the fragility and the open wounds that are hidden under it.

He knows all of that, just as John is aware of it as well. It’s a struggle for the magician to keep himself there in those moments, because there is nothing he dreads more than feeling so exposed. It makes him want to fight and, if he can’t fight, then it makes him want to run. And he has, at first, denying the feelings he felt coming from Bruce, denying the ones that have been growing inside his own chest. Now, trying not to is part of the terms of their deal he has to respect, even when the instinct screams so loud inside his mind that he can’t hear his own thoughts.

And yet, here he is. And yet here he stays. It might be a selfish choice, it might be stealing what he doesn’t deserve, but there is more to it, for them both. There is a something new budding in the time and in the space they shared, stubborn as just the two of them can be. It’s a feeling, it’s a reality, it’s a dream. Its nature is hard to tell, so foreign and yet so familiar. One thing, though, seems certain: it might be doomed to meet a tragic ending, but that doesn’t stop it from fighting to survive everything that’s coming in its way.

“You’re trembling and I can see what you feel inside you a shy bud’s already blooming„

[tatakaebomb]

The Veronica trend on tiktok got my brain running SO, can I request a crazy!ex!Toji smut where he shows up banging at your door in the middle of the night after he arrived home from work only to see your things gone. He tracked you down fast and starts banging at the door to let him in or he’ll break it. His s/o a little bit softer so she’s scared and let’s him in. A little bit of dark content like dub con but if your uncomfortable writing that, making it consensual is good too! Whatever you’re comfortable with :) oh and can Ren write this one ? Thank you + love all your work!!

ANON. THANK YOU.

This trend has had me in a chokehold for the past week, and i was literally just thinking about writing something inspired by it, Toji is perfect for it n i can totally see it LMAO hope you enjoy <3

- Ren

tw: psycho ex! Toji, dub con, slight hints of voice kink, toxic relationship (ofc), few pet names, size kink if you squint, one instance of degrading, rough sex against the wall, he’s just possessive and hot tbh

NSFW 18+

wc: 1k

p.s.

please ignore small typos *if you do happen to find any*,

i wrote this impulsively at 4AM - spare me lol

You’ve finally had enough, enough of Toji failing to treat you good like he promised he would. On top of that , he's been barely spending time with you in the past weeks and you started to get suspicious.

Your suspicions were very obviously cleared when he was at work and while cleaning you stumbled across some panties that were not your size, and definitely not your taste.

You packed your stuff immediately, grabbing the keys to your old apartment and leaving without another word, you didn't wanna give him the satisfaction of an explanation.

After all, he didn't deserve it.

However, you did realise that might be a slightly bad decision, knowing him and his psychotic behaviour he'd eventually find a way to track you down, but you told yourself that would take a while so you didn't worry too much.

Nevertheless, you blocked his number and went ahead with the rest of the evening, pouring yourself some tea before getting into bed. It was painful of course, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel bad.

You still loved him with all your heart but his careless behaviour pushed you away from him, this was his consequence for being a lying asshole .

You overthink yourself to sleep, only to be woken up by the banging on your wooden front door.

You jump out of bed startled, tired eyes checking the time on your phone only to see it was 3AM, and its long past the time anyone should be banging on anyones door.

You slowly inch closer, checking in the peephole only to see Toji. Of fucking course.

You rolled your eyes, and turned your body back towards your bedroom, only to be scared half to death by the sound of his fist coming down on the door even louder than before.

" Y/N, open the fucking door " You hear his familiar deep voice yell out, slightly hoarse.

You look at him through the peephole again, he looked pissed off and desperate. But more than anything, he looked tired.

You rested your back against the door, hand over your mouth trying not to make any noise as you listened to his yells become more and more hectic with every punch landed on your door.

" Open the door Y/N - please let me explain - i don't wanna fight fuck! - please just listen to me-"

Your heart starts beating faster, the way his voice drags out into whines making the guilt fall down onto you all at once, maybe he did care.

You hesitated, holding yourself back from lowering your hand to the keys and twisting them.

You couldn't just go back now, your decision was already made.

" T-Toji, go away - it's over " You stutter on your words, and you sigh of relief once you hear silence outside the door.

You thought maybe he left, but you still stayed with your back glued to the door to make sure.

“ OPEN THE DAMN DOOR OR I’LL BREAK IT “

A sudden hard kick to it made your heart skip a beat, and you gave in, your shaky hand reaching and turning the lock and before you could even process anything, the door knob was already turned and the door opened.

You immediately get pinned to the wall, your hands resting forcefully above your head in Toji’s hold as you watch his dark eyes bore into yours,

“ It’s over ?” He chuckles, slowly lowering his face to yours under his lips are inches away from yours,

“ Don’t make me fucking laugh, Y/N”

His lips crash onto yours as you struggle, trying your best to push him off but his large body was in no way moving.

“ Get- off me - you fucking -aah- asshole “ You say between pants, letting out an unwanted moan while shutting your eyes when you feel his hand lower to your panties.

“ Try again, baby “

You gasp into his mouth once you hear the material breaking, his fingers soon making way inside your glistening cunt.

You hated it, hated the fact he still managed to make you soaking wet even in this situation. Your tongues danced together as you slowly began melting into his touch, watery doe eyes staring into his once he parts his lips from yours.

“ Toji~” You threw your head back, your stomach twisting and your lips parting , letting out sinful moans that only fuelled his ego more.

He spins you around, holding your hands behind your back roughly with one hand as he pushes your face into the wall.

You shiver when you feel his breath on the back of your neck, other hand fumbling with the zipper of his pants before lowering them.

“ You don’t get to leave me, sweetheart “ A low grunt leaves his lips once he lines up his cock with your entrence, gathering up the slickness between pushing it in without warning.

“ You’re - only mine”

You let out a gasp, your eyes rolling back once he bottoms out. You couldn’t think of anything but the way his large cock was stretching you out, abusive your cunt with every snap or his hips.

“ Fuck- fucking say it “ He lands a harsh blow to your ass as he continues fucking into you, bending you further down giving him the perfect angle to hit your spot.

You let out a loud moan, grateful he couldn’t see the fucked out expression on your face right now.

“ ‘M yours Toji, please - can i- CUM please”

Your desperate begs and the sound of his balls hitting your ass roughly with every thrust echos through the apartment, your legs shaking underneath him.

“ Be a good whore - shit - and cum for me”

He groans into your ear, his dick twitching inside you at the way you tighten down on him as you let go , your head thrown back with chants of his names and curses leaving your lips.

He mutters your name under his breath, his pace slowing down before you feel yourself getting filled with his cum.

You feel it running down your thigh as he gives a few more rough strokes between pants, making sure he pushed it back into you.

He pulls out of you, holding the weight of his tired body against the wall as you slide down, shaky legs kneeling down and meeting the floor.

You pant, your hair messily falling over your face as you slowly turn around and look up at him grinning at you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

He’s a whole red flag.

Too bad your favourite colour just so happens to be red.

[jekacatrina]

Fate don't know you like I do

Hello, guys, have this super cheesy and self indulgent piece I wrote for Bakudeku day! I'm so happy to be part of this fandom and all the wonderful content creators out there, so here's my little contribution, enjoy! I wrote it super fast so sorry for any mistake or typo!

Also, the title is a song I love, please check it out, it inspired the whole thing!

Izuku wakes up to the sight of his bedroom ceiling, body aching and mind restless. He’s no longer wearing his hero suit, except for the undershirt and his pants, everything else is gone. Slowly, the yells of the crowd infiltrate his thoughts and he wishes to run away, to go to where he can’t hurt anyone he cares about.

He has to leave. He is being selfish. Izuku props himself up on his elbows.

“That’s the face of a rabbit ready to bolt,” the gruff voice startles him, and he turns to see Kacchan sitting on his desk, frowning. It adds up that they wouldn't leave him without someone standing guard.

Kacchan has changed out of his hero suit, and a dark grey long sleeved t-shirt hides the bandages on his shoulder and stomach, but Izuku is keenly aware of the wounds he was sporting as he flew around trying to keep him from leaving. By the end, his childhood friend was bleeding through them. That was Izuku’s fault; both Kacchan reopening his injuries and the fact that he has them in the first place.

“Kacchan, I'm so-“

“Save it, nerd,” he abandons the desk chair and shuffles closer.

Izuku takes him in; after weeks of agonizing over the state in which he left Kacchan, seeing him do a perfect arch in the air and stop a villain with a precise AP Shot, filled him with a relief so strong, it paralyzed him, and he was only able to stare in awe.

During the following fight, if Izuku can call it that when it was against his friends, Kacchan was everywhere; coordinating different maneuvers, and he even had a new move. Izuku told his friends they couldn’t keep up, and he remembers vaguely that he apologized, because in reality they’re miles ahead of him.

Still, nobody is like Kacchan: certain and absolute, pure will held together by his convictions. He never backs down, and he never gives up, only marches forward. Izuku never stood a chance against him, in more than one way.

Kacchan kneels by the bed, putting an elbow on the bed, close to his hips, and lazily resting his head on his hand.

“Kacchan, I can’t stay here,” he mumbles, trying to convey all his inner turmoil. He wants to stay, he is so tired and scared, but he will not risk anyone for his sake.

Kacchan frowns in response.

“You can, and you will, dumbass,” he states, surprising him by clutching his forearm. “I’m not chasing your sorry ass around anymore.”

“Then let me go,” Izuku turns his arm, grabbing him as well.

“You’re not going anywhere, Izuku.”

The name travels through his body, lighting him up on the inside, coursing through him with the violence of the first time he used One For All, equally exhilarating and terrifying.

It all comes back to him; the rain, his words, his bow, Izuku collapsing and Kacchan appearing in time to support him.

Izuku.

“You apologized,” he whispers, tears coming to his eyes. “You said all those things in front of the whole class.”

“I had to, asshole, you left before I could tell you in private,” he doesn’t look embarrassed or regretful. Kacchan doesn’t shy away from his decisions once he makes up his mind. “Only a shitty letter for explanation and that was it.” He shakes his head. “You didn’t even let me go with you, idiot.”

“You’re still dealing with the outcome of the last time I let you come with me.” The tears are running freely down his cheeks. “I had to watch how he almost took you away from me.” He scrubs his eyes furiously with his free hand, not letting go of Kacchan. “I can’t allow more people to suffer because of me.” He’s on his way to a full on breakdown, struggling to get air in his lungs, and blood roaring in his ears, the noises muffled.

Suddenly, Kacchan is hovering over him, shoving his shoulder firmly.

“Hey, Deku, scoot over,” Izuku only glances at him through his crying, baffled. “Give me some room to lay down, like when we were kids.” He’s already in the process of climbing on the bed, and Izuku manages to slide his body closer to the other end, grabbing the bed cover when the weight of his childhood friend laying down almost makes him roll over him. “Jesus Christ, you stink,” Kacchan complains.

“I know,” Izuku turns on his side, creating more space between them. Hygiene wasn’t that high on his list of priorities, not even eating or sleeping was, and he feels awful. He didn’t have the energy to shower before passing out.

“You smell like dirt and sweat.” Kacchan scrunches up his nose. “Worst of all, you reek of that goddamn martyr complex, and it pisses me off.” he turns too, and traps Izuku in his red gaze. “If you’re choosing to ignore all I said before, at least pay attention to the last part.” He’s not sugarcoating his words, he’s as brash as he always is. “We all want to fight, because we’re heroes and we want to protect everyone, including the fucking chosen one, whether you want us to or not. I’m not asking for your damn permission, and neither is any of the rest. So, you can either play nice and make it easy for us, or be a self-sacrificial idiot, making it all the more annoying. Your call.”

“I don’t know how to stop,” Izuku grimaces, reaching for him with a shaky hand, and awkwardly squeezes his arm. “I’m not ignoring all you said, Kacchan” he chooses to focus on that, gaze in his All Might covers. “I, I forgave you a long time ago, mostly because I wanted to focus on the good parts, so in a way I let go of it for me.” He forgets about his smell, and scoots closer, resting his forehead close to his shoulder. “But thank you, Katsuki.” He hasn’t said that name in ages, but that doesn’t come from any animosity on his part. Kacchan has always been and will always be Kacchan. Izuku feels him move as Kacchan places his chin on top of his matted curls, and they stay like that for a while, with their past laid to rest at last.

Kacchan speaks up first.

“Listen, Deku, everything is getting pretty fucking real,” he pauses for a moment. “Shit is really dangerous for any of us, but for you it is like a thousand times worse. Your ass is a fucking death magnet, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“One For All is a big responsibility, Kacchan, but it’s not yours.” He does his best to keep his voice low and soft, the weight of the legacy crushing him.

“The Hell is not!” Kacchan retorts vehemently. “You made it my deal the moment you told me!” Izuku winced. “What’s up with that? Wasn't that the biggest secret ever? Are you that much of a blabber mouth?”

Izuku clutches his arm harder.

“I wasn’t going to let you think I lied all those years.” He explains, and in a moment of bravery, he continues. “I’ve never been anything but honest with you, Kacchan.”

The anger in his voice disappears as fast as it came.

“I know that, idiot.” His bigger hand finds Izuku’s hip. “One for All is your responsibility, but you are mine.” Izuku is pretty sure he stops breathing. “Since we were fucking four years old, and you were this quirkless little shit that wouldn’t quit chasing after me, no matter how much I pushed you away.” Kacchan scoffs and his breath tickles him. “Well, congrats, dumbass, now you have me and I’m not going anywhere.” His heart flies to his throat and doesn’t let any word come out. Kacchan growls, clearly bothered by his silence. “All for One VS One For All is the fucking shit show for the ages, and of course you, Deku of all people, have to be right in the middle of that crap.” He talks through clenched teeth, and Izuku longs to soothe him, but there’s nothing he can say to fix the situation. “All those who fell against that fucking maniac and now you have to-” Kacchan chokes up, and punches Izuku on the arm. “Whatever, there's nothing I can do for those nobodies that came before you, but you have an advantage over them.”

“What’s that?” He whispers in a small voice, not believing he is having this conversation in bed with his childhood friend.

“You have me,” Kacchan utters, and Izuku feels like he hit him with an explosion, sweeping his feet from under him. “Just let me set something straight, Deku, I’m not going to be your fucking sidekick, you hear me? You watch my back and I watch yours. I don’t trust anyone to keep up with you.”

I don’t trust anyone else to protect you.

“Kacchan-”

“You deal with this crap once and for fucking all, Deku, and we come up on top.” Kacchan declares, Izuku can hear the smirk in his words, and he has to smile back. “I don’t settle for anything but the best, and taking down fucking evil incarnated, I’m in, Deku, I’m all in.” He disentangles them, leaning back with a vulnerable expression, and offers his hand for Izuku to clasp. “What do you say?”

Izuku wants to say no, push him away from danger and lock him somewhere where he is going to be safe, but he knows Kacchan. He is determined, stubborn to a fault, and braver than anyone he has met. If he sets his mind on protecting Izuku, nothing is going to stop Kacchan, not even him.

That’s why Izuku loves him like he does.

In this space, with just the two of them, Izuku can be honest with himself: He is scared, and he has been for a while.

Scared of not living up to All Might’s hopes.

Scared of never mastering this power.

Scared of letting down all the people that gave up their lives to take down All For One.

Scared of being the wrong choice.

At the end of the day, Midoriya Izuku is terrified of not being enough.

In the midst of all the fear and doubt, he sees Kacchan; the person Izuku admires the most, the hero he has chased since he was four years old, and the driving force behind his progress. Kacchan, who knows all of him, and understands him because he sees Izuku for who he is, all the good and bad parts.

His Kacchan, who is now offering to help him and ease his burden, risking his dream, his precious life in the process, to stay close to Izuku and protect him.

A part of him, the one that imitates All Might, is screaming at him that he has to reject the support, to do it on his own. He should hold the weight of the legacy by himself. However, the other part of him, the one that believes Kacchan is what victory looks like, tells him he isn’t All Might and he doesn’t have to be.

He is Midoriya Izuku, and he is allowed to live his life and fight his battles on his terms, just as Kacchan does.

He clasps his hand, and Kacchan smiles, without a trace of mockery or anger, just plain happiness and relief lifting the corners of his mouth. Izuku hasn't seen him smile like that in years, and he needs to say something. He means to say yes to his offer, maybe thank him, but what comes out instead is:

“I love you.”

The punched out gasp that Kacchan lets out shocks Izuku more than his confession does. He can’t believe the words he has hidden for so long in his heart escaped that easily. More shocking is the fact that he doesn’t want to take it back. Even if he is scared of many things, Kacchan isn’t one of them. Yes, Kacchan frustrates him, he worries him, and makes him nervous, but Izuku is not scared of him, never has been. He can die any day now, any of them can, and he is done with silencing his feelings.

Kacchan is not screaming or scowling, neither he is leaping out of the bed and running away from him, so Izuku would say he is mostly stunned, although he doesn’t see why. His feelings for him are a key part of the person he is. Izuku admires him, cares for him.

Izuku loves him.

“Do you mean it?” The question seems to pain him. He hasn’t released his hand.

“Yes, Kacchan.” Izuku is not hiding it, not anymore.

“After everything?”

The words strike his heart and cut deeply. Izuku doesn’t hold any grudge or resentment, and he can’t tolerate the idea of Kacchan thinking he can feel something for him despite their past.

“Because of everything, Kacchan,” Izuku replies, touching their joined hands with his forehead, shying from the red eyes. “The past doesn’t disappear, but that’s not our present, and definitely not our future.” He takes a deep breath to calm his heart. “You don’t have to say anything. I didn’t say it to get an answer.”

“Deku, you can do so much better,” Kacchan says, bluntly.

Izuku doesn't let the obvious rejection deter him from speaking with the truth.

“I don’t see how,” he stares at him, mustering a wonky smile. “You are you, Kacchan; you’re brave, honest, loyal, brilliant, and hardworking.” The words spill without filter, and he drinks the sight of his pale skin blushing. “It’s not about doing better, just who I choose, because when it comes down to it, I chose you a long time ago, Kacchan.”

Kacchan tips his head up, the blond strands cloaking his eyes. Izuku refuses to regret coming clean about his feelings, but as the silence grows between them, he starts to fidget. Little by little, he realizes the true weight of his confession, and the bridges he might be burning.

“This doesn’t have to change anything, Kacchan.”

“It changes everything, Deku,” he replies, not missing a beat.

Izuku curses his luck; it was just like him to confess his love right when Kacchan finally came back to him, something Izuku hadn’t dreamt in his wildest dreams. Dealing with these feelings much longer, when they are so powerful and consuming is not possible. Still, he should have tried, for the sake of their friendship.

A callous finger touches his chin, breaking his spiral of thoughts, and lifts his face. The fiery eyes are wide and defenseless, embers instead of the wild inferno Izuku expected.

The first touch of chapped lips is an awakening, and his first kiss is over before he can finish tasting it.

Kacchan leans back, and for the second time in his life, Izuku’s mind goes blank and his body moves on its own, chasing after him. Their second kiss is messy, they don’t have any experience, but Izuku is lost to it. He tries to commit to memory every brush of their lips and ragged gasps, how soft is his blond hair, and the feeling of fingers sinking in his curls, guiding the kiss.

They break apart, but stay close.

"You didn’t have to do that, Kacchan,” he says against his mouth.

“I never do shit I don’t want to do, Deku.”

Izuku grabs him again, bunching up his t-shirt, so full of love that he fears he is going to float away if he doesn’t get a firm grip.

“Deku, I-“ his voice quivers and Izuku kisses him again, softly and reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Kacchan, you don’t have to say anything yet.” Izuku told him because he wanted him to know, but he has had years to come to terms with it. He’s not expecting Kacchan to figure everything out right now.

“You better stick around after that, you damn nerd,” he touches their foreheads together. “Or take me with you. Two options, I’m magnanimous like that.”

Izuku giggles, the sound so foreign after the past weeks.

“Okay, Kacchan, for that I’ll stick around.”

“Or you’ll take me with you.”

Izuku is still terrified of anything happening to him, but he trusts him the most.

“I’ll stick around or take you with me,” he promises, and Kacchan nods satisfied, wrapping Izuku in his arms and hugging him closer. “I thought you said I stink.”

“You fucking do,” Kacchan says immediately. “When I think about this, the first thing that is going to pop into my mind is that my first kiss smelled like a wet dog.”

Izuku laughs until he cries, and Kacchan joins him.

At one point, his back is to Kacchan, and he’s playing with his hands. Izuku’s so relaxed his eyes are drifting close, sleep taking over.

“Hey, Deku,”

“Yes, Kacchan?” he says drowsily.

“You have magnificent taste.”

Izuku snorts, pulling his arm tighter around him.

“I’m going to sleep now,” he murmurs, and he jumps when Kacchan buries his face on the crook of his neck. “Wake me up if something happens.”

“You can trust me, Deku, nobody is going to pass through me.”

Izuku believes him with his entire heart, but he still chooses to only think and not say what crosses his mind before falling asleep in his arms:

I would die before letting anything happen to you.

[jincherie]

kiss it better | jjk

~ COMMISSION FOR @cinnaminsvga​​ ~

✩ — pairing: jungkook x reader ✩ — genre: college/uni au, smut, cheerleader!jk, pining, borderline crack ✩ — words: 11.7k ✩ — rating: 18+ ✩ — warnings: koo takes a tumble, explicit sexual content; clothed sex, unprotected sex (not recommended), creampie, handjobs,light subby!jk, hand-holding during sex (potent), whining, thigh-riding, vaginal sex, minor hair pulling, public sex (sort of), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, light dirty talk ✩ — notes: out later than intended and a bit longer than intended !! whoops!!! i won’t/don’t charge if i go over the commissioned amount becayse that’s my bad!! but yeah. its been a hot second since i last wrote smut!! also none of my friends were awake to proofread this so….. apologies if it’s shit and has typos! its 2am! pls enjoy and lmk whast u think!!

When one goes to Kim Seokjin for advice, it’s almost guaranteed to never end well. This is something Jungkook learns quickly when he mistakenly follows treasured advice to ‘be smart’ and ‘use his assets’. He just did what he was told! Of course, the execution was a bit poor… and embarrassing. But hey, if rocking up to cheer practice in a skirt doesn’t woo your crush, what will?

masterlist | — posted; 01.03.2020

TUESDAY, SEMESTER 2 WEEK FOUR

It’s a beautiful day, the sun has just come to peak out from behind the clouds that had earlier obscured its climb from the horizon, and the grass of the Biological Sciences Library courtyard glistens with raindrops left over from the brief shower that prefaced the sun’s belated appearance. Students are finally beginning to emerge from the safety of the undercover walkways and overhangs, venturing boldly to shortcut over the grass. University life resumes, and everything falls back into its place, all as usual.

“Yah, is that Jungkook? Wait what is he—”

Well, everything except for one thing.

A red and black-clad figure slams to a stop right where two students are sitting and minding their own business outside the café attached to the back of the library—there’s no time to say hello. The table rocks dangerously on its beaten, metal leg, the impact of Jungkook’s beeline almost sending it straight to the ground if the two others weren’t already seated there to catch it.

“OW!” Jimin is never one to be quiet in his complaints, all too happy to holler his outrage at the top of his lungs. As his oldest hyung would say, no attention is bad attention. “Hey you almost jammed my fingers!”

Startled as Taehyung might have been, his focus is quickly shifted to other things. His wide eyes scan Jungkook’s panting form, taking in the clothes clinging to him like a second skin and the beet red colour of his face and ears. It’s not hard to put two and two together, but what comes out of his mouth isn’t exactly the most pressing thing he wants to ask, “Jungkook, why are you wearing the female cheer leading uniform I gave you?”

There’s a somewhat crazed look that makes itself known in the youngest’s eyes. “AHA!” he throws a finger in Taehyungs face, accusing. “So you ADMIT it’s a female uniform! Taehyung, you ass, how could you!”

Taehyung’s face is a question mark and Jimin squints, confused and still huffy about nearly losing his fingers and his triple-shot iced caramel latte that he may or may not have charmed the barista into gifting him for free. He wants to know what is going on and he wants to know NOW, damn it!

“What are you on about?” he asks, wrinkling his nose as he takes his drink into hand to prevent any future risk of spillage. “Why do you look like that time you ran the half-marathon on a dare?”

Jungkook glares at him, but it’s about as effective as it would be coming from a puppy. “Be quiet and sip your drink,” he says boldly, still attempting to get his breathing under control. Jimin considers throwing a retort back but ultimately decides against, it, shrugging and doing just that. He doesn’t want it getting warm, after all.  

“Uh, yeah,” Taehyung says, sounding like he is a split second away from tacking on ‘duh’ at the end. “You asked me for a cheerleading uniform? I thought you knew some chick that needed a spare, I didn’t know you wanted one to wear.”

At Jungkook’s dumbfounded expression, Taehyung takes the liberty of continuing. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it? You look surprisingly hot in a skirt, your ass looks fine as hell. But you seem kind of angry so IN MY DEFENSE, how was I supposed to know? That you wanted a male uniform? You never specified so—”

While each word that came out of Taehyung’s mouth just seemed to rile him up more, a different look passes over Jungkook’s features at that comment. “Wait, my ass looks good?” He straightens, attempting to peer over his own shoulder to catch a glimpse. “I wonder if she… No!”

He shakes his head suddenly to clear those thoughts and get back on track, whipping that same accusing finger in Taehyung’s face once more and levelling him with a renewed glare. 

“Because of you, I just had the most humiliating experience of my life, and it was all in front of you-know-who!” His voice starts strong, but as he continues it shrinks to more of an angry whisper, his brows scrunched in a clear display of his displeasure. “I literally am about to commit seppuku.”

“Weeb,” Jimin utters at the same time as Taehyung asks, “y/n?” Jimin’s head whips up at the keyword. 

Jungkook’s fight has all but left him at this point, and he pulls out one of the metal chairs to slump in it, defeatedly. His ears are turning crimson again as he recalls the events that had traumatised him so, and he slams his head to the table with a groan, muttering to himself in a voice that sounds dangerously like a sob.

“—stupid, was so stupid of me. I never should have asked Seokjin-hyung for advice. For actually listening I deserve nothing short of death. I’m so embarrassed I’m gonna throw myself into the lake.”

“Don’t throw yourself in there, think of the fishes—” Taehyung says at the same time as Jimin squawks, “WHAT?! You got advice from Seokjin?! He knows who your crush is? Oh my god, you’re more stupid than I thought…”

It’s all Jungkook can do to simply rest his head on the grubby-feeling table, eyes unfocused as he stares into the distance and regrets almost every single decision he has made in his waking life. 

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

“My roommate,” Seokjin says, in between gratuitous sips of his monstrously sugary drink. “I think I’m almost about to get him to crack.”

“I feel bad for him,” you say, not looking up from your laptop despite the urge to gorge on your own drink. You made a goal not to look like a goblin when you woke up this morning and sipping your drink at a reasonable pace is a good start. “Being stuck in close quarters with you all the time. No doubt he needs therapy by now.”

As expected, Seokjin ignores you. You wonder if this is how he has managed not to get usurped as leader of the Contemporary Poetry Performance Club.

(To condense a very long story— he didn’t take being kicked out of the Drama Club very well. That’s on him though, he probably shouldn’t have called the Club Leader a tasteless fool for ordering a salad with his Happy Meal instead of nuggets. But, you digress.)

“I think I’m getting close these days,” the male muses, not-so-subtly making a reach for the McDonalds apple pie you have resting on the table next to your laptop. You smack his hand away without so much as a blink, more than used to having to defend any and all food from his wandering hands by this point. He continues, unaffected by the rebuttal, “Like, really close. It’s not long before my unrelenting bastardous antics wear him down and he finally breaks, spilling all his deepest secrets and confessing his long-time crush on me, thus allowing me to bring this act of friends-to-lovers pining to a close and get to the steamy stuff. “

At his spiel, you finally look at him, sporting a concerned and confused expression, if not somewhat intrigued. “… Are you talking about Jungkook?”

Seokjin chokes on the long sip he’d begun to drag up the straw, indignance making his voice rise. “NO, dumbass, I’m talking about Namjoon! Although…” He pauses only to bring a finger to stroke his chin, like a villain straight from an episode of Lazy Town, “You know, I never thought I’d be one for that harem shit, but now I think about it…”

“Gross,” you groan, wrinkling your nose. Seokjin releases a villainous cackle and you have no choice but to raise your fist in promise. He gets the message and quietens down immediately.

“No, but speaking of that little twerp,” Seokjin quickly starts up again, placing his drink down on the table. You feel an ounce of regret, knowing that means he’s about to talk for a longer time than you’re ready for. “I’m close to breaking him too.”

“He told you who his crush is?” you ask, brows raising in shock. Seokjin lets out a great sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, making you snort.

“No,” he grumbles, before brightening straight after. “But! I’m getting close. He came to me for advice this morning.”

At his words, you’ve now completely abandoned whatever you were doing on your laptop and are looking at him in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“Am not!” Seokjin denies, huffy. “He did! He wanted help making his crush fall in love with him, and so of course he came to me, Kim Seokjin, master of the heart and modern-day cupid.”

You pin him with a deadpan look. “Namjoon was out, wasn’t he.”

Seokjin’s glare is all the answer you need. He continues like you hadn’t even spoken in the first place.

“And since he so wisely came to me, of all people, and put his love life in my wise, gentle hands, I gave him the best advice anyone could possibly get.” The way his chest has swelled with pride and he’s looking all-too-pleased with himself doesn’t fill you with a good feeling. “I told him to play it smart, and use his assets.”

At first, you’re confused. “What, like… his cuteness? His endearing personality?”

“NO, dumbass, his assets! His ass! His thighs! His itty-bitty waist!” You think you hear him muttering something like ‘that lucky bitch’ under his breath, but can’t be sure. “Also, don’t think I missed you calling him cute, y/n. I’m filing that shit away for later.”

“I’ll kill you,” you inform him, but the threat has long since lost its impact. He rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, we both already know exactly how 'peggable’ you think he is.” He takes a haughty sip of his drink like he knows he’s right, and you hate that he is. “It’s not the most incriminating thing I have on you.”

You make the strategic decision not to say anything and dig your hole deeper, and Seokjin seems pleased at your silent admit of defeat.

“Anyway,” he says again, smacking the cream on top of his drink down into the liquid with a spoon. There is some fallout, but that’s never stopped him before. “Kid’s dumb as shit but pure of heart. I’m interested to see whether he will actually take my advice.”

“He won’t for sure,” you scoff, returning to your laptop at last. “Anyone who takes your advice is guaranteed to have an empty head and quarter of a brain cell to their name. Jungkook is smarter than that.”

As expected, Seokjin squawks in outrage, and it harmonises with the ambience of dead silence in your corner of the library. He doesn’t let the topic rest for the remainder of the day.    

WEDNESDAY, WEEK FIVE

You think that the day Jungkook first rocked up to cheer practice at the gym a week ago at the same time you were coaching the women’s basketball team, is one firmly burned into your memory for the rest of your life. And, honest to god, you wouldn’t have it any other way.  

Because the boy, in all his slim-waisted, sculpted-ass-and-thighs glory, had rocked up in a cheerleading crop top and skirt.

You have absolutely no idea why he decided to wear that to his first session after joining, but you do know that while the sight of him usually makes you drool, the sight of him in that made your brain cease all higher functioning and you, in essence, became a dog. You almost barked when you saw him, for real.

Even from across the room though, you’d quickly been able to gather that he hadn’t worn it on purpose (somehow), as his face flushed bright crimson and he quickly began to look like he wanted to neck himself in the middle of the gym. Yoongi, another bastard friend of yours who through a series of unfortunate events and regrettable decisions (for him) had become the cheer captain, had been insulted that Jungkook had shown up like that and “hadn’t taken cheer seriously”, and so had given him a punishment. Yoongi said that if he wanted to rock up in a skirt so badly, then for every coming practice he had to wear a skirt again.

Had you not been busy drooling you probably would have felt bad for Jungkook, as you did later when Yoongi filled you in. As it were, in the moment you’d nearly copped a basketball to the face for being so distracted. Regrettably, you’d had to turn away from Jungkook and back to your actual duties: coaching. 

Although with Yoongi being out for your blood, you have had plenty of opportunities in the past week to ogle to your heart’s desire. A real shameful amount, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Bora!” you call, watching the girl in question halt across the gym. “Fix your footwork or I’m gonna smack you!”

The girl rolls her eyes and turns away, flicking a ponytail of dark hair over her shoulder as she does so, but listens to what you say. The familiar squeak of rubber on gym flooring fills the air as she starts the drill anew. She has a tendency to get lazy and sloppy in her movements if you don’t ride her ass, and she knows it as much as you do.

“How did you even managed to get the coaching position?” Seulgi asks from next to you, her response almost cut off by a loud racket from the cheer side of the gym. It takes all of your willpower not to fall into the trap and look over. “I feel like people like you shouldn’t be in positions of power.”

You don’t even bother arguing with her since she’s technically right and you agree. “Sheer dumb luck,” you tell her, risking a glance to the side if only to give Yoongi the stink eye. “Actually, if you really wanna know, I only went for it because Yoongi wanted it and he did something that really soured my yoghurt and pissed me off. So I applied out of spite. I probably shouldn’t have gotten the job though.”

“Huh,” Seulgi voices, eyes unfocused. “Well you’re not too bad for a fake. The team has actually been improving since you took over.”

“That’s probably because you guys went through coaches so fast for a while that for like, six months you didn’t really have one.”

“Touché.”

The only reason the girl is on the sidelines in the first place is because she’d looked over at the wrong time and caught it just as Jungkook started one of the tumbling routines, getting it almost perfect on the first go and in the process flashing his pert ass to the air and any sorry beholders. He might have been wearing bike shorts under the punishment skirt he was modelling, and he might have traded the crop top for a singlet of reasonable length, but it was still a dangerous, nay lethal sight. You’d looked over at the same time so you knew why and how Seulgi managed to tumble and trip so terribly mid-drill. She rolled her ankle so bad that as she sits next to you right now with ice on it, it looks like there’s an entire boiled egg beneath the surface of her skin. It’s kind of gross but also kind of hard to look away from. 

Back to the topic at hand, there is just something about the sheer athleticism and heaven-blessed ease with which Jungkook backflips and cartwheels across the mat that turns you into a brainless slab of goo. You’re unsurprised that Seulgi got distracted and ended up hurting herself as a result of it.

The afternoon flies by and before you know it, it’s dark outside, and you’ve finished riding the collective women’s basketball team’s ass for the day. As they disperse and leave the gym at a leisurely pace, you collect Seulgi and help her towards the gym locker room to get some fresh ice for her ankle before she journeys to visit the university nurse. 

The cheer squad has just about finished up their own practice, and one by one they begin to filter out of the gym. Yoongi waddles over to where you stand by the door, eyeing Seulgi with a knowing look.

“Got distracted at the wrong time, huh?” He asks, very much already knowing the answer. You give him a dirty look while Seulgi goes bright pink.

Yoongi adjusts the collar of his university sports jacket, puffing his chest out. “That’s our golden boy for ya,” he brags, sounding very much like one of the aunties and old women you find gossiping on the street near the markets. “He was born for cheer. It’s like he’s been tumbling since the day he was born. Probably even came out doing a backflip.”

You want to tell him to stop pulling shit out of his ass, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything when you agree so wholeheartedly. You’re saved from having to summon a response when in the next second, Yoongi gets the urge to turn and catches Jungkook red-handed on his way out of the gym. He seems in a hurry, moving almost like he’s trying to sneak out unnoticed, but halts at the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s holler when it breaches the air.

“Ah there he is— Jungkook-ah!” Even while calling out, Yoongi somehow still has an indolent, lazy drawl. “Good job today! Also, proud of you for committing to your punishment. Keep it up!”

The poor raven-haired boy had already looked somewhat mortified at being singled out amongst the students exiting the gym, but now as Yoongi finishes speaking and his big doe eyes flick to the side and take in you and Seulgi listening in, his face very suddenly and violently erupts into a blush.

“Th-thanks,” he squeaks, nodding, the tips of his ears darkening to match his face. His eyes are flicking from you to Yoongi in such a way he almost reminds you of a scared rodent. When it becomes clear he has nothing more to say, he turns on his heel and flees in the direction of the locker room. For his sake, you don’t ogle him as he goes. There’s a time and a place, and he seems so embarrassed that you’d feel bad for checking him out right now. 

“… He’s so cute,” Yoongi remarks a few seconds after Jungkook disappears out the door, gaze still trained in the direction he’d left. “No wonder I always look over and see you drooling, y/n.”

You agree with the first part, but honestly… you could have done without that second comment. You give him the stink eye to let him know just that, before tapping Seulgi and readjusting your grip in preparation to walk once more.

“If you’re immune, Min, you’re not human,” Seulgi says, cheeky glint in her eye. Your heart warms—you can always count on her to defend you in the face of life’s meanies.

SATURDAY, WEEK 5

It’s not often you find yourself making the long, arduous trek down the street to the apartment building where Seokjin et al. live, but it does happen on the occasion. If possible, you like to make the journey in the morning or the afternoon, because there is little to no cover on the path that takes you there and the only thing you like less than being in the sun when you don’t have to is sweating.

Still, you make the trek today, even though it’s technically past the point in the morning where you would refuse. The heat starts to come anywhere from 8 to 9 o’clock, even earlier on the stinkier days. Call you lazy, but you stick by your own rules because they work and reduce your suffering considerably. 

Namjoon is one of your project partners in a random elective the two of you chose, and he was meant to give you a part of the assignment he’d been working on yesterday but, of course, forgot it. And then again today, when he was meant to drop it off on his way to work, he forgot it once more. So here you are, walking to his stupid apartment and preparing to break in because it’s due next week and you need his part to finish yours, damn it. 

Thankfully, air conditioning greets you the second you step inside the building and cools down whatever heat has managed to cling to your form from outside. Luck is on your side—no sweat today, babey! In a slightly better mood now that you’re out of the sun, you follow the path your legs have committed to memory to Namjoon’s apartment. 

Normally you’d rely on someone being home to let you in so you can ransack Namjoon’s room, but in his apologetic text he’d informed you that everyone is out and so with a great, big sigh you’d resigned yourself and dug the lockpicking set you received one Christmas out from under your bed. It’s heavy in your back pocket now as you walk down the hallway of the floor their apartment is on, already feeling like you’ve committed a crime. Before you can even throw yourself into thoughts of which tool would work best on their front door, you catch sight of something you most definitely weren’t expecting. 

There’s someone else in front of the apartment door, jiggling the doorknob and attempting to work it. You don’t know if they realise its locked and are trying their luck anyway, or whether they’ve yet to figure it out, but while their back is turned to you they have provided you with an excellent view.

Broad shoulders with tan skin peaking out from below a muscle singlet and glistening with sweat where their body catches the light. Dark curls are plastered to the back of their neck, arms out and a tattoo sleeve on one leading your gaze down its length. He’s very athletic, you gather of the stranger immediately, and you’re almost drooling at the way his bicep shifts and tenses as he tries the doorknob once more. Your gaze finally frees itself and scans over the rest of him; defined back, tiny waist, nice butt, thick thighs—

Wait. You know that waist. The sight of it bared by a skimpy cheerleading outfit is one you’ve committed to memory.

“Jungkook?” you say, feeling your stomach dip in excitement. Does it always do that when you see him? You can’t remember.

At the sound of your voice and how close it is, the male jumps in fright and lets out a noise eerily close to a squeak. He spins, slamming his back against the door and smacking a hand over his heart.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, eyes closing and head falling back against the door with a thud. The sight is borderline sinful when combined with his damp hair and sweaty form, and your thoughts threaten to take a dangerous route before you reign them in. You smack your libido back in place— down, girl! “y/n, you scared the living shit out of me.”

A moment passes before his eyes snap open and the breath leaves him in a whoosh, and he’s looking at you like a cornered rabbit, cheeks already warming in his fluster. “W-wait, y/n? What… What are you doing here?”

Cute. If you could, you think you’d pack him up and put him in your pocket.  

You ignore his question only for the sake of asking him your own—much less incriminating as a choice. “Are you trying to break into your own apartment, Mister Jungkook?”

Instantly, as you’d almost come to expect at this point, his cheeks flush cutely. 

“Wh- I, uh…” he swallows and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “No! Kind of? I went for a jog earlier and Namjoon-hyung kind of… uh… he locked me out.”

As he speaks, you’re reminded of how much you actually like his voice. It’s smooth, melodious; even when its shaking slightly from nerves. Why is he nervous? The longer you stand in his presence the more curious you become. You kind of want to tease him a little.

You hum, a smile curling the corners of your lips and one of your brows raising.  “Ah, so he’s scorned both of us, I see. But fear not, little gumdrop!”

He’s staring at you in something akin to flustered bewilderment as you reach behind you and pull out your lockpicking kit, brandishing it like a trophy. “I have the solution!”

“…” He’s stunned into silence, it seems, but you don’t mind. The look on his face right now is super cute—you kind of want to pinch his cheeks. Okay, damn it, you can’t help it—you pinch his cheek and make a short cooing noise as you step past, preparing to help him break into his apartment. At least this way it feels less like a crime and more like a service.

(You sneak a sly look back at Jungkook as you pass him, and your heart squeezes at the sight of his cheeks flushing pink from your teasing action, eyes wide as they follow your form. This boy is gonna kill you one day.)

Usually you have a bit of trouble picking locks (you don’t do it often) but you crack this one surprisingly fast, and before you know it the door is swinging open and you’re letting out a noise of glee.

“Excellent!” you announce, before darting right in to search for what you came for. Namjoon left it conveniently on the dining table, so you dash over and grab the folder and USB before turning around to be on your merry way. 

When you return to the door, Jungkook is still standing there, tattooed hand pressed to the cheek you’d pinched – which are bright red, by the way— and his eyes somewhat dazed.

“See you at practice later, Jungkook!” you say, waving the folder to accentuate the farewell. “Don’t forget the punishment skirt! You look too good in it, it would be a crime to forget it.”

Once you’re done speaking, you turn back the way you’re walking, missing the facial expression that accompanies his flustered sputtering of a goodbye. Your stomach still flips in excitement as you retreat, a skip in your step, and you can’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you ended up seeing more of Jungkook outside of practice.

WEDNESDAY, WEEK 6

You’re sitting in the campus sushi place, escaping the midday heat and grabbing something to eat, minding your own business. It is, though, a nice day and you don’t mind sitting back and just admiring it. This changes when a figure suddenly comes bolting towards you from a distance and nearly bowls you and the contents of your sushi container over.

“SEOKJIN!” you exclaim, barely having saved your food from a sudden and unfortunate meet & greet with the floor. You give him a glare strong enough to kill. “What the hell! My karaage chicken!!! Dude you KNOW they only make a certain amount of these per day, you almost made me drop it and I hadn’t even taken a bit yet! Honestly! You—”

“Shut! Shut up!” Seokjin grips you by the shoulders, giving you a shake; it makes your eyes lock-on to his flushed face, his breath coming in pants from his exertion. “Shut up I have something to say and it’s important!”

“Stop shaking me!” you cry, wriggling out of his grip and leaning as far back into your chair as you can to get away from this nutcase. “And what?! You finally slipped up and Namjoon found all the secret letters you write for him when you’re horny?!”

“No, better!” Seokjin makes like he’s going to grab your shoulders again and you smack his hands away. He continues, eyes alight with something akin to glee that makes him look just a little bit crazy. “I finally did it! I found out who that twerp’s crush is! You won’t beli—”

“What?!” you sputter, your gut churning for some reason. Is the sushi you ate off? “He told you? No way he would be stupid enough to tell you—”

“Hey!” the male cries, indignant. “I resent that! Also no, he didn’t technically tell me, but I have people on the inside…”

It takes a moment for you to scan through people in your head before it clicks. You gasp. “You bullied it out of his friends?! Seokjin! Taehyung and Jimin don’t deserve that!”

“I didn’t bully them! They told me of their own accord!” He points a finger at you in retribution. “Albeit, it was by accident, but I digress.”

You’re shaking your head, returning to your sushi and ignoring the odd sensations in your gut. “This is blood information, man. I don’t know if I can sit and be accomplice to—”

“It’s you!” Seokjin blurts, sticking his pink-haired head right in your face. “The twerp has a crush on you! Finally, at least one of my shipping dreams is coming true!”

You’re so shocked by the information literally thrown in your face that you honest to god almost drop your sushi, again. You stare at the male, mouth open, as you flounder to get some order back in your thoughts.

The first thing you think to say is—“What? No way. Your info is dodgy, man.”

“Look, I know you’re sensitive so I try not to say this often, but are you dumb, y/n?” Seokjin stands back now, hand on his hip.  The look he’s giving you isn’t impressed. “It makes so much sense! Why else would he sign up to cheerleading in a skirt to use his assets if it wasn’t on at the same time as whatever his crush does? Honestly, I should have seen it sooner—the way he goes bright pink every time he sees you and his eyes sparkle like an anime girl every time we mention you. I just thought he was scared of girls or had pinkeye or somethin’.”

You kind of want to smack him, but the rest of you is busy attempting to process all the information unloaded on you. Your stomach gives a giddy flip, and you decide it can only mean one thing in the wake of finding out that Jungkook’s mysterious crush is you.

Maybe, just maybe, you like him too.

…

You’re gonna pursue him. 

THURSDAY, WEEK 7

It seems that Jungkook has heard that his crush on you has been leaked, because you’ve been trying to track him down and confirm it ever since last week and he’s been avoiding you like the plague. You think you see him kicking up dust as he retreats as fast as his legs will take him around hallway corners when he sees you at the other end, you catch glimpses of him across courtyards as he spins and flees in the opposite directions. A part of you wonders whether its because he does indeed have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you know, of whether it’s because he doesn’t have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you might think he does. 

Well, you can’t know until you talk to him and it seems like you won’t be able to talk to him unless you ambush him in the men’s toilets or something. Which, by the way, isn’t something you’re going to do because even though your friends might be crazy, you’re most definitely not. 

It was even to the point that Jungkook missed the first two practices after you found out, and you have no doubt that he would have avoided you by missing even more had Yoongi not threatened him with adding a crop top to his punishment attire should he miss another practice. He’d showed up for the next one but every time he came within five metres of you he blushed and kept his eyes to the ground, fleeing as soon as he can. 

It’s a little bit frustrating, and he’s still cute when he acts all shy, but you really wish you could track him down just so you know whether its true or not.

Perhaps, with time, he’ll grow a little less skittish and let you get close enough to start a conversation. You just have to hold out hope that a moment will come that will allow you to start bridging things back together with the two of you.

FRIDAY, WEEK 7

That moment comes sooner than you expect when, just the next day, you round a corner alongside Seulgi, having just come from the women’s locker rooms, and walk straight into someone. It’s like walking into a brick wall and kind of hurts. You stumble and let out a sound in pained surprise, but manage to stay on your feet for the most part— the joy at that moment of success passes quickly when you become aware of the cool feeling seeping down your thigh and stomach.

Before even looking to see who you walked into, your gaze is directed down to see what was spilt on you— it’s light pink, and the sugary sweet scent that brushes your nose and sticky sensation that begins to make itself known on your skin are something you recognise instantly.

Strawberry milk.

You look up in something akin to horror, but the expression all but falls from your face when you see who the culprit is.

Jungkook stands there looking very much like a deer caught in headlights, drink carton crumpled and empty in his hand now that its contents are all over your front. As you gaze at him you watch the tip of his ears turn bright red, eyes wide and so unguarded you swear you can see the thoughts whipping through his mind beyond them. You also see the instant regret and mortification that washes over his boyish features as he realises what has just happened and who he has spilt his drink on.

“y-y/n—” he stutters, voice caught in his throat. Whatever he was planning on saying is quickly overpowered by an obnoxious voice from his side.

You hadn’t even noticed Yoongi was walking alongside Jungkook until you hear him speak, “Wow, you know what you were coming around that corner so hard and fast that this is on you, y/n.”

When Yoongi first started talking, Jungkook had seemed relieved, but now a sense of panic has taken over his features. 

“N-no! I am so sorry! This was my fault, I shouldn’t have had it open when I couldn’t even drink it yet. I just really like strawberry milk, and…” He’s so endearingly remorseful as he speaks, big puppy eyes looking apologetically into your own like he’s searching for any hint of forgiveness there to spare.

For a moment you’re absolutely blindsided by the way he just made your heart squeeze in your chest with how damn cute he is, but you recover just in time to catch it as the shocked expression on Yoongi’s face melds into something devious and fitting for his bastardly title.

“Right, he’s right, totally our bad,” Yoongi says, doing a complete 180 and bewildering both you and Seulgi beside you. “Wow, look at your pants, totally soaked through man. Here, come with me— it’s only fair we help grab you something to change into.”

“What—” you don’t get to finish before the cat-faced bastard grabs you by the arm and begins dragging you down the hall in the direction you came from. Seulgi and Jungkook remain in place, stunned by the turn in events. 

“Jungkook, head to practice and get them started! I want some pyramid practice, and then some tumbling from you and the others. Chop chop!” — is all Yoongi throws over his shoulder in dismissal, dragging you where you now realise is one of the other locker rooms. You gape at him as he walks straight up to the one that has been locked for months and opens it with a key.

Catching your expression, he shrugs. “Sometimes you just need a place of your own to hoard things.”

You don’t understand what he’s talking about until you step in and see a table in the corner near the doorway piled high with first aid supplies, twiggy sticks and energy drinks. Your bewildered subsequent scan of the room for more treasured objects is cut short when a lump of clothing smacks you in the face.

You just barely manage to fumble it into your grasp, unable to swallow your groan when you see what it is from the pattern alone.

“It’s the only thing spare,” Yoongi says, radiating true goblin energy. You don’t trust him as far as you can throw him right now but you don’t know where to look to disprove him. “Try not to get my cheerleaders too worked up.”

You have an inkling as to why he’s done this from his words, but can’t confirm it right now. You huff, moving off to one of the stalls. 

“If people get flashed, that’s on you.”

Ten minutes later sees you back in the open gymnasium with cool air brushing your legs that usually only get to see the light of day through rips in your jeans. You set your team to their tasks and drills already, so now you’re left alone with your thoughts. You know for sure now why Yoongi made you change into the cheerleading skirt.

Because ever since you walked out in it and nearly made him fall flat on his face in shock, Jungkook hasn’t been able to keep the blush off his cheeks or his eyes away from you for more than a few minutes at a time. You feel slightly empowered, contrary to how you thought the dangerously short piece of clothing was going to make you feel. 

You have a nice body, you’re comfortable admitting it, and the way that your unplanned flaunting of it seems to be affecting Jungkook… well it’s a nice stroke of the ego, you won’t lie, but it also makes your stomach flip giddily. God, you want him. You’ve always thought he was cute but ever since he joined cheer and rocked up in that skirt like a sweet, hot fool, it was over for you. He’s so… ugh.

Trucking through the practice of your team is, for once, a struggle. It’s so hard not to look over every few seconds to catch Jungkook when you can feel his gaze on you, and you know that once you give in you won’t be able to help being distracted afterwards. It’s a miracle you get through to the end of it while remaining sane. 

As your practice wraps up for the day, you allow yourself a glimpse to the side at last. What you see is a sweaty, panting Jungkook, the muscles of his arms straining as he holds up a brunette you vaguely recall as Tzuyu above his head. Wow, you’re actually a little startled at how much arousal just washed through you— is this normal? Maybe you’re more whipped than you thought. You don’t know.

What you do know, however, is that you want that boy, and right now especially you want to mess with him. Call it a con of being around such bastardous friends all the time, but you’re really feeling the urge. You barely manage to hold yourself back, marvelling at the animal he seems to reduce you to with just a flex of his bicep.

The practice for your basketball team finishes before cheerleading; Yoongi is a ruthless coach and relentless when it comes to formations and perfecting routines. More often than not their practices end long after yours. As your girls begin to filter out of the gymnasium, the cheer squad are still going. You make to follow after, but your name is called from the other side of the gym by a voice you recognise but know instantly shouldn’t be here. 

“y/n! Come here! Don’t ignore me!” Seokjin is the fiend in question, hollering at such an unmistakable frequency that you couldn’t ignore it if you tried. It’s like he’s followed in the footsteps of cats and has pinpointed the exact frequency that a baby’s cry is at, and is now using it to his advantage. You turn, wary, and see him waving like a dumbass. “Come here! Don’t make me pspspsps!”

Now annoyed, you stomp over if only so you can get within beating range. As soon as you reach a few feet away he ducks behind Yoongi though, so you don’t get to follow through on your caveman instincts to beat him over the head with a rock.

“What?” you ask, giving him a stinky look. “Are you like, stalking me or something? Why are you so obsessed with me?”

You can tell he wants to laugh, but his instinct to rile you up overpowers the humour of what you said. “You think you’re worth stalking? I don’t need to stalk you to know that your day consists almost entirely of eating, shitting, and staring at a certain ass.”

Well, he has you there. You shrug, “I’m a simple girl.”

Seokjin is momentarily bewildered that you didn’t rise to his bait and Yoongi chokes on his laughter beside you, the sound coming out squeaky. You’re glad someone is laughing, it makes your dick hard when people find you funny. Again, you’re a simple girl.

“Nice outfit, by the way,” Seokjin says. Apparently it doesn’t take him long to recover, and he’s already shifted topics. 

Yoongi, who had broken away to guide his team for a moment, chimes back in at the taller male’s comment. “It’s all apart of the keikaku, man. Everything is going perfectly. My golden boy is almost too fun to torment. I’ve tasted power and now I don’t know how to stop.”

“Who?” Seokjin asks, more out of habit than anything, before looking over to Yoongi’s minions and letting out a sound of realisation. “Ahh… Mister Jungkook.”

You swear you see the male in question, who is waiting his turn to begin the tumbling routine Yoongi has changed them onto, stiffen. You’re not sure whether it is a trick of the light or not, though, because in the next second he’s shuffling forward to second in line, juggling his weight from foot to foot with restless energy. His eyes are trained on his teammates flipping across the matts. 

“So you know too? y/n, you big-mouthed whore!” Seokjin exclaims, pinning you with an exaggerated look of scandal. Jungkook trips slightly in his step as he moves to the front of the line, barely a few metres away.

You don’t bother defending yourself, since Yoongi speaks before you can anyway. “That y/n likes Jungkook and has wanted to peg his cute ass since forever? Yeah, I know.”

The timing of Yoongi’s response is truly unfortunate. As he started speaking, Jungkook began his run up— and it seems that whatever snippet he heard as he started were enough to throw him off completely. He goes into the front flip kind of wonky, and you have a feeling of dread creep up as you watch him.

He doesn’t do the mid-air turns he is meant to, and instead goes to land after just one flip— the timing is off, though, and your breath hisses through your teeth and you physically cringe as you watch his ankle roll upon landing. 

“Ah SHIT!” he yelps, quickly dropping to the mat and removing pressure from his foot. You feel frozen as you watch, a large number of his teammates running over and asking him if he’s okay.

“Oh feck,” Yoongi says, checking his watch as he mutters to himself. “Shit. Okay we need to practice and only have the gym for another forty-five minutes, but he needs that looked at asap. Who…”

Barely a split-second passes before he’s looking right at you imploringly, with an inappropriately devious glint in the back of his eyes. 

“y/n, you’re free and you have first aid training right? Can you take him to get that wrapped and iced up?” He’s not even done asking you before he’s pushing you in the direction of the male currently curled on the floor. “That room should still be open— I forgot to lock it earlier.”

“Wait, I actually have—” you’re about to let him know about the mountain of schoolwork you have to catch up on, but of course he’s not having any of it. He’s already barking at his squad.

“Okay, everyone, back off and back to tumbling! y/n here will take care of our golden boy, we have the gym for the next forty-five minutes and we’re gonna make the most of it, damn it!”

Yoongi abandons you at Jungkook’s side, and at his command the rest of the cheerleader begrudgingly disperse— you think you catch a few of the female ones giving you the stink eye at their lost opportunity, and you know it shouldn’t stroke your ego but still it does. 

“I guess this is how the Kookie crumbled, huh,” you say, embarrassed that he could have heard all of what Yoongi said and attempting to cope using the classic— humour. 

Jungkook, who had turned his wide eyes and red face to you the second you started talking, now seems to be blushing harder. Evidently, for a number of reasons, he is mortified. It’s like he’s trying to hide behind the long curls that have fallen into his face. Needless to say, it’s not successful, and now both of you are embarrassed. One of you needs to take the lead.

But right now neither of you are wearing the pants.

“Alright, let’s get that looked at,” you say, wincing as you look at his ankle already beginning to swell. “Arms up.”

He obeys instantly and without question, and you’re torn between the primal powers within you wanting to both cuddle him and to drop your panties then and there. 

Getting Jungkook to a standing position while he can only use one leg is harder than you could have imagined, but you know that there’s no way you would have been able to lift him had he not helped you carry his weight. Once he’s upright and his arm is around your shoulder (still panting slightly and glistening with sweat, as you’re trying not to think about) you begin the arduous journey to the locker room Yoongi showed you earlier. 

Jungkook doesn’t really say anything during the trip there, and neither do you— except he has an excuse, considering he’s probably in a fair bit of pain right now. You don’t have an excuse, except that you’re trying desperately not to think about how you can feel each hard line of his body against you right now. It’s a whole-brain engaging kind of activity.

Thankfully, the room is unlocked as Yoongi said, and you grab a towel to lay across one of the cleaner looking benches on the far side of the room— just because its cleaner than the others doesn’t mean it’s clean, per se. You smile when you see Jungkook’s thankful expression.

“Right,” you say, staying in front of where he’s sitting for a moment as you shake your arms out; the boy really is just all muscle, honestly. “Pop your ankle up on the bench, and I’ll grab some ice and stuff to wrap it.”

Jungkook nods, obeying wordlessly. His cheeks still are tainted the slightest pink, and he’s making a point to avoid meeting your gaze. Fighting a smile, you move to Yoongi’s stash and grab what you need, spotting some high-end painkillers and immediately adding them to the pile in your arms.

When you return to his side, you seat yourself on the bench beside his leg— thankfully, they’re wide enough that neither your butt nor Jungkook’s leg has to be sacrificed for the fit. You go through the motions with him, poking and prodding and bending to assess the damage; it’s just a bad sprain, but damn if each watery look he gets at the pain doesn’t make you want to coddle him to death. 

Surprisingly, he’s still silent as you go about icing and wrapping his ankle. You contemplated filling the silence but you’re not good at chit chat or small talk, so refrain and settle for humming softly instead. Considering the rollercoaster of feelings he’s spun you through today, you’re almost disappointed that a wrap on his ankle is all that’s going to come of this. 

Which is stupid, of course. You know. You digress.

You’re still somewhat disappointed as you finish up, popping the excess bandage back in its container. “Okay! You’ll need to…”

You make the mistake of meeting his gaze, and for once he doesn’t shy away from it— there’s something about them, the endless chocolate depths and the doe-eyed look, that completely disarms you for a moment. Blinking, it takes all your might to stop yourself from studying as you continue. “Ahem, uh… you’ll need to keep it elevated, when possible. Compressing it is ideal. Also, for swelling, ice it for 20-30 minutes every 2-3 hours for the first day or so…”

He blinks up at you, and you smile. “Any questions?”

Something intriguing crosses his gaze and he bites his lip, flushing slightly. Oh, he is doing a number on your willpower. You need to get out of here.

“Yeah, uh…” He clears his throat, continuing straight away. You watch even more colour rush to his cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “About earlier… when I stacked it… Was what Yoongi said true?”

Well. You were not… expecting that. For a moment you’re stunned into silence, self control hanging by a thread. “What… Yoongi said?”

Jungkook gives you a look like he can’t believe you’re making him say it. “That you, um…”

Humiliated but deciding to face it head on, you ask him with your own cheeks heating, “Are you asking about the pegging or the, uh… the liking you part?”

To your surprise, Jungkook chokes and stiffens in place, eyes shooting wide and face and ears going beet red. “I, um… I only heard the liking part…”

OH. Well. You kind of want to die, but… at least now he knows?

 …You’re gonna throw yourself off a bridge.

He must mistake the cause of your silence for something else, because he seems to panic. “B-because, um, I know you know how I feel, and it’s okay if you don’t um— I was just wondering—”

In the midst of his spiel, you take a seat on the bench, closer to him than you were last time. It only makes him grow more flustered before you press a finger to his lips to shush him. He gets the message and falls silent instantly, making your heart skip a beat at his ready obedience. God, are you an animal?! Really?!

“I was trying to track you down to confirm it, you know,” you say, shoving your embarrassment into a box in the far reaches of your mind. Time to swallow your pride.  “But you kept avoiding me.”

Jungkook’s eyes are still wide. “Oh… sorry.”

You smile at his soft, uttered apology. Testingly, tentatively, you shift your hand and rest it on his hip. His whole body stiffens once more, but its more in surprise than discomfort. “What would you do if it was true, hm?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, he’s momentarily speechless. When your thumb rubs against the hard line of his hip bone, drawing a shudder, he jerks back into motion.

“Oh my god, you—” he’s dazed before he narrows his eyes at you, voice dropping to a whisper that’s somewhat tinged with hurt. “Are you teasing me?”

You manage to hold back the laugh but can’t help the smile that rises at his words. “I always get the urge to tease you, Jungkook, but it’s not to be cruel.” You lean forward, holding his gaze. “I probably never grew out of that kindergarten stage.”

It takes a second for what you said to sink in. The way that hope enters his eyes is so cute that you’re humiliated at the urge to squeal that rises. “So, you…”

It’s embarrassing to say the words out loud, especially considering the filth running through your mind right now, and you can’t quite bring yourself to. Teasingly, you bring your other hand to his thigh, brushing the edge of the skirt with your thumb and enjoying the way he shivers. “It’s embarrassing to say out loud, so if you want to hear it, you’re gonna have to work for it.” 

The soft, excited gasp he lets out emboldens you to carry out your next action— you move the hand on his hip, brushing your fingertips up the side of his slim waist before bringing them back down to rest over his crotch. 

To your complete and utter surprise, there is already some firmness there that greets you. At your curious gaze, he flushes pink.

“It’s the skirt,” he confesses, averting his gaze to your lap for the briefest second. “You look really good in it…”

Not that your ego needs more stroking, but you’re happy to let it happen anyway. You hum, beginning to move your hand— he stifles a gasp.

“I know,” you say, grinning. It’s ridiculous how your stomach flips, arousal beginning to trickle into your abdomen and ache in the apex of your thighs. “I could feel you looking at me. I caught you a few times, too.”

He’s embarrassed, you can tell, but the current situation doesn’t leave much room for dignity as it is anyway. Still, you can’t help but tease him some more, voice soft as you rub over his growing bulge and lean closer. “Do you always look at me, Jungkook?”

He squirms, a gasp slipping out before he attempts to send you a glare. “This is embarrassing,” he whines. You raise a brow, increasing the pressure of your hand, and he is quick to amend his response in a whisper, “…Yes.”

“And what do you imagine, when you look at me?” you ask, unable to deny the thrill running through your veins and lighting heat in your abdomen. You pause your ministrations only to move your hand to the top of his skirt and slip beneath the material. This time a moan slips out before he can stop it. “Is it things like this?”

He lets his head fall back against the wall, looking at you through hazy, lidded eyes. “Yes,” he admits, and for how readily he supplied the answer you reward him by slipping your hand beneath the rest of the layers over his hips and wrapping your fingers around his hardening length.

He whines— actually whines— and rolls his hips into your hand, thick thigh tensing beneath the grip of your other hand. The resulting wash of arousal that floods over you is so sudden it almost makes you dizzy.

“Oh, you’re a good boy,” you mutter it without much thought, but surprise filters through you when you feel his length twitch and flush with heat in your hold at the words. Ah— he likes a bit of praise, does he? You slide your free hand up his thigh, working the waistband of his skirt and bike shorts down until they rest just past the beginning of his thighs. It’s like you’re looking at a work of art, you marvel slightly— the curls that begin to trail down a little below his belly button, the sculpted line of his hip bones and the hints of his abs that show as his body tenses. You’re just one woman.

“Does it feel as good as you imagined, Jungkook?” you aimed to speak louder but it comes out sort of breathy. You trail your fingers down the tan skin of his abdomen before gripping the material of his bottoms and using the moment to free his length.

If you didn’t have such a firm grip on it, you know it would have sprung back against his stomach— you try not to let your surprise show, either, because you could feel that he was packing, but seeing it is another thing and your stomach flips in giddy anticipation. Jungkook’s chest heaves as his breath quickens, eyes boring into you and hands bunching in the material of the punishment skirt. You stroke your hand along his length, pressing your thumb along the underside and relishing in the shudder it elicits.

“y/n,” he whines softly, face flushing as his cock twitches in your hold. Whether he’s forgotten you even asked a question or simply is too overwhelmed to answer right now, you don’t know. 

As for how you’re doing— you’re so turned on right now that in all honesty you don’t know what to do with yourself. A solution comes to mind quickly and you don’t have the usual self control you do to stop yourself. 

Mindful of his injured leg, you rise, keeping your grip on him as you do so. His lidded gaze follows you, soft gasps escaping him all the while.

“Give me your leg,” you instruct, relishing how quickly he listens. Presented with his thigh, you swing one of your legs over the other side of the bench and rest on it so that as little weight as possible is on his bad leg, your knees brushing his hips. As soon as you’re lowered, you can’t help but gasp and roll your hips— the only thing separating you and the smooth skin and hard muscle of his thigh is the thin layer of your damp panties, and the stimulation on your clit makes your entire core throb in arousal.

Apparently this is also one of the things he’s imagined, because Jungkook lets out a low, gasping moan and rolls his hips up into your hand— which, of course, makes his thigh muscles tense and shift, rubbing oh so nicely against your clit. You almost fall off from the jolt of pleasure that shoots up your spine, free hand shooting to grab his bicep, “Ah, Jungkook!”

He apparently has the sense of mind to support you by using the arm in your hold to reach and grip your hip. Generous amounts of precum have started to bead at his tip, and you drag your hand up his girth, collecting it on your thumb and smearing it down his length for lubrication. It elicits a whine, another roll of his hips, and like that you settle into a rhythm of sorts.

“y/n.” Each gasp and moan he lets out have to be specially designed to ruin you, you decide. He seeks your gaze with hazy, lust-ridden eyes. “Please kiss me.”

It’s a brazen request coming from him of all people, and you’re all too happy to oblige. You lean forward, the rock of your hips making you shudder, and connect his lips with your own— he’d sought your kiss as you did so, craning his neck forward and awaiting your lips. It’s a heated kiss from the beginning, given the situation— you don’t fight for dominance so much as assume it from the start. Each press of your tongue, graze of your teeth, has a new sound tumbling from his throat and into your mouth. It makes your heart race even harder than it already was.

It doesn’t take long for tension to begin to build in your abdomen, and you know if you’re already feeling it then he must be even closer. Not wanting this to end just yet, you force yourself to slow your hand down, breaking the kiss and shifting to press your mouth to his neck.

“Wh-what—” he gasps, shuddering as your thumb plays with his slit, rhythm slowed to a stop. Both of you are panting, almost, and you suckle a mark into the junction of his neck before pulling back with a grin.

“Surely that isn’t all you’ve imagined, Jungkook.” You lean forward, pressing a brief kiss to his mouth before pulling back— the way he chases your lips makes your heart squeeze. “What now? Be a good boy, tell me.”

Far from being embarrassed at this point and all but a slave to the haze of lust in the air, Jungkook’s breath hitches and he responds, somewhat tentative if anything, “… ride me.”

“Good boy,” you breathe, offering him a proud smile. He preens beneath your fond look.

You shift, and you think that he must have expected you to stand up fully and remove your clothes, or at least your bottoms, but to his surprise you simply shuffle up and reach beneath your skirt, slipping your panties aside and aligning his member with your entrance. You’re so turned on that you’ve soaked through your underwear, and you know you’ve smeared enough precum along his length that lubrication will be no problem. So you simply lower yourself down until his head parts your lips and begins to sink into you.

At the sheer size of him even as just the tip enters your cunt, you have to halt, gasping, “Fuck!”

If he wanted to respond, you don’t really give him time to; as soon as you get your bearings you continue sinking down onto him. There is a slight burn, of course, but you’re so turned on that it fades quicker than you can register. The sensation of him, the throb, his girth and the way he splits your walls, stretching you more and more as you seat yourself on him— it’s indescribable, and all you can offer is that it feels so good you swear tears are gonna prick at your eyes. From the look on his face, brows scrunched and mouth parted as a long, low groan slips out, you know it must feel just as good for him.

When the back of your thighs press against the top of his his and he’s fully sheathed in you, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind— this position has him so deep in your pussy that with each miniscule shift the tip of his cock presses against a spot that sends delicious jolts of pleasure up your spine. Honestly, if you weren’t so intent on seeing this through, you think you could cum from that sensation alone. 

Even as you’re in a mess of pleasure and a haze of desire, you can’t help but tease him some more. You clench your insides, rolling your hips— the sharp, lilting moan he lets out makes your stomach flip. “What now, baby boy?”

You hold his hips down with your hand, feeling them twitch with the urge to rock up into you. A long, drawn groan escapes him. “Do you want to see me? More of me? Or do you want to feel me?”

You take his hand into your hold and guide it up to your chest, slipping it beneath your shirt and bra to cup your breast. His breath hitches, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he blinks and attempts to clear the haze from his vision. You relish in the control you have over him until his thumb brushes your nipple and he pinches it, tweaking it instinctively. A moan tears from you, the shock of pleasure that results making you clench around him again; his free hand scrambles for purchase against your thigh, fingers digging in as pleasure washes over him in turn.

Your breath is coming a little faster now. Leaving his hand at your chest, you move it to drag up his neck before threading your fingers in the damp curls at the back of his neck. Finding a firm grip, you tug his head back ever so lightly— it elicits a new moan that you haven’t heard yet, and you really begin to think this boy will be your undoing. 

“What do you want?” you ask again, rolling your hips once more. It isn’t fair of you, you know, since you can hardly think yourself from the sensations. “You want me to move, baby boy?”

He nods, attempting to speak through the moan caught in his throat. “Please… fuck me, y/n.”

Well, who are you to say no to that?

Happy to oblige, you engage your thighs and begin to rise— the sensation of him dragging against your walls makes both of you gasp, and you almost falter in your movements from the feeling alone. Gathering your wits as best as you can, you continue your movements, successfully rising and then seating yourself once more. Unable to withhold much longer, you roll your hips and begin to set the two of you into a rhythm.

You stopped paying heed to the noises escaping you a while ago, but you don’t doubt that the sinful sounds tumbling from Jungkook’s mouth as you ride him are a large contributor to the way the tension in your abdomen quickly begins to knot and bundle once more.

Even with as heavenly as it feels, it’s hard to keep up momentum when your thighs begin to burn. Thankfully, Jungkook has more than enough stamina in his thigh muscles for the both of you, and when he senses your fatigue, he brings his grip to your hips to hold them in place before rocking his own up and beginning to fuck up into you.

Needless to say, the pace he sets is much faster and much harder than the one you had. Swears tumble softly from your mouth at the change in intensity of pleasure as it shoots through you, orgasm already approaching much faster than anticipated. Your hands come to grip his on your hips with a cry of his name, knees turning to jelly. 

Movement against your hand surprises you, but not as much as the sensation of Jungkook’s hand shifting to thread his fingers with yours. You honestly feel your heart burst, and as he fucks up into you that bit harder you can’t help the way you clutch his hand like a lifeline, the sweet moment quick to pass but most definitely not forgotten. 

“G-gonna cum,” you gasp, eyes closing and allowing the slap of skin and Jungkook’s gasping moans to overtake your senses. You don’t forget to indulge him in some praise. “Such a g-good boy, making me feel so g-good.”

He whines at your words, and right as your pleasure approaches its peak you feel his hips stutter and slam up into yours harder than all the times before. The stimulation of that spot deep inside of you is all that’s needed to push you into the throes of your orgasm, and it washes over you more intensely than you’ve ever felt before as you clench and tense with a cry of his name.

Distantly, you feel his own grip on you tighten, and his hips still as they’re pressed against yours. Warmth floods your core, cock throbbing as he empties inside you, and you swear you hear the softest of confessions uttered to the air as he joins you in your high.

He comes down before you do, although you’re not far behind him, and for a moment you sit in place, panting and attempting to come back to your senses. He’s softened inside you slightly, but when you shift and clench on instinct as you do so, feeling cum slide down your thighs, he twitches  and throbs inside you.

Taken aback, your gaze whips to him and now that his shame has returned to him, he has the decency to blush. Well, apparently Jeon Jungkook’s stamina really is no joke. Maybe he really was born to be an athlete.

“Greedy. You want more?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and a thrilling mix of fear and excitement dances in his eyes.

“y/n—” he rasps, desperate. You slide off of him, making both of you groan, but return to your previous position on his thigh. He moans as he feels his own cum leak out of you and onto his skin. When your hand comes to wrap around his slick member, he jolts and whines.

“You wanna tell me what you said just before?” you ask, beginning to twist your wrist and stroke his cock ever so slowly. He shakes his head, whether at your question or the overstimulation, you’re not sure— you know it’s probably a bit of both though, considering he twitches in your hold.

“‘S embarrassing,” he murmurs, back arching as you increase your pace just a little. “Ah, y/n!”

“I see. You know, I think I can get you to cum again,” you say, changing tactics. 

Jungkook shakes his head, strands of his raven hair plastered to his forehead in sweat. “I can’t—”

“You should tell me,” you say, teasing lilt to your tone. He whines, rocking his hips into and then away from the sensations. 

When he shakes his head again, letting it fall back against the wall and baring the column of his throat to you, you jump on his acceptance of the situation. You pick up speed, rolling your wrist and moving in tune with the shifting of his body. It doesn’t take very long before his oversensitivity throws him into another orgasm, stronger than the last but dryer. The few beads of cum that escape seem ever so tantalising as they roll down his length, drawing your gaze.

“You gonna tell me now?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Jungkook slumps against the wall, breathing heavy and sweat glistening on his golden skin. He looks at you through heavily lidded eyes.

“It’s still embarrassing,” he whines, breathy in his exertion.

Right, well. You know what he said, but you want to hear him say it with his own mouth once more and you’ll stay here all night to make that happen if you need to.

Of course, it’s not until a while and another heated moment or two later that Jungkook realises this and gives in.

His confession is so much sweeter on your ears the second time, and of course, as promised, you reward him with your own. It’s worth it for the way it makes his eyes shine, you think. 

Jeon Jungkook really has you well and truly whipped. 

a/n: thank u for reading and i hope u liked it! im super excited to have completed my first commission and would really appreciate it if u let me know what u think by sending me an ask and liking & rbing this with ur thoughts!! i read & appreciate everything!! thank u !! love u !! peace out !! :D

[comphersjost]

All For You (4 times you tried to tell Brady you loved him, and the one time Matty did it for you) ➸ Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

reahi, i had an idea and opened a document and i couldnt stop writing, this is what came out. it was edited but i made a lot of changes after, so please forgive any mistakes, typos, plot holes, etc. enjoy :)

Finally fed up with pining over your best friend from afar, you enlist the help of Matthew to help you get the guy - you’re just not really sure who the guy is anymore. Or: 4 times you tried to tell Brady you loved him, and the one time Matty told him for you.

word cout: 5.1k (sorry lmao)

warnings: a LOT of angst, like a lot. smut, nothing as wild as ive written before, car sex, cockwarming, etc. etc. usual cussing, love triangles ig? alcohol, super brief mention of weed, mentions of sex while drunk/high

part two

part three

part four

part five

masterlist

I.

You tried to take Matty’s smile and what was supposed to be an encouraging nod to heart, and let it boost your with confidence. But it didn't. It really, really didn't. You could see Brady on the other side of the room, smiling down at your mom the way he always did. It was that smile he reserved for your parents, the charming, boyish, smile. It was the same smile that got your parents to let you out of the house late in high school even though you were grounded. It was the smile you got to see sitting on your rooftop just a little too tipsy at 2 in the morning. The same smile you wished you could kiss right off his face. 

Brady glances up from your mom’s face for a moment, and catches your eyes. His smile widens impossibly, and you watch him excuse himself from your mother. She smiles knowingly at you, a gentle sparkle in her eye as Brady finds his way towards you.

You latch onto him as soon as you're in his arms, pressing yourself to him, closer closer closer. “Hi,” you hear him mumble against the top of your head. 

“Hi, B,” you breathe back, barely audible over the chatter in the room. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, buttercup,” Brady beams down at you, squeezing your shoulders again. 

Your throat dries up as you stare up at him. You always loved the way his eyes crinkled shut when he smiled big like he was now. A tiny part of you wants to say fuck it and stand up on the tips of your toes to kiss him full on the mouth. You feel yourself swallow, your mouth opens and you want to get the words out, just like Matthew said you could. 

“Listen, Brady I-” 

“Y/N I want you to meet someone.” 

You and Brady spoke at the same time, and rather than let you finish your sentence, Brady lets you out of his arms, resting his hand against your lower back and leading you somewhere deeper into the house. 

“I want you to meet my friend,” he continues, “I know you haven't seen anyone since… but anyways, yeah I think you might like him.” Your lips remain parted, the words stuck in your throat. Of all the things you expected coming to the Tkachuk house tonight, of everything you could have thought might happen during your plan to confess your feelings to your best friend, an off-handed mention of your piece of shit ex-boyfriend and Brady attempting to set you up with someone was far from it.  

Your eyes are hazy, your focus far from the situation at hand, even as you let Brady introduce you to his friend. You barely remember the poor kid’s name, too caught up in trying to keep your shit together. Your eyes find Matthew’s, hating the sympathetic smile on his lips. 

You don't want his pity. It just makes you feel worse. You turn abruptly to Brady’s friend and stop him mid-sentence. “I’m really sorry,” you say, “I just don't think this is going to work out, I have my eyes on someone else.” He doesn't say anything as you walk away, bee-lining straight for Matthew. 

You grab his forearm, ignoring his protests when you drag him out to the backyard. 

“Why did he do that?” you say once you're outside. “Why did he introduce me to someone that I could date? What if you're wrong, Matty? What if he doesn't like me like you think he does?” 

Matthew didn't have an answer for that. He did know one thing though. 

“Then he’s an idiot, Y/N, and he can't see a good thing, a great thing, even when she's right in front of him.” You let out a wet laugh, trying your best not to read too deep into what Brady had tried to do tonight. Instead you let him tuck a strand behind your ear and pull you into a comforting hug, the both of you unaware of Brady’s eyes on you, a smile tugging at his lips at the thought of you two together. 

II.

Ottawa playing a game against Calgary meant you had to cancel any and all plans you had for that weekend. The whole Tkachuk family couldn't make it from St. Louis, but you living in Calgary made up for it. You were shaking with excitement - you hadn't seen Brady in a month and a half, since that horrible attempt at telling him how you felt. You hoped that this time would be different. 

The arms that wrap around your waist in the middle of the hotel lobby are all too familiar to alarm you. 

“Hi, buttercup,” comes the soft whisper, and you can't even attempt to fight the smile that pulls at your lips. 

“Hi, Brady,” you whisper back, feeling Brady loosen his hold on your so you could twist around in his grip. “You've been gone too long.” 

“Hmm, I know,” Brady hums, kissing your hairline gently. “I'm sorry I'm not visiting as much, you know it has nothing to do with you right?” 

“I know, Brady,” you reassure him. “I just miss you.” I love you. The thought is screaming in your head, begging for you to let out.

I love you I love you I love you

“Just say the three little words, Y/N, tell him how you feel.” Those were Matty’s words, just this morning when you had a crisis about seeing Brady again. You paced across the floor of his living room, the walls and tables all over his apartment covered in jerseys and odd paraphernalia he’d acquired over his time playing in the NHL.

“I can't, Matty, what if he,” you gasped for air at the idea, “what if he doesn't love me back, I don't think I could handle that.” 

Matt had laughed at you this morning, assuring that to the best of his knowledge (and he knew his brother pretty damn well), Brady was in love with you too. Besides, he'd said, even if he wasn't in love with you back there was nothing you could do to make him want to stop being friends with you. 

Brady pulls away from you, preparing to head to whatever restaurant you were supposed to meet Matthew at. 

“So, Brady, there was something that I-” 

“Hey, what's this?” Brady’s curious expression made you pause. He tugs the fabric of your sweater down a little by your chest, exposing your collarbone, and a dark purple mark you hadn't meant for anyone to see. Your blood runs cold, knowing exactly where that's from. 

Matthew had given it to you, when the both of you had gotten just a little too wine drunk and you'd ended up in his lap. It was ironic really, you'd been discussing how to drop more hints to Brady about how you feel about him. He'd been helping you with that dilemma since the summer. And then last Sunday, you'd been over at his place for dinner, and the night had ended with him grabbing handfuls of your ass while you whined desperately against his mouth. 

There was no way you could tell Brady how you felt now, not with him having just asked about the bruise his brother had left on your skin. 

“You and my brother finally getting it on?” Brady says suggestively, a shit eating grin on his face as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. You feel like a deer stuck in the headlights. 

“Why would you even say that?” you snap, ignoring the way he recoils, lips parted and eyes wide in surprise. “Come on we have to go meet your brother for dinner.” 

III. 

You and Matthew had bought your plane tickets home for Christmas together, deciding that it made more sense since you both lived in Calgary and were going home to the same neighborhood. Brady’s flight was coming in the day after. You’d been spending most of your time at the Tkachuk house, lounging around with Matthew. You’d hung around their house to stay out of your mom’s way, knowing having people around would only just stress her out as she prepared for your whole family to come home. 

Today was the day Brady’s flight was coming in. Chantal and Keith chose to spend the day out shopping before heading to the airport to pick up Brady late in the afternoon. Taryn was spending the day at her friend’s house, leaving you and Matthew alone in the house.

Which, you should have known it was a bad idea. You swore it was nothing between you and Matt, you swore it was just about Matt helping you get the guy, get Brady. But it seemed like the more you, Matt, and alcohol were all involved, you ended up in precarious positions. 

Today you chose not to drink, hooded eyes watching Matt take another drink of whatever liquor he’d chosen this time, before your gaze slid back to the pipe in your hand, lighter dangling between two fingers. You knew how this would end, you and Matt would get wasted, you’d fuck, rough, hard, fast, desperate, and then you would go back to pretending it never happened, went back to him helping you with getting Brady to notice your interest. You didn't talk about it, and you were almost always some kind of inhibited. 

You refused to fuck Matthew in his childhood bedroom, arguing that it was bad karma. He laughed at you then, a soft laugh, clear of any indication that Matt is drunk out of his mind. The laugh is too innocent of a laugh for the way his voice lowers after it ends. He talks you into it, seduces you more like. He’s got you sliding into the backseat of a beat up old Toyota Corolla, his first car (“And how exactly is that any better than your childhood bedroom, Matty?). He tells you that you have hours alone in the house before anyone comes home and you might as well pass the time. 

The talking and seducing turns into heated, sloppy kisses. You giggle against his mouth, tugging at the curls at the back of his head while avoiding the thought that you swore to yourself you would tell Brady how you felt when he got home tonight. But then Matthew’s lips trailed away from your mouth, over your jaw, your cheek, the curve of your throat, and any thought of Brady was gone. 

The messy kisses turned into you riding Matt, his old car rocking back and forth as you bounced on his dick. He kisses you to quiet his moans. No one was supposed to be home for hours but, just in case. He's got you whining desperately while you clench around him, his giant hands squeezing your hips. He guides you up and down on his cock, relishing in the way your body moves the way he wants without a fight. 

I bet Brady couldn't fuck you like I can. 

The thought flashes through his brain before he can stop it, and then it's like someone put a red tint on his world view. You belonged to him. Matthew’s possessive rage has him fucking harder into you, his hands falling from your hips to your ass to slam you forcefully down on him. Growls fall from his lips, the thought of his younger brother fucking you making him intent on bringing you to as many orgasms as possible. That thought is also what made his teeth come down on your skin. He sucks and bites into your skin all over your chest, leaving marks that would expose that you were having sex with someone to anyone who saw - that would expose you to Brady. 

You let out almost a squeal when you cum, clenching around Matthew’s cock and sobbing desperately. You don't see the smug grin on his face when he watches you cum, only letting him keep doing what he's doing because it just feels so damn good. 

Matt follows through on his mental promise, fucking you through as many orgasms as he could (5, the last time he checked, he lost count). His hands flex over your ass, sighing contentedly as he pulls you so that you sink all the way back down on his cock. He pulls you to his chest, nuzzling into you as the two of you doze off. 

Brady finds you that way, seeing the way you’re nuzzled into his brother’s chest through the windshield. The fact that he only saw you through the windshield protected him from seeing the most incriminating part, Matthew’s cock, still stuffed all the way inside of you. He can still see the bare skin of yours and Matt’s shoulders, so he opts out of waking you up, instead heading towards his room to shower off that airport smell and nap, a devastatingly pretty blonde attached to his hip. 

When you wake up, you feel groggy, but more sober than before. After you moaned pathetically when Matthew lifted you off of his cock, the two of you snuck back inside the house, managing to get you out the door and back to your house, and Matthew to his room. When you and your family made their way over for dinner later that night (the hickies and bruises on your skin successfully covered up), you feel your heart twist in your chest at what - or rather, who - greets you there. 

“Y/N! Hey!” Brady sounds so excited, so you humor him, hiding the way it feels like you're about to explode into a million little shreds. “This is my girlfriend, Autumn.” 

And - you really can't hate her. She's so nice, so incredibly kind and radiant and you really don't blame Brady for not taking his eyes off her the whole night. You didn't even know he was bringing her. Matthew catches your eyes, shaking his head sadly and mouthing I didn’t know. 

You shrug, your gaze falling back to the design on the carpet, how the spirals of each shape in the carpet almost mirror your heart, spiraling out and falling apart before your eyes. 

Matt’s gaze remains on you. Something about seeing your skin clear and bare after he had taken such good care to leave as many marks as possible didn't sit right with him. It made his gut twist; he wanted everyone to know. He wanted Brady to know. 

You hate the unpleasant feeling in your gut every time Autumn says something. And you really hate the way Brady smiles apologetically at you when you pulled him aside to say “You never told me you were seeing someone.” 

You just had to get through this night and then it was back to Calgary. 

IV.

Of all traditions your family has with Tkachuks, the vacations are your favorite. 

You're in California this offseason, renting a house in some random, tourist-attracting beach town. Both your families had always done something similar to this (letting the boys take care of a large chunk of it now that they're on NHL salaries), renting 2 houses and splitting you up between the parents and you and the Tkachuk kids once you were old enough. 

Brady had broken up with Autumn in May, which you couldn't be more thankful for, knowing that had that not happened she would've been on this vacation. “Nothing terrible happened,” he assured you over the phone that day. “She's an amazing girl, she really is, she's just...she's not the one for me.” 

You were glad he couldn't see the smile that pulled at your lips at those words.

As for Matthew...well, you'd barely done as much as look at him since Christmas, not wanting to fall back into the habit of sleeping with him whenever you managed to get drunk enough to forget Brady’s existence for half a second. 

But now Brady and Taryn are at the beach, meeting up with some friends they somehow convinced to drive up from Orange County, and you were laying outside in the rented house’s backyard on one of the pool chairs. You’d opted to stay home this time, having spent almost every minute of this vacation attached to Brady at the hip. 

It was pathetic, almost, the way you followed him around. Matt thought so, at least. What he thought was even more pathetic though, was the way Brady had the perfect fucking woman in front of him - pining after him even - and he still couldn't see it, no matter how hard you and Matt tried to make him. 

Matt hates that he finds himself wishing that the whiny voice you used to get Brady to do things you wanted was following him around instead, like the incessant bug he'd teased you about being when you whined for the millionth time to Brady that it was hot. 

Brady had looked at you all soft in the moment, leaning down to kiss your forehead before placing his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “Not hot enough for you not to cuddle with me,” he’d said, your giggles prompting him to tickle your sides until you'd both forgotten about your complaining. 

“Y/N, you left your water bottle outside,” Matthew says abruptly, adding on a “by the way” so you two would stop staring at him like he interrupted something. Like he wasn't even supposed to be there. 

“Oh,” the realization makes you frown, and the pout that accompanies your furrowed brows almost make him combust from how cute you look. “Didn't know you noticed I left it out there.” 

Brady keeps his arm around you as he lets you take him back outside for the water bottle, making you miss the way Matt whispers “I always notice.”

- 

You briefly wondered what Matthew was doing, before the question was answered for you by a soft sensation against your knee. His lips trailed up your thigh, nosing at your skin before pressing another open-mouthed kiss into your thigh, making your eyes flutter open briefly. It's hot, your skin feels like it's on fire, buzzing, like you're vibrating from the inside out. 

Even with the sun washing over you the way that it is, the fire you feel on your tanned skin, Matthew’s lips make you burn. He makes you ache, the way he hasn't touched you like this in months. 

“Everyone is gone for the day,” he murmurs against you, kisses becoming more frequent across your hips. “All of them. I could fuck you and make you scream and no one would know.” His words make you shudder, your back arching as his lips traveled upwards, teeth coming out to mark you up all over your tits. “So pretty like this baby, when I mark you up like that.” 

You know that if you don't stop him now, Matt will get you in his bed - he would get you in his bed and then from there he'd take you apart with his fingers, his cock, his mouth. Then he’d use that same damn mouth that got you into bed with him to talk you into staying there. And as much as you love Brady… you can't resist him. You place your hand on his shoulder, his skin is warm, and it takes everything out of you to push him away. 

“Matty, stop, Matthew, stop it.” Suddenly you can feel the sun back on your skin, Matthew having retreated from you completely. 

“What's wrong?” he says softly, “Please, what did I do?” 

“Nothing,” you lie, closing your eyes again so you wouldn't have to look at him as you say your next words. “I'm telling Brady how I feel. Tonight. No matter what happens I’m telling him tonight.” 

“Oh. Good luck, then, I guess.” That's all Matthew says, then there's a shuffling noise and silence. Then the slam of the sliding door to the kitchen. 

You shift uncomfortably and turn your thoughts back to Brady. 

It’s later, when you’re curled up against Brady’s chest with a random movie playing on tv that you get cold feet. It’s just you and him, on the couch of the first floor of the house. Matthew is God knows where, and Taryn still hadn't gotten back from her friend’s house. This moment on the couch with him is perfect, it feels so domestic. You don't want to ruin this moment by telling him how you feel, and potentially - probably - being rejected. 

You promised yourself. 

You take a deep breath, ready to blurt out those three little words, and then - 

“So, you and my brother huh?” Brady murmurs, eyes remaining trained on the action scene on the screen in front of him. “I know you got defensive last time I mentioned it but you guys are good together, and I'm glad you finally see it.”

You feel like you can't breathe, your throat choking up. You want to cry, yell, scream, something to just let him know that you love him. 

“Actually, Brady -”

“Hey, don't worry it’s okay,” Brady laughs, reassuring you and pulling you closer to squeeze you. “I promise, I've seen you with him, and I think you guys are good together, don't worry about it.” You fall silent, not really knowing how to work your way out of this one. 

“We’re not together,” you say quietly, and you had the way Brady’s hum of acknowledgment sounds like he doesn't believe you. You give up on telling him tonight.

+1 

The expression on Brady’s face drops when he meets your eyes across the table. You were just so tired. And you knew that he could see it in your face. What with work absolutely kicking your ass, to the point where you were barely able to get this week off to come home to St. Louis. It’s the end of summer, which means you and Brady were about to go through months of hectic schedules and voicemails that say “Hey, sorry I just missed your call, life has been crazy lately.” Your gaze falls from the lines of Brady's face to the seat at his right side.

Autumn smiles at you, and you hate the way the warmth that radiates from her feels like a knife twisting deeper into your gut. You hate yourself for how much you hate Autumn, you know she doesn't deserve it. Brady catches your eye again, a brief flash of recognition sliding across his face before it's gone. You'd been avoiding him for the past three days since you got here, and you almost felt guilty for it. 

Matt’s hand gripping your thigh draws your attention away from Brady. He squeezes your thigh, smiling reassuringly at you and bumping your shoulder gently. It’s when Autumn finally stands from the table, smiling sweetly at Keith and Chantal, that you release the breath you'd been holding in all night. Brady says he's going to walk her out, a car waiting for her outside to take her to the airport back to Ottawa. 

You don't fight it when Matthew tells you to head downstairs and he and Taryn could take care of the cleaning up. You curl up on the couch in the basement, stealing Matt’s Flames hoodie off the back of a chair and a blanket from the closet. Your eyes flutter shut to the muted noises of the dishes clinking together. 

You let your eyes flutter closed, only opening them again when you feel a warm heat slide in beside you. You hum when Matt kisses your temple softly. 

“You okay?” he nudges you gently, stealing the end of your blanket to cover his legs. 

“Yeah, just tired,” you mumble back, voice muffled by the pillow your face is half-buried in. You know Matthew knows better than to believe your blatant lie, but you're okay with the way he chooses to move past it and not make you talk about it. 

The two of you lounge on the couch silently, Matt switching on some Netflix show he’d been watching after you heard Taryn say she was going to bed. You tried not to think about how long Brady was taking upstairs with Autumn. 

They'd gotten back together over the summer, she’d reached out to him before he left for the off season, which he failed to mention until it was nearly over. Against both yours, Matthew’s, and Taryn’s advice, Brady had bought a plane ticket back to Ottawa, saying that he might as well give it a shot. 

Matthew had held you when you cried that night, Taryn bringing the two of you water and food when it was clear you weren't leaving his room, much less his arms. 

He wanted to hold you right now too, god how he wanted to hold you. But he couldn't, not with Brady due back any second from waiting out front for Autumn's ride. He couldn't risk Brady seeing the two of you, not again. 

Brady had made comments here and there about Matt’s relationship with you. No matter how much Matt insisted that the two of you weren't involved, Brady wasn't convinced, insisting that he was okay with it. 

But right now, in this moment, he wanted to believe him. Matt’s hands ached to touch you, hold you, draw patterns on your skin, he yearned for it. He wanted - he needed to make sure that you knew that everything was going to be okay. Just as his resolve starts to crumble, his hands twitching in his lap as he begins to reach for you, a voice comes from the stairs. 

“We should talk - right?” Brady is talking to you, making you open your eyes to look at him. “Like - things are weird, have been weird, and we have to talk about it right?” 

You nodded silently, shifting in your spot so that you're sitting up, any physical contact you had with Matt now lost. “Yeah,” your voice comes out small, a whisper, and then stronger, firmer. “Yeah, we need to talk.” 

This is it.

The silence in the room is almost unbearable, and you're unable to choke the words out. Brady stares at you, while you stare down at your hands. Matt refuses to look at either of you, gaze trained on the wall behind the TV, jaw clenched so tightly that if your eyes were on him you'd tell him he was about to break his teeth. 

“Is this about you and Matt?” The words come out of nowhere, and it feels like you've been slapped. 

“What?” Matt’s head snaps towards Brady, as does yours.

“No, really,” Brady says, “Did you guys break up oh something?

“What are you talking about Brady?” You can't stop the frustration from seeping into your voice. “That's not what this is -” 

“‘Cause you know I’m okay with you guys together,” Brady continues obliviously, “I keep telling both of you that it's fine but I don't get why you insist on-” 

“Oh my god you idiot!” Matt’s outburst shuts Brady up pretty quickly, leaving the younger brother staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. Matt looks at you and his eyes are sad, regret and apologies already written all over his face for what he's about to say next. “She's in love with you.” 

He speaks so quietly you almost don't hear the second part of his statement. 

“And I’m in love with her.”

Time screeches to a halt. You're convinced it's a dream, nearly pinching yourself to prove that it is. Brady is staring at Matt now, and you're staring at the ground. 

“You're lying.” You don't believe the words you're saying either, and neither do Matt and Brady. 

“I love you.” He's telling the truth, you can hear it in his voice. 

“Stop.”

“I love you and you love him.” 

“Stop it!” 

“I love you, and, fuck - Y/N, it’s simultaneously the best and worst thing that’s ever fucking happened to me.”

“Please! Matty, please! Just stop!”

“Is he telling the truth?” This time it’s Brady. His voice quivers with every word. Like he doesn’t want it to be true. “You're in love with me?” 

You wrap your arms around your torso, squeezing your eyes shut and hoping - praying - that when you opened your eyes, this would all be over and you'd wake up in your bed. But when you opened your eyes again, you were still on the couch in the Tkachuk’s basement, blanket tangled between you and Matt. 

“You should have let me tell him,” you say to Matt, ignoring Brady’s question, still lingering in the air. “I wanted to be the one to tell him, you knew that.” 

“Well, he hasn't been letting you, now has he?” Matt snaps back at you, the regret showing up on his face almost instantaneously. “Baby…” 

The name slips out on accident, he doesn't mean to say, and he sure as hell doesn't mean for Brady to hear it. 

“Okay, what the hell is going on here?” Brady finally yells, fed up with being kept in the dark. “What the fuck are you guys talking about?” 

“I don't-” you start to say, trying to say it before Matt does. 

“She loves you, okay?” Matt grabs your hand for a moment when he starts to speak, giving it a squeeze before taking his own hand back again. “She loves you in more than a friend way, and we’ve spent nearly the last year trying to get her to tell you but every time - every time Brady! - some stupid shit happens, like you trying to hook her up with someone, or - oh, I don't know - randomly springing your girlfriend on us!” 

“That was one time!” Brady argues, “Besides you were the only one who knew Autumn was coming, why are you even mad?” You flinch at the mention of her name, but freeze at what comes after. 

“What?” 

Matt looks like he's been caught red handed - and he has, really. He just didn't mean for you to find out this way. He didn't mean for you to find out any of this the way that you just did. 

“I can explain -”  

“Please don't,” you stand up just as Matt is reaching for you. “I don't want an explanation. I don't - I just want to - I’m going home.” 

While Brady doesn’t even look at you, Matt nearly lunges for you when you walk away from the couch. Walk away from him. He hates the way the thought stings. He barely manages to brush his fingertips against the red fabric of his hoodie before you're halfway up the stairs and the door to the basement slams shut. 

[wolfish-trickster]

Loki x female!artist!reader

Word count: 1 281

Summary: you were going through a difficult time and your boyfriend wants to make you feel better.

Warnings: adult themes (nothing too explicit), little bit of sadness

A/N: i felt kinda depressed lately, so I wrote something to cheer myself up. This might have some grammar mistakes or typos, so please try to ignore them. Enjoy :)

Loki admired you. From the way you looked to the way your magnifficent mind worked. It never ceased to amaze him how creative a human's mind can truly be. He has seen all those paintings in art galleries, and witnessed all those adventures written in books, hidden in the deepest parts of library. He has seen architecture that took his breath away. He never really thought something so asgardian could be seen here on midgard too. He must admit, some of the midgardian pieces were too shoddy for his liking. He even despisedcertain parts of midgardian culture and art. Probably because he missed his home too much, a place where he grew up surrounded with those beauties. He never made even the faintest effort to understand midgardian art. Until he met you.

You showed him different kinds of art. You even taught him few things. He never stopped admiring you, even after several years of living together. He never got tired of you and your talent.

On one night, after a very difficult day, you were lying in bed covered by the smoothest sheets to ever exist. You were safely cuddled against Loki, sleeping soundly, getting your deserved rest. But Loki wasn't sleeping, no. He was thinking. Thinking of a way to make you smile again. It has been a long time, since he saw you smile, truly smile. Not faking smile to make him feel better. He saw you, fighting whatever got into your way throughout the day, everyday. It tired you, drained you of your power. And yet, you still smiled at him (even if it was fake smile). You never brought up your own problems, istead you listened to his, and that made Loki feel two things: selfishness and love. Selfishness, because he should've insisted on listening to your problems too and love, because it just showed what a caring person you can be. Even in your darkest times. He loved you for it even more, if that could be possible.

As careful as he could he untangled himself from your warm embrace, got up from bed and went on a dangerous mission of searching for your sketch-book. You always had one filled with doodles, paintings, drawings or designes.

When he found the said book, he started browsing through it, page by page, looking for something you started working on a while ago. And he found it. 'Tomorrow will be one happy day for my darling' Loki thought with a small smile blooming on his face.

-

As soon as you regained consciousness, you wanted to go back to your dreamland. Away from your struggles. From mean people, from every day stress, from your anxiety, from EVRYONE. Well, maybe not everyone. Not from your boyfriend. You started blindly looking for his body in your king-sized bed, but to no avail. Maybe he got up sooner than you? But whenever he did, he stayed in bed watching after you. And then teasing the living hell out of you, for snoring so laud it woke him up. He never meant it in the bad way, you always tickled him for revenge. And tickling turned into make-out session and that to love making. You loved those times, that's why you groaned upon descovering he left the bed.

You slowly sat up and looked around your bedroom. Not too big, but not too small either, pretty cosy looking. You dragged yourself to your wardrobe to put something on yourself, you couldn't just walk around your house naked now, could you? 'I'm sure Loki wouldn't mind' you thought after picking one of his green t-shirts. He rarely wore something from Earth and if he did it was just his all black suit. You occasionly gave him sweatpants, few hoodies and t-shirts, so you could steal-ehm borrow them like a normal girlfriend would.

With nothing but his t-shirt and fluffy socks on you made your way downstairs. Soft bubbling of water and sound of cutting was coming from kitchen.

Loki didn't cook often, but when he did... Let's just say you were always full afterwards.

You rounded the corner and plopped down on sofa. Damn, that was a lot of stairs. Snuggling with pillows you tried to spot your god, but he was nowhere to be seen. How about a quick nap before breakfast? It's saturday afterall, the lazy day.

"Oh, you already woke up. How did you sleep my sweet?" asked the velvety voice you loved so much.

You turned around, ready to hug him to death, but you halted when you saw his clothes.

"What, the living hell, are, you, WEARING?" you didn't mean to scream that last lart, you really didn't, but seeing this too early in the morning would startle anyone.

"You do not like it? One of your own creations?" aked Loki with that smug smile on his damned lips.

He was wearing your redesign of his asgardian battle armour. It was more leather than metal, Loki's signature green, black and gold. Looked more badass too with horned golden headpiece instead of the whole helmet with slightly shorter horns. You thought he didn't notice, but how couldn't he, when he just loved every little thing you make?

Maybe you were quiet for way too long, cause Loki started anxiously picking on his palms, never a good sign.

"I love it Lo, I just... I never expected you to do something like this. You never cared about my designs before, " that send hurt straight to his heart. You always asked him about his projects, his interests. He has never done something similair. Out of respect, he thought. To give you space. Now he blames himself for the dissapointed way you said those words.

"Darling, of course I care about everything you draw. May it be a mindless doodle or a piece of art. I've seen the joy drawing brings to your life. Your eyes are so bright whenever you make art, and lately that light has faded. I wanted to make you smile again, to see the playful twinkle in your eyes I fell in love with. I figured this was the way, but... Maybe I shouldn't have gone through your book. "

He reached up, ready to change your design into his usual attire, when you cought his hand. Loki wanted to say something when you cut him off with a sweet kiss. He closed his eyes, one hand cupping your cheek, the other snaking around your waist pulling you closer.

You pulled away first, breathing heavily. Your head spinned. It always does when you kiss the love of your life.

"I love you Loki. Thank you for making me feel better. But next time don't go through my sketch book, what if I designed something for you and you'll spoil your surprise?" you asked with a smirk on your lips.

"I love you too darling. And don't worry. As long as you smile, I won't. By the way, did you really design something for me, except what I'm wearing?" he gave you the same smirk, giving you eskimo kiss.

"Hmmmm, you'll have to wait and see" you murmured against his lips.

"You minx, you know I'm not a patient man."

"I know, I know. What about we eat breakfast and then I can give you different kind of surprise?" your lips barely brushed his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

"I love the way you think, darling. Now go sit by the table, the sooner I finish the breakfast, the sooner we'll get to your surprise."

'What a pleasant way to start a morning' was the last thing you thought when Loki parted himself from your embrace.

[stellar-imagines]

HEADCANONS REQUEST: ❝Mineta’s harassment.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki, Todoroki Shouto, Aizawa Shouta ]

「Headcanons of Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki and Aizawa defending their S/O when Mineta harasses them.」

MIDORIYA IZUKU

♤ Let's be real, Midoriya is nice to everyone. He can't really say that he's close with the class's pervert but he just thinks he's a friend/classmate, nothing more, nothing less. It's usually Kaminari and Mineta who talk about girls. Unlike Kaminari who knows his limits, Mineta often takes it too far. So when Mineta and Kaminari were talking about girls, he's usually at lost, unsure of what to say and ends up just nodding to whatever they were saying.

♤ Everyone knows that Midoriya tries to solve everything with words and through communication, he rarely resorts with force and violence. Just talking about you was fine but he gets really unhappy when Mineta is talking about your boobs, ass or whatever. This boy just tells Mineta to stop treating his girlfriend like some sort of meat and respect her as a person.

♤ He gets super uncomfortable when he notices Mineta looking at your direction and giving you that look, the one akin to when a drunkard has his eyes looked on a woman. Midoriya is silently glaring at his friend and hoping that you wouldn't notice this pervert's eyes on you. He tries to ignore it but if the staring had gone for far too long, he takes it upon himself to reprimand Mineta to look somewhere else.

♤ If you're the type who can stand up for themselves, Midoriya's worries lessen. He'd still be there to make sure Mineta doesn't take things too far. However, if you're the quiet-shy type who has social anxiety 24/7, he's on full offense and defense. He makes sure to stick by your side or at least have the girls accompany you.

♤ When it does get too far, Midoriya would step in front of you, glaring at his classmate with a furious look in his eyes. He tries not to expose you to violence. But when Mineta is talking about you behind your back, he won't hesitate to hit Mineta if he touches you inappropriately. And it won't be those gentle slaps. It will be One For All 100% or Shoot Style. And viola, the filth of Class 1-A had been removed!

♤ Conclusion, he won't hesitate to beat the shit out of anyone who dares to make you uncomfortable, cry or anything. And you bet he's gonna throw someone off a cliff if someone dares to hurt you.

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

☆ Bakugou pretends to not pay attention to you but he actually is. To begin with, he sneaked glances at you when he thinks no one was looking and he was pretty damn good at it. This goes on until you start dating. Until one day, Kirishima spots him looking at you and all hell breaks loose. 

☆ Without you noticing, Bakugou became your boyfriend and at the same time, a guard dog. He's very observant and he prefers to trail behind you a bit when walking together. But he can't escape when you want to hold hands.  If someone dares to make fun of you, that person might as well just play dead because Bakugou is gonna hunt them down and make them regret saying whatever they said about you.

☆ Okay, everyone knows not to mess with Bakugou's territory you, or they will face serious consequences. It's not a rule that he established himself, that reminder is drilled into their heads the moment your relationship was revealed.

☆ So that one time Mineta decides to harass you were either before you were dating or when no one knew that you were dating yet. Whether he just talks about you or stares at you, Bakugou is already storming over and planning a murder. If he goes as far as to touch you. Guess what, Shinsou? There's a seat open for you. Welcome to 1-A.

☆ Whether Mineta is aware of your relationship or not, he won't get off the hook that easily. The girls are there to beat his ass for you if you're too shaken. Maybe it was because Bakugou never did anything when Mineta was up to no good, that the pervert thinks that doing his usual thing was not a problem. But, he was so wrong when he met Bakugou's deadly gaze. His looks can kill. The blonde didn't even have the chance to use his quirk because his looks alone were enough to make Mineta retreat.

☆ Bakugou looks freaking scary when it happens that it haunts your classmates for a long time. It will take them a long time to find something scarier than the look on Bakugou's face when someone messes with you. Stage fright? What is that? Think about this then you'll forget about that stupid fright.

TODOROKI SHOUTO

♡ Similarly to Midoriya, he chooses not to use unnecessary violence. Most of the time, he tries to talk it out. To begin with, Todoroki wasn't well acquainted with most of his classmates. He's usually chill with everything. Just like some of his classmates, he never really paid any heed to Mineta when he was talking about girls.

♡ But now that he's dating you, he's gotten more conscious of what people say. He might be a bit dense when it comes to relationships but he's learning! He's able to identify jealousy and all the weird, fluttery feelings he gets around you. But when Mineta starts talking excitedly about your features, he was able to separate the feeling fro jealousy quite easily. It was just pure disgust.

♡ Now, Todoroki doesn't really speak and only does so when it's necessary. He never said anything when the pervert is talking about the girls and all that. For starters, Mineta is a pervert who frequently lusts after and sexually harasses his female classmates, even though that's far from a hero should do. Boy gets mad when Mineta brings your name up.

♡ Todoroki opts to glare at Mineta when he talks about you, a disapproving stare sent his way. When his glaring does nothing to solve the situation, he will warn Mineta with words, telling him to stop because it's really disrespectful. He tries to stay calm and manages to do so, at least in expression-wise but deep inside, he's troubled. He doesn't like other guys talking about you like that. Sure you had the looks that attracted several men but he can't blame you.

♡ When Mineta takes it too far, to the point you were starting to get uncomfortable and bothered by his comments, Todoroki gets a bit serious, knowing how words weren't the best way to solve this. He didn't want to resort to threats but with the way you were behaving, he can't control himself. He tries to keep casualties to a minimum so he would step forward and face Mineta, glaring at him with eyes that say 'You piss me off, I will turn you into a block of ice'.

♡ Afterward, Mineta never had the guts to talk about you inappropriately. Todoroki sticks close to you from then on, not wanting anyone making you uncomfortable again.

AIZAWA SHOUTA

♧ Aizawa is seriously sick of everything. He always shows up in class looking ready to pass out at any second. His students were usually rowdy, making noise before he showed up for homeroom. There was the group of daredevils who annoyed Bakugou, Mineta screaming about something and Iida's loud voice that tried to overwhelm the crowd, barking orders to make them keep it down.

♧ You happen to be a teacher who was in charge of helping him with stuff, to put it simply, you were like an assistant of some sort. And he was so grateful that you were there to help if not, he would've been twice as tired than he is normally. He has students' homework to grade, wake up early every day, deal with his students and many other things. 

♧ Let's face it, everyone is annoyed with Mineta. He was always making lewd comments about girls and in some cases, going as far as to harass them. Aizawa was rarely there to stop him but it seems like everyone in Class 1-A deal with that annoying grape pervert. Something that he's really grateful of. He trusts his students to deal with whatever problems themselves but he makes sure that they know he's there if they need help with anything.

♧ It was no surprise that you had been a target of Mineta's harassment. He drools over any women it seems. You were mature enough to handle the situation yourself but it didn't change the fact that it was annoying you. On one hand, he's very proud to see you standing up for yourself and the students. However, he's irritated at the fact that he can't just expel him on the spot.

♧ Aizawa usually looks like he doesn't care but when push comes to shove, he's not afraid to speak his mind. After all, he is known to expel students who he feels are not suited for UA, he's rigid and strict when necessary, and also has little tolerance for disobedient behavior. Doesn't hesitate to threaten Mineta when Aizawa catches him harassing anyone.

♧ He's very mature about the issue. Makes sure that you're alright before dealing with the issue—aka Mineta by disposing of him in many different ways. Ties him up and throws him into the trash, because that’s where he belongs. Takes you by the hand and cuddles ensure. And during those cuddle sessions, he reminds you not to wear any weird clothing.

♧ “Listen to me, I want to make an announcement, from today onwards, Shinsou Hitoshi will be your classmate. Don’t be annoying. Mineta? I don’t know, he dropped out or something.”

Total: 1623 words Published: 21.08.2019

We’re open for some limited edition prompts featuring Fall and Halloween! Read more here!

Thank you for requesting! *｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و*｡ Oof, please pretend they’re all dating ok? Trying to finish up as much as we can and post em all! PS: we love you for sending us something, anon (´,,•ω•,,) ― author Hibiki/Lou

Thank you for requesting! We’ve done our best, please praise us. Hope you like it, anon! We’re happy to hear you say that you love our blog and we’re so sorry to make you wait so long for this (･ω･`〃) ― author Natsuki

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

[angelliev]

Lover Boy - JJ Maybank x OC - Part Fifteen - Like Mother, Like Daughter

Word Count: 3K 

Summary: Aria suffers with the aftermath of being disowned by the man who raised her, and seeks the truth from Elaine, her mother. 

Warnings: Pregnancy, morning sickness, crying, light angst, typos probably and fluff. 

A/N: I am so sorry I haven’t posted for almost a week now. To be honest I have been on a writer's block and had no idea where I wanted to go with this series, but know I'm back on track and ready to write my big fluffy heart out. Enjoy. (Not my GIF. Credits for the owner. I don’t own the show or any of the characters.)

Lover Boy Series Masterlist

Feather light kisses are placed delicately on my peach soft skin by JJ’s luscious lips. I sigh as he finds my certain spot. His rough hands roams my body, treating me like porcelain. I smile at him as he kisses downward until he reaches my stomach, places a sweet gentle kiss. He hugs my waist as he lays his head on my stomach for a moment. He just smiles for a moment, not saying a word.

“I love you. You know that?” He looks up at me with such admiration. “I know. You make sure to not let me forget.” I chuckle, playing with a strand of his hair. “Need to make sure my babygirl feels loved.” The two of us giggle together. “I still can’t believe I’m gonna be a dad.” I take his hand in mine before leading it down to my stomach. “Well, this baby is going to have one amazing father, and I’m more than happy that I’m having your baby.” I kiss him sweetly. He smiles softly. Ever since we learned about the pregnancy, he’s been extra gentle with me. It’s kind of adorable to be honest. He treats me like glass, I swear. “C’mere.” He says seductively.

I giggle as my head hits the pillow. His lips massage mine. His hands find my waist. His body nestles between my open legs. I pull him closer, leaving no space between our bodies as our make out session ensues. I let out a gasp when his hands cup my breast, toying with the buds, causing them to harden. My hands travel down his naked back. Just as they find his belt, John B busts the door open before shooting us with the damn squirt gun.

“C’mon man! Cut it out!” JJ throws a sock at the cockblocker. “Nope! Trust me I’m happy for you two, but before you know it you’ll be popping out like ten babies! Stop attacking the pink fortress!” He scolds JJ before leaving, keeping the door open. “Did he seriously say the pink fortress?” I asked in disbelief. JJ just nodded in embarrassment. The two of us eventually get up and make our way towards the kitchen where John B was cooking. The smell of bacon invades my nostrils, making my stomach turn and face go green. I waste no time to sprint to the bathroom, JJ follows behind me. I hunch over the toilet as I vomit the contents of my stomach. JJ hands grab a hold of my hair.

I release a string of coughs and wipe away a few tears as I finally finish. JJ wipes my mouth with a few napkins. The disgusting taste of vomit still lingers in my mouth. “I’m sorry. God, that’s so embarrassing.” I mutter under my breath. “You have nothing to be sorry for babe.” JJ hands me my toothbrush and toothpaste. I slowly brush my teeth as I lean over the sink. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes. “Are you sure?” He asked. “Yeah. Go eat breakfast. I just need a minute.” I reply. He plants a kiss on my temple before leaving me to gaze at my reflection.

I’m pale as shit, my lips are chapped, my hair is a mess and eyes are glossy. I look like a fuckiing train-wreak. I’m four weeks pregnant as of now. I haven’t been to school ever since I got out of the hospital. I’ve been crashing out at John B’s since Claude kicked me out. I haven’t really found the courage to talk to my mother. Thankfully, she’s giving me space. I don’t hate her. I can’t. She is so sweet to me and has never let me down, so how could I? I just haven’t talked to her because I’m avoiding a certain conversation.

I’m still having a difficult time trying to acknowledge the fact that Claude isn’t my dad. Learning the truth made me feel multiple things. For starters, I felt sort of relieved to know that I wasn’t related to someone as despicable as him. But then I felt upset that there was someone out there who was my real father and I don’t even know his name. I begin to wonder how my life would’ve turned out if I knew him though.

I walk out of the bathroom to see the boys slinging their backpacks on. “Feeling better?” Asked JJ. “Yeah, just some morning sickness.” I blow it off. “There’s still some food left if you’re hungry.” John B points to the pan. “Thanks, I’ll eat in a minute.” I smile at the offer. “You sure you don’t want me to stay here with you babe?” JJ asked, holding my hands. “Positive. You need to go to school.” I lead him towards the van. “Okay, but if anything happens, call me.” He demands. “Yes lover boy. Be good.” I peck his lips through the window before the two drive off.

I’m grateful for John B letting me crash out at his place. I can’t stay with Sarah, since her parents hate me, and I definitely can’t stay at Charis’ since her mom no longer wants to be associated with the Prescott family. Thankfully, John B stepped up and offered his place until we had my living situation under control. Ever since then, I’ve been sharing a room with JJ. Living in the chateau wasn’t bad though. I adore the little fish shack on the marsh. I decided now would be a good time to clean up around the shack since the boys were. Plus, I have nothing else better to do.

I think telling the pogues about the pregnancy was scarier than telling Claude. My worst fear was losing them, since they’re like a second family to me. I expected them to judge me as I broke down in tears. Instead, they all wrapped me up in their comforting arms.

It was around noon when Sarah had decided to stop by. Lately she has been bringing me my homework, since I refuse to show my face at school. We talked about the usual. The school has been talking nonstop about me being pregnant. I couldn’t help but laugh at the stupid rumors Sarah told me about. Might as well let them think what they want to think. “So, I ran into your mom this morning.” She said all of the sudden. “How is she?” I asked nervously as I fiddle with a pencil. “She misses you. She’s a little scared though. She thinks you hate her.” She answered. “I don’t hate her. I could never.” I say. “Then talk to her. Let her know that. She wants to explain herself. She wants to tell you about your father.”

“You want some coffee?” I attempt to change the conversation. “You can’t ignore this forever you know? Might as well hear her out. Aren’t you at least curious as to who your dad is?” “I’m curious, but I don’t want to meet him okay?” I mumble. “But why not?” Sarah pushed. “Because I’m scared. What if he wants nothing to do with me? How would he react to find out he’s a father and soon to be grandfather?”

“You won’t know unless you find out. I can’t say I know how he’ll react, but I do know that whatever happens, you’ll still have me, JJ and the pogues by your side.” She takes my hand, running a thumb over it. “I’m not saying you have to meet him right now, but you should really see your mom. Please? For me?” She pleaded with her puppy dog eyes. “Fine.” I reluctantly agreed with the persuasive girl.

Later…

I didn’t know what to expect as I walked through the hospital halls to my mom’s office. My palms were sweaty and my heart was racing from the nerves that were piled up in my body. I hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door. Her head pops up and her eyes light up to see me. She doesn’t wait to jump out of her seat and engulf me in a hug. “Aria! I was worried about you. I’m so sorry about everything.” I couldn’t help but return the tight hug. “I’m okay mom, and you don’t need to be sorry.” I reassured her.

“What brings you here?” She asked curiously. I sigh. “I came here to listen.” I answer. “Oh, well what do you want to know?” She asked. “Everything. I just want the truth.” My mother sighs before sitting back down. I take a seat from across her desk. “I want to know about my real dad.” I said, instead of beating around the bush. My mom hesitates for a moment, not sure if she wanted to speak.

“Before I met your father, I grew up in the outer banks on figure eight. Growing up my parents were very strict. Believe it or not, Pogues vs Kooks was still a thing back then. I never really cared for it though. To be honest I envied the pogues for the longest time, because I was sheltered. All the friends I had were fake. Every day was the same old routine. My life was agonizingly bland. I absolutely hated it. I already knew what the rest of my life was going to look like. That was until I met your real father. His name was Jamie Wilson. He was a Pogue at heart. Carefree, rebellious, energetic and adventurous. He was a bit of a heartthrob. He made me feel like a princess. He changed my life. He taught me how to love and be truly happy. We started dating. My friends stopped hanging out with me and my parents were pissed. I was forbidden to see him, but I didn’t let that stop me. I spent every day with him, much to my parents' dismay. I have never been so in love with someone in my entire life. To this day I hold him close to my heart.” She smiles at the memory of him.

“So what happened?” She lets out a long sigh. “My father purposely took up a new job in Connecticut. They packed up quickly and I was forced to say goodbye. He gave me this promise ring that he saved up his money for.” She showed off the vintage ring on her finger. I’ve seen her with this ring for years, but never thought anything of it.

“He didn’t promise me marriage, yet he promised to always love me, no matter how far apart we are, no matter how old we grow, he’d never stop loving me. He didn’t want to hold me back, he wanted me to move on with my life.” A tear fell down her face.“Two years later I had graduated and went to Yale University. That same year I was introduced to Claude. I married him at nineteen and had your brother when I was twenty. At first our marriage was going pretty smoothly and the two of us were happy. He was a different man back then. I was able to move on.” This all came as a shock to me. “What made him change then?”

She just shrugged her shoulders. “I had Jennifer when your father started to change. He was just becoming more stressed with work, his alcohol intake grew, he started to close off from everyone and he began having a wandering eye. I had suspected for a while that he was seeing other people, but I never wanted it to be true. So I denied such things, that was until I had caught him with one of his mistresses. At that point I had broken down. I had gotten so mad, we both just started yelling at each other. I walked out that night, which seemed to scare him, cause the next morning he was apologizing. It was then I told him that I needed some time apart from him and the kids. Damian was sent off to boarding school and we had hired a nanny to watch Jennifer.” My mom seemed embarrassed to admit that.

“I decided to take a trip to the outer banks. All of my happiest memories were there and that’s what I needed the most. Part of me was hoping to find Jamie, yet I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I can’t even describe how I felt when I saw him. For a moment I thought he wasn’t real, that was until I was in his arms again. At that moment I didn’t want to leave, I had considered running away, leaving my life behind to be with him, but I couldn’t do that to your brother and sister. I was happy and carefree that whole week. I had fallen in love with him all over again, and I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of our love. When I got back to Connecticut, I had made a deal with Claude. I said I wouldn’t go through with the divorce, but we had to move, have a fresh start. He had agreed and we moved to Chapel Hill. He still continued to cheat on me, and I continued to see Sam, since we were closer. I’d go see him whenever Claude was on a business trip, which was often. Things got serious however when I got pregnant with you, by Sam. Thankfully, I was able to convince Claude that you were his, due to his many blackouts.” My mom rolls her eyes.

“Does Jamie know I’m his?” “Yes, I told him immediately about the pregnancy. Sometimes when Clause was on a business trip, I’d take you to see Jamie as a baby, but as you got older he couldn’t really see you without you or Claude becoming suspicious. So, I had convinced Claude that we move to the outer banks. I didn’t want to divorce Claude until you turned eighteen, because I didn’t want to risk losing you and the kids in a custody battle." She begins to cry. I can’t help but feel slightly guilty. “Are you still seeing Jamie?” I asked. “Yes. Aria, I’m so sorry for any pain that I have caused you. I should’ve thought more about you and your siblings, but Claude threatened that if I divorced him, he’d make sure I’d never see you guys again. He's a powerful man Aria, if he wants something, he’ll get it. I can’t help how I feel about Jamie. I love him the way you love JJ. I just hope you don’t hate me, because I love you so much sweetheart.” She sobbed. I couldn’t stop myself from hugging her.

“Please don’t cry mom. I don’t hate you, I could never. I love you too. You have always been there for me. You’re like one of my biggest cheerleaders. I couldn’t ask for a better mom. Your happiness is mine. If Jamie makes you happy you should stay with him. Just leave Claude. I’m an adult no, there’s no point in a custody battle now.” “I don’t want to let anyone down.” She wiped away her tears. “Mom, for years you have worried about everyone else’s happiness, for once just worry about yours.” I tried to convince her.

She just smiles at me sweetly. “Thank you sweetheart. I guess we’re more alike than we think. Always chasing the boys we can’t have.” We laughed together. “Like mother, like daughter.” I laugh. She tucks a piece of hair behind my hair. “Love is a wild ride isn’t? I swear, us girls are cursed to fall in love, it’s what makes us girls.” I nod in agreement.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” She questioned. I thought about the offer for a moment, not thinking of anything I could possibly want or need, but something that somebody else needs. “Now that I think about…”

Later that night….

I came back home just as the sun began to set. I find JJ tinkering with the car. His eyes are so focused and trained on the vehicle and tools in his hands, he doesn’t even notice me approach him. “Hey baby.” He’s taken away from his zone, surprised to see me. “Hey babe. Where’d you go?” He asked, pecking my lips. “I went to see my mom.” I answered with a small smile on my face, he smiled back. “Really? How did that go?” He was interested and surprised. “Great. We just talked. She told me about my dad.” This made JJ take me in his strong muscular arms. “He lives here in the cut. He’s a firefighter. His name is Jamie Wilson.” This makes JJ jump up all of the sudden startling me. “No way! You’re dad is THE Jamie Wilson?!” JJ’s voice was laced in excitement, like a child meeting their favorite character at DisneyLand. “Wait, you know him?” I asked confused. He looks at me with a bewildered face. “You don’t?!” He almost looked offended.

“I wasn’t aware he was a celebrity around here.” I chuckled at JJ. “Are you kidding me? Everyone in the OBX knows him. Everyone down here in the cut admires him. He’s like most Pogue person you could ever meet.” Well I wasn’t expecting that. “So, what did he do to deserve such fame around here?” I asked, this also surprised JJ. “Before he became a firefighter, he used to race. At first it was cars, until he saved up his money to buy his own boat. He’s also an amazing surfer! I can’t believe he had a kid. As of now, I’m looking down at the legendary offspring of Jamie Wilson, and she’s all mine.” This made me burst out laughing. “You’re adorable JJ, you know that?” I admired his smiling face. “Of course I do. I get that a lot.” This just made me roll my eyes, before planting my lips on his in a passionate kiss. I wonder if the baby could feel the butterflies fluttering around my stomach.

“Can I tell the pogues? They’ll be stoked.” He asked with his puppy dog eyes. “I suppose.” I smile, when he littered my face in sloppy kisses before running off into the Chateau. “Guys! You’re not going to believe this!” His voice could be heard throughout the whole shack. I giggled, knowing that the pogues are never going to let me hear the end of this.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #347

“lay your head down, child  /  i won’t let the bogeyman come  /  count the bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums”

Have you ever watched a whole hour long infomercial? Ha, Girt and I have one day when he was hanging out. It was about a vacuum, to be precise. Do you tend to cave into peer pressure? No. Do you think it's attractive for a man to wear eyeliner? Yeah. Are you listening to music currently? Yeah, it's this version of Manson's "Lunchbox" that I hadn't heard before. Have you ever done something you once thought you'd be too chicken to do? Yeah, like going on this one ride at a fair. Y'know, the kind that slowly brings you way up and abruptly drops you. What's your relationship to the child you’re around most? They're my nieces and nephew. Have you ever had an illegal substance in your blood stream? No. What is the worst thing that has ever happened to your hair? More than once, back when I had long hair, it would get so knotted from neglect that I'd brush out just... giant clumps of hair. The joys of depression, right? It's honestly part of the reason I cut it all off, and it's something I seriously recommend for people who struggle with brushing their hair. What do you think about cats? I adore them. Who do you want with you when you're afraid? Absolutely my mom. Who might as well just be your sibling? Ha, Sara. We're just so remarkably similar, and even when we first met in person, we clicked like it was nothing. Would you ever consider working for the government? No; I'm not working with corrupt, lying motherfuckers. What is the weirdest thing you have ever witnessed a sibling doing? Well, your sister "sleepwalking" or whatever she was actually doing and grabbing a knife she'd hidden under her mattress to creep towards her then-boyfriend was beyond just "weird." Your first best friend's name? Brianna. How do you act when you're uncomfortable? "Anxious, impatient, and fidgety." <<<< Same. It's very obvious I want to get out of the situation. What bug would you like to be extinct? Do wasps do like... anything for the environment? I don't want to give a definite answer here that ends up being ignorant, because I appreciate bugs that are even just a regular food source for more vital creatures like spiders, but I don't know a damn thing wasps do that are beneficial. They just kill bees, from what I know. Do you know anyone other than a cop who has ever owned a cop car? No. Have you ever felt fire? I mean, I've never directly touched fire, no. What would you do if your first love asked you back out? I REALLY DON'T WANT TO PICTURE THIS. Do you know anyone that is a lesbian? Yeah. What are your thoughts on roleplaying games? I think they're fun. Do you want to have a bachelor/bachelorette party before you get married? So, true story, I don't even know what those entail exactly. But considering how few friends I have, I probably wouldn't. Ever been texted by mistake and played along & acted like you knew them? No. Would you ever get a name tattooed on you? Noooo sir. Do your parents dress like they’re years younger? Does it gross you out? They don't, but it wouldn't gross me out...? They can dress however they damn well please. Obsession from childhood? Dinosaurs and Spyro probably top the list. Favorite activity to do in warm weather? Just swim, really. I hate warm weather. Favorite activity to do in cold weather? If there's snow, take pictures. If it's just cold, then I like to just stay inside and bundle up in bed. Five songs to describe you? I don't know five, but I know a few I resonate with: "Get Up" by Mother Mother, "That's What You Get" by Paramore, uhhh then idk. Best way for someone to bond with you? Hm. Probably just like... talk about life, like our stories and things we've been through, both good and bad. Just being mutually vulnerable makes me feel connected to people. I like bonding via music, too, and I find it pretty exciting to share songs and, once again, go deeper and share what they mean to you, etc. etc. In summary, I just like getting to know a person at their core. What is the first meme you remember seeing? Hell if I know. Lemonade or tea? Lemonade, by a landslide. Sci-fi, fantasy, or superheroes? Fantasy. Favorite type of cheese? American. If you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? I relate very deeply to Henry Townshend from SH4 with saying "what the hell?" about literally everything. If you were an anime character, what genre of anime would it be? I'unno. Character you relate to? Since watching a playthrough of the game the first time, I've related to Max Caulfield from Life is Strange very deeply. An awkward photographer that cares a lot for people. Favorite website from your childhood? Webkinz. Least favorite flavor of food or drink? Grape, usually. Or orange. Favorite potato food? French fries. PC or console gaming? I prefer console games. Writing or drawing? Shit man, why you gotta make me choose? I feel much more satisfaction after drawing something I'm proud of, but I write way more. Who would you put before everyone else? My mom. How many phone numbers do you have memorized? Literally none. Do you get motion sickness? No. Have you ever been on a cruise? No. Have you ever bailed a friend out of jail? No. Have you ever won anything from a radio station? No. What do you do when you go to the beach? Swim for a while and then sit under the tent or whatever we brought and think about how ready I am to go home and get out of the heat. How many pillows are on your bed? Two. Do you like pickles? Yeah. Do you like camping? I've never been *legit* camping; Dad would just sometimes set up the tent in the yard and he and my sisters and I would sleep out there. I LOVED that as a kiddo. I think I'd enjoy like, one night of actual camping, so long as I have my camera and phone. My technology dependence would probably get me by Day #2, lol. Have you ever ridden a motorcycle? No, and I don't plan to. Wrecking in one of those can fuck you the hell up. Even with a helmet, just honestly, it seems... pretty stupid to put yourself at THAT incredible a risk. Have you ever had plastic surgery? No. Were you ever sent to the principal’s office as a kid? I don't think so... but maybe once? I have this super faint memory of being in the office, but maybe I was bringing them something from my teacher? That sounds about right. Have you ever used a slingshot? No. Have you ever driven an electric car? No. Do you live in an area that is prone to tornadoes? They happen here, but I wouldn't say we're "prone" to them. We get tornado watches/warnings a lot when we have summer storms, but it's seldom they actually occur, and it's even rarer for them to be noteworthy at all. What breed was the last dog you saw? One of our neighbors has a German Shepherd she walks a lot. How long have your parents been together (or how long were they together, if they no longer are): I wanna say around or over 20 years? I don't know. What 5 words best describe your mother’s personality? Loving, welcoming, resilient, selfless, and strong. Do you know any transgender people? Yes. Have you ever had a parrot sit on your shoulder? No, but that'd be cool. In the morning, do you eat breakfast first or brush your teeth first? I eat first. What’s something you’ve been struggling with lately? A number of things, but my weight's the real problem right now. All the weight loss progress I once made has almost been entirely erased... and I'm extremely, extremely upset about it. I'd rather move onto the next question than elaborate on this bullshit. Do you carry condoms? No, I don't have a reason to. Would you date someone with braces? Yes. Do you think people look up to you? God no. How often do you have trouble sleeping at night? Pretty much every night. Any vacations planned? No. We've never been able to afford vacations. Who were you last in a car with? My mom. Did you ever watch Sailor Moon? Yeah. My older sister was ooooobsessed. She even had the little toy wand and would dance to the theme when it came on. What do you want for Christmas? Well, it's rather early to think of that, but if I had to pull out an answer right now, it'd probably be either Venus' new terrarium (if I don't already have it) or supplies for it. If by some miracle I've been able to get everything I wanted for it by then, I would seriously love a hognose snake. If you had to get glasses would you wear contacts? I've worn glasses for many years, and I can live with it. I'd prefer contacts so I can get an undereye dermal piercing, but they're just too tedious for me. Best party you’ve ever been to? Maybe a big party my friend Summer had for one of her birthdays many years ago. We played lots of games like darts and stuff while listening to good music and just hanging out. Have you ever been surfing? I have not. Are you thinking about asking anyone out? No. Pink lemonade or regular lemonade? Pink. Chocolate or strawberry milk? Chocolate, for sure. I hate strawberry milk. Are you subscribed to a lot of channels on YouTube? Oh yes. Do you wish you had a better phone? Yeah. I mean, my phone is fine, but I particularly dislike the poor camera quality. Do you find texting fun? I'm officially becoming an old woman in that I don't really like texting anymore, but only because I make way too many typos. I would much rather type via an actual keyboard. Do you have any friends who have had twins? No. Do you have any past mistakes you’ve made that haunt you every day? Yes. Seriously. Are you bothered by something someone said to you years ago? Things especially Bryar and Colleen have said to me are probably going to die with me.

[fanfictrashdump]

Universe in a Jar, 3 - Phase 4 fic

Recap: Some days ago, I reblogged this post about the magical trio. And then my brain went off on a monumental tangent and, I wrote Universe in a Jar.

Characters: Stephen Strange, Loki, Wanda Maximoff, Wong, OC

Rating: T?

Warnings: Language! Nightmares, sass, terrible storytelling, and typos prob.

Summary: Baby-sitting beings arguably more powerful than him goes awry for Doctor Strange. He knows one person who can possibly keep them isolated and out of trouble. Well, he knew someone who could… he hasn’t seen them in decades and for stupid reasons.

Previous Chapter

~*~

While tensions had eased in the household, Stephen maintained a respectable distance from Seph, if only to ensure his continued breathing. During the day, he took to reading in familiar spots, comfortably nestled amongst memories or doing chores that felt comforting in their nostalgia. During the night he tossed and turned in a bed he had once known as well as his own, hoping against all hope that his brain could shut up and allow him to rest, if only for a few hours.

The Hale house had six bedrooms, bigger than his own home with four, despite only ever having two occupants. Wanda and Loki had chosen two rooms at the end of the hallway that overlooked part of the farmland surrounding the houses. Persephone had taken over the grand bedroom on the other side of the hallway. Stephen had debated taking one of the guest rooms on the lower floor, but one step into each of them had his skin crawling in an uncomfortable manner. He wasn't meant for those rooms.

You're family, Stephen. Stop ringing the doorbell, Demeter Hale had once announced, exasperated, one chilly winter morning. And she was right. Stephen practically lived there. Hale manor was quieter than his own home and had a plethora of books on odd topics he had never even heard of–it was a wonderland.

Family, as it were, slept on the top floor. The room Wanda currently occupied was where he would typically drop his clothes in when he stayed over. Though, if he were honest, there was seldom a time he slept over that he made it back into the room for the night. It was a bad habit that spread to high school and beyond, ignoring the propriety of what their parents would explain was not OK for friends to do. But Stephen and Persephone had never been interested in each other that way. Well, at least that they would admit. So, he always stayed in her room.

Tonight was no exception.

Wanda turned in first, as usual, taking solace in the quiet and solitude to mourn her family in silence… or figure out how to get them back. Stephen wasn't exactly sure which one she was on, at the moment. Later, he watched an all-too-flirty Loki amble to his quarters, not before getting a long, drawn-out hug from Persephone (likely more, when he wasn't watching… which he wasn't). Then, she would offer him a shy wave before hiding in the grand bedroom.

After a while, he stopped contemplating the closed door and turned into the bedroom across the hall. It looked… exactly the same way it had when he last stepped foot in it–posters, pictures, school banners, strings of lights littering the canopy. Across the desk chair, an old hoodie, that he could clearly tell used to be his, was discarded. He had raised it to his nose when he first entered the bedroom. It still smelled of him, but there was the faint scent of her perfume permeating the fabric. If he were a sentimental man…

He fell into 'his' side of the bed with a groan. As a way to ease his mind, he had spent some time in the garden, picking tomatoes and berries and tilling a bit of stubborn dirt at the far west corner. His back now burned in protest, but it was a welcome distraction from the monotony. Wong had told him in no uncertain terms that Wanda and Loki needed to settle before they dealt with issues with the Multiverse. It would be a moot point to correct some magic when their owner was simply going to re-do the whole mess the second they could. In all fairness, this was mostly an issue with Wanda. Loki, despite being a stubborn mule and refusing to explain his reasoning, had not done too much damage. It would likely be a while before he slept in his own bed again.

Stephen blinked into the darkness, turning on his side and attempting to sleep in that position. Ten minutes, then thirty, an hour later–no sleep. Amid the cricket chirps and frog songs, a small noise broke the trance-like state of his insomnia. It was ridiculous how quickly he recognized it, and even more pathetic how naturally it brought him to a sit. He glanced at his door, deciding if he was really going to cross the hallway this time. He chickened out the first three times he had heard it, but there was something desperate about the sound tonight. It was bound to be a bad one.

"You've died a thousand times in the hands of the Dormammu. You can go check on Seph, you loser," he berated himself, pushing the bedsheets off and wrenching the door open.

He tiptoed across the hall and gently opened the door. Whatever it was he was expecting to see, it certainly was not this. Persephone was tangled in her sheets, her pajamas of plaid shorts and another old sweatshirt of his rumpled across her body. With every pained, nightmarish pant, a universe exploded around her, encompassing her in iridescent light before fading away. It was like she was locking herself in the same box she had trapped him, killing herself every other breath. Reflected in the glass was every ghost and ghoul that haunted her dreams, sadistic grins flashing down at her weary body.

So this was why she was so exhausted.

Carefully, he clambered to her side, grateful to find that he could easily reach past her barriers. His fingers gripped her shoulder and shook her gently. "Come on. Wake up, Seph." She whimpered again and the glass changed in color. Reflected on its surface was his own face, years younger, nary a single grey on his head. He looked terrifying, even to his own eyes; cold, detached. Stephen shook her more firmly; the barriers flickered.

"Stephen–" Her voice trembled and her whole body quivered. "Please."

His other hand pried hers from the bedsheets and twined them together. "Peep, I'm here." He found himself hunching, speaking the words in a decisive tone in her ear. "It's just a dream, Persephone."

Another shudder ran through her before her hand tightened around his. It took a moment longer before she was able to blink awake, though her eyes were wild and disoriented in the darkness.

His other hand pressed into her back in an effort to soothe her when she shot up with a gasp. "I have you, Peep. You're OK." A second, two, twenty–and she broke into a heart wrenching sob.

Stephen wasn't any good with tears, a fact he gently reminded her of, mid-sob.

Her eyes, still spilling tears, bore into his in disbelief.

"You're absolutely right. I'll shut up now," he hastened to add, awkwardly patting her shoulder.

Seph wiped roughly at her eyes. "Just go, Stephen. I'll see you in the morning." She wrapped herself tight, knees braced against her chest and her line of sight lost elsewhere.

"Peep, don't be like that."

Her brows pulled together and her mouth set into a grim line. "Don't call me that, Steve."

A ghost of a smirk tilted his lips at the annoyance radiating off her. "Why not?"

"I'm not a child."

"I know you're not. You're a grown-up doctor. Well, a psychiatrist, at least." He smiled and nudged her side with his elbow to get a rise out of her.

She didn't take the bait. The ball she had molded herself into tightened.

"I don't practice, anymore."

Stephen's head snapped towards her, instantly. "What?"

"I quit."

He sputtered. "What? Why? And, when? I got your information from the hospital–"

With a groan, she clenched her eyes tightly closed, trying to block out the world as if she wasn't just trapped in a murder box of her own (unconscious) design. "Jesus Christ, you talk a lot. The Blip. I quit after the Blip."

"But, the kids you treat–"

"On a personal capacity," she cut in, hoping the conversation stopped there. Of course, she had known Stephen for far too long to expect that.

"You love your job, Seph. I've seen you pass up box tickets to the damn Philharmonic for a counseling session."

A half shrug left her. "I was alone and I wanted to feel it. So I made this whole mess." Seph gestured at their surroundings with a vague wag of her finger.

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't. Work has always been enough for you. It wasn't the same for me."

He sighed. "Maybe then, but now–"

"It's still the same. You're doing farm chores you never even did when you lived here because you need things to do. You try to shake Loki down every other hour for information on whatever the hell he was doing that prompted you to grab him. Wanda's sick of you. You can't just ever settle down!" There was a sharp edge to her voice that was not lost on him.

Stephen blinked, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, how did this become about me?"

Seph growled under her breath, releasing her limbs and narrowly stopping herself from smacking the living daylights out of him. "Because it is about you and your fucking inability to relate to anyone about anything! Not everything is logical! Wanda lost her family! Loki got bounced around fucking realities! And you're annoyed that you can't get back to the Sanctum until you figure the Wonder Twins out."

"I have other responsibilities–"

"Which Wong is taking care of."

"Wong might think… wait, how do you know Wong?" His head tilted like a distracted dog.

"You might have not reached out to me, but others did. He wanted to know who you were; you had just started training. I told him you were an asshole and that I never wanted to see or hear from you ever again. We exchanged numbers."

He sat in silence for a long while before glancing back up at her. "Why didn't you come to Kamar-Taj?"

"I wasn't invited."

"And the Sanctum?"

"I. Wasn't. Invited."

He chewed at the inside of his cheek, ignoring the weight of her gaze on him. "Come back to the Sanctum with me."

"Nope. I'm fine where I am."

"You're on a farm in rural Nebraska in a town where you are the extent of the diversity."

Persephone sighed, reaching up to brush the overgrown stubble on Stephen's cheeks. "But it's home."

"You're alone, though."

"And you're lonely in a city of five million people."

He pretended to ignore the sting of the comment, opting for some sweet-talking, instead. "You'd like it, though. So many books."

"That is a new bar of low. Don't bribe me, Steve." She scoffed unconvincingly, he caught the slip.

"Like, a loooot of books. In all different languages. Would probably keep you occupied several years."

He knew her too well. She hated it.

"I'll think about it." He smiled a little too brightly. "Just think. No promises." More silence came to keep them company.

He hesitated before wincing. "Does this happen every night? The suffocating and exploding?" She nodded. "You should definitely come. We can figure something out, Wong, you, and me." Another nod. He straightened the fabric of her headwrap and tucked a runaway curl underneath with an easy smile. It was an excuse for contact, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care and she didn't seem to mind. He retrieved his hand with a sigh. "You're tired. You should get some sleep." He braced on his arms to shuffle out. A hand wrapped around his wrist and held him there.

"Don't go. Please."

Stephen smiled and nodded after a moment. He gestured with his head. "Scoot over, Peep."

"Steve."

"Quiet. You'll get us caught," he whispered, and they both giggled like it was the millionth time those words were said. It probably was. They curled up under the covers and drifted off.

~*~

Stephen was now beyond curious about Persephone's magic.

As the early morning broke over the horizon, he found himself up and about the house, doing little chores that felt like muscle memory. When the coffee was brewed, he took a mug and sat on the stairs to sip, watching as last night's roommate woke and barely acknowledged him as she drifted down the steps, pausing only to ruffle his already messy hair. She stopped at the entry hallway, jumping slightly backward at the floating cloak hovering in place. The words had stuck in her throat, and Stephen watched between the banister poles with a smile on his face.

"Ste–shitshitshit." She inched backward as the garment glided over and stopped in front of her. The cloak lifted a bottom corner to gently glide over her left hand, rubbing itself against her skin before settling around her shoulders in a warm embrace. It urged her forward and to a side table that held some keys and a vase of flowers. Beside the vase, a double-fingered ring sat innocuously. The cloak gestured in its direction and then back at her.

The Sorcerer leaned forward to see what she'd do. With shaking fingers, she picked up the ring and turned it in her hands. The cloak, impatient as ever, grabbed the ring and slipped it over her fingers. All at once, the barriers containing the house inside of the apartment glimmered and symbols etched themselves in brilliant orange light across them. Stephen could barely understand half of them, but the ones he could seemed like they were building blueprints and math that would make the inexplicably large fit into the inexplicably small. It was like staring at the source code on a computer and breaking down the software into its components. He broke out of his reverie by the fourth Stephen being called. He jumped down the remainder of the steps and turned the corner.

Persephone was staring, half fascinated, half horrified at the markings, and was drawing the cloak tight around her shoulders–the cloak was loving it. He stopped beside her and she reached out for his wrist, clasping it as tightly as she did the night before. "Ho–how does it know my magic?"

"You can read this?"

"Yeah, it's in plain… you can't?" Stephen shook his head. "How's it doing this?"

"Not 'it'. You. This is you. The ring's just a conduit. The cloak's just a nuisance." There was a whisper of a huff from the fabric and Seph pulled it tighter, smoothing her hands down the red contours. A rustle like a shiver followed. "Don't get comfortable. This isn't permanent."

"I wasn't assuming…"

"I was telling them." He glared at the cloak. "She's not your new pet. Settle down." His eyes lifted to hers. "They get familiar. Sorry."

"It's OK. They're sweet. After you get over the fact that it's a garment with a mind of its own."

"Are we under attack?" Wanda startled the both of them. They turned to see the witch still in her pajamas, hair mussed up and hands glowing. "Why are we warding?"

"Not warding. Seph put on my sling ring and this happened. It's her magic."

"Oh. She has Chaos magic wards in her repertoire." Wanda pointed at several spots and they lit up red with her magic before fading back to orange.

"I don't know what that means," Seph spoke up meekly, barely breaking through the intense debate the other two were now having, trying to identify the remainder of runes.

Stephen traced a rune with his finger. "Anything dangerous?"

"No. Just protection runes. Over and over and over. Every type under the Chaotic sun. Loki might know about the others, though."

"I still don't know what that means."

"It means you are all sorts of impressive, Peep. I'll pop in on Wong and grab a few books." He offered his open palm for the ring, which she happily gave. However, when the ring came off, the symbols didn't fade. Instead, they crackled like embers and seared themselves into the invisible veil surrounding the space. Stephen frowned. "Maybe I'll take you with me." He turned to Wanda. "Can you and Prince Emo behave while we're gone or do I have to drag you along, too?"

Persephone elbowed him in the ribs. "Stephen–"

"Right. Relating." He drew a breath and his shoulders slumped. He tried again. "Could you and Loki stay put while Seph and I go to the Sanctum? I need to show Wong. It's important."

Wanda and Seph exchanged a lengthy conversation in facial expressions alone before the witch smiled. "We'll be fine. I was just going to sit and read on the porch. Loki won't be awake for a couple of hours."

"OK. Good. Thanks." He stood silently ruminating in his head before abruptly snapping out of it and shaking the cobwebs from his mind. "You ready to go?"

"I'm in my pj's, Steve." He blinked blankly at her and she rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Sure. Can I put on shoes, at least?"

He was already opening a portal by the time she finished asking her question. "No need." With little hesitation, he reached for her hand and stepped through the portal with her in tow.

Persephone barely managed to contain the gasp of wonder at the surroundings. Books, artifacts, paintings–it looked like a museum and it was all functional and there for the students. Stephen had been in a hurry a second before, but just watching her undistilled awe made him pause. His thumb brushed the back of the hand he had twined with his; a familiar gesture that barely pulled her attention. Her free hand reached for a tome lodged between jars of off-looking coins. It rippled in a kaleidoscope of colors upon contact.

"Miss Hale?"

Seph glanced over her shoulder to smile at Wong. His brows were pulled together as if he was trying to work out a particularly hard problem in his head. The problem, most likely, was, how are you not murdering him right now? You seemed pretty adamant about it when I last talked to you.

"Master Wong. How are you?"

Wong smiled kindly. "I'm doing well, Persephone." He seemed to sense the withering heat of Stephen's gaze and reluctantly turned to face the Sorcerer Supreme. "I didn't tell you because I doubted you wanted to hear how she hated your guts. In excruciating detail. And after what you did to her, you forfeited the right to know a thing about her. So save me the glaring."

Stephen pointed at himself. "Sorcerer Supreme."

"And an asshole. They're not mutually exclusive." He glanced at Seph. "You didn't even let her get out of her pajamas."

"She has the cloak!"

"Were you raised by wolves or what?"

"Doesn't matter right now. I have to show you something," Stephen declared in exasperation, tugging the sling ring off and handing it off to Seph.

She held the metal tentatively between her fingers before the weight of expecting stares forced her to slip it on. The magic rippled slower than it had in her house as if it were more hesitant to show itself, but soon there wasn't an inch of wall, bookshelf, or display case that wasn't burning bright orange and twinkling in the dimly lit Sanctum.

"How did you teach her that?" Wong had his eyebrows gathered up high, taking in every marking around him with awe.

"I didn't. I thought it only showed her magic but… it's everyones. It's like she can open them up, like a book. Peep, can you read these, too?" Her eyes danced over several objects before lighting on a sword mounted on the wall.

She pointed at it with a grin. "That one was supposed to be a joke but the spell actually worked." Seph tilted her head as she continued searching. "Actually, a lot of them were jokes that actually work. What are you supposed to do with enchanted dice?"

Wong opened his mouth to comment, but Stephen held a finger up to buy himself some extra time. He opened his palm and Seph dropped the sling ring in it. The symbols still didn't fade.

Wong looked, surprisingly, unimpressed.

"Can I talk now?" Seph giggled under her breath and Stephen gestured him along. "She's a psychiatrist. Why are you surprised she can access the root of magics? She probably became one because she could read things so well, naturally."

"Without training?"

For a second Wong looked like he was deciding whether or not Stephen was stupid. "Hence, why I said naturally."

"And the portals?"

"If you understand how the fabric of the Universe works, you can weave it to your will. We do that all the time. You're just astounded that she can do it naturally because it took you forever to understand. Is this really why you dragged her out of her home in pj's?"

"The symbols don't fade without the sling ring."

At this point, Wong was convinced Strange was stupid. "She's never needed the ring. The ring is a conduit, she can do magic on her own. If you distract her a–BOO!"

Persephone shrieked, jumping back as Wong jumped towards her. Sure enough, the symbols fizzled into the ether, though two, in a rainbow of colors, glimmered on the floor before her and an ominous ripple of red fabric fluttered around her.

"I see the Cloak of Levitation has found a new friend. They're even protecting her."

"They like most people more than me."

Seph rolled her eyes. "Why does that not surprise me?" She absently stroked over the fabric covering her arms.

Stephen ignored the jab. "What books would you recommend she start with to learn how to control her abilities?"

Wong was quiet for a long while. "There's a few about the magics of quantum mechanics, but if she's been able to do this her whole life, I doubt she needs them. Why would she need training? Barring an incident–" The two friends glanced shortly at each other out of the corner of the other's eye. "You two had an incident. What did he do?"

Rustling her curls, she scuffed her toe on the concrete floor, eyes downcast. "He was being dumb. I tried to kill him. Well, I blacked out and the power took over. Loki had to break him out of a killing jar."

"Quantum magics, then… and maybe some yoga." He gestured at her with his head. "Come on. I'll show you the library."

Her eyes widened with almost innocent excitement. "This isn't the library?"

With a doe-eyed stare, she followed Wong; Stephen close behind, pretending not to grin. The second Wong opened the doors, Persephone let out a long, disbelieving gasp. She trembled as she walked and the cloak had taken to wrapping itself tightly around her to keep her calm.

Wong smirked. It wasn't often that he received anyone who was this honestly happy to see a room full of books and not think about the bothers of having homework. He began to pull tomes from the shelves, stacking and weighing his options between similar texts. When his pile was nine books deep, he settled them on a table. "This should get you started. When you're done, you can come back and I'll lend you some more. On any topic you like."

"I never got to choose which books I read," Strange defended.

"Because you were annoying and she's not." Seph snickered in her spot, fingers toying with the spines of the stack. "Truly, come back when you're ready, and you're not actively trying to kill the Sorcerer Supreme."

"Tell him not to annoy me and I won't," she defended, though she smiled. "Thank you, Wong." She eagerly hefted the pile and gestured at Stephen. "Hurry up. I have things to read."

"Why don't you just make a portal?"

"Because it's rude to make them in other people's homes without permission," she started pointedly, "and I'm carrying books. Now, please." She smiled brightly at Wong and nodded. Stephen rolled his eyes petulantly. "See you soon, Master Wong." She stepped in the direction where Stephen had made a portal opening straight into her kitchen.

"See you soon, Persephone."

[readerstories]

Violin Meetings - Oswald Cobblepot x gender netural!reader - part 9/13

Slowly crossposting my fics from AO3 to here too. If you see any typos, please tell me. (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8)

Warnings: none

Wordcount: 565

Summary: I feel like in fanfics the reader have a tendency to want the bad guy to be good. I rather want someone that might not embrace the darkness fully, but at least doesn’t mind.This starts after the first season, the other seasons don’t apply to this work.

When you play for Oswald, normally he does one of two things. Either he listens while working or he sits with his eyes closed, just enjoying the music.

This time however, he does neither. Instead he's mumbling to himself, chewing on one finger and seemingly ignoring your music. You pretend that it doesn't makes your heart hurt a little and keep playing.

Is he getting bored of you? Is he going to kick you out? Are you going to have to leave? Oswald asks a question then. You have to ask him to repeat himself, not being able to hear him above the music and your own thoughts. You stop playing when he asks again.

"What brought you to Gotham?" You look confused. Is he interested in your past? He's not looking at you, instead staring out into thin air.

"I uhh... I came here because I had nowhere else to go." Oswald looks at you, saying nothing, so you continue.

"I came from a pretty well off family. We where far from the richest people, but we were doing more than okay. And then they died, hit by a drunk driver on their way home from a date night. Found out they had a lot of gambling debt to some shady people that I didn't know of before. Had to sell pretty much everything to pay them back. All I got was my violin and some clothes left. Didn't have any family to go to, so lived on the streets in my hometown before I lost my job. Then I came here because people said it was possible to make it. The rest you know." 

Oswald still says nothing, so you start feeling a bit embarrassed. He didn't ask for your whole god damn backstory.

"I'm sorry, you didn't ask for-" Oswald waives his hand, cutting you off.

"No, don't apologise, I did ask. Would you said you have made it?" You are confused for a heartbeat, before remembering what you said.

"Yeah, I got a roof over my head, and play my violin for a living, so I would say I'm doing alright."

"And it doesn't bother you that you are working for a criminal?" You tilt your head.

"I do not know what you do Mr. Cobblepot, neither do I care. You have been nothing but kind to me, so that is what matters to me." Oswald looks at you for a good while with an unreadable face. He then rubs his temples, sighing loudly.

"Are you alright Mr. Cobblepot?"

"I am just fine. You are dismissed for the day, feel free to do whatever you want today." You nod, wanting to help, maybe even give him a head massage, but you hold back an say nothing.

"Okay Mr. Cobblepot. You have good rest of your day." You give a small bow, and walk out, being careful to shut the door quietly behind you. Oswald sits and stares after you for longer than he would like to admit before he rubs his temples again. 

He doesn't know why he even asked you anything, or why you where on his mind enough that he had even thought about it. 

You were just another employee, someone he hired to play music for him and nothing else. If he ignores the flutter of his heart every time he sees you it will surely go away.

[shewolfofficial]

First of all, *inhales* I LOVE YOUR BLOG AND YOU SO MUCH ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️!!!! And also, can you write a scenario where Hanji, Y/n and the Yaegerists find Levi? Then, when Floche says to shoot Levi, Y/n goes god-mode on him? (What happens next is your choice :3 ). Love ya 💕!

*Inhales as well* ThANK YOu SO MuCH YOuR sO SWEeT AND KInD!! 😘😘😁😁😁

It’s 1:05am when I finished the this, pls excuse any mistakes or typos since I am currently half asleep

Warning: Cursing, Mentions Of Blood, Violence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rain pouring from the dark sky above I kept my hood up as I rode alongside Hanji, Floche and a few others surrounding us as we rode over a bridge by a river. There had been a lightning strike that went off in the distance and now we were going to check it out to see what was going on.

Finally arriving at the scene there seemed to be a titan laying on its stomach with steam emitting from it, was it dead? Was it alive? What was it even doing?

“What the fuck has happened?” I mumble slowly hopping off my horse as Hanji takes a step closer to the titan. “Commander Hanji! F/N please don’t move around on your own!” someone calls out from behind me, not bothering to turn around and see who the fuck was yapping I trail my gaze along the grass. As I hear Hanji mumble something about the cart being blown away.

Sight landing on something, well, someone right by the river I feel the blood drain from my face. “Somebodies there!” I say out loud running to whoever it was, falling to my knees I attempt to haul the person out. Hanji arrives next to me and takes over, successfully pulling out the unknown person from the sideline of the river. Turning them over to get a full view of who it was.

Oh, how I wished I didn’t have to ever see this..

“Levi?”

“Oh no.. Oh nononono! Levi no!”

“I have no idea what happened.. But we’re lucky, our number one threat is here bloodied up..” Floche says appearing behind us as I choke on the sobs looking at the bloodied and scratched up face of my lover. Hanji had a plain expression as she held him up. “He’s dead. He got caught in the explosion of a thunder spear at point blank range, I’ve seen similar accidents during training but beyond external wounds, internal organs would be ripped to shreds and death would be instant” she explains looking back to the male as he held his gun with a cold expression.

“I can also take his pulse, so let me have a look” Floche ignores her seeming to try and check for himself, though, I knew what Hanji was up to since she shot me a little wink and a slight smirk. Averting my gaze to Floche I shot him a glare “why don’t you believe her! He’s- He’s dead!” I cry out attempting to convince him as he only sighs. “F/N don’t start crying, we get that you love the guy but don’t start crying over him” he grumbles as I start to feel my patience lessen.

hoW DARE HE!?

“He might not be dead, I might as well shoot him in the head”

Snap!

The sound of something snapping inside of me sent an unhuman like adrenaline through me as I sprung up and swiftly grabbed Floche’s gun from him, yelling at Hanji to escape, which she hurriedly did since a splash was heard a few seconds later I begin to dodge and swerve the multiple bullets fired at me from those Yeager bastards as I knock out Floche with the butt of the gun, tossing the weapon to the side all I could feel was rage and adrenaline soaring through my veins.

Jumping at another I slam him onto the ground and take hold of his head and twist it to the definite angle to snap his neck. A loud crack echoed through the air as curses and shouts were thrown about as I dodged every bullet that came at me, springing towards another shithead I kick him in the balls, taking his gun I shot him in the head and continued with the others, skidding across the fortunately wet ground I slide out another guy’s feet from under him and kick him into the river sending him into a frenzy as he thrashed about in the water. Standing up I aim the gun at the man and shoot immediately seeing him go limp. Ducking under another’s attempt to strangle me he falls forward as I easily shot him in the chest.

Turning around there was only two remaining and they both had their barrels cocked towards me.

“F/N p-put down the weapon!”

“Say please~!”

“N-No!”

“Tsk wrong answer you prick” I grumble sidestepping a bullet that skimmed my head watching as the pair’s faces turned into ones full of horror. Striding towards them I kick one in the balls and shoot the other in the face completely destroying it.

Shoving the last one to the ground I press the barrel of the gun to his forehead as he begins to plead, rolling my eyes I pull the trigger as blood splatters everywhere.

Turning to the side where an unconscious Floche lay I shot the guy a glare as I walked towards him singing a little tune quietly. Arriving at the male’s side I look down at him with an irritated expression before I loosely aim the weapon to his legs. Firing both shots at his knees the bullets completely shatter his kneecaps.

“Meh.. Whatever... They asked for it.. Never knew I could take out a whole squad of men..” I say strutting past the titan corpse ignoring the fact that it could be alive.

// Time Skip \

It’s been a few days since I set off at the side of the river, the weather was nice yet my clothes were shit and I really wanted to get a nice warm bath. I could see a little building up ahead at the opposite side of the river, thankfully the flow has calmed and it would be easy to get through. But there was a little bridge up ahead so I might as well stay dry while I’m at it.

Crossing the stone bridge I stroll towards the farm, it looked nice and friendly but god knows who could own it really. Stepping up onto the porch I recognise a fairly familiar face..

Historia.

Oh yeah, I forgot she was pregnant.

“F/N? What are you doing here? Are you alright?” the blonde asks standing up as I smile a little and take her into a gentle hug despite the situation with my clothes. “Yeah I’m fine, have you seen... Hanji or Levi near here by any chance? Oh! Can I stay here for a bit to wash up? I’ve just after taking out the trash a few days ago and I really need a wash” I ask as she laughs inwardly and nods motioning for me to follow her. “Of course F/N, and yes I’ve seen Hanji and Captain Levi, they’re both here while Levi recovers” she explains as we step inside.

Hanji peeps around the corner from some other room and she lights up seeing me. “F/N where have you been!? How did you find this place? Are you alright?” the woman asks scurrying over to me as I roll my eyes at her playfully “yeah I’m alright Hanji, more importantly, where is Levi? Is he alright? Is he alive?” I ask as he sighs lightly immediately causing me to panic. Stepping in after seeing me begin to panic Historia places a hand on my shoulder “he’s fine, he’s alive but with some scars and marks, I’m sure he’s awake up there now since he was down here for breakfast earlier” she spoke softly as I release a breath I never knew I was holding in.

“Alright... Thank the fuck..” I smile lightly as Hanji disappears off somewhere into the house, Historia was leading me to the bathroom where I could get a shower and wash up while she got me some spare clothes. Following the blonde up the stairs, we reach the second floor to her home where we walked in a comfortable silence, abruptly stopping outside a random white door that was creaked open ever so slightly she leant up towards my ear and cupped it.

“He’s in there..”

Nodding I smiled at the woman before we continued on, eventually arriving at the bathroom Historia leaves to get me some clothes and tell Levi I had arrived.

// Time Skip \

Drying off and getting into the change of clothes that fit perfectly I threw my dirty outfit into the laundry basket and sauntered out of the bathroom. Attempting to count the doors and which one Levi was resting behind I eventually begun to do eenie-meenie-miney-moh with each one. Childish. Yes, but it did help sometimes.

Sometimes.

Carefully opening a random door I let my gaze wander to a certain raven haired male that sat up in bed holding a book. Flicking his head up towards the door Levi’s face lit up from seeing me as he tossed the book to his side, as I hurried on in and took him in a hug.

“You’re alright! Oh my lord, you gave me the fright of my life mister!” I say as Levi dives his face into the crook of my neck. “I know, I know..” he mumbles. Pulling away that’s when I saw the scars on his face, he has even gone blind in his right eye by the looks of it as well as I paled.

I’m definitely gonna kill whoever did this.

“Who did this to you? Levi I’m going to fucking strangle them” I hiss as Levi scowls “I knew you wouldn’t like them..” he mumbles as my face scrunches up in confusion. “Wait what? What do you mean? I never said I didn’t like them” I was quick to defend myself as Levi sighs and sits back averting his orbs elsewhere in the room.

“I only want to hurt who done this to you… I never said anything about you, in fact, I think these make you hotter” I couldn’t help the tingling blush creep up to my cheeks as Levi examines me to see if I was lying in any way.

I wasn’t.

Rolling his eyes he clicks his tongue and pulls me into his chest, careful not to hurt himself as I wrap my arms around them. “So it’s all looks for you?” he begins as I scoff “damn I never thought you’d see me as that type of girl, should I be offended?” I retort as he pulls me closer. “No, I was only fucking with you” Levi hums as I snuggle into his chest to listen to his heartbeat.

“I missed you F/N..”

“I missed you too Levi..”

[tarithenurse]

Resist temptation

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Words: 4959

Warings: Lemon (quite detailed), citrus undertones, maybe a bit of swearing.

A/N: I thought this was going to be a quick 2k smut-celebration, but I can’t write anything without a longish set-up. This hasn’t been proofread yet, because I needed to get it out and done with or I’d keep staying busy with that rather than my assignment on medication and everything related to that. So yeah: please for give typos etc.

Baby sitting. That’s what it is. Damnit, you are a first-class agent and you had expected more when you got assigned to work the Avengers…even if you’ll rarely be on the same missions as them. But no, your task is to keep an eye on Loki when they can’t and somehow that’s going to be almost all the time.

Tossing your clothes less than neatly into the closet, you’re too pissed off to appreciate the serious upgrade in terms of your living conditions. They’ve dragged you all the way over from London for this and the home you had there. Sure, the apartment had been tiny and rundown whereas here the bathroom alone is the size of the old place completely…and what a bathroom. Stepping onto the marble floor on your bare feet, you feel the warmth from the floor-heating creep into your toes. Maybe it’s not all bad.

“FRIDAY…start my playlist.” It’s odd speaking to the empty air, but it works.

…

All unpacked, you’ve started to correct the self-created mess in the closet while singing and dancing along to your favourite tunes and not giving a damn about anyone else. Your new work isn’t starting until next morning. Your hips have found a life of their own, accentuating the beats by drawing horizontal figures of eight in the air while your arms work with hanging dresses and shirts on hangers.

You’ve just smoothed out the worst wrinkles of a black little number when you turn around right into the chest of someone. A cold hand grabs your fist before it’s brought into contact with the jaw of the intruder, another blocks the knee that was going for his groin.

“My my…easily scared?” A well-known smile is beaming impishly down at you

Yanking your hand free, you step back to take in the Asgardian as he stands before you. “Loki…” Your heart is hammering in you throat, but you don’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing he scared you. “What makes you think, you can just come in here?”

“You didn’t answer, still I wished to see who I’ll be inconvenienced by.” Green-blue eyes are sparkling with mischief and ill-disguised curiosity as he takes in the sight of your curves that are badly hidden in tight jeans and a tank-top.

Shoving him slightly, you usher him towards the door. “Well, don’t pull this sort of crap and you can avoid being inconvenienced.”

He’s not even halfway to the door when he stops dead. “As simple as it may seem, I’m not in the mood to leave just yet…” one steps brings him flush against you and you can feel the muscles of his slender body as he pulls you close with an arm around your waist, “we’ll be in each other’s company often, so I want to get to know you better.”

Cool, soft lips graze your jaw and you can hear him inhale the scent of your hair, the skin of your neck. He’d be an attentive lover. It’s not a thought you want rummaging around in your head, and you hate how it already is sending warm shivers to your core. This man, this god, is made for mischief and sex and he knows it. Use the opponents strength against them. His free hand is travelling teasingly down you spine.

Your voice turns into honey, a soft purr adding to the sensuality as you angle your hips towards the tall man. “I take it you always get want you want?”

“Mhmm.” He doesn’t object as you tangle your fingers in his hair, but rather reciprocates by palming your ass greedily.

The second his lips touches the tender spot under your ear, your fingers lock in the black mess and pull his head away. “Get used to disappointments…god.” The harsh, mocking whisper might be what’s really surprising him, even if there probably haven’t been many who have pulled him by the silken locks with those intensions. “Get…out…”

This time he complies, and you manage to keep the strong appearance until you have slammed the door in his face. Then you collapse with your back against it, trying to get your body to let go of the conflicting needs.

…   Weeks pass   …

If you had hoped Loki would have learned his lesson, then you’d be the one to be disappointed, if anything, he seems to have taken it as a personal challenge to win you over.

The first week you’d see him shadowing you when you went about your day. At breakfast, he’d be watching your eat, learning how you wanted your coffee and what sort of cereals and yoghurt you had, and afterwards he’d try to be present during your workout…thankfully Thor or some other Avenger would keep him occupied with different other things somewhere else and the next time you’d find him would be at lunch, when you were clean and ready to cover for the real heroes as they indulged in their own Loki-free plans. Whatever you did in the afternoon, no matter where you went, the pale Asgardian would be nearby. Sometimes he had the dignity to pretend to read a book or write, whatever he had that could be important enough to put on paper, but all too often, he’d just sit and stare at you.

Not even at the academy had you been under such scrutiny. You tried to ignore it, sometimes even succeeding because he’d rarely talk to you and you had no need to indulge his interest save for when it was strictly necessary as a part of your job. Still, you couldn’t help but feel overly self-aware of the smallest thing you did. His turquoise eyes would bore into you, searing through your clothes to learn every single detail, making you feel naked and exposed. You should hate it and you almost did. Almost. Because his leer was not like that of any other brainless playboy. Loki was studying, analyzing, and you could see his intellect at work in the glint of his eyes and the near invisible smiles that would make the corner of his mouth curl.

During the second week the odd flower would be waiting for you at your door or your breakfast would be ready for you if you’d gotten out of bed a bit later. You knew it was Loki, but you could never get him to admit it.

…   Weeks pass   …

“Not bad.” Natasha’s smiling genuinely at your efforts even if she’s just floored you. “I can see why SHIELD’s so proud of you.”

The two of you have taken to spar together on the mornings where there’s time for it. If she’s not available, then sometimes Sam or maybe even Steve is up for adding to the challenge, and it’s with some pride that you can say that you beat the famous Falcon every time.

Pulling you to your feet, the world-famous assassin pats your back. “I don’t feel so bad about leaving you alone with the snake for a few days now.”

“What?” Leaving? “Just you or…?” You fight to keep your voice even. Afterall, you’re not afraid, just surprised.

“Yeah, got a lead and we might need all hands on deck,” the grey eyes are gaging your reaction calmly, “so you’ll be alone with Loki for a bit…is that a problem?”

You still haven’t learned to read the woman, but either way, you wouldn’t want to admit the uncomfortable situation between you and the slender Asgardian. “Nope, just hadn’t heard anything about it before now. It’s cool.”

…

The very same evening, while you’re preparing a simple dinner for yourself in the kitchen, you’re joined by Loki. Of course, even so-called gods eat, and you just nod at him to acknowledge his presence as he begins to rummage around. More than once, he brushes against you even if it doesn’t seem to be strictly necessary. If he does it again…and as if he knows what you had been thinking, nothing more happens.

Sitting down to eat, you watch his hands work with a delicateness that makes your mind wonder what else those longer fingers would be good for. Just they way he handles the knife while cutting the vegetables for a salad is close to being art. Get a grip! Your own sandwich isn’t bad and together with the report you have to make for the past week, you actually manage to distract yourself from the man for a while.

“You look tense, my pet.” Slender fingers are already curling around your shoulders, making his words come true. “Allow me to ease your discomfort.”

A shoulder rub can’t hurt. Sitting straighter, you allow him to find the sore knots between your shoulder blades. “So, this is plan B?” Oh, right there. “When flowers and breakfast doesn’t work…” you stifle a sigh, “you up the game?”

“Oh, but what a game, darling,” the purr makes the air and your resolution tremble, “and it’s one I intend to win.”

His hands are beginning to travel over your shoulders, the fingers already pushing at the bra straps underneath the shirt. Maybe it wouldn’t be a loss for me if I lost. Except you’d risk your job, the respect of other people and your own dignity.

Lifting his hands away, you stand up (only shoving the chair a bit harder into him than strictly necessary). “I’ve warned you…you’ll just end up disappointed.”

The finish the meal in your room that evening.

…

His slender frame is much more impressive undressed that you had expected, and you savour the rippling ropes as they work under his pale skin to hold his body in place above you, to move his hips rhythmically, grinding against your inner thighs to fill you up. Your fingers are digging frantically into his back and shoulders and ass to pull him closer. Sometimes his head dips down to place kisses and gentle bites on your neck, your breasts. Each time making you moan.

The sharp trill of you phone brings you into the reality that is your darkened bedroom. There’s no one there with you, and you are not naked (although booty shorts and a top doesn’t make a big difference). Shifting to reach the mobile phone, you feel a needy throbbing in your core and there’s no doubt that your panties are soaked with the lust from the dream.

…

“Are you alright, dear?” The smug smile on Loki’s face makes you worry that your dream wasn’t as silent as you had hoped. “You are giving that punching bag a severe beating.”

It’s true. If it had been a living being then they’d have tapped out long ago, and you can barely feel your arms or legs due to exhaustion…and still your body is screaming with an unsated need.

“I’m…fine!” The words come out between shar intakes of breath. “Just…needing to…improve.” Sweat is not only glistening on you, it’s running in thin streams and you’re sure you smell bad enough to scare even the most stubborn god away.

You’re wrong. “Allow me to help.”

A green shimmer travels across his body, and suddenly he’s wearing the type of training gear the other guys use. The sweatpants and t-shirt looks strangely foreign on him, but you can’t help but appreciate his wiry muscles and surprising broad chest, and to top it all off his jawline and cheekbones as he pulls the hair together in a sort of ponytail is beyond sublime.

Smiling broadly, he beckons you to the large padded area that’s used for sparring. “I realize you’ve been training hard already, thus I will go easy on you this time.”

There’s no need to answer him. Nothing you can say will change his mind that this is an opportunity to get close to you. I should walk away. Still…just one proper hit would make it worth the torment he’s putting you through.

Standing quietly, you allow him to circle you, so you can get a feel for the way he moves. Light steps, graceful enough to be a dance, and a stance that oozes of confidence. If he ever has lost a fight, it’s not often. The first strike is probing, and you dodge it easily. The second time, he faints towards you chest, only to go for you knees instead, and now you have to keep moving too. I have to finish this in one blow. Next time he lunges at you, you grab the nearest arm as you drop and roll in front of his feet, efficiently tripping him up so he lands flat on his stomach. In a heartbeat you’ve got his wrist pinned between his own shoulder blades and you’re sitting on his lower back.

“Why thank you, Loki,” triumph fills your chest as you lower yourself to hiss into his year, “it was easier to beat you than expected.”

You push off and turn your back to grab your little towel and water bottle, then you leave the room without bothering to look back.

…   Days pass   …

Abandoning your own bed, you’ve settled down on the sofa under the blanket in the hopes of finding something interesting on TV. It’s not the first time that you’ve lied awake, wondering what the point of this assignment really is, and it won’t be the last. This time the insomnia is made worse by a message from Natasha and the team that the mission will take longer than expected.

Loki is being a pain in the ass. Each day he’s challenging you to spar, and if not, then you can be 100% certain that there will be flowers or beautifully, handwritten poems waiting for you by your door, or he’ll cook dinner or breakfast and make a fuss out of getting you the right wine for it. The Asgardian is even trying to engage in conversation, carefully picking subject that he thinks you like…and damnit if it doesn’t work. Talking with him, you’re discovering that he’s even smarter than you expected, but not just book smart. Sure, he’s well read, but it’s more than just that, and he even has a pretty decent sense of humour once you’ve gotten used to the sarcasm. In fact, being around him isn’t really a drag, although you act like it is because you don’t want him to win.

Picking your way through the channels, there’s nothing worth spending your attention on. Instead you turn the TV off and turn onto your back staring at the filtered light from outside that’s making patterns on the ceiling.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there when you hear the sound of soft footsteps. Loki passes by the sofa without noticing that he’s not alone in the room and crosses over to the large bookcase. For a few second you can see his sharp contours in a flickering green light and you realize that he’s only wearing a pair of sweatpants, but the light is gone as sudden as it appeared, and it’s only the sound that helps you deduce that he’s pulled a book from a shelf. The god pads over to the deep windowsill where he often sits and reads. True to habit, he curls up and conjures a green orb that only just shines enough to illuminate his face and the pages of the book. His normally bright eyes are almost completely hidden in the shadows under the dark brows, and his bare chest and arms, which are even better shaped than you wanted to admit, are moving gently with his breaths.

As the minutes drag by, turning into a quarter of an hour and then half an hour, it becomes evident that the man isn’t paying attention to the information on the pages before him. More often than not, his gaze is drawn to the world outside the window and one deep sigh takes the other.

“Damnit!” You manage to stay completely silent when he snaps the book shut, finally giving up on reading. “By Odin’s beard…what am I to do? Nothing works?”

Does he know I’m here? Nothing so far has made you think he realises that he’s not alone, and your suspicion is confirmed as he start to pace the room and mumble to himself. It’s nearly impossible to make out what he says, and you have to fill a lot of gaps before you realize that he’s troubled demeanour is caused by your unrelenting refusal to give in to him. Loki is giving up hope. Then why aren’t I happy? You’re winning, you’ve resisted temptation and managed to defeat him by proving that he can’t just have anything he want. Watching him wander the room, it’s all you can do to stay quiet until he goes back to bed.

…

Everything (including a bouquet of yellow acacia, blue anemones, and white peonies) is ready for your breakfast when you get to the kitchen, and Loki is leaning against the counter, nursing a cup of tea. As you sit, you decide to wait for the Asgardian to talk.

“Miss [Y/N],” he begins hesitantly by the time you’ve had the first spoonful of cereals, “there’s something I ought to confess.”

You place the spoon in the bowl, then flush your mouth with some of the perfectly brewed coffee. “Oh?”

“It seems I underestimated your…your virtue and strength of character.” Loki bows elegantly, making it impossible to read his face, before rushing out of the kitchen.

You should be relieved. Happy. You wanted to prove that you’re not the kind of person to just give in and that’s exactly what you done…as promised to him. So why am I feeling so crappy? Saying “no” to any suiter is a right, and it doesn’t require an explanation or even the slightest inkling of guilt…but then again, this doesn’t feel like guilt per se. Shaking your head, you decide that you just need to shift your focus and then you’ll be fine soon. As soon as you finish your breakfast, you throw yourself headfirst into the many tasks awaiting.

…   A few days pass   …

Accepting the assignment, you knew it wouldn’t be easy to be around the Trickster, God of Mischief and Chaos. You had dreaded the hours you’d spend defusing sensitive situations and cleaning up his messes. Now there is nothing. Like rarely leaves his room and when he does, he’s quiet and perfectly well-behaved the few times he can’t easily avoid being in the same place as you. When he can get away, it feels like ripping off a band-aid and being overly aware of the sudden lack of it. More often than not, you awake with fresh dreams of Loki in your mind.

This is one of those night. Tossing and turning in your sleep to the imagined sensation of his hands exploring every inch of skin, his long and strong body pressed against yours, and the cool kisses peppering you with kisses and soft love bites, until suddenly you gasp awake full of need and sexual frustration. Every thought keeps churning in your brain making it impossible to keep track of where one ends and the next one begins, the kind of mental unrest that you’d either train away or gossip away if you’d had any of your good friends around. If you’d been home, you’d have gotten out the drinks and maybe ice cream and talked through the night or as long as it took to straighten out the messy mind. But you’re on your own and you won’t begin drinking alone. The ice cream, however…that should be doable.

Padding down the dark hall and through the deserted lounge, you reach the kitchen. The faint shimmer of light from the world outside illuminates enough of the room to make it possible to navigate to the freezer where the icy air blasts you from head to toes, making the small hairs stand on end and you nipples pucker in protest. Damn it. There’s only one tiny tub left, limiting the choices to vanilla or nothing at all. Putting it aside on the counter you get out a spoon and rummage around for anything that can work as sauce on the frozen treat, but nothing catches the interest.

You’ve eaten a third, leaning against the counter with your hip while you look out into the night, when you hear a sound. Turning with the spoon halfway to you mouth, you see Loki in the doorway, wearing nothing but the loose pair of sweatpants and the long, black hair. It’s hard to read his face in the darkness, but you could’ve sworn for a second that it was wide-eyed and slightly slack-jawed. A second, because a sudden touch of intense cold lands on your chest, startling you enough to become bewildered until you realize it’s dripping ice cream from the spoon. Any sensible person would have put the spoon back in the mini-tub and found something to wipe the stray food away with…not you. All you can think of all of a sudden is how little clothes you are wearing and that Loki’s watching the creamy droplet as it begins to follow the curve of your breast. It requires a real effort to get your limbs to do what your logic commands, delaying your actions enough that by the time you reach for a paper towel, Loki has thought of the same solution to the problem and you bump into him. He’s cool to the touch, not unlike the ice cream, heightening the sensation of the contact.

Instinctually, you stop. “Oh, I…errr…sorry.” You could’ve kicked yourself for getting so flustered.

He avoids looking directly at you, instead grabbing the piece of paper towel and trying to hand it over, but in your momentary ineptitude you never got so far as to put down the spoon and ice cream, so your hands are full, increasing the burning embarrassment. There you stand, face to face with the one person you promised never to give in to, with your heart racing and your mind filling with images that tempt you to abandon the last strength of will.

“Allow me.” Loki’s voice vibrates with reignited desire even if he tries to hide it.

Bad idea. You nod silently, mesmerized by the gentleness as he wipes the runny streak of dessert away. Beneath the spill your heart is hammering rapidly, as if you’ve been running. Only the absorbent paper touches the skin, not his fingers, but they might as well have, and the simple gesture sends warm sparks through your body before pooling in your core. Finishing the task, Loki looks up from your cleavage and locks his gaze with yours. He knows. A faint smirk ghosts his lips when he steps closer, his left hand cradling your jaw tenderly and triggering a reflex in you to lick your lips with a quick darting of your tongue in anticipation of what might come. The tips of your noses touch lightly.

The short words come out raspy and pleasing. “May I?”

Nodding again, you tilt your head to meet him in a soft kiss. Testing, careful, until one of you (you’re not sure who) part their lips slightly to sneak a feathery lick across the seam of a mouth.

Next minute your hands have been freed of their burdens, and you find yourself backed against a counter. Warm fingers stroke over muscles like polished marble, feeling them working to shift the shoulder blades and pull you closer so your pelvis and lower abdomen rubs against the strained fabric of Loki’s sweat pants. Even through the layers, you can feel he’s well endowed. His attention is everywhere in much the same way as his hands that are exploring your curves through the elastic fabric of the tank top, and his mouth that find the tender spot by the jaw just below the ear or nibbling at your clavicle before tugging at your bottom lip. Adeptly, his fingers circle your nipples, sending a shiver to your core. Another hand is following the hem of the booty short slowly from your ass cheek, around your thigh, and hooking a single fingertip behind the fabric where it dips between your legs.

“So warm and wet,” Loki murmurs against your lips,” but are you sure you want this?”

His exploration stops, although he doesn’t break contact. If it hadn’t been for the night you saw him in the living room, or for the sullen privacy he had built up since he officially gave up on winning you over, then you’d have thought he was playing hard to get. But this man, no, he needs to know for real. Do I? You body is screaming for more, has been begging for his touch for days in blatant disregard of the logical reasons to stay away from him.

“It wouldn’t mean you’d be entitled in any way.” I’ll deal with the mess when it’s there.

Pulling back slightly, he presumably looks you deep in the eyes. “I’d never take you for granted, m’lady.”

There is no doubt Loki has a plan as his one finger brushes over your most intimate part, teasing subdued whimpers from you each time he adds pressure to the clit or slips between the folds. Multitasking, he pulls at your top to gain access to more of your breast, cupping it and pushing it up to lick and bite softly.

“This has to go…” He finds the bottom hem of the top with both hands, slowly dragging it up and marveling at the view when it clears your boobs.

The piece of clothing lands somewhere on the floor, out prioritized by your body and your needs. Maybe Asgardians simply are that much better, or they’ve learned something that no guy on earth has figured out…which ever it is, Loki knows exactly what to do to make you moan and arch against him for friction against you pussy. He lifts you up easily, making sure your legs wrap around his hips and grinding against you though both his and your pants with each step he take to the nearest free table where he lays you down, trailing kiss down your chest and belly. Each time you reach for him, the god lifts your hands away, and eventually you submit to his decision, clinging to the table as goosebumps and desperation travels across your body.

It comes as a shock when the first cold drop lands on your breast, and you’re trying figure out what is going on by the time a larger one, creamy and easy to see in the faraway light from outside, falls onto the other breast’s nipple. Ice cream. You watch in fascination while Loki leaves a trail leading to the edge of the shorts where he stops.

The flat tongue laps up the first, sweet dripple. The other one is sucked off so harshly that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark, mixing pain and pleasure and making you whimper. Finally, he allows you to touch, to tug at the strands of long, black hair. His hands, however, are pulling your last clothes off inch by excruciatingly slow inch in the same pace his mouth works its way down your body, and by the time his lips kiss your mound, the only cover you had left lands on the floor. Kisses and love-bites are peppered on your inner thighs, dancing closer to where you want it, and when Loki finally does indulge…hot and cold mix so well, each flat-tongued stroke making you writhe beneath his hands until he holds you firmly by the hips. Reaching deeper than expected, he enters you with the tongue, curling the tip up as he pulls our and circles your clit. Every time, it adds powder to the growing time bomb of pleasure that’s building inside you, forcing your breathing to be short and ragged. Between gasps for air, you urge him on, wanting more and warning him as you suddenly find yourself teetering on the edge of an orgasm. In one fluid movement he stands up, aligns the cockhead with the entrance to your core, and drives into you slowly. The intrusion and the sheer size of his manhood keeps you from tumbling over for the minutes it takes you to adjust and for him to find a steady rhythm that brings him deep inside, filling you completely. A few thrusts more and your back’s arching, your body shaking, convulsing, with each wave of ecstasy released as you cum.

A strikingly animalist growl joins you half-choked scream of pleasure. “So…tight…” Loki rams into you faster and harder, pushing the table across the floor each time. “So perfect. You…are…so perfect.”

Leaning over you, his mouth finds throat first before homing in on your lips. A thumb plays with your clit, staring a new series of waves that forces him to hold on to you with the other arms as your clenching pussy milks him. A part of you is surprised to feel how hard his hearth is beating when he partially collapses on top of you, another (much bigger) part is loathe to admit that you will be craving more.

“{Y/N], m’lady…” he leaves a sweet kiss on your lips before he straightens and pulls out, leaving you with an empty feeling, “whatever you decide, I will respect it. Just…know that I’m yours to call upon if you so desire.”

Trying to stand on jellified legs, you take his hand. “Then come with me.”

You turn to lead him to which ever of your bedrooms is closest, but you’ve not gone farther than six steps before he picks you up as if you weigh nothing.

“This time, my dear, I’ll make you scream my name.”