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1kook · 4 years

Text

imax & climax

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags; jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

notes; there is no rest for the wicked, aka miss 1kook writes another part for this fic i swore wasn't gonna be a series except this time we ditch the gentlemen persona and go into maximum overdrive. its not proofread bc i wrote this entire thing at 4 am last night after inhaled a whole bucket of spicy popcorn

[ part 1 ; netflix & chill ] [ part 2 ; hulu & wohoo ]

Jungkook sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Jungkook’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Jungkook scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Jungkook greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Doyeon swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Doyeon, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Jungkook picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Jungkook’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Jungkook invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Jungkook not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Jungkook is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Jungkookie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Jungkook was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Jungkook rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Jungkook, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Jungkook’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Jungkook apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Jungkook is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Jungkook’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Jungkook laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Jungkook gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Jungkook’s house were either the result of Jungkook picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Jungkook inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“Jungkook?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Jungkook had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, Kook, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Namjoon would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Jungkook goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Jungkook doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Jungkook doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “Kook, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Jungkook’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Jungkook sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Jungkook scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Jungkook sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Jungkook crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Jungkook’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Jungkook quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Jungkook clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Jungkook will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Jungkook is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Jungkook has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Jungkook scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Jungkook falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Jungkook says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Jungkook sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Jungkook laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away. His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Jungkook teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Jungkook has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Jungkook groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Jungkook shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Jungkook preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Jungkook, you always came first. Jungkook’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Jungkook was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Jungkook grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Jungkook’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Jungkook kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Jungkook was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Jungkook rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “Jungkook—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Jungkook.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Jungkook’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Jungkook would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today... well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Jungkook scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Jungkook, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Jungkook never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Jungkook had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Jungkook gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Jungkook was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Jungkook smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Jungkook sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Jungkook hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Jungkook doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Jungkook adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Jungkook‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Jungkook, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Jungkook finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Jungkook tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Jungkook kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Jungkook takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Jungkook mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Jungkook that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Jungkook smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “Kook!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Jungkook’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Jungkook either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “Jungkook, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Jungkook wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Jungkook chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Jungkook reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Jungkook’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Jungkook tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Jungkook seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Jungkook scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Jungkook asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Jungkook barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “Kook— Jungkook!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Jungkook nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Jeon Jungkook, maybe Doyeon was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Jungkook is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Jungkook responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your Kook now.”

“My… Kook,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Jungkook chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Jungkook hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Jungkook catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don't wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Jungkook’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

——

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #mine

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kaaytea · 3 years

Note

heyy could u do like ace of diamond icks

Daiya boys and their Icks

A/n: ANON YOU ARE BRILLIANT!! Some of these physically pained me to write but oh my god I was losing my shit while drafting this. I didn't hold back with these so brace yourself, I'm sorry in advance for what you're about to consume...

(also messing around with different formats)

----------------------------------------------------------

Sawamura -> Will unironically do the floss dance in public and genuinely thinks he looks cool while doing it. This includes during games when he gets on base as a celebratory dance.

Haruichi -> Stands really weird. Either he's got duck feet or he's propping a foot on his calf like a flamingo.

Furuya -> Still wears pajama pants from when he was like 10. They're made of really cheap flannel material that's become kinda crunchy after being put in the dryer so many times and are disgustingly too short for him, his ankles are always on display when hes got them on.

Kanemaru -> Has those really short, stubby nails. His cuticles are very dry and he picks at them a lot.

Toujou -> Will sing along to music really passionately but gets the lyrics wrong. He ends up mumbling the rest of the song after trying to cover up his mistake.

Kuramochi -> Owns those flat brim hats that say "Dope" or "Obey" in big stitched letters, aswell as any Addis or Nike flat brims. He plans his outfits around these godforsaken hats.

Miyuki -> Wears his hats sideways. Also wears flip flops with jeans.

Kawakami -> Links his fingers with his toes when he's bored. To make it worse his feet are always cold and kinda clammy 💀

Maezono -> Will leave his nasty, sweaty workout clothes on the floor in a pile which he cleans up once a week bc he's running low on shirts. That corner of the room is RANK avoid it at all costs.

Tetsuya -> I'm crying over this but he will put his hand down his pants to readjust his junk in front of you.

Jun -> Baby talks and says shit like "I'm sowwy 🥺" this isn't reserved to just texting, he will do this in public.

Chris -> Instead of getting a tissue he just sniffs really aggressively and it's sounds so nasty 🤢 Chris baby please just go blow your nose....

Ryousuke -> Breathes really loudly, like non stop. You'd think this boy just ran a 5k or something.

Yui -> Has (what I call) middle school boy fashion. Exclusively wears Under Armour shirts, athletic shorts, and those basketball socks. All clothing items are the same offensive, burn your eyes out, neon color. Occasionally throws on one of those paracord baseball necklaces for extra "spice".

Seto -> Rarely cleans his glasses and when he does he just wipes them on his shirt and smudges them even more.

Okumura -> His mom still buys his clothes for him. She gets him like solid color sweaters and khaki shorts.

Raichi -> licks the Cheeto dust off his fingers. It's honestly so nasty and he's basically making out with his hand.

Sanada -> Doesn't put the toilet seat up....ever. Does he even wash his hands after?? There's like a 50/50 shot of that happening.

Itsuki -> Runs on all fours when going up stairs. Low-key resembles a cryptid because he's pretty speedy when he does this...

Mei -> Will dedicate a pitch to you but ends up walking the batter bc he didn't throw a single strike. Same goes for when he's batting, hes struck out by swinging at the first three pitches then has to awkwardly walk back to the dugout.

Carlos -> Posts those pictures where you pose with your hands in that praying position and bring them up to your face. He does the weird ass squat thing too.

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tf2-hmmm · 4 years

Text

TF2 headcanon: borrowing their items

Scout:

Is unexpectedly lenient with anything the team asks to borrow from him.

“Huh, an extra shirt? Yeah I still got some spare. Hold on, lemme find some in my room.”

This man has a lot of siblings to share with. His ma definitely taught him to share. As long as his item returns in once piece it will be fine to him.

However, he is also the type of sibling who expects everyone to agree with anything he borrows in return.

Also take note that he is okay with anything the team borrows except for his prized baseball collection merchandise.

He once lost one of his collector’s item to Pyro in the furnace.

Has a hard time keeping track of the last person to borrow his things.

Soldier

When anyone borrows from him, he expects his item to be returned immediately.

Tends to be impatient and ask when the borrower will return his things.

Is able to keep track where his items went.

During battle, you can borrow any of his weapon (heck even his own clothes), but never his rocket launcher. (Zhana is an exception to this rule)

The team rarely borrows from him. His things tends to be bloody, but he does try clean it during spare time.

Pyro

It took years before someone had the courage to borrow their comics. Since they trust their teammates, they will happily lend it. Hopefully someone will have the same interest with them.

In rare occurrences, the Spy may need their lighter.

One time they accidentally included the collector's item of Scout in the furnace. For the rest of the week, the arsonist couldn't dare to look at him in the eye.

There is a 50% chance of them losing/burning the item they borrowed.

Do not lend the item to them if it is flammable and important.

Demoman

Has a telephone set up in his own room. His mom once requested Pauling to remind Demo to call her on a daily basis.

The base only has two working telephones: one in demo's room and the other in the team's meeting room.

Occasionally, someone from the team may need to borrow his phone.

The phone is just behind his room's experimental explosives and his box of alcoholic bottles.

"Aye, just give meh a knock and I can lead yea der."

If the phone from the meeting room is in use, Soldier may borrow his phone to call Zhanna.

Heavy

He is okay with lending anything (except for Sasha).

However borrowing the same item repeatedly will lead him to think of that person being irresponsible. Be prepared for his short lecture.

Borrows Pyro's comics and reads it in his past time. Sometimes, he writes his own book review and sends it to them.

Has his own collection books, but most of it is in russian language.

Engineer

90% of the time, it is mostly Medic borrowing his colored pen and chalk. His red pen is Medic's favorite in particular. For what reason does the Medic need the red pen for? To this day, he still does not know.

Knowing that his pen and chalk are being used a lot, he always buys them in bulk. His backroom now looks like a bookstore.

At one point he considered making a pen/chalk dispenser solely for Medic.

The enemy Spy once borrowed one of the colored pens he kept and used it to draw on his corpse. Also may or may not have stolen his precious colored pen.

The 10% is the other members using his toolkit for various reasons.

Medic

Never lends anything related to his experiments like chemicals. Those things are too expensive to be replaced for him. But if his members strike a good deal he may reconsider.

Has a bad habit of borrowing Engie's office supplies. He tends to forget where he last placed his own pen. He left it inside Heavy during the operation.

May or may not let them borrow his things depending on his mood. Do not bother when he is busy.

For every borrowed item, the Medic will want some favors in return.

Sniper

Is the only member to have the complete set of kitchenwares/utensils found in his van.

During team building, he voluntarily brings his spare utensils for everyone.

Has an interesting story for every plate given by his adoptive parents.

Nope, his van's driver seat is off limits.

Spy

For someone who has both money and luxury, he still is the member with the least belongings. He has the bare essentials. (But his wardrobe and car aint cheap)

There is almost nothing the members can borrow from him. And no, he will never let anyone touch his car.

One time Scout received an emergency call and becomes desperate to borrow some cash for the emergency treatment of his sick mother. That same day, a suitcase filled with the cash equal to the amount his mother needed was mysteriously placed on his bed.

Won't admit to lending the team some cash.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 headcanons #headcanon

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heavenunderthemoon · 4 years

Text

Growing Pains {Chapter Four}

Warnings: None, I believe.

Prologue, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

Nevada 1992

"I'm thoroughly spooked, can we go now?"

You rolled your eyes at the ten year old beside you. His whines had risen an octave over the last five minutes, the cause most probably being the increasing proximity to the house before the two of you, all of them had been ignored as you pedaled faster, hoping to reach the dilapidated structure before sunset.

The boy's scrawny arms looped around your waist, tightening to an almost suffocating degree every time you rode over a pothole and almost making you wheeze from discomfort. Spencer's bike was out for repair- 'out for repairs' was just a silly way of saying Spencer had all but begged your older brothers to take a look at the broken chain and then paid them $15 (probably too much, but he was desperate) to fix it. The bike was being looked at now, actually, but that still left the Reid boy without transportation. You had practically had to force him onto yours.

'I hate when you steer, you ride into every puddle you see and I didn't bring my rain boots-'

'Jesus, Sherlock, I'll go around them-'

'But, you don't have a helmet-'

'You can borrow my dad's-'

'Is your bike even registered?'

All of his questions had made you groan, almost pulling out your hair and all but shoving him onto your bike, taking up the front while he stood on the pedestals allocated for passengers in the back. Your bike wasn't anything flashy. In fact, it was a hand-me-down from your brothers, the seat sitting just a bit too high at the moment, though your dad claimed you would grow into it.

You pulled over, your worn tires coming to a halt in the over-grown grass, weeds poking up from every direction and basically engulfing the lawn before you.

"We just got here, Spencer, please, five minutes?" You shot a pleading look to the boy behind you, your father's helmet consuming the entirety of his head. His glasses, cracked from when Peter Thompson had socked him in the lunchroom the other week, slid down his nose and he pushed them back up as he hopped off the bike. His hands went to his shirt, wiping them across the material as he sighed. You liked when he did things like that, kid things.

"Fine, five minutes." He seceded, and you put the kickstand in place before hopping off the bike yourself, leading the way to the sagging building.

1497 Columbia Drive.

The house was practically a local hub for folklore. All ghost stories for the children in your community originated from this house in particular. Your dad said it was all hocus pocus, nothing of substance. It was probably just a bunch of kids trying to get a good laugh out of scaring the little kids, he even lectured you on the history of the house, no murders or strange incidents ever occurring on the property. But still, you had asked Spencer to come with you to check it out.

Your feet crunched the gravel beneath it, poking around the house here and there.

"What do you think you're going to find, Y/N? A ghost hiding under the rock?" His tone was condescending, as it was sometimes. Though, that was something he didn't quite know he was doing. You knew that. You knew that if he knew that he came across like that, like he thought less of you, he would never do that. His attitude was a little bit worse today than usual. His mother wasn't doing too well, her rants becoming longer, her paranoia keeping the boy from hanging out with you on most days. You had taken to climbing into his window to hang out, or sneaking him out when you could. But the tone still stung a bit. "This is stupid." He continued.

A small sigh escaped your lips as you kicked at a rock, shoving your hands into your pockets. "How come everything I want to do is stupid?" It was petty. Petty, and emotional, and a million other things you never were because you liked to keep things in, but your insecurities began pouring out of you like a broken spout. "Why are you even friends with me? I'm too dumb for you, you have to explain things to me a million different times and even then, sometimes I still don't get it. You're gonna go away someday, because you're smart and you're better than...than here. Than this. So, why do you even hang out with me?" The words fell sloppily from your lips, only angering you further because you knew how eloquently Spencer would've been able to express his thoughts.

And this was something that had bothered you for a while. Since you had met him, actually. Because you were different. Spencer Reid was different. And while everyone else in town thought that him being different was a bad thing, you saw it as something good. Good, because he was going to be something. He was going to be something big, something bigger than anything you could ever be, whatever he wanted, whatever he wished for, because he could. Because he was Spencer. And you were just...you. You didn't skip grades or read books super fast or have a photographic memory. You weren't a genius, your brain didn't move a million miles per minute, and how boring it must be for Spencer to have to hang out with you.

Your eyes stung with tears, quickly welling and spilling hotly down your reddened cheeks and you were grateful that your back was still to the boy because he had never seen you cry, not even when you broke your index finger playing baseball two years ago, and you weren't entirely sure that Spencer would know how to comfort you if he saw you crying.

But, he did know. He didn't say anything to acknowledge it aloud, probably because he feared you might turn around and deck him right then and there if he did, but he noticed. He saw the way your shoulders had tightened as you spoke and then began shaking lightly when you finished. He noticed the tremor in your voice, the small sniffles escaping your figure. He noticed your clenching fist, your nails digging into your palm, and the stiffness in your body, as if pleading with yourself to stop. He had never seen you cry. Come to think of it, he had never seen you sad. And it was then that he realized that he had never seen you sad because you tended to turn that sadness into anger. You turned your tears into insults and your wounds into punches because it was easier that way. He realized that you weren't as invincible as he thought. You weren't some fearless, perpetually angry girl who finished every fight she started. You were human, you were vulnerable. And this revelation made him feel better, as much as he hated to say it. Because he had always felt incredibly inferior to you. He felt inferior when he saw you speaking to your other friends at the park or the library. He felt inferior when he saw your family, two brothers and a father (all of which seemed to speak in grunts and were constantly shoving food into their mouths whenever Spencer saw them). No matter how cave-man-like your family was, they were there. They were present. They weren't grabbing your shoulders, screaming about aliens, or the government, or tiny microscopic societies that he couldn't see- something Diana did often. He felt inferior when you stood up for yourself, or for him, when you weren't afraid to tell people to shut up, or ask for help, which was something he could never quite bring himself to do.

And this, these tears, these insecurities, brought you down to his level, gave you a fall from grace that was just enough to make him brave, even if it was for a split second, to grab your shoulder, and pull you into his embrace. His hug was bony. He smelled like cheap laundry detergent, lemon shampoo, and a bit of sweat. He had begun growing, just the tiniest bit, that year and it was enough to put you both at the same height. Two ten year olds standing in front of that allegedly haunted house, a scrawny little boy with a brain far too big for his own good and a girl who had been previously crying but was now just standing there, stunned, unsure of what to do in Spencer's embrace.

"What are you doing?" And for once you weren't loud. You weren't loud, or obnoxious, or confident. Your voice was tiny, small, and confused, because Spencer didn't like touching, and neither did you, really. You didn't hug each other. You gave each other high-fives, or fist bumps, or small nudges to the other in greetings or farewells, but never hugs.

Spencer didn't move, keeping his stance the same, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his cheek to your shoulder. "Why am I your friend? Why are you mine? Everyone in town thinks I'm weird, and they tease you just for being my friend. Why put up with that? Why be friends with the kid who has to make multiple trips to the library each week and gets upset when he has to return them? Why be friends with the kid who can't even act like a kid. I get along better with adults, and those are the ones who don't talk about me behind my back. Why are you friends with me? Because I'll tell you why I'm friends with you. Because you ask me to explain things to you a million times, because you care so much about what I'm saying that you want to understand it too, even if its boring or complicated. You listen when I talk about nerdy things, and you ask my mom how she's doing- you aren't afraid of her like every other kid in your grade."

Your tears had stopped now, and you weren't entirely sure if it was due to the shock of Spencer hugging you or the shock of Spencer practically yelling as he let go of you, grabbing you by the shoulders and looking you in the eye.

"You're my best friend, and I'm sorry I said this was stupid. I would much rather do a million stupid things with you than be a genius alone."

He was a little breathless at the end of it, eyes still glued onto your face for some kind of sign that you weren't still sad, or angry. But it was blank, and suddenly his mind was rewinding through everything he said. Did he say something wrong? And just as he was going to apologize profusely for hugging you, you were pulling him into your own embrace. You were strong, his body hitting yours with a thud. You smelled like mechanical oil, probably from your dad's garage, and a hint of vanilla. Your hair, collected into a pony tail, though baby hairs clung to your forehead in a pool of sweat, brushed his nose and tickled his nostrils. You squeezed him when you hugged him and he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you in reassurance. He had never had a friend apart from you, never had a person to tell about his day, about his dreams, about the weird thing he read that day. He had you, and he didn't now what life would be like without you, but the thought scared him. It terrified him to think about a future without you in it, and so he clung to you tighter.

"Let's go home. Nothin' special about this house, anyways." You pulled away, elbowing him lightly in the ribs, the tiniest of smiles on your face and he beamed, because he did that. He made you smile.

"Eh, I thought it was pretty cool." Spencer said with a shrug, walking back to the bike.

QUANTICO, January 2012

The plane ride back from the case was bumpy, turbulence instantly shaking the large aircraft, causing it to be physically impossible for the team to sleep on the way home- well, unless you were Rossi. You could swear that David Rossi could sleep through just about everything. After grabbing his usual drink from the jet bar, the old man had chosen his usual window seat, only a couple rows back from where you sat with JJ, Derek, and Emily, snoring peacefully within twenty minutes.

You groaned in envy, tilting your head back to rest on the cushion as you did so. The blonde to your left chuckled at your dramatics, having gotten used to your behavior by now, Derek and Emily in tow. The three were the trio you had found yourself most acquainted with on the team, well, them and Penelope. You had a soft spot in your heart for the quirky technical analyst, the woman all but forcing herself into your life by digging through your personal files and inviting herself over for breakfast before long cases. How strange it had been to open the door to your apartment and find Penelope and Derek on the other side.

"Good morning!"

Your hair was sticking up in about twenty different directions, something the two agents found rather astounding, but chose not to comment on. At the office you were...put-together, to say the least. You were professional, a military woman through and through. You showed up to work early, your paperwork was always done, your shirts were always ironed, your laces were always tied. Penelope would argue that she never saw you blink- something that had made Derek laugh and JJ roll her eyes at, but Emily secretly agreed, because, man, did you?

At this point you had only been working for the BAU for a week or so, and still, they knew nothing about you. And so, here she was, gift-basket in hand while Derek carried along three steaming hot lattes that you could smell even from this distance.

Your eyebrows knitted together, head tilting in a manner that was scarily akin to their boy wonder- another thing they chose not to comment on. After that first day, the introduction between the two that had gone very strangely and the obvious avoidance on both of their parts, the team had chosen to skirt around the Reid boy and the Y/L/N girl. Things like that had a way of working themselves out. Besides, it hadn't affected their work and so personal matters were to remain...well, personal.

"Uh, good morning?" You stepped aside, allowing the two agents to enter your apartment. It was a one-bedroom, close to work so the commute wasn't too bad, and extremely empty. Penelope could've guessed it would be that way before entering. Your desk was the same way, only a picture of what she assumed was your dad and your brothers and you in your uniform to adorn your small space. Furniture, a lonely sofa, beige and boring, and a coffee table severely lacking anything other than a newspaper that Derek could see was three days old. The crossword section was flipped open, only three words filled out. Strewn across the floor were boxes, emptied out, mostly, but the few that remained full were labeled 'BOOKS' and 'SUMMER ClOTHES". The latter gave the two agents a headache, the very action of attempting to envision you in anything other than your usual jeans, leather jacket, and boots too difficult for their brains to process.

Your apartment was pristine, another thing that was predictable. It smelled of coffee, and as the three agents ventured further into the apartment, it was apparent as to the source of the smell; a half-empty pot sitting on the marble countertops.

"I'm sorry there isn't breakfast, if I would've known you were coming over I would've made...cereal."

Derek's eyebrows scrunched at the food choice and you let out an awkward chuckle.

"I can't cook. I'm horrible, like, burn down the house horrible." Your hand grabbed the coffee he was extending, giving a grateful nod as you looked to Penelope.

"Sorry for the short notice-"

"No notice, actually." You corrected with a smirk, eyes looking over the rim of the coffee lid as you took a sip.

"Right- no notice. I just, I figured if I gave you notice it would give you a chance to say no, and that's fine! if you want us to leave or anything we can, but we really need more women in the office and you seem like some badass, aviator wearing, leather jacket having, military chick and I really feel like we cold be good friends! I always text back, and I, for one, am I a good cook, so I can help you with that...oh, and I am amazing at remembering birthdays! I brought a gift basket too! I wasn't sure if you liked chocolate, or cheese, or fruit, this has all three-"

"Give her a second, babygirl." The Morgan shook his head, throwing a look to you. It was kind, an understanding look that meant he understood just how overwhelming his blonde counterpart could be but but also pleaded for understanding. Understanding of how Penelope was, of how good of a friend she could be.

But he didn't need to do that.

He didn't need to ask you to understand, or to be patient, or to give someone a chance He didn't need to because she reminded you all too much of a scrawny little kid with his nose in a book, a mouth far too smart for his own good, and a lack of any defense system.

The paper cup landed onto the countertop gently as you placed it down, arms crossing over themselves. Your arms were a bit chilled, nothing but a t-shirt and boxer shorts worn to bed, and a lazy smile quirked at the corner of your lips at the strange, kind, lovely blonde before you.

"I like cheese and chocolate and fruit." Penelope visibly relaxed at the comment. "Stay, I'm in need of some good friends."

"I'm tired." You mumbled grumpily, chin coming to rest on your hand.

JJ snorted, digging further into the small bag of chips she had managed to snag from the vending machine at the airport before the jet had taken off. "You could sleep."

With a click of your tongue, you smiled sarcastically, nodding your head. "Good idea, I didn't think about that." As another snore reached your ears, you tossed a glare back to the sleeping Rossi, rolling your eyes. "Jesus, does he have to rub it in?" You snapped.

Emily tucked a curl behind her ear, cracking a grin. "You can sleep when you get home, the flight's only three hours out."

"No, because when I get home I have to shower first, the plane makes me feel gross." Your shoulders gave way to a shiver that made Derek laugh. "Should I sleep or should I shower? I could sleep in the shower- but I'm also hungry."

A light tap on your forearm alerted you to the chip bag being shoved onto you, an offering by the Jareau woman. Perhaps if you hadn't known her for as long as you had- which, admittedly still wasn't that long, but you digressed- you would have taken one. Yes, JJ was offering, but JJ and her chips was not a love you came between and if you took one now she would tell you that you owed her a chip bag when you next passed a vending machine and the woman, small and kind as she was, was not as forgiving when it came to being owed chips.

With a tired wave of your hand you stood, stretching your arms for a moment, fingertips grazing the jet ceiling, before turning on your heel. "I'm gonna go find some peanuts or something."

You made your way to the back of the jet, toward the coffee machine station and bar set up. Cabinets above and below the both of them had you suspecting that there was a secret stash of peanuts- or, perhaps, a five-course meal that no one else knew about. Day-dreaming of a roasted turkey and baked Mac and cheese you hardly noticed a person exit the bathroom as you searched the cabinets. At the exact moment they had, the jet hit a spot of turbulence.

Your body, too tired to react quickly enough, lurched backward, directly into the body behind you.

Spencer yelped quietly, reacting on instinct and grabbing your body. The momentum of your body in addition to the swing of the jet had him stumbling into the wall, his hands securely around your waist, body pressed tightly against yours.

His touch wasn't foreign, perhaps that was why you stilled the way you did. As if you were frozen in an instant, neither of you moved as the plane shook for a moment, righting itself almost immediately and leaving the two of you staring, eyes entranced in one another.

For you, it was his touch. His touch that made you still, his touch that made you forget the search for food, the whines of exhaustion, the impatience to go home. His touch, one you knew quite well as a child, one you associated with friendship, childhood, and safety. One you associated with trust, and companionship. One that was returned to you in an instant, a feeling that you forgot after all these years- no, not forgot. You hadn't forgotten his touch, or, at least, your body hadn't. No, your body remembered Spencer Reid quite well. Your body remembered climbing into Spencer Reid's window, your hands calloused and hardened from the long climb to the top of the tree beside it. Your body remembered biking around town with him, thighs and calves burning as you pushed yourself harder, the amount of books he had loaded onto your bike because his couldn't fit all of them on his own weighing you down. Your body remembered bloodied knuckles, busted lips, or black eyes, all of them your victory trophies because you were hotheaded, impulsive, and protective when the other children had something to say about him.

And he stilled because of your scent. As strange as it sounded, it hadn't changed after all these years. Unlike you, his mind hadn't tricked him into forgetting it. He didn't think it was possible for him to ever forget it. Mechanical oil and a hint of vanilla. It enveloped him like a warm blanket, a large tidal wave of the familiar scent hanging in the air, threatening to overtake him until the wave broke and it pulled him under with it. The scent consumed him, filling his nostrils, overtaking his senses and for a moment it was too much. It was too much for his brain to process because one moment he was walking out of the bathroom and the next you were in his arms and he was catching you.

You didn't know what to say. What was there to say? You missed him. You saw him at work everyday, you passed by him when you dropped off paperwork to Hotchner, you nodded at him in passing, and you stumbled into him when the jet hit an air pocket. How could you miss him if you did all of that, every single day?

But Spencer Reid was a person to be missed. Spencer Reid was a person you thought about. You thought about him every day, every hour, every minute, because how could you not? How could you just pretend you didn't know him? The boy who read you Sherlock Holmes on hot summer days, or slow danced with you in your father's basement? The boy who gave you pinky promises and made wishes on stars, and taught you the constellations. A boy you had known was extraordinary from the beginning and had turned out to be just that? A boy who was no longer a boy anymore, because the world didn't take well to boys with exceptional minds and sick mothers, the world turned boys like that into men, men who were different, even if just a little bit. That little bit was enough to let all the fears flood back in, the fears of the ordinary, the fears of not being enough. The fears that were solidified in your not-so-welcome welcoming.

The memory coursed through your veins, activating them as if it had been a shot of adrenaline.

Clearing your throat, you moved, standing up properly, pushing yourself out of his embrace and crossing your arms. "Thanks. Turbulence caught me off guard there."

For a moment he had you, just you and him and then you had turned to sand in his hands and once again he was losing you. Your expression had hardened. In another lifetime he had been the one to soften you, a person who had been able to break down those walls you worked so hard to build, but now he was the one locked out.

"What we really need to worry about are microbursts - a sudden downburst of air associated with thunderstorms - but small craft like this one, if we hit one of those at the wrong altitude..." He was rambling at this moment, rambling so badly he wished he could stop but he couldn't. His hands mimicked an explosion, his voice coming out much smaller, more reluctant. "Get pulverized."

Spencer Reid didn't like being vulnerable. And that's what he was around you, vulnerable. And being vulnerable did things to him, made him say things and do things that make him embarrassed, or ashamed, or even feel guilty. Just as he started to simultaneously feel all three of these things, you did something he hadn't quite expected.

You laughed.

"Jeez, Sherlock, ever so morbid, aren't you?" It was a soft chuckle, a tiny little snort, short-lived and gone in an instant, but it was enough to make Spencer grin.

His lips parted to respond. What he was going to say, he didn't know- something, anything- but, he never got to find out.

The pilot bell dinged over the speaker system.

"Passengers, this is your Pilot speaking. There are rough windstorms ahead, I'm receiving advisement to land immediately, please buckle your seatbelts, this will be a rough landing."

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#spencer reid x reader #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds #growing pains

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aespawpaq · 3 years

Text

Netflix and Chill (3)

IMAX and CLIMAX

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Sunghoon gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags; sh is an avid history channel viewer, sh hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, sh goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

Sunghoon sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Sunghoon’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

Sunghoon scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Sunghoon greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Isa swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Isa, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Sunghoon picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Sunghoon’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Sunghoon invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Sunghoon not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Sunghoon is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Sunghoonie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Sunghoon was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Sunghoon rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Sunghoon, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Sunghoon’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Sunghoon apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Sunghoon’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Sunghoon laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

——

You rarely use the key Sunghoon gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Sunghoon’s house were either the result of Sunghoon picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Sunghoon inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

His mom was going to kill him.

“ Sunghoon?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Sunghoon had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, hoon, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Heeseung would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Sunghoon goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Sunghoon doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Sunghoon’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Sunghoon doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “hoon, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Sunghoon’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Sunghoon sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

Sunghoon scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Sunghoon sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Sunghoon crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Sunghoon’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Sunghoon quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Sunghoon clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Sunghoon will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Sunghoon is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Sunghoon has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Sunghoon scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Sunghoon falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

Sunghoon says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Sunghoon gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Sunghoon sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Sunghoon laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away. His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Sunghoon teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Sunghoon has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

Sunghoon groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Sunghoon preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Sunghoon, you always came first. Sunghoon’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Sunghoon was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Sunghoon grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Sunghoon’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Sunghoon kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Sunghoon was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Sunghoon rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Sunghoon’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

Any other day Sunghoon would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today… well.

You were playing a different game.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

The action makes Sunghoon scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Sunghoon, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Sunghoon never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Sunghoon had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Sunghoon gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

Sunghoon was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Sunghoon leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Sunghoon smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Sunghoon sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Sunghoon hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Sunghoon doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Sunghoon adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Sunghoon‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Sunghoon, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Sunghoon finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

Sensing your uncertainty, Sunghoon tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Sunghoon kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Sunghoon takes your wrists in his hands.

Sunghoon mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Sunghoon that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Sunghoon smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “hoon!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Sunghoon’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Sunghoon either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “ Sunghoon, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Sunghoon wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

Sunghoon chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Sunghoon reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Sunghoon’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

Behind you Sunghoon tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Sunghoon scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

“And?” Sunghoon asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Sunghoon snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Sunghoon barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “hoon— Sunghoon!”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Sunghoon nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Park Sunghoon, maybe Isa was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Sunghoon is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Sunghoon responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your hoon now.”

“My… hoon,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Sunghoon chases both your second orgasms.

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Sunghoon hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Sunghoon catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

Sunghoon laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don’t wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Park Sunghoon,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Sunghoon’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years

Text

The Treatment of Captain Syverson- Chapter 7: Non-Productive Time

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: On a slow afternoon, Shane remembers a couple of fun evenings with Sy, and can’t help but start texting him…he turns out to be a bad influence.

Don’t want spoilers? Click me first to catch up!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Language, mature themes, a steamy scene that bumps up against the line of smut/not smut…it looks like smuttish is, in fact, a thing, (see what I did there? Toss a high five to your fic writer for the paraphrased Witcher quote in these here notes! lol! Sorry, i’m tired...and in a weird mood tonight...) so, anyway, using that. I love it.

Author’s Note: This chapter was about half done before I even started SI1 and SI2! So that’s why it’s come along so quickly in the wake of them. It could also mean that there are some continuity issues…I found a couple during the re-write of the first part, and more when I was proofing, so it should be good, but…fair warning, one or more could have escaped me! Also, let me know if the text convo is hard to follow. I’ll try to reconfigure it to be more clear. It seemed to me like context was enough, and they’d had text convos before, and no one said anything…this one’s longer by about 300%, though, so…feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

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@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0@tumblnewby

@suavechops

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

Time seemed to pass slowly when Shane wasn’t with Sy. When they weren’t having dinner together, or doing their typical date thing. She thought about their second date. One of the bars in town, chosen for its above average bar food but mostly, it’s pool tables. The warning he’d given her via text had made her laugh:

We’re goin’ to Cade’s for apps and pool, if that's okay. As gorgeous as you looked in that blue dress you wore last night, I recommend jeans and a T-shirt for tonight, okay?

She took his suggestion. A simple black tee, because she was a food klutz from hell, layered over a red camisole, and her favorite jeans. It showed off her dainty arrow necklace well.

While they played, they drank beer and talked about life, getting deeper into things than they could at therapy sessions.

“Dad split when I was about ten, I guess. Mom did her best with her only son, but she sent me to my grandpa’s a lot when she was working or just…needing her own time. He’d been an army man. Fought in Korea. His dad was in World War II. It felt like…I don’t know, this pull, like I was meant to join up.”

“Destiny?” She asked. A dreamy tone overtook him when he talked about his family and his now former career.

“I guess. Never though too much of all that before.”

They smiled at one another. Knowing.

“What was he like? Your grandpa?”

“Oh, Pap was the best. He was a mechanic in the service and so he could get anything hummin, ya know? We fixed up and built motors for all kinds a’ shit. My first car was a ‘67 Shelby Mustang with the fast back all because when I was about 14, he found most of one at a salvage yard and basically rescued it from the crusher. Got it for about nothin’. For two years we collected parts and did body work on that thing. And by the time I turned sixteen, it was the most beautiful, show-ready Kerry green machine you ever seen.”

“One of my favorite cars! I’d love to see pictures!”

“I’ve still got ‘er.” He grinned. “When Pap died, it got…hard for me to drive her, ya know? So…special occasions only now. And he left me his truck, which he’d just bought brand new while I was on my first tour. That F150 crew cab we came here in, with all the bells 'n whistles. I couldn’t let such a fine automobile go to waste.” He grinned.

“You’re such a gear head.” She chuckled.

“Hey, you may be glad about that when you need somebody to get your own motor humming.” He teased back at her, bending over the table to take his shot and sinking it deftly. He said they would only play for fun, but he was still winning this round…which she didn’t think was that fun.

“Okay, I deserved that.”

“The shot, or the innuendo?” He asked to clarify.

“Yes.” They laughed. He eventually did miss, making it her turn.

"Ya know, I'm disappointed in this date, Shane." He baited.

"How come?" she asked, a bit hurt.

"A guy only asks a girl to play pool with him so he can show her how to shoot…and you already know."

It was true. She'd played a lot growing up and even a bit as she got older. She and her siblings loved billiards. Her whole family, really. And although she was no professional, she wasn't half bad for an amateur.

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently, sizing up the table for her next shot, but knowing with a fair amount of certainty what he was implying.

"You know. I wanted to get all close to ya. Show ya how to grip that cue in your hand. How to stand, bent at the hip, where to eyeball your shot from." he smiled. "All that shit ya see in movies that makes the girl all nervous and excited that the guy's touchin' on her. Pressed up against her."

Shane grinned, picked up the small, blue cube of chalk and rolled the concave side over the tip of her cue…she had no need to do so, most people didn't, really…but she made herself look really sexy doing it and asked Sy, "Is that right? Well, I guess you'll have to find another way to get your cheap thrills, because this girl has been known to run a table." She bent over the green felt seductively, the angle at which she did so displaying her décolletage in his direction just enough to tantalize him into licking his lips. She took her shot at the 10 ball, but sunk the 8 instead, losing her the game…damn. She shouldn't have gotten cocky.

"Run it where, sunshine? Into the ground? Off a cliff?" he laughed as she stomped over and began to poke him mercilessly in the ribs.

"Come on, Minnesota Fats. Let's pay the tab and find something a little cozier to do."

"Oka--wait, did you just call me fat?" he was incredulous. She laughed.

"Oh my God, you thought YOU were gonna teach ME about billiards…Minnesota Fats is like the most famous pool player of ever. I am not calling you fat."

"You messin' with me?" he squinted.

"Sy, google it. I promise. I would never call you fat. You're… my sexy man bear."

"Technically a bear is a fat animal." he sulked.

"Why don't you tell that to one when it's chasing you down to make a meal of ya!" Shane laughed. "Come on. Remember? I think I mentioned something about… finding another way for you to get cheap thrills. Lets explore that, shall we?" she whispered into his ear. He dropped some bills on their table nearby to more than cover their food and beer, and they hauled ass into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had definitely been exploring. In the two weeks since they'd been given the green light to see each other outside of therapy--the day Sy basically handed Shane's boss her own ass--they'd spent most evenings with each other, unless Shane had a particularly late evening at work or an early day the next day. A few nights, they had been together so late, that just staying over seemed the most reasonable option. But they had both agreed to take things slowly with the physical stuff. It had been a long time since either of them had been in a relationship, and given their patient/therapist situation, waiting a while for the sex had seemed like a good idea…on paper. On the sofa had been a different story.

One day last week, she'd had to make an early night of things, and stood up from his couch, but was pulled back down to straddle his lap.

"Hold on a minute, sunshine. Why don't you gimme a proper goodbye before ya go, hmm?" he held her so close to him at every curve of their bodies, like the pieces of a puzzle snapping flush together. His kisses were deep and agonizing, his beard gently brushing her mouth, teasing her with its uncommon softness. She returned the ardor, squeezing him in every way she could.

She couldn't contain the desire pooling at her center, especially when he clearly couldn't contain his, either, straining against his shorts, pressing against her so deliciously, right where she needed him. She didn't hold back. And he was nothing if not encouraging to her endeavor.

"That feels so good, baby. You're so warm. Mmm." he whispered as he nipped at her ear and bit at her neck. She hadn't intended to, but she felt herself slipping over the edge, into pure euphoria and gripped at his hair, still rather short, though growing out from the mandated buzz. The length made him even more sensitive and when she ran her hands up his neck and over the back of his head, the result was like an electric current straight to his manhood. His body tensed as his release followed hers seconds later.

"Fuck." he said. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" she was truly confused.

"For losin' it like a teenager." he sighed and laid his head against the back of his couch in surrender…an unfamiliar sight, Shane was certain.

"Don't worry about it. I mean…it's not quite how I pictured our first time, but--"

"Oh, hell no. This doesn't count as a TIME, sunshine. This is batting practice. A warm up.”

"Ooh, you and your baseball references again. I told you, I need to leave, Sy. You can't get me worked up with that kinda dirty talk." she kissed his cheek, and stood. "Walk me out?"

He did. And they stood holding one another in the dark, leaned up against her Explorer, Sy's back against the door, Shane's cheek on his bare, hairy chest, and the turning of the earth all but forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had to stop thinking about him. About their dates and the time they'd spent together. But her schedule had fallen apart for the day due to a nasty storm that had blown in, she had no more education to work on for now, and she could only clean and organize her treatment room and desk so thoroughly.

She guessed…the secretaries knew she was available if need be…and she was salaried…what was the harm in texting Sy? She'd stayed late and came in early and overworked herself in general so much for this clinic. She could justify a bit of downtime.

Hey! Whatcha doin?

Just did some exercises that my super hot PT gave me! *winky face emoji*

Uh-Oh, should I be jealous?

Mmm, hard to say, sunshine. I guess it'll depend on which one of you sleeps with me first. *devil emoji*

Smart money is on the one who’s already let you get to second base…and basically third, even though…does it count if it’s basically because of a dare. Induced by Jack Daniels?

I think it counts if you came…*smirk emoji*

Damn those skilled fingers and Tennessee whiskey.

What can I say. I told ya I knew how to get a motor humming. *cool guy emoji*

You certainly do. No doubt about that.

So how's your day goin', sunshine?

Eh, everyone's cancelled on me. I have no one until 4:00, and I have nothing to do until then. I've decided to see it as a blessing and text my favorite fella.

And when he didn't respond, you resorted to me? *smirk emoji*

Hey you know that you have no competition for my affection other than like, my dad…and Chris Evans. Lol

Your dad, I'm sure I couldn't compete with if I tried, from what you've told me. Chris…well, I'm a REAL captain, not some guy jumpin' around in tights.

Mmmm, shame. I bet you'd look good in a getup like that. *heart eyes emoji*

You think so?

Yup! *American flag emoji*

You wanna be my Black Widow?

I mean…I've already basically got a costume…*embarrassed monkey emoji*

*several lines of big eye emojis*

Yeah, a few Halloweens ago…I was Romanoff. Now you know. I'm a total nerd.

I'm a nerd, too, sunshine. Serious nerd.

How am I just finding out about this? There's next to no merch at your place, and you never wear typical nerd shirts…*skeptical face emoji*

You haven't seen my whole place…*wink emoji*

What, are you telling me you have Batman bedsheets? *lol emoji*

Oh, it's much…much worse than that. The bedroom is pretty neutral, but…I have a…kind of rec room in the basement that is basically nerd central.

Oh. Em. Gee. I can't WAIT to see that, Sy!!! And how dare you hold out on me!!!

Well, I mean, I didn't wanna lay out all my cards right off the bat. I'm playing the long game.

Ah, so, when do I get to see this nerd trap?

Come on over, sunshine. *smiley face*

I said, I've got a patient at 4:00.

Everyone's cancelled on you. Can't you cancel on them for once?

Not unless I'm violently ill do I ever have any patients cancelled on my behalf.

So…say you're violently ill and come see me. *shrugging man emoji*

I dunno, Sy…

I got stuff to make that soup you like…

She had made it clear to him how much she loved soup, especially a good creamy potato soup, and on one of their dates, he'd had her over and there was a big pot of the stuff on his stove, made from scratch. She'd never had better, and he almost got lucky that night…and I mean…he still got a little lucky. He cooked for her AND cleaned up, AND let her pick the movie that night. She still picked an action movie, because she wasn't really a romance movie type, overall. Even so. Could she leave him hanging?

She opened her thread with Heather in her messenger app on her laptop.

Heather, is there anyone who could take my last patient, Mr. Lopez?

Looks like Cheri has a cancel around that time. Need me to move him?

If you could. I'm not feeling well.

Are you pregnant?

Omg, every fucking time. Why when anything is amiss in a woman's life must it be pregnancy?! And why is it okay to ask that question?! Ugh! She loved Heather like a sister, and it probably was just a joke, but uuuuuugh!

Yes…yes I am. *eye roll emoji* I've got a killer headache that's making me queasy. I'll email Susan. Thanks.

You bet. Tell Sy I said hi. *wink emoji*

Shut up.

After a quick and concise email to her boss, she picked her phone back up. One unread message.

You there, sunshine?

She simply replied,

Get that soup ready, Captain, I'm on my way.

Up Next: Chapter Eight: Heat/Ice

#netflix sand castle #sand castle #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x ofc #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #sigh for sy #smuttish #not full on smut

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lyricalimerence · 4 years

Text

Coffee Girl & Corpse Boy - Pope Heyward

word count: 1603

summary: coffee shop au with pope because lbr pope doesnt get credit where credit is due. he's a phenomenal character and just because he's not white doesn't make him any less great

warnings: none literally none other than a mention of sex and a mention of dead bodies?

a/n: i had no idea how to end this and it shows

The familiar notes of soft acoustic guitar sprang from the speakers as the working barista poured a shot of espresso into a cup of steamed almond milk, the newly caffeinated mixture warming the paper walls of the coffee cup. She girl working, her baby hairs falling out of her messy bun shaped like a croissant onto her forehead as she poured almond milk foam into the cup, forming a heart on the top of the brown drink. Placing a lid on the top and opening a coffee sleeve, she secured the drink in its picturesque, cozy ideology.

The coffee shop was rather empty, the morning rush of adults heading out to work had long since passed, and the evening rush of college students eager to get out of their dorms and enable their insomnia hadn’t quite arrived yet. So, as the barista wrote Julia on the side of the cup, she was surprised for the chimes above the door to ring, signaling the arrival of a new customer. The person entering the shop looked around slightly confused with a laptop and heavy textbook in hand, the barista guessed he hadn’t been in a coffee shop many times before—or at all. She waved slightly with a small smile, calling the boy’s attention. She quickly placed the cup next to the open laptop of Julia who thanked her politely.

Slipping back behind the counter, she stood at the cash register, looking at the boy who was scanning the menu confusedly. He had to have been around the barista’s age, and she recognized him from school. He was Heyward’s son, a baseball cap advertising his father’s shop sitting atop his black hair. “Ahem,” the boy’s attention was drawn back to her with raised eyebrows, her soft smile causing her to bite into her lower lip, “what can I getcha?”

“Did you know, dead bodies decompose by a process called autolysis which means they digest themselves cell by cell with enzymes?” the Heyward boy blurted out with wide eyes, he didn’t take a breath as he spoke. The barista shook her head, her smile inching up her cheeks into a grin. He noticed she was shorter than him—a lot shorter than him, six inches of height difference at least. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard JJ boasting about some girl he had taken to the guest bedroom at the Chateau and their height difference.

He didn’t know why he immediately thought of the girl in front of him in a romantic sense, but he did think she was pretty. Her fingers fiddling with a pen against the counter waiting to take his order had cheap, nickel rings stacked on each finger, and her wrists were decorated with string bracelets and hair ties. An apron was slung around her neck, but he could see the t-shirt she was wearing had a large graphic of Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh and she had cuffed her sleeves twice so they fell just past her shoulders in a diagonal slant. Over the pocket on her apron that almost covered all of the graphic on her t-shirt clinked together with pins vocalizing her support for Black Lives Matter, the LGBTQ+ community, climate change, feminism, and a few others.

“I didn’t know that.” The barista solidified her movements as she watched the boy scan her over. “So, Heyward, do ya want somethin’?” His eyebrows stitched together at her knowing his last name, so she pointed to her head, making him pat his own until he traced his surname embroidered onto his hat.

“Right, um, medium coffee?” It sounded more like a question. Whether it was his confusion towards the words on the menu above their heads or him being slightly flustered by the barista, he couldn't tell.

“Cool cool…” she mumbled under her breath as she wrote Med Cof. on her notepad. “D’you want, like, black coffee or with milk and sugar?”

“Uh, black coffee is great.” He wiped his empty hand on his shorts.

“Alrighty, Corpse Boy, you got a first name?” She pulled a medium cup off the stack beside her, the pen in her hand ghosting over the white cup.

“Pope.” He said simply, ready to turn around and drown in his studying, he had a scholarship to win after all. Before he could bring himself to evade any more embarrassment, he stopped himself. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she said with a bright smile. “I’ll get you your coffee in a New York second.” Pope returned her smile for the first time since he walked in, dipping his chin in thanks before turning to find an empty table.

Y/N watched until Pope had settled, making sure he wouldn't see her. Before she filled the cup with coffee from the pot, she picked up her pen, writing a note just under where the sleeve will end up.

When she placed the cup on Pope’s table, he hadn't noticed her coming until he saw the dark gray cuffs of her jeans and the tattered burgundy Converse laced over around the tops of her high-tops in bows out of his peripherals. “You study forensic science? I should've guessed.”

She had been working at the coffee shop for almost nine months, having turned sixteen just after their sophomore year started, but working at a coffee place seemed a little more normal than studying to be a coroner. However, it intrigued her how Pope was paving his own path, far away from his father’s legacy. She knew Heyward from him occasionally delivering ingredients from the dock extending into the marsh from behind the kitchen.

Pope looked up at the girl, he couldn't tell if her seemingly permanent smile was just a retail smile or it was a side effect of him. He entertained the thought that it was the latter. “Thank you, Y/N.”

She hummed in response before twisting on her heel to clean tables that had emptied of occupants. As she sprayed the cleaner and wiped the tables clean, Pope caught the edge of her handwriting on his coffee cup. He spun it in his hand and read what she wrote on the side.

I don’t know much about dead bodies, but I do know about coffee. Did you know that coffee was discovered by a goat hoarder in Ethiopia in the 1500s? God bless his soul.

Pope looked up at Y/N across the room, who was now bobbing her head to the music as she wiped tables down. Just as he lifted the coffee cup to his lips, she turned around to see the boy splutter at the bitter taste that filled his mouth.

His brown eyes widened as he swallowed his coffee harshly. He hid his cheeks blushing behind the cup as Y/N walked across the coffee shop. “You okay?”

“Yup.” Pope put the cup back down and readjusted his hat. He could almost hear the relentless teasing from John B. and JJ that he would be getting if they were there. “Um, could I actually get some milk and sugar in this.”

With a laugh, Y/N nodded and brought his cup back behind the counter, filling the space left in the cup by the overexcited gulp Pope had taken with milk. After stirring in a measured amount of sugar and placing the lid back on, she brought the cup back to Pope.

“Thanks, that was a little bitter.” He watched as Y/N glanced around for any people she might need to help or serve. After she decided that she would be okay, she slid the chair opposite to Pope out from under the table and sat down.

“Y'know, my mom drinks coffee black, and she says it's ‘cause she's already sweet enough, but I don't drink coffee straight I put milk and sugar in it, so I say it's because black coffee is so bitter it causes me to match my personality to the taste.” She said, tapping her fingers against the table as she smiled. Pope still was having trouble deciding whether her smile was fake or real.

Her smile was real, and every Friday after that one, leading up to Pope’s interview, he returned to that coffee shop. He never got plain coffee again, and he made it his mission to learn new trivia facts to tell her at the counter. He never got tired of reading Y/N’s coffee facts she wrote on the side of his cup, and she never got tired of writing them.

Y/N started hanging out with Pope outside of her work and his studying. She noticed that the face of concentration he has when he’s studying translates to when he debates with his friends and him and JJ Maybank, the infamous JJ Maybank, have one of the most adorable bromances she’s ever seen. (Although, she almost lost her favorite customer with that comment.)

Pope noticed that whenever Y/N is on the water or surfing, she has the same serene expression gracing her face as she does when her shoulders slightly shimmy to the coffee shop acoustics. He was over the moon when the Pogues accepted her into the group, not that he was particularly worried about it. If John B. could have Sarah, he should be able to have Y/N.

On the third Friday in a row, Y/N scribbled her phone number underneath The world's most expensive coffee can cost more than $600 a pound. And on the ninth Friday, she asked him on a date, writing the question underneath Finland consumes the most coffee in the world.

tags - click here if you want to be added

@ilovejjmaybank @thelocalpogue @calumbroutledge @drew-starkey @jayjaymaebank @anonymous0writer @rudys-pankow @lovingxjj @apoguecalledjj @write-from-the-heart @xxxxxxxxxxxxxooooooooooooo @insanitysparkles @bxllasanosa @fandomsinapile @starkeymarkey @beatement-l @outerbanksbro @popcsheyward @mahleeyuh @queenofthebees003 @kaitieskidmore1 @copper-boom @starlightstarkey @king-ronnoc @jjtheangel @waywardbabie @deathcompass @jjmaybby

#obx #outer banks #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #obx fanfiction #coffee shop au #pope heyward #pope heyward imagine #pope heyward x reader #fluff #pope heyward fanfiction #pope heyward fic #jonathan daviss #pope heyward x you #pope heyward x y/n

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cupcakesandtv · 4 years

Note

daxton and soft goodnight kisses, please:)

soft goodnight kisses exchanged on lamp-lit doorsteps on chilly autumn evenings It was a real date. They went to Dave and Buster’s and she whooped his ass at skeeball but then they had chili cheese fries and he walked her to her door after he drove her home. He called it a date. Several times. Not just “hanging out.” Actual. Real. Date.

And now, standing in front of her door, Devi felt nervous.

It was stupid!

She’d kissed him before!

Or actually, he’d kissed her before. And she’d had some practice kissing since. That part she was well acquainted with. But what if he didn’t like kissing her this time? What if her nose got in the way or she had something in her teeth or her breath was too oniony after the chili cheese fries?

Paxton stood on his tiptoes, looking through the glass of the door. “Your mom’s not gonna come out and beat me with a baseball bat, is she?”

It was meant to be a joke but Devi could tell there was some real concern on his part.

“Nah,” Devi said, shaking her head. “She’s at a conference in Vegas.”

“Must be nice,” he said, but she could see the crease in between his brows relax and he took a step closer to her. He pressed his lips together. Devi tried not to notice.

“Well.” She tugged on the arm of her sweater with her thumb, pulling it down as an excuse for something to do with her hands. “Anytime you want a rematch at skeeball, I’m your girl!” Devi scrunched up her face. “I’m not your girl, I’m a girl. Who can beat you at skeeball pretty deftly but you know, however you choose to view me is fine.”

Paxton tilted his head, a small smile playing across his face.

Devi cringed before covering her face with her hands. “I’m just gonna go inside. Thanks-”

“Devi, wait,” Paxton reached for her wrist, pulling it gently away from her face. She put her other hand down too, but he hadn’t let go of her wrist. She felt his thumb rubbing a small circle against her pulse point. “Don’t go inside yet.”

"Okay.” He reached up with his free hand and scratched at his neck before moving to take her other wrist, repeating the same movement, circles on her pulse point. Devi gulped. In terms of sensations she’d never felt but that she was into feeling a lot more, it was high on the list and all he was doing was holding her wrists.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” he asked, looking away at the end, like he was worried to know the answer.

“That’s a dumbass question.” The words were out of her mouth before she’d really thought about them. Classic Devi. She scrunched her face up again. Paxton laughed though. Like when she told him her mom was out of town, he was relieved.

“Thank fuck,” he whispered and now it was Devi’s turn to tilt her head.

“What does that even mean? Who are you thanking?”

But Paxton pulled her wrists up to his chest and kissed her. Instinctively, she dug her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and kissed him back. He tasted like chili cheese fries and cherry chapstick, the cheap kind you buy at the grocery check out. His lips were soft and then he parted them, his tongue found hers and Devi whimpered.

“I would like a skeeball rematch,” he said, pulling away, his breathing unsteady. “And more of that at some point. The kissing. Could do that all day. More interested in that than the skeeball, actually.”

Devi’s hands were still on his chest so she reached purposely for his collar and bravely kissed his cheek. (Why did that feel brave? Her tongue had literally just been in his mouth.)

“You could just say you want to make out for the next date. Gets to the point. No wasted cash on skeeball tokens.” She felt smooth. That was a good line. Genius.

“Okay,” he said before he kissed her again. A quick peck before moving backwards and almost missing the step off her porch. “Uh, night.” “Bye,” she said, pulling her sweater sleeves over her hand and waving like some kind of Muppet.

Paxton took three more backward steps, a goofy smile on his face before he was forced to turn around and walk back to his car. Devi waited until he turned before she went inside. She leaned against the door and shook her head, smiling to herself.

Pretty good first actual date with Paxton.

Send me a ship and a kiss from this list for a quick fic

#never have i ever #daxton #devi x paxton #daxton fic #nhie fic #ask game fic #fic #Anonymous

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

Text

Too Late for R & R-Part 1

Part 1

Mattie

It was different than being in the ring with Dad and Papa. They’d trained me for this since I was seven. For a while, I thought they’d put me on TV right away. Of course, none of them saw it that way. I had to earn it, just like everyone else in the business. There would be no network TV debut right off the bat. There were warmup matches and squash matches and practice on the mic. No matter how good I was, everyone knew I wasn’t ready for the big show. Not yet.

But I still trained with Dad and Papa, Uncle Kenny and Adam. Sometimes even Chuck and Trent would jump in if they had to go off to do something. Once, Arn Anderson even got in the ring with me. It was amazing. And being a Jackson meant something—just like being a Rhodes—but it didn’t mean I could get away without earning my stripes.

Uncle Kenny was the one who offered me a spot. Dad made sure that I understood that, if I signed it, I would be working for Tony and Uncle Kenny. They would be my bosses. They would be the ones who decided when I wrestled, where, and who. I could offer ideas, I could make suggestions and work on my character, but they had the final say. Dad and Papa wouldn’t be asking for special favors for me, and I shouldn’t think I’d get any.

“In fact,” Dad had said to me right before I signed the contract, “they’re going to expect more from you because you’re a Jackson.”

I debuted on Dark as a partner and valet for one of the newly signed guys. His went by Alex Wonder, and he’d been brought on to join the revived Team Taz. He was like me—basically unknown on the wrestling scene—but he had an amazing talent. He was a heel, and Uncle Kenny said I needed to stretch my acting muscles. I wouldn’t be a babyface all the time, after all.

Alex was fighting Orange Cassidy in the opening match of Dark. They’d developed a tiny feud that was enough to tell a story. I wasn’t quite sure how I fit in with the whole storyline just yet, but we were working on it. Still, I’d come out with him, dressed in a pair of grey skinny jeans, Jordans, and a strappy black top. My job was to look good and distract the referee and his opponent as much as possible.

I figured I could do that.

***

I could feel my heart thumping out of my chest as I sat ringside to watch the match. It was late—going on midnight—and filming for the next week’s episode of Dark had been delayed in starting. The long minutes of waiting didn’t help my anxiety one bit. There were so many things that could go wrong, even though I knew Mattie wouldn’t be seeing any real wrestling action for a while. As a mother, I wanted her to succeed at her dream, but I was also terrified of what might happen when she chased after it for good. Being a wrestling wife twice over was one thing, but adding in being a wrestling mom… I didn’t know if my heart could take it.

“She’s going to be fine, Mama,” Matt said from the chair beside me. We sat near the barrier that separated the audience from the ring. We were in Daily’s Place with a small crowd—minute really—so it wasn’t too hard to hear him. He had a brace on his knee, a support for the healing ACL. Nick and I had finally convinced him to get the surgery to repair it a month before. After all, the Young Bucks had slowed down a little in recent years, and it wasn’t a huge deal for him to be out for nine months.

“Trust us,” Nick murmured from behind me. He squeezed his hands on my shoulders and dropped down to press a kiss to the top of my head. I could sense the nerves running through him. They matched my own.

We watched as the match began. Mattie was leaning against the apron with her attention focused on what was going on. I could see her watching, taking in every move and step and spot. She watched Alex Wonder carefully, as if his safety was in her hands. In a way, it was. She paced around the corner, coming closer to us. I could see Matt in the set of her jaw and Nick in the earnestness of her eyes.

The action spilled out to ringside. Mattie did a good job of staying out of the way. She distracted the referee so Alex could get a cheap shot in. Cassidy bounced off the ropes and came bounding back across the ring. He reached out and grabbed the ropes as he fell into a baseball slide. In the same moment, Alex grabbed Mattie by the shoulders and yanked her in between him and the oncoming Cassidy.

I saw the flash of panic on Mattie’s face as she flung her arms out in front of her. She turned, her left leg forward. I saw the moment when Cassidy realized he was too deep into the move to stop. My heart leapt into my throat as I let out a scream. “Mattie!”

Nick

Slow motion. That’s what it felt like as I watched Cassidy slide at speed beneath the bottom rope and ram straight into my daughter. Her arms were locked out in front of her, palms out, left leg locked in front to bear her weight. I could see what was about to happen before it did.

When they collided, I didn’t know who was screaming louder, Mattie or her mother.

I moved before I could think. I vaulted over the security rail, not caring if I took the camera guy with me. All I could think was that I had to get to my daughter. I shoved down the nausea that tore through me as I raced around the side of the ring. The match stopped the referee Alex, and Cassidy gathered around a body on the floor at ringside. I skidded along the mat, practically tossing people out of the way in my terror.

“Tea,” I said frantically, shoving Cassidy to the side. Alex hovered just out of reach—smart on his part. I’d have knocked him out if he’d been close enough.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Nick… we didn’t plan that spot…” Cassidy said, sounding heartbroken. As if he were going to be just as sick as me. He’d known Mattie since she was a baby. He’d probably hate himself if she were seriously hurt. A second later, he glared at Alex Wonder with murder in his eyes.

“Mattie,” I said again, crawling closer until I was right beside my daughter, Doc Sampson knelt on her other side, his hands gently probing her left wrist and her right leg. I didn’t need him to tell me. Her left leg was twisted at an odd angle. White bone and bloody gore pushed through the skin of her left forearm. Her face was splotchy, alternately crimson and ashy pale. “Mattie.”

“We need to get her to the hospital,” Doc Sampson said. He glanced at my daughter’s arm and then back at her leg. “I think she’s got at least one break there.”

My eyes burned, and I couldn’t stop myself from crying. Tears poured down my face as I hovered over my first-born child. Her face was a mask of pain and terror. It was amazing that she hadn’t passed out or gone into shock yet. Doc Sampson was on the walkie to backstage. A gurney rolled out from the back, medics pushing people out of the way.

I looked up and back. Y/N and Matt were at the railing, watching with faces almost as white as Mattie’s. Matt was on crutches, unable to get close. Our wife was frozen with terror, her worst nightmares coming true.

“Go tell them we’re going to the hospital. Get security, and get them out of the crowd as fast as possible,” I ordered Cassidy. He nodded, still looking as if he were either going to puke or rip Wonder apart with his bare hands, then practically ran toward the spot where my brother and our wife waited.

Matt

I kept one arm around Y/N’s waist, knowing that if I let go, she would hit the floor. I could see it in the ghostly pallor of her face and the fact that she barely looked to be breathing. “It’s okay, Y/N. It’s okay.”

Cassidy came closer, his face alternately angry red and sick green. I could already see him blaming himself for what happened. He’d barely opened his mouth to speak when I heard the sound of my brother’s rage-filled voice.

“Stupid, dumbass prick! Careless asshole!” Half a breath later the distinctive sound of two stiff hits echoed through the quiet. Wonder’s hands moved reflexively, coming up toward his face, but he hit the ringside mat before he could realize what happened. Nick moved toward the back with purpose, the knuckles of his right hand busted open and bloodied. He held it still, as if he had hurt himself.

A pair of security guards appeared behind us, clearing a way for us through the sparse crowd. I cursed under my breath, hating the way the crutches slowed me down. How it slowed my wife down. I knew her as well as I knew anyone else, and I was certain that she was panicked beyond recognition. Her greatest fear had been that one of us would get hurt. I’d always though it would be me or my brother. I never stopped to think that it would be my daughter.

By the time we made it out of Daily’s Place and into the lot, the ambulance had already driven away with Nick in the back with Mattie. Our rental car had been brought to the curb. Y/N trembled as she got behind the wheel. Her fingers clenched the steering wheel until her knuckles were white, skin stretched thin. I didn’t want her to drive—she had to be in shock—but I was useless. I couldn’t drive with my knee.

“Move,” someone said from by the driver’s door. I looked across my wife to see Adam Page standing there. “I’ll drive, Y/N. You’re in no state to.”

Adam caught my eye, his face a mixture of pure rage and sickening worry. I knew it was an expression mirrored by my wife and I. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was worn by everyone in the back. They’d all known Mattie since she was little.

He helped Y/N out and into the back. Just before he shut the door, shouts came from the arena exit. Kenny came racing across the lot, tugging a shirt on over his head as he ran, Brandon on his heels. They slid in on either side of my wife in the back seat, huddling close and slipping their arms around her. Adam gunned it from the parking lot and practically fishtailed into the street. The moment he could, Adam pushed the car to near ninety and my wife fell apart, sobbing so hard that she could hardly breathe. I twisted in my seat to take her hand, lacing our fingers together while Kenny and Brandon did their best to hold her together.

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @lilred91 @imagineall-the-fandoms @maelleoute @librathepheonix13 @justamess44

#too late tales #the too late tales #matt jackson #nick jackson #young bucks #matt jackson fanfiction #nick jackson fanfiction #young bucks fanfiction #aew #aew fanfiction #polyamory #polyamorous relationships #wrestling #injury #real person fanfiction #matt x reader #nick x reader #matt x reader x nick

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yukheistics · 5 years

Text

wind, na jaemin.

pairing na jaemin x reader

word count 1.4k

genre angst

warning(s) very minor character death, suggestive themes

note i started this in the summer of 2019 but only finished it now—and it’s still bad >:0

summary you want to feel something again. anything. but he comes and goes like the wind.

The first time you met Na Jaemin was in preschool.

Things were much simpler back then from his tousled hair and missing teeth. His chubby fingers played with a bucket in the sandbox, attempting (and failing) to make a humongous sandcastle that can touch the blue skies. He said something about wanting to fly on a cloud—or something “cool” a preschooler would say. He invited you over to help him make his grand castle, but you can’t remember the minuscule details in between. All you truly remember was his infuriating cries when recess time was over because of his dream diminishing.

Fast forward to high school, Na Jaemin managed to be a varsity baseball player and a star student as well, gaining him more popularity. He reeked of naivety and heartbreak, dating a couple girls that never really stuck around. Regardless of everything, he always made time for you—amidst his busy schedule—remaining to be the same dorky boy you met in the sandbox fifteen years ago. He still raved on about comics, superhero films, and fantasy novels.

And if anything, you always knew that you had a crush on him, but you never wanted to admit it because he was Jaemin. You started looking at him differently, often wondering what it’d be like to be in love with him. To fall in love with him. You were completely blurring the lines between best friend and lover.

“Is he coming?” Renjun asks one day as you shove all your mother’s belongings into a box. He gives you a pointed look, before helping you tape it up. “Hell, did you even send him an invitation?”

“Invitation? What is this? A goddamn birthday party?”

“You know what I mean,” the Chinese boy groans. “So, did you?”

You stare at the masking tape in your hands. “I did. I sent him an invitation, but I haven’t heard from him, so I don’t know,” you murmur. “I get it. He’s busy doing what he loves. He always had a knack for following his dreams. It’s fine, really, if he doesn’t come at all—”

“I’ve only known you for three years and you’re the worst liar,” he places the scissors down and flicks your wrist. “I can call him, you know. We often chat in our group chat.”

“It’s fine,” you restate, glancing around to see if you missed picking up things from your mother. “If he comes, he comes. If he doesn’t, then he doesn’t,” you pause momentarily, watching the snow stick on the windows. “It should be simple as that.”

You see Na Jaemin on the day of your mother’s funeral, clutching onto a black umbrella and assuring that it was over your head. You got sick easily, he claimed. Be it the cold, hard rain or the flu season. He is visibly concerned for you, but you don’t know if it was because this is your mother’s funeral or because he hasn’t contacted you for the past two months.

You think he was crying. Crying how the person who treated him like a son was gone. You think again, how he buried his head into your shoulder, repeatedly apologizing how he shouldn’t even be sobbing more than you. This is your mother, for God’s sake—so why weren’t you crying? You think and think, how you never cried at the funeral.

You stay after everyone is gone. You expect to be alone already—to let go of the breath you’ve been holding for the past hour, but you catch Jaemin lingering in the background. (It’s ironic seeing him in the background, because he has always been the main character in your pivotal life.) He doesn’t say anything, simply twirling the umbrella in the gravel as he attempts to give you space.

“I’m sorry,” he utters quietly when you finish talking to your mom as if she was there. In reality, you are merely talking to the eerie silence of the wind and the brown casket soon-to-be buried. It’s annoying. “For everything, really. I didn’t mean to act like that towards you.”

You blink. For the past two months, you have accustomed yourself to a lifestyle without Na Jaemin. Without the bright smile, without the late-night phone calls, without him. He is out pursuing his dreams of becoming a singer, while you are stuck in your small hometown still confused on what your major is. You often wondered if you’d ever forgive him, but you knew that you would do so in a heartbeat—even if it meant hurting yourself in the process. “It’s fine, really,” you address nonchalantly, looking behind him as if the trees are a fascinating sight. “Don’t worry about it.”

He sighs and taps his fingers on the black umbrella before saying, “Do you need a ride home?”

You almost curse at yourself for forgetting to ask Renjun to stay awhile to give you a ride. You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I can just ride the bus or something.”

“You do know the weather is terrible and your apartment is thirty minutes away from here, in terms of driving that is,” Jaemin tells you. “C’mon, your apartment is on the way to mine anyways.”

“How long are you staying?” you blurt out suddenly. “Or you don’t have to tell me,” you pause, seeing him frown. “I don’t really—care.”

It’s a lie. You do care. It’s annoying.

“I have the next two weeks off from the company.”

You just nod and follow him to his car.

For the remaining time in his car, he never says anything as he drives you home occasionally glancing at you. You think words were never really needed at times like these. It is the company—his presence that kept you going.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Jaemin finally says, after parking the car in front of your apartment. He leans back in his seat, giving you a reassuring smile that affected you more than it should. It’s annoying. “We’ve been friends for what? Fifteen years? I only found out from Renjun that your mom died and that invitation you sent. You never actually told me.”

You tug at the ends of your black dress, wanting the conversation to end already. “Well, you never called.”

“I was just busy,” he sighs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry for that, but please just know that I will always be here for you. No matter what.”

Liar, you want to scream at him, but you simply nod and ask, “Want to have a cup of coffee inside?”

He looks surprised at your words, immediately nodding. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

It’s funny how the coffee isn’t made.

You kiss Jaemin underneath the cheap lighting of your apartment when he is just supposed to bring home. It is in the heat of the moment: grasping his crisp, black dress shirt, running your fingers through his brown locks, opening your mouth to let him in. The kissis rushed, resembling smudged ink and hurried penmanship on paper. His lips taste like strawberries. Your tinted lip balm smudges his lips. You think you’re in love with him.

Think. Think. Think.

“Is it bad,” you suddenly begin once you finished kissing him. You card your fingers through his brown locks, watching the way his eyes flutter open to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, but he looks endearing in your gaze. “That I don’t want to be remembered by anyone when I die?” you pause. “I mean,” you slowly continued. “The people who remember just get hurt more, right? But if they don’t remember, if they don’t know, then there wouldn’t be any pain,” you tip your head back as if holding back a laugh. “Ignorance is bliss as they say.”

He gives you a questioning look—probably afraid to let you continue. He knows he was already losing you. He just doesn’t know how to fix it. “Ignorance is bliss, but it’s better to know things. Remembering isn’t always going to lead to pain: it can lead to some pretty good memories too.”

You don’t reply. Instead, you lean down to press a kiss on his lips before he starts to sit-up from his position and pulls you closer to his embrace. You feel numb inside and out—but Jaemin makes you feel something. It’s so pathetic. You are willing to have something than nothing at the moment.

However, that something turns into nothing after that impulsive night, burying the unspoken kisses and touches between the two of you. You want something to happen, you want to feel something again. Anything. Anything to distract your heart from shattering more than it already had.

But Jaemin comes and goes like the wind.

#na jaemin #na jaemin x reader #jaemin x reader #jaemin scenarios #jaemin drabbles #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #nct dream #nct #nct scenarios #nct dream fanfic #nct dream angst #nct fanfic #jaemin #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct angst #huang renjun #masterlist

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years

Text

Touch My Hands and Heal Me (BuckyxOFC & StevexOFC)

So just a fun one shot to help me get over some writer’s block. I’ve had this idea in mind for awhile so I’m excited to finally get it out.

Warnings: Some swearing, violence.

Words: 6k

Touch My Hands and Heal Me

This was the last place Steve wanted to be on a Thursday night. Nothing against the bar itself but it had been a hellish week and all he wanted to do was relax in his suite in the Tower and pretend for 5 minutes that he was an average guy.

Which is probably why Sam dragged his ass to this bar.

And of course, Bucky tagged along even though he was just as exhausted. Either from a self-induced guilt trip or his belief in Steve's inability to stay out of trouble, Bucky grumbled but tucked his head down and followed silently. Jerk.

Sam led them down the streets of NYC to a little hole in the wall sports bar an air force friend recommended.

It always amazed Steve how easily people failed to notice him without the suit and shield. Walking down the sidewalk with a vintage Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap on and a brown leather jacket over jeans, no one looked at him twice. Or Bucky in a black hoodie. Or Sam in a gray Nike long sleeve and ball cap. It was nice that there was somewhat a sense of esoteric, that only on the rare occasion was he swarmed now, or perhaps people were used to him. What it truly made him realize was that most people only really saw and cared about Captain America and not Steve Rogers. No one cared about the little guy from Brooklyn anymore. All they wanted was the glorified icon of patriotism.

He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, willing the tension in his head and muscles to leave. Tony and him had a long meeting with Senator Thaddeus Ross today and when it finally concluded, he fled to the gym to make use of the weight bags. He probably would be receiving a bill from Tony because of all the busted bags he left behind. The man was a genius, you would think he would have reinforced them long ago.

Apparently he needed a drink- according to Sam.

He was pleasantly surprised when he walked through the door of the bar -The Old Guys Tavern- and found it calm. It was a smaller establishment, nestled between a BBQ restaurant and a sporting goods store on a back road. It was a sports bar with several TVs showing different games playing, framed pictures all over the walls of different famous athletes, a few framed mirrors, a jukebox in the back corner near 2 pool tables. A long bar took up half of one wall, across from it several booths and a few scattered tables near the pool tables. It was simple and felt reminiscent of how bars used to be. The lights were dim but instead of feeling like a club -no matter what Natasha said he was NOT doing that again- it gave an illusion of privacy.

He quickly noticed that among the 23 people already there, most were male and either middle aged or elderly, with the leaning towards those with gray hair.

"I thought you two would feel at home here amongst your age group." Sam quipped, scanning the bar with a smile on his face.

"Does that mean we need to find a kindergarten for you?" Bucky retorted.

Steve just shook his head as Sam laughed.

They settled into an open leather booth, a Minnesota Vikings versus Green Bay Packers football game played on the TV across from them.

"You dragged our asses out here, you got first round."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Bucky. "A'ight man, I see how it is. I try to help you have a social life and this is the thanks I get. See if I bring you out again, cyborg."

Steve watched Sam walk up to the bar before turning to his oldest friend, seated across from him. The dark rings under his eyes only confirming how the week had affected him too.

"I'm fine, Steve."

"Your face says otherwise."

The corners of Bucky's lips turned up for a moment. "I'll be fine. It's just…" He sighed heavily, running a hand through his long, dark hair.

"A reminder that we're in the wrong century?"

"Yeah...we shouldn't be here."

"I know, Buck. I know."

3 days ago they had attended Dum-Dum Dugan's funeral and it hit them both hard. He had been the last Howling Commando alive besides Steve and Bucky and it felt like a knife in the heart. They did not just lose a friend. It felt like the closing of a book. Another reminder of something they used to be a part of, something that they knew, was gone. Yet here they were, drowning in the murky waters of the 21st Century.

"Alright boys, here it is." Sam slid a glass bottle of Heineken to both of them while slipping next to Steve in the booth with his own. "You guys made plans for next week yet?"

"Clint said we could visit the farm. Natasha and Wanda will go, I'm certain." Steve said, idly rubbing the label as the condensation dampened his finger.

"Vision will go if Wanda goes." Bucky snorted, taking a sip of his beer.

"You sure it's alright if I leave? I can tell my family that something has come up. Can't promise they won't show up at the Tower with enough food to feed an army though." Sam smirked.

"No, you deserve to go see your family." Steve said, hoping to hide the pain in his voice. "Buck and I will figure out something." He hoped.

Next week was Thanksgiving, the first one Steve and Bucky would be together for since 1944. The one last year, Bucky had been in Wakanda, still working to get the trigger words out of his head. Thankfully Princess Shuri figured it out. Which reminded Steve to contact T'Challa soon to get an update -from his viewpoint- of the revisions of the Accords. Steve did not trust Senator Ross' update from earlier. That man had an agenda and clearly resented the need to keep the Avengers updated.

"I'll make sure to bring some of my mom's pumpkin pies back for you guys. Soon as I tell her the great Captain America ate the whole one last year, she will lose her mind."

Steve blushed and rubbed the back of his neck at the reminder. "I didn't realize it was to share. I thought Pepper bought it for the kitchen."

"Hey! Don't compare my momma's home-made, award-winning pumpkin pie to some cheap-ass, store-bought kind! I should kick your ass for that insult."

"Oh, I want to see that." Bucky deadpanned, keeping his eyes on the TV across from them.

Steve changed the subject before the bickering started. He knew it was mostly in good humor but sometimes it grated on his nerves. "Parker stopped by this morning to try out the new suit Tony made him."

"You still seriously considering using him on the field? He's a kid." Sam questioned.

"He took out both you and Buck at the airport."

"Alright, touché, but still. A damn kid."

"I told Tony if he keeps his grades up and practices hard with us, I won't fight it." Steve smirked. "But if he gets hurt, Tony has to deal with Aunt May."

That made them all chuckle. Once when Peter practiced with them, he had landed wrong and twisted his ankle. From what they heard, you would have thought Peter had lost a limb with how Aunt May berated Tony and fussed over her nephew. It had become a running joke amongst the team.

An hour passed, Steve and Bucky both having to take their turn buying the beers, as they chatted or just watched the games on the TVs. Everything had been going so well, which should have been a flashing beacon that something was going to happen. If this week had been any indication.

One of the guys who had been playing pool with a few others started their way. He was in his forties, slightly overweight, in business attire, looking like he got off work at an office and came out to grab a beer with friends. Steve had noticed him several times over the past hour glancing their way but paid no mind. No one else had approached them or even acknowledged them. Most likely someone trying to figure out how he recognized their faces.

He approached the table and stared at each of them before a toothy, crooked grin appeared. Looking back over his shoulder, he called over to his friends. "It is those goddamn Avenger shits. I knew it. Coming in here like they own the place."

"Hey, back off, man." Sam tried to keep his cool but Steve could see that the guy had gotten under his skin. "We are just here for a beer, minding our own business."

"You know, I bet all those stunts you pull, the "world-saving" and shit, it's all fake. You pretend, keep the masses happy and feeling protected while you just live like kings off government money. Yeah…I know the truth."

Before any of them could respond to the guy, about how very wrong he was, a new voice from the bar spoke up.

"Chuck, quit trying to start a fight. They could kick your ass without breaking a sweat."

The guy -apparently Chuck- glared over his shoulder at the speaker. "Shut up. No one asked you to get involved."

A woman probably mid twenties slid down off the bar stool she was sitting on and stalked their way. Steve can't help but watch her, feeling as if a hurricane was approaching. Her honey blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her hazel eyes stared defiantly at Chuck. She wore a loose white t-shirt with some kind of symbol on the front and black leggings that highlighted all her curves and showed off her long legs. Combat boots and a dark leather jacket completed the look.

"Just cause you're still pissed doesn't mean you gotta start shit. Now, leave them alone, you're bothering them."

"We will leave. We didn't come here to start trouble." Steve injected, glancing between the man and woman standing at the end of the table.

She turned slightly to pin him with a pointed look that had him regretting his words and shutting his mouth. She turned back to the guy -Chuck- and they glared at each other for several long, awkward, tense moments before he huffed and took a step back.

"Bitch," he muttered but glared at her still, "probably going to let them all fuck you like the whore you are."

As soon as the last word spewed out of his mouth, she hit him with a right hook that left him half sprawled on the table beside them.

"Dee, no fighting. God, girl, get out of here!" The bartender called over, clearly exasperated as he ran his hand through his white hair.

"Sorry, Ray." She shrugged unapologetically. Flexing the fingers on her right hand, she turned back to Steve, Bucky and Sam. "Have a good night, boys."

Steve watched her walk out of the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Chuck get up, spitting blood on the floor, with the help of one of his friends. He looked like he wanted to say something but his friend quickly dragged him back to the pool tables.

Perfect. Steve was not in the mood for a fight.

"Think she's ok?" Bucky was staring at her retreating form also, even when she disappeared from view. He turned back slowly to meet their confused looks. "That hit...might have broken something."

They sat in silence for a second before sliding out of the booth and heading out.

The air had a winter's bite to it but not yet unbearable. Although it took a lot for Steve to feel really cold now. Those rare moments always brought up painful memories of icy waters and darkness. Something he prefered not to think about.

They managed to glimpse her before she turned down another street. Simultaneously they started to jog to catch up. Thankfully not too many people on the sidewalk stopped to stare at three huge guys casually jogging at 10pm at night in jeans.

"Hey yo! Dee!" Sam called out as they turned down the street.

She stopped, slowly turning around to watch them approach with a single eyebrow raised. "You boys lost?"

"Naw, we wanted to see if you're alright. That was quite a punch."

Thank God for Sam's ability to always talk. Steve never thought he would be glad for that one day but right now he was. Staring at her, he felt tongue-tied.

She smiled, holding her hand up and wiggling her fingers. "I'm fine. Not a big deal."

Steve could not help but notice her nails were painted a shimmery dark blue.

"Why did you do it?" They all looked at Bucky with his hands in his pockets as he spoke. "I mean, you didn't have to stand up for us. Hell, he has to weigh twice what you do. So...how come you got involved?"

"I don't like bullies."

"Ah shit, she's the female version of you, Steve." Bucky bemoaned, dragging a hand down his face.

She giggled, the sound rich and feminine, and Steve could not help but smile in response.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Sergeant Barnes."

"Call me Bucky, please."

"Ok, Bucky."

"I guess you already know Steve and I." Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your name Dee?"

She seemed to hesitate for a second, looking back over her shoulder. "Lydia."

"Nice to meet you, Lydia. Thanks for helping out back there."

"Oh believe me, it was my pleasure. I've been wanting to hit him for a while. I doubt Ray will let me back though."

"Cause you hit a rude customer? I'd think you're doing him a favor." Sam snorted.

"Ah no, I may have hit Chuck's cousin last week...broke his nose."

The three stared at her in varying degrees of amusement and shock.

"What? He was bad mouthing the New England Patriots. Tom Brady is my boy."

"Shit, doll, you're something else." Bucky laughed.

"Thank you. Now it's lovely to meet you all but I need to go. Tootles."

"Wait!" Steve was not sure why he stopped her except that some part of him was not ready to lose her yet. He took a step closer. "Where are you headed?"

She raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering what he was getting at. "Home."

"Let us walk you. It's the least we can do."

"It's not that far, I promise. I'm sure you superheroes have better things to do. I'll be fine."

"Come on, Lydia, we got you kicked out. Let us make sure you get home safe, yeah?" Sam joined the petition.

She chewed her bottom lip, eyes scanning between the three of them before letting out a sigh. "If it makes you feel better."

----------

When Bucky went to the bar with Steve and Sam, his expectations were to keep an eye on Steve, taunt Sam and just pretend that he had actually slept the past five days instead of pacing or staring at a wall all night.

Watching a beautiful dame punch a guy to defend them… this night got a whole lot more interesting.

The four of them walked down the sidewalk together, Steve and Bucky behind Sam and her...Lydia.

"So, you know who we are and what we do," Sam said casually, "tell us about you."

"Well I get into fights at bars and I watch football. I'm not that interesting."

Bucky could not help but snort. A shared glance with Steve confirmed his own amusement.

"Alright. Who taught you to fight? You got a mean swing that clearly shows some training." Sam continued.

"My brother." She shrugged. "What were you guys doing out? I would think you'd have booze at the Tower or be more likely to go to a high-class, expensive bar instead of Ray's little place."

"Naw, we just wanted somewhere quiet and out of the way. Besides, if we break out any booze, Tony always somehow senses it and magically appears."

She laughed, and Bucky felt his heart lighten at the sound.

"Maybe we were hoping to meet someone as beautiful as you, doll." Bucky was not sure where the words came from, but for a moment he felt like the Bucky from the 40s who knew how to charm and flirt. A forgotten piece of him buried beneath the decades of trauma endured under HYDRA'S thumb.

She spun around to look at him, still walking backwards with a smirk and teasing glint in her eyes. "I'm far from beautiful but I'm more than happy to pretend for you."

He chuckled, he could feel Steve's curious eyes on him but he paid no mind. It felt good to remember this piece of him, to remind himself he was more than a damaged person, even for only a minute. "Dollface, you just gave the best right hook I've ever seen a dame throw. I'm certain that is the sexiest thing I've seen in a long time."

Laughing, she paused momentarily to slide to his side and kiss his cheek. Her arm slipped through his and they continued walking like nothing had happened.

Except something had happened.

With her touch, it felt like all his senses tripled in intensity. Her kiss...such an innocent kiss yet it set his blood on fire and brought out a warmth in his bones that even HYDRA could not freeze out.

"You go around kissing strangers often?"

She winked at Steve. "Only the cute ones."

"She called you cute, man!" Sam laughed.

Bucky pretended to scoff. "Cute...I'm not cute. Take that back." He nudged her with his elbow, thankful she was on his right side.

"Would you prefer devilishly handsome?"

"Hey, if the shoe fits…" Bucky shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. Steve's chuckling almost broke it. His blue eyes met her hazel and he realized he was glad they had met. She was beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way- Cupid's bow lips, button nose, soft features. She was tall for most women, about 5' 10" even in just combat boots. Yet it was the energy around and within her that made her stand out. She felt like joy...she radiated life...there was a sparkle in her eyes that had not been tainted by the evils of this world yet.

"Pain in the ass also fits." Steve muttered, walking on Lydia's other side.

"Punk."

"Jerk."

She slipped her other arm through Steve's. "I'm pretty sure 'trouble' is the best description."

"Now that I can attest to." Sam said, leading the group.

They walked another block in the same formation. Lydia between Steve and himself, her arms looped through theirs. They chatted, flirted and teased easily, like they had known each other their whole lives. It was odd but Bucky was not complaining. It felt good. He found himself hoping this was not the last time they would see her. The warmth infusing itself into him from her touch was addictive. Her laughter and smiles made the darkness in his mind slowly fade. If the shared looks between him and Steve just over her head meant anything, he knew Steve felt the same way.

"My apartment is just down the street. You don't have to walk me to the door."

"Trying to get rid of us?" Steve asked.

She just laughed and shook her head. "When did I become so lucky to have three such handsome gentlemen to escort me home?"

"When you slugged a guy to defend us." Bucky caught her eye and winked. "You're stuck with us now."

"I'm not complaining."

One moment they all are laughing and talking like the best of friends. In the next moment, everything changed.

A shot rang out.

Bucky could feel the bullet whizz between his and Lydia's head.

Shit.

In a split second all three guys went into defense mode. Steve grabbed Lydia, shielding her with his body as he pushed her against a brick wall in a side alley. Immediately, Bucky and Sam flanked him on either side. Without a word, Bucky pulled out a pistol for both Steve and Sam, handing them over, then retrieved one for himself. He knew after this, Steve would criticize the amount of weapons on him for just a run to the bar. Bucky did not plan on sharing about the amount of knives on him additionally. He did not want to worry Steve that much. The less he knew in this case, the better.

His eyes scanned the nearby rooftops. The trajectory of the bullet showed the shooter was somewhere above them. At least that narrowed his search. Somewhat. On the other hand, he doubted they acted alone. Why give away their position? Did the shooter just have terrible aim? Were their others? Why the hell did this have to happen now?

His breathing slowed, senses on high alert, eyes trained for any movement. He waited, listening intently for any sign of back-up. Quickly peeking around the corner, he noticed the side road they were on was deserted. It consisted of several closed stores on the side they had been walking on and across the street was apartment complexes. Logically there should have been someone walking around at this time. It was NYC, there was always someone awake. His eagle-eyes scanned around them, searching desperately for wherever that bullet originated from. Or for the others bound to be laying in wait somewhere around here.

He hated being shot at.

"Sniper, my ten o'clock. Apartment building, top floor, third window in." He reported, glancing behind him at the others after another peek around the side.

Sam faced the opposite way, keeping an eye on the other side of the alley, but nodded at Bucky's report.

Steve hovered over Lydia, who was crouched on the dirty ground. His eyes swept over the area and the switch from casual Steve Rogers to righteous Captain America was evident. Most likely wishing he had his shield.

"HYDRA?"

"Not sure." Bucky replied, grip tightening on his pistol. Of course when they were having a great time, those bastards would show up. Damn it. "You alright, doll?"

"Yea...yeah." She stuttered out, still crouched underneath Steve. Her eyes were wide but clear, breathing fast but manageable. His opinion of her increased. Although she seemed frightened, she was not panicking. A reaction most common in civilians being shot at for the first time.

Steve spoke to Bucky. "Think you can get him?"

"Not here."

"Go. We got your back."

Before he moved, a hand gripped his hoodie, surprising him. Following the hand that was holding him in place, he met her eyes.

"Be safe." She murmured, hazel eyes meeting his stormy blue in earnest.

"Just for you." With a wink, he slipped out the alley, keeping to the shadows and moved silently as a ghost.

It did not take long for him to get into position. He only wished he had his sniper rifle. Climbing some rickety, metal stairs attached to the back of a store, he swiftly placed himself across from the sniper on a rooftop. If he had more time, he would have preferred to go into the apartment and silently kill the sniper, but for some odd reason he felt like he was working against the clock.

Breath in.

Breath out.

Breath in.

Breath out.

Breathe in.

Bang.

Holding the smoking pistol in the direction of the apartment, he waited. There did not seem to be any further movement. He wondered if he should go investigate, just to confirm. God, if this was HYDRA, he did not want to leave any civilians without protection. With the gunshots fired, he figured someone would have called the cops by now. Hopefully they would be useful with the civilians.

Racing back across the rooftop, he flew down the stairs ready to confirm the sniper's death. It was then a new sound drifted to him…and he bolted towards it. Heart racing within his chest.

Please no. He begged silently.

He turned the corner to see where the fight really was. The sniper had only been a diversion. Something to force them into the intended alley.

They had played right into the enemy's hand.

Twelve guys in all black, faces covered, made the crowded alley even smaller. One was on the ground lying still, a pool of blood growing beneath his chest. Three were cornering Sam, taking turns attacking him with batons. Six were actively fighting Steve, trying to take him down using tasers, yet they were never able to subdue him fully. Two had Lydia between them, both gripping one of her arms each as she struggled and thrashed to escape looking like a wildcat.

Please no.

Bucky threw himself into the fight, fear and rage pouring into his blood to fuel him. He tackled one of the men cornering Sam, a knife slipping in between the man's helmet and Kevlar, blood spurting from his neck. Bucky rolled off him, and in two strides jabbed a knife into the back of the knees of one of Steve's attackers. The man dropped, howling and unable to stand. Another swipe and kick brought another man under his knife, blood oozing where a kidney was.

"Lydia!" Steve cried, throwing one of his attackers against the brick wall behind him.

The two men were trying to manhandle her into a doorway but her twisting, kicking and flailing made it difficult.

Bucky threw his bloodied knife into the thigh of one of them. The man stumbled, almost dropping Lydia, who cried out at the harsh treatment. Before the other man could raise his own pistol, Bucky grabbed it with his metal hand and crushed the end. Pure rage filled him at the thought of them trying to take her. He punched the man, now holding the useless gun, in the side of the head with his metal arm. The man dropped like a rock. The pistol bounced on the ground when it fell from his hand.

In a fluid motion, Bucky yanked the knife out of the other man's thigh and kicked him in the head. The man's head rocked back further than humanly possible with a cracking sound.

Silence hung over the alley after Steve and Sam knocked out or killed their attackers. Bucky stood there for a long moment, surveying the carnage around him, and trying to steady his breathing. His hands shook slightly. Blood was splattered on his black hoodie and jeans. It had been so easy -too easy- to take the lives of those men. Even though he did it to protect Steve, Sam and Lydia...his hands never felt clean. Would he ever be clean? Would he always be a monster?

"Bucky?"

His rage evaporated at the soft whimper of his name.

"It's ok, doll. I got you." He pulled her into his arms, away from the bodies of the men who tried to take her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her face buried in his chest while his own arms held her close. She trembled but if it was from fear or fading adrenaline, he was unsure. Murmuring soothing words to her, he ran a hand up and down her back in comfort.

Why did this have to happen tonight?

He glanced back over to see the spread of bodies on the ground, all wearing black clothing that looked vaguely military. Nothing like what HYDRA usually wore. Sam was on the phone, probably calling the fellow Avengers for clean up and to scout the area. Steve was stepping over the downed men, coming to his side.

"Are you hurt?"

Bucky shook his head, his eyes scanning over his best friend. "You good?"

"Yeah, she ok?"

Lydia turned her head, reaching an hand out to place on his forearm. "I'm fine...thank you."

Steve patted her hand on his arm but did not remove it. He glanced around once more before meeting Bucky's eyes. "This doesn't...these men don't seem like HYDRA."

"I noticed. Wrong weapons and fighting tactics. More like mercenaries."

"Mmmm." He rubbed the back of his neck before looking at Lydia, still in Bucky's arms. "They seemed pretty intent on taking you. Any reason why?"

That question had itched at Bucky too. HYDRA would be more interested in taking himself and Steve. She had been the focus of this attack. He shuddered to think what would have happened if they let her walk home alone.

"No...no...I don't recognize them."

"It was a long shot. Well I think you should stay with…" suddenly Steve's eyes widened and he recoiled. A second later, blood soaked his white t-shirt in the middle of his chest.

Then the sound of a muffled shot rang out in the alley.

Bucky glanced over to see one of the downed men Steve had been fighting, on his knees, pistol extended. He staggered to his feet and took off back on the side road.

"Sam!" Bucky cried, pointing to the escaping man.

The Falcon did not hesitate. He raced after the man, a snarl on his face, eyes determined.

Turning back to his best friend, disbelief clouded his mind as he saw all the blood soaking Steve's shirt.

No.

NO!

Steve placed a hand on his chest, a dazed look on his face as he pulled it back and watched the blood drip off his skin. Ever so slowly, he dropped to his knees, still staring at his hand.

"No, no, no! Damn it, Steve! NO!" Bucky moved to his side, practically ripping the leather jacket off Steve's shoulders and tearing the t-shirt in two to see how extensive the injury was. The bullet had entered Steve's upper back, almost hitting his spine and exited the middle of his chest, leaving a gaping hole. Blood poured out, leaving trails of red on Steve’s torso.

"Sorry, Buck."

"No, no. Don't you start that shit. You'll be fine. Damn super soldier shit is good for something." He tried to staunch the blood flow with Steve's ripped shirt but the training in the back of his mind told him it was useless. His lungs would be filling with blood now. It would take a miracle to save him. Yet Bucky did not stop his first aid. He refused to let his best friend die. He couldn't...he could not live without Steve. They had only just found each other again. He couldn't...God, please no, not Steve...he had to live. Bucky was not ready to be alone again.

Lydia slipped to Steve's other side. Gently she took his bloody hand and clasped it between her own. Tears coated her cheeks as she watched.

"Buck…"

"No, stop talking. Everyone is on their way. Sam called them. It'll be fine."

"I need you to…"

"Nope, don't even start trying that speech."

Steve rolled his eyes, blood beginning to taint his lips. "Jerk."

"Punk."

"Steve, look at me." Lydia stated. Both soldiers watched her, her commanding tone unable to ignore. "You're going to be alright but you'll still need to rest for a while, ok?" She glanced over at Bucky, a fire burning in her eyes. "Hold him steady."

What?

He did not have time to question her before the strangest thing happened.

Lydia leaned forward and pressed her lips to Steve's bloodied ones. One of her hands cradled the back of his head, as her kiss deepened. Even on the brink of death, Steve had no problem reciprocating. His bloodied hand cupped her cheek, leaving behind a stain on her skin. Their lips moved as if they had done this before...no hesitation...no awkward fumbling… What started off as a soft caress was turning into something more heated.

Bucky momentarily felt like a voyeur and was beyond confused. Steve should be saving his breath, not exerting himself. Damn that looked like a great kiss though.

The kiss lasted only five seconds and when they separated, both were breathing heavy like it had been far longer. Her lips were tainted red now, but her eyes shone brighter like starlight caught in her irises.

She looked at Bucky, tears streaming down her cheeks unashamedly. "Take care of him." Quickly she leaned over Steve, grabbing a handful of Bucky’s hoodie, and gave him a hard kiss on the lips before standing up and dashing away.

"What….LYDIA!" Bucky yelled after her, watching her run down the alley and turn onto another street. Part of him wanted to chase after her and demand answers but a cough from Steve diverted his attention.

"Hey, it's ok. They will…."

"Look." Steve interrupted, motioning at Bucky's hand.

He glanced down to see scraped knuckles, probably from when he tackled one of the men. Not a big deal. The serum would heal them within a day. Yet they were healing...immediately...right before his eyes. Within seconds, they looked completely normal, only Steve's blood marred them.

What?

Immediately, Bucky pulled the torn shirt from Steve's chest, gaze locked onto the exit wound that would surely kill his best friend. A gush of blood should have resulted from the compact being removed from the wound, blood allowed to flow freely once again. Yet nothing happened. Dried blood caked his chest turning a dark red but there was nothing bright red...nothing fresh.

"Holy shit."

In the next moment, Bucky felt as if the world tilted off its axis.

The wound slowly began to heal. Muscle and skin grew and reattached. The once graying complexion that Steve wore was returning to a healthy pink. His breathing deepened, not short, rapid breaths of dying lungs. Steve's blue eyes stared at Bucky, mouth gaping open. Curious and a bit frantic, Bucky peeled the shirt off Steve's back to see the entry wound. Both holes, once profusely bleeding and killing his best friend now looked like they were weeks healed. Some redness around the sites and fresh skin sealing the holes but still tender.

WHAT?!?!

"Steve…." He did not know what else to say. His oldest friend, his best friend, his brother...he was dying...and Bucky could not save him. It was his worst nightmare come to pass. The very thing he dreaded most. Now though…

Steve stared back at him wide-eyed before turning his head to look down the alley where Lydia fled. "She healed me….she saved…" He looked back at Bucky. "Who is she?"

"I'm not sure…"

"We need to find her."

Steve started to get up but Bucky pushed him back down. "You were just shot, punk. She said to rest."

"We can't let her get away! What if more of these mercenaries find her?!"

"We'll look for her. Wait till the others get here. I'll go with Sam." Bucky held Steve's gaze until he relented, slumping back onto the unforgiving, concrete ground.

The sounds of the city enveloped the quiet of the alley- car horns, sirens blaring, someone singing loudly the next street over. The two sat there, waiting and thinking. Both of their minds struggling to fully comprehend what just happened but desperate to chase after her.

"You just want another kiss, huh?"

Steve chuckled, rubbing a hand over his chest and wincing. "That was some kiss. It felt like electricity going through my veins."

Bucky thought of his own quick peck and how it felt like a shock hitting him. "Yeah. That's some dame."

"Find her, Buck. I don't…" He sighed.. "It felt...no, she felt right."

All Bucky could do was nod. He prayed she stayed safe until they could find her. Something in his gut told him they needed her. He looked down the alley once more, wondering where she went and who she really was.

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #Bucky Barnes #bucky/ofc #steve rogers #steve/ofc #Sam Wilson #one shot #probably #mzwrites

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cryptidqueerr · 4 years

Text

hey what’s up I’m writing fanfiction now I guess

y’all said “I used to be team jacob in 2006 but now I’m a giant lesbian” and I said “what about.....lesbian jacob black? and what about no imprinting? and also pepper in some more involved parents and more queer folks?” and you said “sure sounds good”

(x-posted to ao3 which is also where more chapters will be posted)

This story begins with an ending.

For six months, I followed the deepest drive of my human heart and loved Edward Cullen. For six months, he bent his nature to love me in return. But that which bends will inevitably break, and the stories warning young girls to stay away from the glittering eyes of vampires exist for a reason.

He abandoned me in the woods. He had thrown open the gates of heaven and then declared me too sinful to stand in its light. He told me that he loved me for my humanity and then told me that in my humanity, I was a liability. He left me to crash onto the ground alone. I couldn't think without him. I couldn't breathe without him. He had so fully inhabited my soul that my body did not remember how it moved before him. For hours, I curled up, the dark outside pressing against my skin to meet the darkness inside. Sam Uley carried me out of the woods, my father carried me into the house, and I carried me through the unending agony that came after.

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Weeks pass. My thin body, growing thinner by the day, feels as though it will crack under the weight of my sorrow. I don't sleep at all - then I do nothing but sleep. I barely eat. Offering smiles to soothe my father's worry feels like carving gashes into my face. I fumble for the right answers to give to the therapist my parents insist I see. She prescribes me a handful of pills that I flush down the drain.

I send texts that return undeliverable. I don't dare try his number - just the thought of the confirmation that his number is dead, that my last connection to him could be severed, drives me into an hours-long breakdown. Instead I text Alice: losing her friendship is an added pain, but a bearable one. Dozens a day, then less. Then more again. Then just one, every night.

I'm waiting. I'll always be waiting. I love him.

I think this must be what praying feels like.

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I am ruins

covered in vines

my temple long lost to age.

the darkness here is deep

shadowed corners whispering ancient

sadness

but still

the air here is holy.

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"Julie Black's coming by later."

I lift my head from my bowl of cereal. Charlie stands at the sink, in front of the coffee pot from 1997. Frost covers the kitchen window, the late November chill pressing its face against the glass. "What?" I say, seconds before my brain processes the words.

"Julie Black. She's swinging by to pick up some of her dad's stuff that he left here a while ago," Charlie says, his hands methodically adding nine sugars to his coffee. He doesn't look up.

He doesn't look directly at me very often anymore. I catch him watching me when he thinks I don't notice, his worried eyes following me from the couch to the fridge to the kitchen table and back again. He likes that I stay downstairs, I think. I don't bother to tell him that my bedroom is filled with Edward, that sleeping on my bed is like sleeping on his grave. My promise to stop saying things like that was my ticket out of weekly therapy appointments and back into my sophomore year of classes at Peninsula College, the community college in Forks. When I'd moved in with Charlie last August, I'd hoped to be moved to Seattle for a four-year college by the fall. Now, I barely manage to pass the few classes I had remembered to sign up for.

I search the blankness in my head for a response. I come up with nothing, save a vague sense of a tall, smiling girl. What does this have to do with me?

"I thought..." Charlie hesitates, then tries again. "I thought maybe you girls could catch up. Billy says she gets pretty lonely down there on the rez, with her sisters gone. She'd wanted to start taking classes over at Peninsula this semester, but it didn't work out. I bet she'd appreciate a friend."

Ah. I nod, returning my attention to the mush of Frosted Flakes. "Okay."

I sense Charlie's stillness: he hadn't expected me to agree. He doesn't answer, just mutters a wordless affirmation. But he finally shuffles into the living room, carrying his coffee and a little less tension.

I bump a cluster of soggy cornflakes, watching as it sets on a spinning path through the off-white milk. I push through the gray fog that fills my skull to idly thumb through my memories, carefully avoiding the ones I don't want to see, like navigating a dark room without barking your shins on furniture. The memory from before (before what? before Ed...no, before, before just before) comes to mind: Julie Black, Billy Black's youngest daughter, had come with him to drop off the truck Charlie had gotten from his old friend for me, right after I'd moved to Forks. I hadn't even started classes when I met her. She had shown me the trick to the clutch. I remember her height - towering over my 5' 4", probably even with Charlie's 5' 10" - and her broad shoulders, built more for soccer than basketball. I remember a bright smile, crinkling her dark eyes, so much like Emmett-

My brain throws the emergency brake before the thought reaches my heart. My head clears out completely: I think of nothing but Frosted Flakes.

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I join Charlie on the couch after breakfast. There's a game on TV. I stare at it for a full half-hour before I realize that it's football and not baseball, though that doesn't really help me understand it any better. Charlie alternatively groans in annoyance and punches the arm of his recliner in celebration. I give him another half hour of pretending to join in before I give up and grab the battered paperback I left on the coffee table the night before. It's one of the 80's-era high fantasy novels that I loved when I was thirteen, filled with knights and princesses and sexism. It's engaging enough, even though I've read it before.

My stomach has just started to rumble into hunger when there's a knock on the door. Charlie glances at me, then makes to get out of his chair.

"I'll get it," I offer. I try not to be offended by the look of surprise and excitement on Charlie's face. I'm depressed, not an invalid, I want to snap. But sniping at Charlie doesn't make me feel any better: I already tried.

When I open the door, my brain immediately scrambles to update my memories. The Julie I remember as tall-for-a-girl is now whoa-did-you-see-how-tall-that-girl-is, grinning down at me from at least six feet. Her long black hair hangs damp over her shoulders, trailing down her bare arms. There's ice pelting down with the fine rain, but she's only wearing a black tank top and jeans stuffed into muddy motorcycle boots, a dark red flannel shirt tied around her hips. Her eyes, dark as sweet coffee, are the same. They crinkle at the corners with her wide smile.

"Hey!" she says brightly. "Long time no see."

"Hi," I say.

"Hey there, Julie. Come on in, you must be freezing." Charlie appears at my shoulder, just in time for us to move out of the way for Julie and shut the door against the cold.

"It's not so bad." She stomps the mud from her feet onto the doormat, carefully shaking the rain from her hair. She's telling the truth: she doesn't even have goosebumps on her leanly muscled arms. I, on the other hand, have to cross my arms over my chest to block out the rush of chill, burrowing myself deeper into my sweater. "How've you been, Charlie?" she asks politely, sliding her hands into her pockets.

"Can't complain," he answers, but he's glancing at me. Julie, seemingly unaware of the simmering awkwardness, looks down at me again.

"Did you shrink, Swan? Weren't you at least five foot the last time I saw you?" she teases.

I feel Charlie tense slightly behind me, but for a moment my old instincts return and I roll my eyes. "I haven't changed. You're the one who looks like she's been putting Miracle-Gro on her Wheaties."

Julie grins again, running one hand through her damp hair. "I blend it into protein shakes, actually," she retorts.

Something that feels like a smile tugs at my mouth. I'm surprised by how little it hurts.

"Let me, uh, go grab that stuff for you." The words have barely left Charlie's mouth before he vanishes upstairs.

For a moment, I panic - I can't sustain small talk with my mom on the phone anymore, much less a girl I barely know. I shift from one foot to the other. The fog in my head won't clear. I can't think of anything to ask her.

If Julie notices my empty nervousness, she doesn't seem affected by it. She leans her shoulder against the doorframe, looking down at me with a crooked smile.

"So what do you pale-faces do for fun up here?" she says, a teasing roughness to her voice.

I lift one shoulder in a shrug. I hadn't done anything fun since -

My brain slammed the door shut before I could count the days.

"That's fair," she says, as though I answered. "There's not much to do around here, if you don't go in for some variety on going out in the woods to bring a bunch of dead animals back with you."

"I heard that!" Charlie yells from upstairs. Something bangs on the floor: I spare a small prayer that he doesn't break anything in his charade.

Julie's smile widens easily to a full grin. I've never seen anyone like her: when she smiles, her entire body lifts, like she's seconds from bursting into light. She runs one hand through her long hair. "Can't get mad if it's true," she calls back at him. "Not that the rez is much better. Oh, you don't want to hear the tribe's histories again? You don't want to go to the same stretch of beach and stare at the ocean? How about drinking a bunch of cheap beer in the woods? No? Guess you're out of luck."

My old instincts take over again and I snort out a laugh. "I thought the Forks kids invented standing around drinking Natty Light in silence."

"Nah. That's an old Quileute tradition." Julie rolls her shoulders, wincing slightly as she flexes her muscles. The rain is starting to evaporate off her skin already. The only moisture left clings to the hollow at the base of her neck, the dip in her collarbones, the curve of her elbow. I wonder briefly how she manages to dry off so quickly. My hands are still damp with melting flecks of ice.

"We really do steal everything." The words come out of my mouth automatically; I'm not really paying attention. The part of my brain that keeps me alive is nearly smoking at the effort of keeping the thought of cold hands and icy lips from crashing to the forefront of my mind.

"Which is why they send me up here to steal away the hearts of your women," Julie says with a wink. She isn't acknowledging the monumental effort it's taking me to stay functional. But the quick sweep of her eyes across my face, the practiced ease of her smile, are all a little too careful - she's noticed, but she isn't commenting. From anyone else it would seem like discomfort: from her, it's a kindness.

"From what I hear, you don't have any problems with that on the rez, either." Charlie reappears with a few fishing poles and a jacket that I'm sure is his. I was there when Mom bought it for him one Christmas.

Julie lifts one shoulder in an acquiescing shrug. "It's in the Black genes. We're a long, proud line of very attractive people."

"Just what every father wants to hear." Charlie grins and hands over the poles and jacket. "You, uh, heading back to the rez?"

"Yeah, I've got some work to do on the Rabbit. I'm not saying I heard Dad on the phone trying to talk Hawkins into finding me a new transmission, but I am saying Christmas is coming up and she is nowhere near close to transmission transplant ready." That broad, easy smile softens Julie's face again.

"Don't suppose you'd feel like trying to teach Bella here a thing or two about engines, would you? Every time she has to call me to change a tire I feel like I've failed as a dad." Charlie's casual almost-joke doesn't fool either of us, by the look on Julie's face. I feel Charlie's eyes dart over to me, but I stare out the window past Julie's arm. I feel myself sliding - out of the conversation, out of the kitchen, out of the entire morning. I don't make plans anymore. I don't go places anymore. What the hell is Charlie doing?

"Thinking about taking shop as an elective next semester?" Julie tosses the question back to me. I don't look at her, but I shake my head. Like before, she takes my silence as a response, letting it slip into the flow of conversation as easily as if I'd spoken. "I didn't really take you for a mechanic type."

"I don't really know what type I am," I say. I see Charlie's face fall slightly, and my stomach with it. He thought he was doing good. He thought I was getting better. He tried so hard. "But I could give mechanic-type a shot." An uncharacteristically broad smile lifts Charlie's face before I even register the words that came out of my mouth.

What the fuck, Swan.

Julie laughs and stretches her arms over her head. It feels like she takes up the entire kitchen, though I can't decide if it's her physical size or just her energy, if she'd fill up a room the same way if she was the same size as Al-

"I can probably teach her how to at least change a tire," Julie interrupts the dangerous thought before my self-preservation can get to it, like she saw the pain coming.

"Great!" Charlie's almost beaming now. My face flushes slightly: I didn't think I had the capacity to be embarrassed anymore, but when your dad is practically wriggling like a puppy over the thought of you leaving the house, embarrassment manages to find its way back in. "You girls have fun. Just bring her home before midnight, huh?"

"I always do," Julie says and tosses her hair over her shoulder. I feel the flush on my face warm a little more. I don't bother trying to understand why.

#twilight #twilight is gay now #lesbian jacob black #college au #fanfiction #fanfic #twilight fanfic #I'm just occupying my time writing sad gay shit #text

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