#I’m just flipping back and forth between what I’m working on help me be decisive

[brokenmenswhore]

helloooo do u think u could do a poly marauders smut where they all get jealous and punish reader 😁

absolutely i do

punish | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, & sirius)

warnings: choking, rough sex (MDNI 18+), smut, spanking, triple penetration (including anal)

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“You’re joking. I mean, you have to be joking, right?”

You toyed with your fingers, watching your hand movements in an effort to keep your head down and avoid eye contact as your legs began to shake, your feet reaching the floor as you sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m sorry, it just felt like something I should tell you-“

“It felt like something you should tell us? Fucking hell, angel, you can’t be agreeing to dates with other guys when you’re with us.”

You sighed, protesting, “but it’s not a date! He just needs help studying, I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t tell you.”

“If it’s something you have to sit us down and tell us about, doesn’t that set off a red flag?” James asked calmly, trying to level with you.

“I mean, not always,” you admitted, “I kinda have to do this with Sirius every time I even breathe the same air as a boy.”

Sirius was pacing back and forth in front of your bed, but he stopped when you spoke his name, turning toward you. “Do not act all innocent with me, you know you lead them on.”

“I don’t!” you protested.

Sirius was frustrated, his nostrils flaring as he gripped your jaw, forcing your head upward and your eyes to look at him.

“Look me in the eyes and try to tell me you didn’t say yes to him, knowing we would have an issue with it.”

“I-“

“That’s what I thought,” Sirius spat, “you knew how we would react, yet you agreed to it anyway.”

“You don’t control my decisions.”

You knew what you were doing by talking back to Sirius. He knew you made your own choices, but the truth was, you made this choice because you knew it would piss your boyfriends off. When they were jealous, they were mean.

Sirius tightened his grip. “What did you just say to me?”

“Take it easy, Sirius,” Remus said, approaching you two, “she’s clearly doing it to get a rise out of you.”

Sirius stared into your eyes. “Are you?”

Instead of responding, you couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, which was the wrong thing to do.

Sirius pulled you to a stand by your jaw, spinning you around and pushing your front down, folding you onto the mattress.

“Something funny?” Sirius asked, and you shook your head no, your breath taken away by the haste of his action.

Remus leaned over the other side of the bed, his chin resting against the mattress, his face level with your own. “I tried to stick up for you, but unfortunately I think you’re going to miss your date.”

“It’s not a d-“

Before you could finish your retort, Sirius connected his palm with the flesh of your ass, causing your body to jolt slightly forward.

You gasped at the sudden pain, and Remus stuck his lower lip out, hyperbolically pouting. “Poor baby, did that hurt? Maybe you shouldn’t agree to dates with other guys.”

You sighed. “But I told you it-“

Sirius hit you again, harder this time. You nearly squeaked at the surprise of the feeling.

“Just stop talking, baby,” James said. He was standing somewhere behind you, near Sirius, but you couldn’t see him. He was always the nicest to you, and his brain felt bad when you were being punished, as much as his cock disagreed.

Sirius flipped your skirt up and pulled your underwear down your legs, exposing you from behind to your boyfriends.

“James, care to take over?” Sirius asked, backing away from your body.

James smiled, dropping to his knees, his face level with your core. You couldn’t see what was happening, but you knew it was James from the way he slowly darted out his tongue, tasting between your folds as his hands came to hold your waist, keeping you in place.

James was by far the most skilled with his tongue, so the boys elected that he would be best equipped to work you up properly.

You rested the side of your head against the sheets, whining softly as James began to taste you, swirling his tongue around your bud and sucking on your clit.

It was difficult for you to stay quiet, especially with James between your legs. The more he worked you up, the louder he became.

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

“Shut up,” Remus demanded.

You couldn’t help but continue to moan and whine as James flicked your bud, causing your legs to shake slightly as he grabbed your ass, pressing his face even closer into your cunt.

“I said shut up,” Remus warned, “bad girls don’t get to make noise.”

“I’m not a bad girl,” you protested.

Remus gave you a wide-eyed stare. “You really wanna be punished today, huh?”

You only squealed in response when James’s tongue began to move faster and faster, trying to coax you to climax.

Remus bent down next to you and clasped a hand over your mouth, shutting you up since you wouldn’t do so yourself.

Your moans were muffled under his hand, which only worked James up more. He wanted to watch you struggle, and he wanted to make you moan so loud that it wouldn’t matter if Remus’s hand was covering your mouth or not.

You gripped the sheets, trying to steady yourself. Sirius, who was suddenly behind you, lifted one of your legs until it was bent on the bed, giving James even easier access to your core. You were even more on display for the boys with your skirt forcibly pushed up around your waist.

You were whining freely underneath Remus’s hand, your orgasm threatening to crash over you at any moment. Just when you began to squirm from the near overstimulation, James pulled away, bending his body identically over yours and moving his hand to insert a finger into your core.

You tried to press your forehead into the sheets, but Remus’s grip on your mouth was too tight. As James began to ruthlessly move his finger in and out of you, his unoccupied hand pressed the side of your head into the mattress.

“You wanna come?” he whispered into your ear, and you did your best to nod your head, but it was nearly impossible.

Just as you began to squeeze around James’s finger, he pulled completely away from you, leaving your core feeling empty and your body cold due to his body no longer against yours.

Your cunt clenched around nothing, the empty feeling causing you to wiggle your ass in an attempt to get one of the boys to give you the attention you now craved.

“Flip.”

Remus’s voice was strict, your body reacting to his instruction as you stood and turned over, laying back down on the bed. Finally facing upward, you could see what was going on.

Remus stood between your legs and pulled you toward the edge of the bed. You leaned yourself up on your elbows, but Sirius was way ahead of you, gripping your wrists and pinning your arms on either side of your head.

Remus pulled down his pants, lining the tip of his cock up with your entrance.

“Gotta remind you who you belong to, hm?” Remus said, slowly pushing the head of his cock into you.

He quickly pulled it back out, teasing your entrance as Sirius held your wrists down, watching you squirm and writhe in need and anticipation.

“Actually, I don’t know,” Remus said, continuing to tease you, “seems you might have already forgotten who’s you are.”

You furiously shook your head no, trying to demonstrate that you hadn’t forgotten you were theirs. You were so desperate to feel Remus inside of you, that you would have done anything to get him to fuck you already.

“Tell us you’re ours,” Sirius demanded, his face next to yours as he stood on the opposite side of the bed, still holding your wrists.

“I am, I’m yours-“

“So then you shouldn’t have agreed to date another guy,” James said, cutting you off.

The moment James’s sentence finished, Remus slammed his entire length into you, causing your body to hit forward.

You cried out, and Sirius dropped your wrists, instead opting to cover your mouth with one hand and your neck with the other.

Remus began to snap his hips in and out, not giving you an adjustment period before he began to ruthlessly fuck you. You didn’t dare move the positioning of your arms, keeping them up as you gripped the sheets beside your head.

You tried to moan and whine, but Sirius had a firm grip on your throat and was using the hand over your mouth to press your head deeper and deeper into the mattress.

Tears threatened to spill from the intensity, which was involuntary, but was also Sirius’s favorite thing.

“Aweh, poor baby, you gonna cry?” Sirius mocked.

You couldn’t help the slight hiccups that came as you cried, which only egged Sirius on more. “You don’t wanna be punished anymore, hm? Then maybe you shouldn’t be saying yes to other guys like a filthy fucking whore.”

You tried to nod your head in protest that no, you were not a filthy fucking whore, and you didn’t say yes to other guys, but you could barely move.

Remus was gripping your hips with no remorse, nearly bruising the skin from the pressure. He leaned over you, adding onto Sirius’s words as he whispered in your ear with each thrust, “filthy. Fucking. Whore.”

You were trying to catch your breath from your cries, but you could only take deep breaths through your nose. The boys were amused watching you struggle, and Remus was fucking you hard, consumed with his own pleasure and hellbent on denying you yours.

Your walls began to clench around Remus, and he immediately pulled out, bending over to steady himself. He had denied himself an orgasm in order to prevent yours. Still, he backed away from you, no intent to finish himself off when you were right there.

Sirius let go of your mouth and neck, but only to shift positions with the boys. You took the opportunity to immediately cry, “please, Rem, please, I need it-“

“Sh,” James took over, “I’m sorry, bunny, but this is a punishment, and you know what that means, don’t you?”

You sniffled, “I don’t get to come until all of you do.”

“Good girl,” James said, “stand up for a second for me, yeah?”

You stood, your legs shaking as James laid down on the mattress and patted his lower stomach. You crawled back onto the bed, swinging one leg over his waist to straddle him.

He was already unclothed, and Sirius was the same, appearing behind you as he knelt on the bed between James’s legs.

You looked between the two boys in confusion before your eyes widened in realization.

“Siri, I can’t-“

Sirius could tell you were nervous, so he dropped the intense wall for a brief moment to ask you for your consent.

Despite your tears, you nodded yes, wanting to please them but also aware that you could absolutely handle it.

“Up,” James tapped the side of your thigh, prompting you to raise your hips. He gave himself a few lazy strokes before lining himself up with your entrance. You slowly sank down onto his length, sighing in appreciation at the feeling of being filled again.

When you were all the way down, James pulled your body against his, holding you tightly as he stilled inside of you.

Sirius had already lubricated his cock in preparation, bending down to bite the flesh of your ass before lining his tip up with your other hole.

James held you tightly as Sirius pushed just his tip inside, a long gasp leaving your lips at the sudden intrusion.

You buried your face into the crook of James’s neck as Sirius slowly inserted himself into your ass. If you let out a particularly high squeak, Sirius stilled for a moment, but otherwise he moved as slow as he possibly could until his entire length was inside of you.

James lifted his head off the bed to peek at where your three bodies connected, bridged through you, and you took the opportunity to grab the back of James’s head, desperate for anything other than the mattress to ground yourself on.

You stayed in your position, heavy breathing as you adjusted to both boys, Sirius grabbing your hips and James’s arms remaining wrapped around your torso.

“Tell us when we can move, doll,” Sirius said, his composure faltering.

You gave it a few minutes, allowing the pain to subside as your hole stretched, before telling the boys, “I’m okay.”

James and Sirius exchanged a look, and James smiled wide as he slowly pushed his hips upward, stimulating your cunt. You moaned from the sudden movement, holding James close to you as he loosened his grip around your body, shifting and holding the sides of your torso as he moved, trying his hardest to keep you from bouncing. He was afraid of hurting you due to Sirius, but it was hard to hold back when you were on top of him with two cocks inside of you.

James set a steady pace, not nearly as rough as Remus, but not slow either. After a few minutes of adjusting to James, Sirius tightened his grip on your hips in warning.

You inhaled a sharp breath in anticipation right before Sirius slowly pulled a tiny bit out, pushing back in to test the waters. You nearly collapsed even more onto James’s body, but Sirius’s grip kept your hips tilted upward.

Sirius began to move in and out slowly, cautious of just how far back he pulled out with each stroke. It hurt like hell for a moment before the pain subsided, and all you could feel was pleasure twice over.

“Fuckin’ hell,” James moaned, throwing his head back against the pillows as both he and Sirius worked you up.

They tried to stay in a rhythm, one pushing in while the other pulled out, but quickly became too engrossed in the act to worry about the other one’s pacing.

You were still crying softly, whining and whimpering at a much higher pitch than you usually did.

Sirius smacked your ass, causing you to throw your head back and moan. He took the opportunity to grip your hair, keeping your head in position. At the new angle, James could see your face clearly, and he couldn’t look away.

“Who do you belong to?” Sirius asked.

You nearly choked trying to speak. “You.”

Sirius balled your hair up into a ponytail, signaling James to take over the hold. James grabbed your hair, pulling until your head was turned to look at where Sirius connected his body with yours.

Your holes were so tight around both boys that they both knew they wouldn’t last long.

“Looks so fuckin’ good,” James said, “you like it when Sirius and I fuck you at the same time?”

You only moaned in response, but that wasn’t good enough. Sirius spanked you again, and you looked him dead in his eyes, swallowing your pride and embarrassment and saying, “I love it when you fuck me at the same time.”

Sirius groaned at your words, especially the sight of you speaking them while looking him in the eyes, and he subsequently picked up the pace.

There was a sudden tap on your jaw, and you cocked your head upward to see Remus kneeling in front of you, lazily stroking his cock in front of your face.

“You wanna be a good girl?” he asked you.

You nodded your head yes, and before he could even instruct you to open your mouth, you stuck your tongue out, ready for him.

He gave you a smile in return before he pushed his cock past your lips. You struggled to move your head, your body rocking in all directions from the two boys already inside of you, and Remus noticed instantly.

“Sh, sh, keep your head still, that’s it, good girl,” Remus spoke, gently holding the back of your head as he began to thrust his hips forward into your mouth.

Every few hits, his cock grazed the back of your throat, causing you to gag a moan. The sound and sight drove Sirius over the edge, and his thrusts became harder and sharper.

James didn’t calm down as Sirius became more intense, and Remus didn’t care about either of them.

Sirius hit a final few thrusts before he pulled out of you, spilling his seed onto your ass and hips, watching as it dripped down the curves of your body.

Remus was the second to come, so worked up from earlier that he knew he would be done for within minutes, and he was right. His come shot to the back of your throat, and you swallowed the entire load, sticking your tongue out to show him you had done so.

You dropped your head in a desperate attempt to relax as James continued to thrust up into you. You were fighting with everything you were to keep from coming, and you desperately needed James to release so you could, but he was arguably being the meanest of them all.

Every time he would feel himself approaching his climax, he would force himself to slow down. He was greedy, and now that Remus and Sirius were done, he had you all to himself. He knew you were fucked out, but he also knew you hadn’t come yet, and wanted to savor the journey.

“Jamie, please-“ you cried.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered in your ear.

“I’m yours, I’m all of yours-“

“No no, baby, tell me you’re mine.”

You moved to hold yourself up on either side of James’s head, looking down at him as you spoke softly so that only he could hear, “I’m yours, James, all yours.”

Your words were enough for him.

He came inside of you, his leg muscles spasming as he hit deep within your cervix.

He came down from his high inside of you, pulling out and lifting you upward, his hands on your hips as he shifted you to lay down on the bed.

You rested your back against the sheets, looking at your three boyfriends, nervous and expectant.

“I don’t know, do you think you deserve to come?” Sirius asked.

You furiously nodded your head yes, the aching between your legs growing. You were tired, but you were desperate.

“I just don’t know-“

“Please,” you begged.

“Sirius, c’mon,” James bargained, running his fingers through his hair, “she did great. Just let her come already.”

Sirius looked to Remus, who was way ahead of him.

Remus took his position between your legs, gently spreading them apart as you whimpered.

“Sh, you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you responded, “I’m alright.”

“You ready for me?”

“Please,” you breathed out.

Remus slowly inserted himself into you, your back arching up off the bed from the overstimulation.

For the first time the whole time you’d been getting punished, Remus leaned down and kissed you. You nearly choked on tears from the happiness and relief that came from the feeling of his lips on yours. While you enjoyed the roughness and punishment, it was nice to be grounded back to safety and intimacy.

Remus continued to kiss you as he fucked you, never moving too fast for fear that he may hurt you. You were overstimulated and edged enough that within few minutes, you came hard around Remus, never breaking the kiss as you whined into his mouth.

Remus didn’t pull away as your legs shook rapidly. You rested them flush against the mattress, and Remus slowly pulled out of you, giving you one final kiss before rolling off of you.

You caught your breath, unable and unwilling to move from your position from pure exhaustion.

“Gonna get you cleaned up and then we’ll all relax together, okay?” Sirius cooed, wiping the sweat-soaked hair away from your face.

“Thank you,” you said as he gently maneuvered a washcloth between your legs.

When you were cleaned up, James lifted you off the bed, and Remus pulled the sheets down before James placed you back down, pulling the sheets up over you and shifting into bed next to you. Remus joined you on the other side.

“Fuck you guys, where am I supposed to go?”

You shifted slight forward, and Sirius took the hint, climbing over everyone to seat himself directly behind you. You rested back against his chest, exhaustion consuming your body as you fell into a sleep that meant you would most certainly miss your “date.”

[camzeecorner]

TEACH HER 18+

part one here

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹

Summary : Nicole finds herself experiencing those weird feelings again, which makes her uneasy. Remembering the enlightening conversation she had with Matt, Chris, and Nate, she decides to reach out to them for help.

warnings : virginity loss, cream pie, eating pussy, fingering, male masturbation, praise, pet names, slight overstimulation, pussy slapping, foursome, cock praise, pussy praise, sub reader, dirty talking

𐙚₊˚ pairings : Matt, Chris, Nate x sub!fem reader𐙚₊˚

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹

Nicole was sprawled across her bed, her slim legs kicked up in the air, swinging back and forth with a restless energy as she scrolled through YouTube on her phone. She flipped over onto her stomach, trying to find a comfortable position, but no matter how she moved, that strange feeling just wouldn’t fade away. Frustration bubbled up inside her, and she groaned, burying her head into the soft pillow, hoping to escape the discomfort that lingered.

She was puzzled by the unfamiliar sensation, her mind racing as she tried to decipher what was wrong. Thoughts swirled around, and in a moment of frustration, she mentally slapped her forehead, recalling a faint memory from a month ago. The details were hazy, but the feelings associated with it were beginning to resurface, urging her to confront what she had been trying to ignore.

“and remember, if you ever get that weird feeling down there again..” Matt spoke pointing between her legs, “just use the tricks we showed you okay?”he spoke softly caressing my cheek. I nodded at him frantically.

I slowly sat up, my fingers brushing the screen of my phone as I turned it off, the room falling into a quiet stillness. I leaned back against my pillows, tugging my shorts down a bit for comfort. With a mix of curiosity and uncertainty, I started to mimic the movements Chris and Matt had shown me, but the sensations just didn’t match the intensity I had hoped for. Frustration bubbled up inside me, and I let out a soft whimper, applying more pressure, desperate to find that elusive feeling. But still, nothing changed. I threw my head back against the pillows, silent tears spilling down my cheeks as I grappled with my disappointment.

“What if it doesn’t work?” I pout. Nate got up walking over, sitting next to me. “Then..call us! And we’ll help you again.” He spoke cheerful smiling at me. Matt and Chris nodding along.

I reached for my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I opened our group chat. A wave of hesitation washed over me; uncertainty gnawed at my mind, making me question whether I should really reach out. I took a sharp breath, feeling the weight of my decision, and finally began to type, the words flowing from my fingertips as I poured my thoughts into the message.

Best kids to live

colie : hi guys! are you free? Or is this a bad time?

Mattress: hi princess, it’s never a bad time for you

chrizzy : hi doll you okay?

nation: lowkey just shit but I’m chillin, what do u need pretty girl

colie: it’s happening again, I can’t make it stop

nations: what do u mean mama

*chrizzy and mattress emphasized nations message*

Colie: that feeling is back, I tried to rub like you guys said but it’s not helping. It’s really uncomfortable, can you please help me again?

mattress: we’ll be there in 10.

*END OF CONVERSATION*

I sat on my bed, the anticipation building as I patiently waited for the boys to arrive. After what felt like an eternity, about twelve minutes later, the sound of my front doorbell echoed through the house. Jumping up, I quickly slid my shorts back on and made my way down the stairs, my heart racing with excitement. As I reached the living room door and swung it open, I was immediately greeted by the familiar faces of Matt, Chris, and Nate. A warm smile spread across my face as I stepped aside, inviting them in with a welcoming gesture.

“Hi guys!” I chirp happily, my voice bright with excitement. I start walking up the stairs, the sound of their footsteps echoing behind me as they follow closely. Entering my room, I hear the door click shut behind us. Nate, always the energetic one, quickly strides over to me, gently pushing me down onto the bed. The sudden movement catches me off guard, and I let out a surprised gasp. “Don’t worry, mama, we’re gonna make that feeling go away... okay?” he reassures me, settling onto his knees in the same spot he had occupied last time. I gulp, my gaze dropping to the floor as a rush of emotions floods through me, feeling my shorts dampening with a mix of anxiety and desperation.

Matt settled onto my bed, positioning himself close but still leaving a comfortable space between us. Chris took a seat in my chair, which was positioned across from my bed, creating a little distance yet still keeping the atmosphere intimate. They both sat there in silence, their eyes fixed on me, as if I were the main event of a show they were eager for. The stillness hung in the air, charged with anticipation, making me acutely aware of their gaze.

Nate began tracing small circles on my thighs, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through me. I tossed my head back, surrendering to the sensation of his touch. It was strange how the same actions felt so different when they were directed at me; their hands had an electric quality that I found utterly intoxicating. As Nate leaned in closer, a soft whine escaped my lips, and I shook out a breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. He started to pepper kisses along the inside of my thigh, each gentle press of his lips igniting a fire within me.

I let out a shaky whine, my breath hitching in my throat. Shutting my eyes tightly, I tugged my lips between my teeth, trying to steady myself. He slid his long fingers to my waistband, the anticipation making my heart race. With deliberate slowness, he tugged them down, maintaining his dominant composure throughout. A soft groan escaped my lips as the cold air hit my skin intensely, sending a jolt through my body that heightened every sensation.

He smirked, glancing up at me with a playful glint in his eyes. “Still the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he spoke lowly, his voice smooth and teasing. I felt my cheeks flush at his words, warmth creeping up as I turned my head to the side, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Thank you…” I murmured softly, barely above a whisper. He responded by blowing lightly against my skin, each breath building more wetness and heightening the tension between us.

I grind my hips up slightly, only to be pushed back down as Nate wrapped his strong arms around them, holding me firmly in place. He sank his head further in, and I felt a rush of anticipation. When his tongue made contact, a cry escaped my lips, raw and unrestrained. “N-Nate…” I whispered, breathless and overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

He hummed against me, keeping his head lowered, his focus entirely on me. His tongue was a masterful force, licking and devouring every inch of me, making sure to savor every drop of sweetness with deliberate care. I reached my hand down, tugging gently at his brown locks, feeling the warmth radiate from him. He groaned against me, pushing his head in deeper, intensifying the sensations. My body responded with soft whines and whimpers of pleasure, each sound a testament to the overwhelming delight coursing through me.

Feeling the strange tightness in my stomach, I instinctively bucked my hips forward, a wave of sensation crashing over me. I panted softly, my head tossing and turning as I tried to process the intensity that was almost overwhelming. “You gonna cum?” Chris spoke lowly, his voice laced with anticipation. I nodded my head quickly, breathless and unable to form a coherent sentence, lost in the moment.

Feeling the orgasm wash over me, I cried out, the intensity of the moment consuming me. I was breathing hard, my chest heaving with each rapid inhale. Sweat dripped down my forehead, causing loose strands of hair to cling to my skin. I whimpered softly as Nate pulled away, his gaze lingering on me. He licked his lips, savoring every drop, a satisfied smile playing on his face. His hand rubbed my thigh gently, and he asked, “You okay, mama?” “Uh huh,” I replied softly, still catching my breath. I blinked a few times, wiping away the tears that had escaped, feeling a mix of satisfaction swirling within me.

Nate shifted from his spot as I watched Chris stand up, his movements deliberate and confident. Nate settled into the chair that Chris had just vacated, a knowing look passing between them. Chris walked over to me, positioning himself between my legs, his presence both comforting and electrifying. He rested his hand on my knee, gently rubbing it in soothing circles. “Think you’re good for two more rounds?” Chris asked, his gaze flickering between me and Matt, a hint of mischief in his eyes. Excitement bubbled within me at the thought of feeling even better, and I nodded eagerly. “Yes,” I replied, a smile breaking across my face as I giggled softly.

“Okay…” he spoke lowly, pulling me closer to the edge of the bed before sinking down to the floor. His hands began to work magic, gently rubbing circles on me that made me shudder with anticipation. He maneuvered his fingers in ways that sent me spiraling into another universe, each touch perfect, hitting every spot I desperately craved. “This might hurt, okay? Just let me know if you want me to stop, alright?” I gulped lightly, a wave of nervousness washing over me. “O-okay…” I managed to speak, my voice hoarse and trembling.

Feeling small rubs on my shoulder, I turned my head to meet Matt’s soft gaze, his eyes filled with reassurance. “It’ll be okay, just relax… the pain will be gone quick,” he spoke in a calming voice, and instantly, I felt a wave of comfort wash over me, easing my tension.

Turning my attention back to Chris, I sucked in a breath as I suddenly felt a finger entering me slowly. I shut my eyes at the unexpected pain, a soft whimper escaping my lips. “It’s okay, baby…” I heard Chris coo softly, his voice soothing. Matt ran his fingers through my hair, the gentle caress helping me relax into his touch. “O-oh,” I breathed out, feeling his finger move back and forth, slow and steady. Gradually, some of the pain was replaced by pleasure, and I couldn’t help but groan at the new sensation.

“M’gonna add another, okay?” Chris spoke, looking up to meet my eyes, his expression full of desire. I nodded at him, releasing a shaky breath as anticipation coursed through me.

He sank another finger in, stretching me lightly, and I rolled my hips upwards, feeling the pleasure build within me. I could feel his fingers curl, plunging in and out faster, each thrust gaining speed and intensity. I squeezed around him, relishing the new sensation that coursed through me, too intoxicating to resist. “O-oh my…” I breathed out, feeling my legs trembling softly beneath the wave of pleasure. I felt Chris add his thumb to the mix, rubbing slow, deliberate circles on my soft pink clit that sent shivers down my spine.

I felt my breath hitch in my throat, causing me to choke out a moan that echoed in the air. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming me completely, so much so that I couldn’t focus on anything else. I tuned everything out, zeroing in on the exquisite sensation of Chris's fingers working their magic. I began to move my body against his, instinctively matching his rhythm, lost in the intoxicating dance of our connection.

“You gonna cum baby? Hm.. you gonna make a mess on my fingers.”Chris said hungrily, locking his intense gaze onto mine, igniting a fire within me. I grunted as my eyes began to roll back, my mouth parting slightly in a gasp. “Eyes on me,” Chris commanded, his voice firm as he softly slapped my cheek, bringing me back to the moment. I whimpered, feeling the pressure build inside me. Then, he began to move at an ungodly speed, pushing me to arch my back, a scream escaping my lips in the process. “C-chri-chris!” I cried out, desperately clutching onto his arm, lost in the overwhelming sensations.

I came hard, feeling myself clenching and squeezing his fingers. My eyes rolled back, making my vision fuzzy. Feelings his fingers slow, he began to stiff his movements allowing me to ride out my high. Slowly pulling his fingers out before sucking them clean.

“So fucking sweet” he mumbled.

“My turn!” Matt exclaimed, laughter bubbling up as he jumped to his feet. It wasn’t long before I felt the familiar rush of excitement wash over me again. Matt sauntered over, looking down at me with a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you so good…” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “Fuck me?” I asked, confusion knitting my brows together just as I felt a sharp slap on my pulsing pussy, making me shriek in surprise. “Don’t say that…” Matt warned, pointing a finger at me with a mock-serious expression. I nodded slowly, surrendering to his playful commands, the anticipation swirling around us.

Matt started by lifting his shirt off his head, the fabric gliding over his skin before he tossed it casually toward my door. With a confident grin, he began unbuckling his belt, the metal clinking softly as he pulled it free from the latch. He swiftly unbuttoned his pants, the sound of the button popping echoing in the room. In one fluid motion, he yanked them down, stepping out of them with an air of nonchalance, leaving a trail of excitement in his wake.

I glanced over his body, taking in every detail. It was stunning; he was truly a piece of artwork. His faint abs were subtly defined, and his tattooed arm was a canvas of intricate designs, all covered in deep black ink. A chuckle above me pulled my attention up, and I found Matt grinning down at me. “You like what you see, doll?” he teased. I nodded slowly, my eyes trailing down his body until they landed on a hard-looking lump covered by his black boxers. “What’s that?” I asked, moving my hand up to touch it gently. I heard Matt stifle a moan, his breath hitching as he sucked in a sharp inhale. “Shit,” he murmured, the tension in the air thickening. “Mm..that’s my cock..” my eyes stuck to his cock, I tilt my head to the side showing my confusion. “What’s that?” I asked. “It’s like the boy version of a vagina” he spoke calmly. “You wanna touch it baby?” I nod my head fast smiling up at Matt.

He spun around swiftly, directing his attention to Nate and Chris. With a quick nod, he beckoned them over before turning back to me. “You wanna touch theirs too?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes. I nodded eagerly, a smile breaking across my face. “Yes, please,” I replied sweetly, hoping my polite request would earn me the permission I desired.

“Go on... take my boxers off,” Matt said in a chilling voice that sent a shiver down my spine. I reached up, my fingers trembling slightly as I tugged at the fabric of his briefs, pulling them down slowly. Matt exhaled sharply, tossing his head back in a moment of surrender. “Shit,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a mix of surprise and pleasure. I couldn't tear my gaze away from the sight in front of me. “You like it?” Nate asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched my reaction. “Yes,” I replied, my voice steady, not daring to look away. I gently ran my hand up and down, feeling the tension in Matt’s body as he let out a deep groan.

Pulling my hand away, I turn to nate and Chris seeing them already with their own cocks in the hands. They were all so big. I reach up pressing my palms against them both. “Fuck” Chris groaned shutting his eyes, followed by Nathan moaning.

“Alright, mama, enough touching...” Matt said, his tone both playful and commanding. Nate and Chris strolled around the bed, settling against my wall, their gazes fixed on me with an intensity that made me feel like the center of their attention, as if I were a feast laid out before them. Matt gently pushed me down, his hands rubbing against me in a way that sent a thrill through my body, blending teasing and tenderness in the most tantalizing way.

I whine softly at his touch, exhaling gently as a wave of sensation washes over me. His hand finds mine, interlocking our fingers in a firm yet comforting grip. “This might sting a little, squeeze my hand,” he murmurs softly, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes my heart race. He positions himself, aligning his tip with my entrance, and as he slowly moves in, I instantly feel the stretch, the pressure making me squeeze his hand tightly. I breathe in and out slowly, trying to steady my breath amidst the overwhelming sensations. “Let me know when to move, okay baby?” he prompts, and I nod, focusing on getting used to the feeling before I finally signal him to start moving.

Starting with slow thrusts, he moves deliberately, savoring each moment. “You okay, princess?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. “Y-yea... you can speed up,” I reply softly, my heart racing. As I feel his hips gain momentum, the rhythm intensifies, his body hitting against mine with increasing force. After a few minutes of teasing slowness, I begin to whimper lowly, lost in the sensation. The sound of Matt’s skin slapping against mine sends my mind spiraling, making everything around me fade into a blissful haze.

“S-shit..taking my cock good” Matt groaned above me, the sound vibrating through the air as his movements quickened. It felt as though he were reaching deep inside me, a sensation that made my stomach flutter. He leaned his head back, sucking in a breath, his pleasure palpable. His hand reached down to rub my puffy clit, the gentle touch sending jolts of electricity through my body, making me twitch involuntarily. “Oh Matt... feels so good,” I breathed out, completely lost in the moment.

“Yea? You gonna cum?” I nod my head, arching my back up into the air. I whine loudly, the pleasure taking over my body. I begin grinding my body against Matt’s adding to the pleasures running through my body. I felt like I was in heaven. Hearing his whimpers and moans making my head spin. My body was shaking uncontrollably under Matt, his thrust getting sloppier. “Want you to cum s’bad baby.. can you do that?” He asked as his hips still pounded into mine. “Y-yes” I speak, I could feel the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

Looking to the side i noticed Chris and Nate. They were playing with their cocks, heads thrown back and soft noises leaving their mouth. I loved the sight, feeling heat rise to my face. “Yea you like that? You like seeing your friends get off to seeing you fucked?” Matt asked me with a smug look of his face. My lips were puffy and covered by my own spit. My eyes rolling into the back of my head.

I could feel the tension in my stomach, I was so close. So so close. I just needed more, I craved more. I’ve never felt this good before, and I was addicted to it. The pleasure was so intense I began crying. Feeling the tears leak onto the mattress. “Wanna cum so bad” I pleaded, my voice sounding strained. “Cum on this dick baby.” Feeling my legs shake, I tossed my body around. “Oh mat.. Matt Matt Matt” I shouted as I came hard. The white liquid spilling onto Matt, he came shortly after with a long groan. “Fuck..” I heard Matt pant. Feeling my body shake, Matt pulled out of me slowly. My cum oozing from me. “Shit” Chris spoke, his cum flying onto his chest. Nate was soon to finish, his hot sticky cum landing on his lower stomach.

“How was that for your first time baby?” Matt asked me tucking strands of hair behind my ear. I smiled loosely. “Felt amazing” I said tired.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹

A/n : whoolawd im so tired, im apologizing in advanced bc the ending is soooo rushed 😭

Tags - @shaquilles-0atmeal @midsturn @sturniolo-girl hope you like!

[tickletastic]

The Cure for the Grumpies is a Case of the Giggles

Fandom: 9-1-1

Ship: Buddie :))

Summary: Buck woke up grumpy, and a long, long shift definitely didn’t help his mood. (Inspired by and dedicated to the ever so lovely @orchid-fics)​

Buck hadn’t meant to come off as an asshole, he just wasn’t having a great day, he must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed or something. He had come into the station late and coffee-less in preparation for a 24-hour shift, only to go straight into multiple calls of cats stuck in trees, and Eddie thought it would be funny to make Buck do every single one. 

Then Probie said the q-word, and it was all downhill.

Now, after one of the busiest shifts he’s ever worked, Buck is high-strung and lecturing Ravi on why he made the dumbest decision possible earlier that day. 

At some point, Bobby had come up behind them, hearing Buck’s harsh tone and sensing the stress coming from his surrogate-son from twenty feet away. He puts an inconspicuous arm around Buck’s shoulder, and both Buck and Ravi look his way.

“What’s going on here?”

Buck stops talking, stammering, “n-nothing, Cap.”

Bobby’s fingers slowly start to move back and forth across Buck’s neck, the blonde quickly turning red in his efforts to suppress his giggles. “It better be nothing, I better not hear from Ravi that you’ve been taking out your bad mood on him.”

“O-of course n-not,” Buck says, scrunching his nose when Bobby’s hand grazes his collarbones. 

Ravi looks on at the two, amused by the sight. “He wasn’t bothering you, was he, kid?” Bobby asks, holding Buck tighter so he can’t squirm away. 

“No, no, sir,” Ravi says with a smile. Buck breaks into light giggles when Bobby’s hands massage into his neck, ducking his head to hide his blush. 

“The kid’s had a case of the grumpies all day,” Bobby explains, as if Buck isn’t giggling next to him, “but that’s nothing I can’t fix. Go get changed, Ravi, we’ve had a long day.”

Ravi nods, giggling when Buck lets out a snort and whines a small ‘Bobby stop!’. He says goodbye to the team before heading downstairs to the locker room.

Buck tries to bolt once Ravi is gone, but quickly feels strong arms around his waist. He quickly realizes that they aren’t Bobby’s when he’s thrown over someone’s shoulder, smelling Eddie’s familiar cologne. 

“Got him, Cap,” Eddie says, tossing Buck onto the couch and Bobby is quickly above him, poking all over his ribs as he lets out a surprised shriek. 

“Bohohobby nahahaha! Plehehease!” Buck yells, trying to use his strength to flip the two of them over.

“Sorry, kid. As your captain it is in fact my obligation to cure a case of the grumpies,” Bobby says, smiling down at Buck, “and we’ve talked about scaring the probie, I’m sure he’ll never say the word again after today’s shift.”

“ihihihit- ihihihit’s thehehehe princihihihiple!” Buck laughs, snorting when Bobby knuckles between his ribs. 

“Principle my ass, Buck,” Eddie says from his position at the kitchen’s island, “you just wanted someone to rag on.”

“I’d have to agree with Eddie, Buck,” Bobby says before leaning down to give Buck a giant raspberry to the tummy, Buck screams and arches his back, shaking his head back and forth frantically. “So, we’re gonna cure these grumpies, you’re going to go home with Eddie and sleep, and you’re going to apologize to Ravi on your next shift, capiche?”

“YEHEHES! YEHES YEHES!” Buck screeches, body having gone limp since Bobby decided to get his hips midway through the raspberry. 

“Alright, I believe you, kid,” Bobby says, going up to count Buck’s ribs. 

“WHAHAHAT?” Buck asks, throwing his head back. 

“Hey, you made me lose count!” Bobby feigns annoyance before starting back at the bottom. 

“Bohohohobby! Whyhyhy?” Buck cries out, uselessly batting at Bobby’s hands. 

“Why? Why what?”

“Stahahp! Whyhy are yohohou stihihill gohohohoing?” 

“Well, kid,” Bobby grins mischievously, “I don’t think the grumpies are gone just yet.”

Bobby’s hands quickly dart back down to Buck’s hips, and he starts to raspberry all along Buck’s collarbones, shaking his head to increase the sensation. 

Buck’s laughter goes silent, completely limp as he is made to take the ticklish torture. After a minute or two, when Buck’s smile is splitting his face in half and his blush has run down his neck, Bobby finally thinks that the grumpies are gone for good, and proudly stands up with the confidence of having cured the blonde.

Buck curls up on the couch, giggling madly for a few minutes. Eddie walks over, rubbing his hand through his hair and smiling down at the blonde, “well, now someone’s got a case of the giggles.” 

Buck goes red up to his ears but can’t argue with Eddie’s prognosis, still desperately giggling though the tickling stopped nearly five minutes ago. “Ihihi- Ihihi cahahan’t!”

“Alright, Buckley,” Eddie laughs, “you gotta calm down a little. How am I supposed to get Mr. Giggle Pants to the car?”

“Ihihi-” Buck hiccups, bringing his hands up to cover his face, “Ihihihi’m tryhihihing!”

Eddie can’t help the sickeningly fond look on his face, but tries not to think about it so he doesn’t end up with his own blush. “Cap, I think you broke your kid.”

Bobby laughs, walking back over to them, having gone to the kitchen to put the lasagna in the oven that he had prepared in advance for the new shift. He places a warm hand on Buck’s back, rubbing comfortingly and firmly up and down it. “C’mon kid, it’s time to go.”

Buck giggles for a few more minutes until he’s basically putty, body limp and leaning on Eddie.

“Well,” Eddie laughs, “I guess this hasn’t made it much easier to get him to the car, has it?”

“Oh, not a chance,” Bobby laughs in response. 

Eddie gets up, picking Buck up bridal-style and going towards the stairs. He hears Bobby clear his throat and turns around, looking towards him.

“Take care of him, Eddie. Let me know if he wakes up with another case of the grumpies” 

Eddie grins, nodding, “will do, Cap, will do.”

[channelrat]

Hello, it is me :D I have assembled a few paragraphs from some works-in-progress.

If you're interested in any, just ask and I'll give proper clarification and context, though I'll still give a little bit just in case. (This involves almost purely characters I have not talked about before, by the way.)

-

Context: two divine groups, the Sentinels and the First Guardians, who are on very bad terms, have just encountered each other. The Champions (mortals chosen by the First Guardians) and the Counterparts (the mortal counterparts to the Sentinels) stand by.

Silence reigned. And then someone spoke.

"Warden." Avalon greeted in a clipped tone.

"Avalon." Warden replied in a similar, if not more irritated tone. "You're looking... well."

"Unfortunately..." Eminence muttered not so quietly from behind them. Beloved elbowed them although they didn't look all that happy either.

"As are you." Avalon continued, voice stable despite noticing the obvious display of distaste.

The two leaders stared off for a bit longer, remaining steadily silent while their allies glared from behind them. Symphony narrowed his eyes at Valorian, who scoffed in return. Sapphire stuck his tongue out at Dylan while Emerald flipped off Jerucalin, both glaring in return. Kristiana and Reverie faced off with each other, both restraining themselves from lashing out. Yuklin was holding back Yulin while Hearth held out an arm in front of Solus. In between the two groups, the Champions and Counterparts stood by, looking back and forth nervously.

Tension rose as the two leaders continued staring off, showing no sign of stopping. Eventually, Avalon scoffed and turned sharply, walking away. Slowly, the other First Guardians followed, but not without trading a few insults with the Sentinels.

-

Context: some of the Counterparts and their friends are being held captive by someone named Callis

“Oh?” Callis remarked, “And what exactly are you going to do if you escape?”

Barbara stared at him for a moment, a light frown on her face, before she pointed to the cell's door hinge, “You want to know what I’m going to do? Well, this is a door hinge.”

Callis raised a brow, thoroughly confused. Alann couldn’t help but relate. Regardless of their collective confusion, however, Barbara moved on.

“You know what rhymes with door hinge?” She continued, “Murder.”

Callis blinked.

-

Context: Ash (the Counterpart of Liberty, the Sentinel of Freedom and Justice) has just successfully manipulated someone to his favor. The Sentinels are discussing how he’s a lot less innocent then he appears to be, like Liberty.

“Oh. Oh. Vicious child.” Eminence’s shock quickly turned to pride, “How vengeful. Looks like the little champion has inherited more than simple benevolence.”

“It does seem he has a little bit more of Liberty than we originally thought,” Warden remarked, “Quite out of character.”

Symphony let out a pleased laugh, “Much more insane than I believed, very manipulative. Oh, Warden, are you sure he isn’t my counterpart?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Warden replied, “It’s likely Ash retained a few of your own personal lessons with Liberty. I wouldn’t be so surprised if he clearly remembered a little bit.”

“Though it seems he picked up more than just a little bit.” Blood God mused.

“Are we sure he doesn’t just remember all of Symphony’s lessons?” Sapphire asked, still watching everything occur, “Because this is not a ‘little bit’ at all, Warden.”

“Wasn’t he manipulated, like, seventeen times? All by different people?” Emerald asked, “Maybe he’s just using their tactics?”

-

Context: four characters (Faline, Marc, Ash, and Val (Eminence is in the background)) have just baked some obscure recipe from the 1900s. It is very, very bad.

Beside him, Val cried, head in his hands. Way in the back, behind the couch in the living room, Marc hid, screeching, “IT’S LIKE A DEMON QUICHE!”

Faline was staring at the kitchen counter, questioning his life decisions with tears in their eyes. Eminence stood behind him, a look of utter disgust in their face.

“Whoever made that, I want them executed.” Was all they said. Ash agreed.

-

These were all incredibly short and random. Sorry about that. Have fun with them. Or don’t. Which is understandable.

i love short and random don't apologize 💚💚 i love these little bits so much and your writing is wonderful thank you for sharing it (and your world) with me 💚

[count-a-w-k]

In a darkened room, the lights from the New York city skyline shine in through the windows. There is the sound of a door being unlocked. The door opens up, revealing two human silhouettes which walk into the room. One reaches to the side, there is a click and a light comes on revealing Helen and Hawken.

“Welcome to my apartment,” says Helen to Hawken. “It isn’t much to look at. I only just moved in last week.”

“It’s OK Helen. I have lived in worse places than this,” Hawken replies, carefully looking around the room.

In the middle of the room a green sofa faces a TV set on top of an old chest of drawers in the middle of the far wall. One either side are doors leading, presumably, to the bedroom and bathroom.

To the left are the windows, with a weird looking statue standing in the corner nearest the door. An open kitchen/serving area takes up most of the side opposite the windows and a closet stands just inside the doorway on the right.

Helen takes off her coat and puts in the closet, walks over to the sofa and sits down. Hawken walked around the sofa. “So, Hawken, tell me more about your life.”

“For the next three hundred years, me and Andros learned and trained with our Guzilkion abilities. Deston taught us and told us more about how each Guziluman’s abilities differ. He told us about his own abilities; he could see five minutes into the future and can make decisions with 100% unfailing accuracy. If someone or something attacked him, he could summon his bō staff and protect himself with it.

“Hold on,” says Helen, “where does the bō come from?”

“Well Helen, that was a mystery to me, but apparently his bō is made from air molecules. But only Guzilumans can actually see.”

“So, what you are saying Hawken? That only you and your fellow Guzilumans can see the weapons you made yourselves?”

“Not quite Helen, later on we revealed weapons to humans, but in those times human imagination was lacking in belief at what they were seeing. The human mind has developed through the centuries, so now humans can see what we are using as weapons. But with my Guzilkion abilities, I don’t need to use any.”

“Oh right, well carry on with your story then,” she says, trying to make sense of what she just heard,

One day me and Andros were sitting on the ground in a state of meditation with Deston walking round, observing us carefully. Then we all sensed something coming towards us from the forest. Me and Andros got up off the ground and looked at the forest, trying to work out what the loud roaring noise was coming from within. Then out of the woods stepped a tall, ugly looking man with the same burning red eyes as the man who had attacked us. He marched angrily towards Deston, as if recognising him, calling out in this horrible voice. “Deston, I finally found you!”

Our tutor quickly took up a defensive position summoning his bō as he did so.

Waiting for the newcomer to attack him, he said calmly “I see you have come to kill me, Flamerite. Well, you’ve got another think coming.”

“You think you’re going to defeat me?” the Flamerite laughed.

“No, but they are,” Deston replied smiling. “HAWKEN, you know what to do.”

“Yes, Deston,” I replied, kneeling down and placing my hands on the ground waiting for the Flamerite to attack.

Andros stood there watching, trying to figure out his place in this fight. The Flamerite’s eyes darted back and forth between Deston and us.

“So Deston, you think these two weaklings are going to help you defeat me!” the Flamerite said to Deston still looking at both me and Andros.

“Have you told them Deston, how a Guziluman can die?”

“Don’t you dare say a thing. They are new and still learning their way,” said Deston angrily.

“Well, boys I’m going to show you by killing Deston FIRST!!!” the Flamerite shouted, starting to charge at Deston. Deston stuck his bō into the ground and leapt on top of it, narrowly avoiding a punch to the face from the Flamerite as he did so. Jumping high into the air he flipped forward, over the Flamerite’s head. Coming down he kicked with his right leg into the Flamerites back, knocking it to the ground. The prone Flamerite rolled over, trying to kick Deston in the rib cage, but Deston spun backwards, catching the ankle. Using his backward momentum, he slammed the host even harder onto the ground, winding it, leaving the Flamerite staring up at the sky.

“Hawken, NOW is your chance,” Deston shouted to me. I summoned the earth to rise up around the Flamerite, burying it up to the neck.

“Andros, NOW IT’S YOUR TURN. USE YOUR MIND CONTROL ABILITIES TO GET THE FLAMERITE OUT OF THE HUMAN QUICKLY,” Deston shouted.

Andros blinked, revealing the blue cat eyes with the silver pupils. He stared at the Flamerite, looking deep into its host soul. Suddenly the mouth opened up and the Flamerite spirit rose out of its host, screaming in pain.

“I see you don’t like it Flamerite, being out in the open.” Andros said in very deep voice. He turned to me “Hawken you know what to do.” I noticed to my right the well that we built years before, so ran over to it. Placing my left hand in the hole, I summoned the water from it, throwing it at the Flamerite, which instantly changed into steam. The Flamerite was no more, but its human host was still alive. He looked at me, Andros and Deston in confused terror. Andros returned to his normal state and turned to look at me.

“How was that?”

“That was outstanding, Andros, I think we are true Guzilumans now,” I replied to him smiling.

“If you both think that you are true Guzilumans,” Deston laughed, “help get this poor man out of the pile of dirt that you left him in.”

Andros and I ran over to Deston and helped him dig the dirt away from the man with my bare hands. I didn’t want to use my Guzilkion abilities as the poor man was terrified as it was. We helped him out of the pile of earth, and he looked at me and Deston and then ran off in terror into the forest. We all broke into laughter.

Suddenly something indefinable changed. Far off to the south, something was wrong. Without knowing how we knew; we knew that someone or something had had their life taken away from them unexpectedly. Deston looked devastated? Turning around he looked at both of us.

“Hawken, Andros, it is time to leave. But once we are out of this forest, we must go our separate ways. You have both done well in mastering your Guzilkion abilities, but you must continue on the journey without me. I will meet you again one day, or my descendent will. I must warn you, stay away from the Flamerites because they will come for you at some point, and you are not yet ready to face them. What you have just sensed is the death of a fellow Guziluman and if I am correct, it must be a group of Flamerites that was responsible! So, let’s go inside and pack up our things and move on to our new destinies.” Me and Andros looked at each knowing it was time to move on again. So, we headed into our home and packed up our belongings in three or four sacks. We took one last look around inside and walked out of the door one by one. As we started to walk away, Deston turned around and said to me, “Hawken, you created this home for us. It is you who should dismantle it!”

So, I turned around and looked at our home, held out my left arm and with a wave of my left hand, closed my eyes and our home for two hundred years turned to dust. Andros walked up behind me and put his right hand on my shoulder, “Well done brother, but we must go now.” So, I opened my eyes turned around and we all headed east into the forest.

Once we were out of the forest, Deston bid me and Andros farewell and headed north to parts unknown while me and Andros headed south-east.

“Did you ever see Deston again?” Helen asked.

“No, we never saw him again after that day, but I will tell you more later about when I met Deston’s descendants,” Hawken explained standing at the window.

“Well, it’s getting late now Hawken and I’m very tired.” Helen yawned.

“Where am I going to sleep tonight, Helen?” Hawken asked.

“You’re on the couch as this is only a one-bedroom flat,” said Helen getting off her couch and standing up. Helen walked towards her bedroom door and opened it.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Hawken replied as Helen walked into her bedroom.

“Goodnight,” Helen closed her bedroom door and left Hawken alone in her living room. He walked over to the couch and sat down on it. He looked towards the window and lay down, thinking to himself, “Where the hell is Zilstarr?” He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Outside Helen’s apartment, Agents 71 and 72 sat in their Mercedes-Benz waiting for Helen and Hawken to leave the apartment. “We could be here all night,” observed Agent 71.

“As our superior said, watch and observe them,” replied agent 72.

“Well this is going to be boring then,” said Agent 71 as he bent forward to turn on the radio.

���Out here in the fields, I fight for my meals,” came out of the speaker.

“What’s the song on the radio?” Agent 71 asked

 “Baba O’Riley by The Who” replied Agent 72.

“Nice!” said Agent 71. The two agents remained sitting in their car, continuing to watch Helen’s apartment building.

In the morning inside the apartment, Hawken was making breakfast, waiting for Helen to come out of her bedroom. He was doing a traditional English breakfast, just like you’d get in a hotel restaurant. The sound of the bedroom door opening made him look around. Helen walked out wearing a pink dressing gown, yawning and stretching her arms up in the air.

“Good morning, Helen, I hope you slept well,” Hawken greeted her.

“Yeah, what a night,” replied Helen in a yawning voice.

 “Well, I’ve made you breakfast,” says Hawken, as he put the finishing touches to it. Hawken placed the plate on the kitchen counter, then put a knife and fork next to it. “Would you like cup of tea with that?”

“No thank you, just a strong black coffee please,” Helen replied.

“OK, one strong black coffee it is.” Hawken pulled out a cup from the cupboard and switched on the coffee percolator. “I already made a cup of coffee for myself earlier. So, there is plenty of coffee left in it,” said Hawken turning around to look a Helen.

“This is a nice breakfast, you have excellent cooking skills Hawken,” Helen replied while eating the food.

“Well Helen, for me living for such a long time, I have learned a lot over the years. I have thousands of different skills, but soon they won’t be of any more use.”

“Oh, why is that Hawken?” Helen asked.

“I’m coming to the end of my four thousand years life span.” Hawken replied.

“You’re dying? But you have only just come back to life” a surprised Helen said.

“Well, in fact I have only twelve years left,” replied Hawken with a glum. “But now, I think I should tell you more of my life story.”

“OK, Hawken, tell me what happened after you and your brother parted ways with Deston.”

Well, for about eighty years we wandered throughout Europe, gradually moving southward, until we eventually reached the tip of Italy.

 “How far do you think we are from the coast?” I asked one day.

“No idea, but when we smell the sea air, we will know we are getting closer,” replied Andros. As we kept walking, we noticed a small hut ahead of us with a strange man standing outside watching our approach.

“Stay where you are!” he shouted. He put his right arm into the opening of his hut and pulled out a wooden spear and began approaching us slowly, spear held out in front of him. I turned to look at Andros and asked, “Shall we take up defensive positions?”

“Of course,” replied Andros. So, I knelt down on the ground and placed my left hand flat on the earth, ready to call on my powers. Suddenly I couldn’t move. My entire body had frozen, leaving only my eyes. Glancing over at Andros, I could see he was also frozen. It was like this man had the same abilities as Andros. As he came closer, we noticed his eyes. They were blue and cat-like with the slit-shaped pupil. We realised he was another Guziluman!

“Well, you two.” he said, “you think you can just wander on to my land and steal from me? Well, you can think again.” I still could not move, but Andros, beginning to break free, managed to blink and activate his Guzilkion abilities. His power proved stronger than the stranger’s, and this other Guziluman lost control of his abilities, freeing me. I got up off the ground and grabbed the spear from him.

“YOU’RE GUZILUMAN LIKE ME?” the man shouted. Andros nodded and started to address him. “You think you can control me and my brother? You don’t realise we are younger than you. How does it feel not being in control of your own body for once? Now I will release my power over you, and you will tell us who you are and what you are doing here?

“OK, I will tell you.” he replied, voice trembling in fear. Andros released him and reverted back to his normal state.

“My name is Terton, I am also a Guziluman like you both, but I am hiding here because of the Flamerites.”

“Why are you hiding from them?” I asked.

“Because things have got worse. Their numbers have increased, and the Egyptians are really having problems with them.” Terton explained.

“So, what you are telling us is that the Flamerites are going to take over Egypt?” replied Andros.

“Yes. And if they do, it won’t be long until they manage to expand all the way here.” said Terton.

“We have got to get to Egypt then,” I decided. “They could do with our could help down there.”

“OK, Hawken, let’s run to the coast. Hopefully, if we find a boat, we can make it across the sea in no time,” Andros replied. So, me and Andros left Terton on his own and ran for the coast. It took us two days to get there.

“Well, this Terton wasn’t much of a Guziluman,” said Helen

“He was a coward Helen, but I do meet him again later on.” Hawken said.

“OK, so what happened when you get to Egypt?” Helen asked.

“When me and Andros finally reached Egypt, it was like nothing we’d seen before, having spent our years in Europe. We were trying to find out about more about the problems the Flamerites were causing, but nobody wanted to say a thing about them. It was like they were scared. Then we got arrested by the Pharaoh’s army. That’s when things really got interesting,” Hawken replied.

“What happened?” asked Helen.

“After explaining who we were and showing them our Guzilkion abilities, we were marched us to King Ramses XI’s palace, so, we could explain ourselves to him.”

As we approached the palace, I turned to Andros and asked, “Do you think king Ramses would be afraid of us?”

“He might be Hawken. We must play this very carefully. Don’t forget we are supposed to be watchers over this world, not to interfere with human affairs.” he replied. “But what the heck, we must help where it is needed.”

“I agree Andros.”

We arrived at the palace and were marched straight towards the throne room. We entered into this vast room full of people standing round observing us and then we noticed King Ramses sitting there on his throne looking mighty and pretending to be powerful. We weren’t afraid of the mighty power of this ruler.

Ramses spoke to us, but neither Andros nor I had ever encountered his strange language before. We looked at each other not knowing what on earth he was talking about. Then Andros had an idea. He grabbed one of the guards and placed his right hand on top of the man’s head. Andros closed his eyes and grabbed my right hand. The next thing, me and Andros could understand the language they were speaking. This was another ability that Andros had, which I was very surprised about!

Now we knew what Pharaoh’s question had been - “So, you two are here to sort out our Flamerite problem?”

“Your majesty, me and my brother come from far cross the sea. We are Guzilumans and we are here to help you and your army defeat the Flamerites,” Andros said to Ramses. The Pharaoh got up from his throne and told everyone to leave the chamber, including the guards. As the room cleared, he walked over to us examining us carefully.

“I have heard about your kind, living longer than my ancestors,” said Ramses looking at us with a dark stare. But his stare changed to a joyful one. “I’m glad you are here. The Flamerites are pushing my army back further north. It won’t be long until they overrun my kingdom. Could you both wipe them out for me?” he said.

“I don’t think we can wipe them out, as there is just me and my brother,” replied Andros. “But we could frighten them.”

“I hope so, because I don’t know where they originate from.” said Ramses

“Well, your Majesty, I can control the ground and he can control weak minds,” I explained.

“There is no time to stay here and keep talking. You’d better go,” ordered Ramses. “But I will give you some horses to help speed your journey.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” we replied. Me and Andros left the throne room, heading for the entrance. “Andros, we don’t know how to ride horses?”

“You do now. When I absorbed the language from that guard, I got the knowledge of how to ride horses too,” Andros said to me, while we were walking down a big hallway.

“I know how to ride a horse?” I replied.

“Yes, surprising isn’t it,” Andros laughed as we both headed for the entrance. We left the kingdom on horseback and followed the River Nile south to where the Flamerites were.

“That was a quick introduction with Ramses,” said Helen.

“Well, we couldn’t stay around and chat if his army was being slaughtered. So, we had to be on our toes quick,” replied Hawken.

Anyway, when me and Andros got to the area where Ramses’ army was stationed, we noticed a big sand dune, so we rode our horses to the top and looked upon the battle below. It was a mass slaughter. The Flamerites had overrun the Egyptian army. The army was outclassed and losing the battle fast. Their numbers fell even as me and Andros watched the battle.

“How are we going to defeat all those Flamerites?” I asked.

“I think there is a way. Don’t forget you have the ability to control matter. If I can stop them all at once, maybe you can cause the Nile to flood the area,” explained Andros.

“That would extinguish the Flamerites controlling the human hosts,” I replied.

“Yes Hawken, but it does mean killing the army too, unless we go down there and tell them to pull back.” said Andros.

“OK, let’s do it,” I replied, getting off my horse. Andros rode down the dune towards the Egyptian army and told them to head back up the dune. I walked over to the edge of the River Nile and put my hand in the water. Meanwhile, Andros distracted the Flamerites who were running straight for him. Then he blinked and put his right arm in front of him and stopped the Flamerites in their tracks.

“HAWKEN DO IT NOW!” he shouted to me. I blinked my eyes and summoned the water out of the river, creating a tidal wave straight at the Flamerites. The wave came crashing down on them, drowning the hosts. The Flamerite army was finished, but I noticed in the distance that one Flamerite host had got away. He ran towards the south, looking back at me and Andros knowing that it had lost the battle. I walked over to Andros, smiling knowing this was a victory. He looked at me and laughed.

“Well Hawken, we have done well.”

“Yes Andros, shall we head back to Ramses?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Andros replied. As I walked back up the dune with Andros riding his horse, we noticed the Egyptian army on their knees worshipping us. We looked at each other and started laughing. As this day was the beginning of grand adventures to come.

“So, you both defeated all of the Flamerites, except one?” Helen asked.

“Well Helen, the one that got away headed back to its home. Me and Andros did meet the rest of them later on, but by that time we were with Zilstarr, who hated them.” said Hawken.

“Who is Zilstarr?” Helen asked.

“I will tell you more later about him. Ain’t you got to go to work?” said Hawken.

Helen glanced at the clock. “Oh damn, I better get dressed and go,” she replied, running back into her bedroom. Hawken walked towards the window looking at the New York skyline. Then he sensed three of his own kind, two of them were very close while the other one was far away in the west. He smiled knowing he was coming!

Meanwhile, in the state of Texas on Highway 66, a lone figure is riding on a black Kawasaki Z 550 GT towards the dawn at top speed. This person is wearing the full back leather gear on their body and their motorcycle helmet is also black with a black visor, hiding their face. Noticing a bar ahead of them, the biker slows down and parks up outside the Dust Desert Saloon. It looks old and run-down, a place that’s seen better days. Switching off the motorcycle engine, the rider gets off the bike and walks straight to the bar door, still wearing their helmet. The figure walks through the door into the main area and looks around at everyone in the bar. The rider spots the bar, behind which stands an old gent with a long grey beard who looks like member of the band ZZ Top, walks over and takes off their helmet to reveal a short Afro haircut.

“Can I help you son?” asks the barman. The figure replies, in a deep African American voice. “I need to use your phone.”

Pulling a phone out from under the counter, the barkeep replies “Here you go son.” Pulling out a strip of paper with a phone number on it, the man picks up the receiver and dials a New York number. There is no answer, so he hangs up and pushes the phone back to the barman.

“Having trouble trying to call someone son?” the barman asks him.

“Yeah, just a friend, but he’s not picking up. Can I have a bottle of Bud,” the man replies.

“Sure, thing son. Have you come far?” asks the barman, pulling out a bottle of Bud from the fridge.

“Yeah, I been riding all the way from LA. Had some business to sort out there. But I’m on my way to New York city to meet my friend,” he replies looking straight at the barman.

“Well son, I hope you get there safely. Very dangerous out there on the road,” says the barman starting to clean some beer glasses. There follows a loud noise from outside, the distinctive sound of three Harleys approaching.

“Looks like we got trouble son,” says the barman. The man turns around revealing his face. He looks about thirty-five years of age with brown eyes and a button nose. He smiles like he’s looking forward to what he expects to follow. Downing his bottle of Bud, the man walks out of the bar. The barman anxiously wonders what is going to happen next. Suddenly there is a lot of screaming and shouting coming from outside, then the man walks back into the saloon, carrying some poor guy on his shoulder who looks like he’s been knocked unconscious. He drops the guy to the floor and orders another bottle of Bud.

“Well, I just stopped you from having your nice bar wrecked this evening,” the man says to the barman.

“Thanks son, it saved me cleaning up. Anyway, what’s your name?” the barman asks.

“My name is Zilstarr, it was given to me by my mother, so please don’t question it.”

“It’s OK son, here’s your beer.” says the barman putting the bottle on the counter.

Zilstarr picks up the Bud and drinks it down, then puts a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. “Keep the change.” Picking up his motorcycle helmet, he turns around and walks out of the saloon.

Outside, he gets on his motorcycle and looks at the other two guys laying out cold, then smiles and puts his helmet on. He starts the engine, revving it, and rides his motorcycle directly for New York city.

A minute or so later, the barman walks out of the saloon door and notices the two guys out cold on the ground. He then notices three piles of metal dust but does not realise that there had been three motorcycles there before. He starts to laugh, shaking his head and walks back into the saloon.

As Zilstarr rides along the highway at top speed, he thinks to himself, “What has become of Hawken?”

[icinch]

The Trick to Becoming a Super Success In ANYTHING

New Post has been published on https://www.cinchhomebiz.com/the-trick-to-becoming-a-super-success-in-anything/

The Trick to Becoming a Super Success In ANYTHING

Alright, some of you are going to say I’m over simplifying and others will simply disagree, but after years of being super serious about my business, here’s what I’ve discovered:

Everything in life – EVERYTHING – is actually a GAME.

You know how you sit down with a few friends to play cards or a board game, and there’s always that one person who takes the whole game WAY too seriously? They’re getting mad and frustrated when things don’t go their way, they’re celebrating like it’s New Years when things go right, and half the time they can’t even follow the conversation because they’re too busy concentrating on the game.

Yeah, that person.

Well guess what? I’ll bet you that when it comes to Internet Marketing, you are that person.

If you’re taking every decision so seriously, then it might as well be life or death. Exactly how should you word this email? What color should your header be? Should you promote this product at 6a.m. on Tues, or at 9a.m. on Wednesday? And so forth.

These are choices that should take seconds.

Yet I was agonizing over each one like it was a declaration to declare war.

I thought I had to nail every decision and make it all perfect. Nothing could be left to chance. If it took me a week to decide something, it’s because that’s how long it should take.

Wrong.

Now I flip a coin. Seriously. If I need to make a decision – but based on all the facts I have I can’t decide – I flip a coin. Sort of like rolling the dice in a game. Because you know what? It’s better to take the wrong action than no action at all.

Sure, fast decisions can turn out to be bad ones. But guess what? So can slow decisions. But no decision at all? That will get you nowhere, fast. Every kid who rides a bicycle can tell you that it’s far easier to change direction once you’re moving. But if you’re sitting still on that bike, you’re not going anywhere.

And the long term difference between good and bad decisions isn’t even in the decision itself, or the results it produces. Instead, the difference is in how you react. If you make a bad decision and then confine yourself to bed for a week, that’s not going to help.

But when you play marketing like a game, a bad decision is simply telling you to move in another direction. You shrug off the bad choice, glad that now you have more information to head in a better direction this time.

Laughing at your bad choices is a good idea, too, because it’s a game. It’s all a game. LIFE is a game. If you’re down two goals in football, do you over think what to do next? No. You get the ball and start moving it down the field. If you encounter something new and surprising in a video game, do you shut it down? No, you try different things and see what works. At most you pause the game, go online and find out what to do. It takes you 5 minutes at most before you’re back in the game, fully armed with the knowledge you need to win.

Any difficult obstacle you face can be thought of as a game. And just shifting your mindset to game mode can make all the difference.

I had a friend years ago who went to military boot camp. He looked at the whole thing as a game, and afterward he reported that boot camp was one of the easiest things he ever did. Other people in his camp took the training so seriously, they were literally getting sick from fright. Same boot camp, two different mindsets.

I had another friend in the U.S. who was facing an IRS audit. Scary stuff, and let me tell you, he was deeply frightened and ready to do anything – including signing over a big check – to make it go away. Then he changed his outlook. Now instead of quaking in fear, he declared, “It’s a game, me against them. Let’s see how we can win this.” His fear vanished, he took action, and at the end of the audit the IRS paid HIM.

Do you want to start an online business? Launch a new product? Approach 25 gurus in the next 25 days? Make it into a game and 4 things will happen:

First, you’ll relax – and people do their best thinking when they’re relaxed.

Second, you’ll have fun – and people do their best work when they’re having fun.

Third, you won’t feel stressed – at least not the negative kind of stress – and you’ll literally live longer and be happier.

Fourth, when it’s all done and regardless of the outcome, you’ll be eager to do something else because you’ll want to have even more fun in your game.

“Yeah, but this is serious business and I’m a serious person!”

Really? Or is that simply how you choose to look at things and who you choose to be?

Life is a series of choices, and one of the biggest choices we make is deciding how to frame what we’re doing.

Me, I choose to make it a game – one I can’t wait to get up and play each morning. A game that just happens to also make me money. Lots of money.

How about you?

[kingdaddydaichi]

can i request consensual hate sex between bakugou and f!reader

Oooooh yassssss! This idea got better and better the more I thought about it, Nonny. Love it! I hope you enjoy this naughty little slice of grudge fuck pie. 💖

Riding The Fine Line 💥 Katsuki Bakugou x f!reader 💥 NSFW

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT or I'll have my Big Scary BoomBoom Man blow your little ass up!

Word Count: 2k

"Oi! Who picked this shitty restaurant anyway?", Bakugou sneered as he walked towards the table.

You rolled your eyes and mumbled, "Oh look, Gorilla Man is here".

"Watch it, shitty girl. M'not in the mood for your shit tonight".

You'd made plans earlier in the week to meet Kiri and Mina for dinner. You knew Bakugou had been invited too, but after having suffered through it so many times over the past year or so of having some friends in common, you somehow managed to tolerate his presence. It helped that the drink you'd been sipping on made him somewhat less intolerable than usual.

It was like nails down a chalkboard every time Bakugou reared his big dumb head. His only redeeming quality was that he was quite easy on the eyes. Shame that such a hot guy is also such a huge asshole.

He's always given everyone a hard time, but unlike most people, you just wave a dismissive hand at him. And it makes him crazy. He doesn’t understand why he doesn’t get under your skin like he so easily does others. Oh, he annoys the piss out of you to be sure, but he doesn't hurt your feelings per se.

"Y'know, for such a massive ego yours sure is delicate, you meat head".

"Oh yeah? Well, for such a massive ass yours s-"

"God, Bakugou, do you ever just shut up?", you snipped.

Kiri and Mina both jumped in, laughing nervously and smoothing things over to lower the tension. He growled at you. You flipped him a subtle bird before looking away and trying to ignore him.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Kiri's birthday was approaching and several of his friends decided to throw him a surprise birthday party. You, Denki, Mina, and ugh, as luck would have it, Bakugou, were are all put in charge of decorating his house while some other friends took him out for dinner. Midway through, Mina whined while sorting through various sacks, "Oh no! We forgot the disposable rainbow shot glasses!" Mina had a way of putting a cute touch on everything she had her hands in. Denki offered to go with Mina to procure the missing miniature party cups, leaving you and Bakugou alone to hang streamers in Kiri's living room. Probably not the wisest of decisions, but consider the source. 👀

It didn't take long after they were gone for Bakugou to start in on you with his bullshit. Only this time no one was around to referee. You groaned. This was going to be a free for all. You'd already both cut eyes at each other a couple of times.

"You're not doing it right, dumbass!"

"That's a matter of opinion and you can shove yours up your ass, dumbass".

He flipped you off saying, "You can shove this up your ass!", then turned back to his task.

You were so done. Without thinking, you reared back and hurled the roll of streamers as hard as you could, nailing him right in the back of the head. Damn, it felt good.

He whipped around, a vein popping out of his forehead, clenching his teeth. You were quite proud of your aim until he made little explosions in his free hand and said, "You're really pushing your luck with me, woman! If we weren't in Kiri's house right now I'd blast you right through that fucking wall!"

"Pfft, whatever! You wouldn't do shit. You're all bark and no bite, you fucking douche canoe!"

"You ever stop to think that maybe if you weren't such a bitch guys might actually want to talk to you?"

That did it. He'd finally found one of your hot buttons and you couldn't take his shit anymore. You marched right up to him and got right up in his face, height difference be damned.

"You know what, fuck you, Bakugou! I'm not normally like this! You're the only person who…drives me to this madness!", you spat with tears in your eyes.

A second later, his hands were on either side of your face, crashing his lips down onto yours. You were so shocked you froze before pulling away from him, staring at him in astonishment. He just stood there, huffing, glaring back at you, waiting.

You stepped forward and pushed him, his back hitting the wall, hard. But before he could protest, your lips were on his again. He grabbed you by your arms and spun you around, pinning you against the wall. You slipped your tongue past your open mouth, his meeting yours halfway as he pushed his knee between your legs. He pressed his thigh against your sex, shoving his growing cock against your thigh in the process.

Taking the bottom of his shirt into two fistfuls, you eagerly pushed it up to his chest, exposing his washboard abs and god-like pecs. He quickly pulled it over his head and threw it to the floor while your shaky hands got busy with his belt and zipper, urgently, like you couldn't get to him soon enough. But his will took over when he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head so he could peel your shirt off. He dipped down to take a mouthful of your tit, cupping what he couldn't fit in his rough hand, swirling his tongue around your nipple, sucking, then releasing you from the inside of his mouth to flick the tip of his tongue over your pink nub. You grabbed two handfuls of his ash blond locks and arched your back off the wall as he gave your other breast the same treatment.

You impatiently tugged on his hair, hungry for the taste of his sweet lips again. Your tongues once again fought for dominance and you gasped when he picked you up in one swift movement. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to Kiri's bedroom, swinging the door shut behind him before slamming your back against it.

"Put me down", you said forcefully.

He stopped sucking on your neck long enough to rasp, "And why the fuck should I?"

"Because I want to get into your fucking pants, asshole".

For once you two agreed on something and with your feet back on the floor, you got back to work on his pants before reaching in and wrapping your hand around his hot dick. Shit, you could barely get your fingers all the way around it, it was so thick. You stroked him a couple of times before pulling him out, exposing his manhood in all of its mouth-watering glory.

He ran his hand down his sculpted stomach, spreading his fingers to either side of his girth. "Like what you see?" You realized you were staring at his dick and the pre that dripped from it.

"Wouldn't you like to know?", you sassed.

He growled and spun you around, pushing your front against the wall and swiftly closing in behind you. Wisps of your (color) hair fluttered around his hot breath as he breathed down your neck. "You keep on tryin' to hide it, but you want me just as much as I want you, princess, and I'm gonna make an honest girl outta ya".

His battle-hardened hands found their way down your back, around your waist and all the way to your belly before he slid them down, his fingers reaching below your waistband. You willed him to push his hands further down, pressing your backside against his erection. He used one deft hand to unbutton your pants and work your zipper down, granting himself better access. When he mercifully slipped his middle finger between your folds, you couldn't choke back the moan that emerged from the back of your throat.

"Damn", he growled behind your ear, "for someone who can't stand me, your pussy sure is wet for me".

"Shut up", you gritted through your teeth.

The feeling of the rough pad of his finger teasing your swollen clit nearly sent you over the edge. But it was short-lived and you whined when he pulled his hand away to shove your pants down around your ankles, accompanied by your damp panties. Your hands slid down the wall as he yanked your ass back towards him. You hung your head and watched the head of his cock as Bakugou fucked your thighs, back and forth over your slit, coating his fat cock with your slick, readying himself.

When he began pushing into you, your legs shook from the sheer pressure as he slowly filled you up. When he bottomed out, he held himself still, at least considerate enough to give you time to adjust to his size. He waited until you started grinding against him before grabbing your hips, and slowly withdrawing.

"Now let's see if I can fuck all that hate for me out of you". Before you could retort, he slammed his cock back into you, your pitiful cry mixed with his loud groan echoing off the walls of Kiri's bedroom. He set his pace, steady and hard, the cold buckle of his open belt pressing into your skin with every crash of his hips.

"Yeah, who knows? Maybe if you'd get your dick wet every once in a while you wouldn't act like one", you quipped, voice faltering as he pounded into you.

He slowed his pace to bend over you, pushing your hair out of the way before biting down on the nape of your neck.

"Oww!! What the fuck?!"

He stood up straight again, laughing and said, "All bark and no bite, hah? You just hadn't pushed me far enough yet!" The sweet and salty mixture of his sweat and your need could be heard with every loud slap of his skin against yours.

"Fuck! Bakugou-", you whined in spite of yourself.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and gave it a firm tug. "When're ya gonna stop callin' me by m'last name and call me Katsuki instead?"

"When you stop acting like a raging asshole towards me", you managed as he fucked the breath out of you.

"Brave words for someone in such a compromising position. Now - say - my - fucking - name!". Each word came with its very own plunge of his cock into your mess of a cunt.

Your legs started to give out. "Katsuki!" You hadn't meant to obey him, but he'd kept his word and made you honest.

"That's better". You could hear the smirk in his voice after hearing his first name fall from your quivering lips.

You turned to face him when he pulled out, kissing him hard, his fingers going into your hair. You inched backwards onto the bed, Katsuki crawling in towards you with a primal look in his crimson eyes before nestling his thighs between yours and sheathing himself deep inside you again. Your head rolled back as you arched your back off the bed. Gods, the feeling of him filling you up was quickly becoming your new favorite sensation.

He nuzzled his face against your neck as he rutted into you, pulling your thigh up to his hip bone, raking his teeth against your skin. His breathing had become more labored and he started thrusting faster, your pleasure mounting with the increased friction of his pubic bone against your clit until rays of bliss shot out from every pore of your skin at the speed of light.

"K-ka-tsuki, I'm c-cumming hahh oh goddd!" The pulsating grip that you had on him finally sent him to his end as well, growling your name and cursing between clenched teeth, burying himself deep inside you as he unloaded rope after thick rope of his white hot cum into your snug, soft warmth.

"Seems Shitty Hair’s gonna get more than one surprise tonight", Katsuki said, catching his breath.

You laughed so hard that Katsuki hissed at the feeling of your walls squeezing his sensitive cock so soon after his orgasm.

"You still hate me?", he asked, brushing his lips against yours, supporting his weight with his elbows.

"Hmm...that depends", you said thoughtfully, tracing the cut of his back muscles with your fingertips.

"On what?"

"On whether or not you'd still fuck me if I don't hate you".

He smirked. "I'd still hit it even if you love me", he whispered, showing his softer side as he kissed you, smiling.

[littlepadika]

Calling Home (1) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...

Rating: M -> E in later chapters

Warnings: fem!reader, age gap (legal), praise kink, voice kink, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, no beta reader, reader is bad at Spanish, Frankie has a sexy voice 😩

Masterlist here

AN: My first fic. Pedro writers have inspired me to finally start writing again 🥺. Concept inspired by the movie RED. I hope you like it ❤️Set after triple frontier.

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he called was an ordinary Thursday.

“Veterans Affairs, how can I help you?”

You had been working at the VA office for about two weeks. Fresh out of college you felt lucky to have a job in the first place. You went to school to be a writer but your big idea for 'The Next Great American Novel' had yet to present itself. At least here you had access to the most inspiring stories and interesting people. Men and women who had seen more and done more than you probably would in your entire life. You loved talking to clients on the phone. It was weird but something about only being able to hear people’s voices excited you. You would sometimes write little stories in your head about the people you'd talk to, filling in the details that were unknown.

Your desk accessories reflected your love of books and writing. You had your growing collection of books sitting on your desk sandwiched between baby pink bookends. Next to them was a matching desk organizer filled with your favorite sparkly pens and sticky notes. You had decorated the plain cubicle walls with posters of quotes from your favorite books. You also brought your favorite candle from home. Even though you couldn’t light it you still liked to lift it to your nose once and a while and smell it between chapters. When you weren’t on the phone or scanning documents you would read. You finished To Kill A Mockingbird in your first week on the job and were now halfway through Murder on the Orient Express.

You were starting a new chapter when Frankie Morales called the first time.

You picked up the phone on the second ring already mustering your chipper 'customer service' voice. “Veterans affairs.” You stated your name. “How may I help you?”

“H-Hi. My name is Frankie- uh-Francisco Morales." A deep voice answered you. "I’m calling because I have gotten my benefits check yet. It’s been a month. I was hoping you could tell me if it got sent?”

“Okay Mr. Morales." You flipped on the computer. "Let me check. Can you spell your last name for me?”

“M-o-r-a-l-e-s”

“Okay... let's see.” You clicked on his account. You were momentarily distracted by his picture likely taken when he graduated basic if you had to guess based off the uniform. He looked sweet. Sharp nose and strong jaw balanced by kind eyes and a shy smile. You could imagine how age would continue to soften his expression making him even more handsome. The image was a strange juxtaposition to the voice you were hearing on the phone which was much deeper and rougher. His profile said he was special forces. A pilot. The rest of the information was blacked out. Something you were used to seeing on many people's accounts but even his years of service were redacted. He must have been involved in some dangerous stuff, you thought to yourself. The dates that were not redacted were mostly in Latin America. You clicked over to processing requests. “Looks like the check got sent one week ago.” You informed him.

"I'll look again but I haven't seen anything-" It sounded like he was apologizing when clearly it was not his fault.

"No no. It's probably a mistake on our end." You interrupted. With how shitty and outdated the payroll interface was you wouldn't be surprised if there was a mix up. "I’ll go ahead and let payroll know to send another."

"Great. Thanks." He replied sounding relieved. The roughness in his voice gave way to a smooth baritone.

“No problem. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused. We'll get it sent right away." You hoped he was not relying on this benefit check for anything important. While you could promise you'd fix the problem, the administration was notoriously slow. When he didn't respond you asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Morales?”

“Uh-no" The roughness back in place. "Thank you." He paused before adding your name onto his thank you which made you smile. People usually never remembered your name.

“Alright. Have a nice day and thank you for your service.” You chirped before hanging up. The smile he put on your face lingered for a few minutes as you returned to your book.

The next time he called was exactly twelve days later.

“Veterans affairs” you answered, your routine greeting cut short as your eyes were still on your book.

“Hi- I’m calling because uh I still haven’t gotten my benefits check. This is Frankie Morales.”

“Oh Mr. Morales.” You recognized his voice even before he even said his name. You quickly shut your book, pushing your hair out of your face. Had you been thinking about him? No! Okay maybe you stared at his picture for a few minutes longer after he hung up. Yes, it was probably very unprofessional but you couldn't fight the curiosity. You were trying to rationalize the contrasting sharpness and softness of his features with his voice. How it all worked together. How one person's voice could change textures and colors so easily. You wondered what kind of things this man might have seen on the job. Most of the veterans you would help day to day did not have so many redacted missions and deployments. You were in the middle of Narcos season one so you immediately thought of drugs or something equally dangerous. After much pondering, you had come to the conclusion that Frankie Morales was both insanely attractive and insanely courageous. “Still no check, huh?”

“Nope.” He sighed the sound making the phone's shitty speaker crackle as you held it to your ear.

“Let me just check that it was approved...“ you found his profile again and scrolled to the status page. “Hmm... it says it was sent out last Friday after we spoke. That’s so weird...”

“Yeah. Really weird.” He echoed your frustration on the other end.

Typical payroll, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “I'll get another one sent to you right away. I'll see to it myself.” You tucked the phone under your chin and typed out a short email to Mary in payroll letting her know you'd be stopping by her office to explain the situation. You realized he hadn't hung up yet.

“Sorry for the back and forth.” You said, trying to fill the silence.

“It’s not your fault." The earlier irritation gone. "You’ve been really helpful.” His voice sounded warm and reassuring. Less gruff than it was last you spoke. Instead it was that rich baritone that you caught of glimpse of last time.

You feel your face warm at his compliment. It was this annoying reflex you had. Praise always made you blush no matter what context but it was worse when it came from a (you assume) gorgeous stranger.

“And just to verify that your address is correct- you’re on Maple Lane in Miami, Florida?”

“That’s right.” He confirmed.

“Okay. Sent!” You clicked send on the email, which caused the window to close and reveal Frankie’s profile page again. “I was curious-" You spoke before you really made the decision to speak. You didn’t want to overstep but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Honestly, you were just searching for a way to keep him on the phone. The day had been so boring.

“Your profile says you were stationed in Costa Rica.”

“For a bit.” He replied after a moment. He didn’t sound too defensive but there was definitely some tightness in his answer that made you feel bad for asking. Like you were scratching a wound.

“Did you like it? The country I mean.”

“Are you planning a trip?” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah- well- kind of. It's more a trip in my head right now. I’d like to go there one day. It looks so beautiful.” You sighed closing your eyes trying to imagine the heat on your skin.

“It is." He agrees. "Really humid though.”

“Mm that sounds nice.” You would kill for some warm weather after such a long winter in DC.

“It was too muggy for me at times." He grumbled. "If you do go, stick to the costal areas where it’s more breezy or else you’ll just be sweating the whole time.”

“I don’t mind a little sweat” you shrugged, still thinking of the awful east coast winter you were currently suffering through. The sexual connotation of what you said hit you hard as soon as you heard the statement in its entirety. You felt your face flush again, though the man on the other end would never know.

“I’m learning Spanish!" You announced loudly trying to move the conversation past your awkwardness.

“Wow. Muy impressivo.”

“Si” you replied but after a moment you admit “I don’t really know what you said.”

Frankie laughed loudly on the other end and you couldn’t help but join in, drawing dirty looks from the elderly lady, Donna, working in the cubicle across from you. You ducked your head behind a stack of papers to avoid her glare.

“Fake it till you make it.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should help me out.” You took on an indigent but still playful tone. “You sound better than duolingo” Your smile widened when he laughed again. His laugh was what you hoped it would be, by all your assumptions from his picture. It was an unencumbered, unburdened, rich sound with only a hit of roughness from the air behind it.

“Tell me you’re not using that dumb app to learn.” he scoffed, saying your name in an almost scolding tone.

“I’m got my thirty day streak today.” You boasted.

“You’ll be a total tourist if you go by duolingo.”

“But the owl is so cute every time I get something right!” You argued your voice taking on a more childish cadence.

“That’s how they trap you, silly girl.” He teased right back. Usually such a condescending nickname would piss you off but something about the affection behind him using it made you feel very differently. You felt warm like you were proud to be silly as long as it made him laugh.

“Then you saved me just in time, Mr. Morales.” You bit your lip. His scoffing and laughter died down on the other end.

“Frankie” He corrects you.

“Frankie…” You repeated it, smiling at how well the nick name suited the voice over the phone. Honest, sincere, and not pretentious at all. Way better than the pompous guys you know with equally stuffy names like “Edward” and “Christopher.”

“So what do you want to know?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts. “Dime”

You started asking him questions in Spanish to the best of your ability. Granted they weren't particularly probing questions. What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite animal? What's your favorite book? I am reading Gone Girl. He answered them all with patience and amusement, occasionally interrupting you to correct your pronunciation or explain what a word meant. Every time you’d repeat the word back correctly he would say something like “good” or “there you go” or “you got it”. You hated to admit that his kind words and his praise was doing something to you. You didn't even realize you were clenching your legs together unconsciously, almost in anticipation of his next correction or next answer. His low voice so sweet and encouraging against your ear, more tangible when he was speaking Spanish. You just wanted to hear more of it. Would it be this sweet in other situations? Would it get huskier or rougher? If you closed your eyes it was like he was sitting right next to you. It would be all too easy to slip into that daydream and escape the dull office.

Suddenly out of the corner of your drooping eyes you saw a flashing red light on the phone console meaning another caller was waiting.

“Shoot- i’m sorry, Frankie- I have to take this call.” You shot forward in your chair, legs uncrossing.

“Of-Of course. I should let you get back to work.” He sounded a little sad or so you hoped. You felt bad for interrupting him after you both were having so much fun. You wanted to say he could wait on hold but he killed that idea when he said, "I have work too. Technically I'm five minutes past my lunch break."

Your pout turned to a smile. He was spending his precious lunch break with you? Get a grip! you snapped at yourself.

“You’re welcome to call again if you want.” You threw out the offer in a small voice, scared you would be rejected. You peered over the cubicle wall to see if you were still being glared at. Thankfully Donna was away from her desk. Probably out for a smoke. “It’s really boring here and usually no one calls.”

“Maybe I will.” He replied and you could hear the smile behind those words. You felt your heart clench weirdly in your chest like it didn't know how to process the sudden spike in emotions.

“Bye, Frankie.” You beamed.

“Bye”

This time the smile on your face lasted for hours. Frankie’s laugh echoed around in your head, taunting you, sending your mind to the gutter. His voice went from grit to molasses on a dime. You wanted to be the one to bring out those sounds. You wanted to hear his voice bend and stretch and strain as you fucked him. What the hell is wrong with me? you screamed internally. You had never been so depraved and with a stranger no less! You clearly needed to get laid fast because this much yearning would not end well.

Frankie got the second VA check a few days later and this time he didn’t even feel bad about ripping it in half. He was already reaching for the phone to call you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: Message to be added 💕 no minors please!

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

[yinses]

he reminds your ex who you belong to

gojo satoru ft. f! reader + exhibition ( technically phone sex ¿) + some hair pulling + unprotected sex  wc: 2.3k

a/n: trying to get better with my tagging. i realize the community has it’s own sensitivities and i often fall short on that thought. i still owe some prompts and a few other asks but this has been siting in my drafts for a few weeks and i finally finished it up. 

it never fails to come as an interruption in your life, the shrill call of your phone blaring at inopportune times. each one conveniently impeding on time with gojo.  

your boyfriend of four months would give you that tight smile, blue eyes swimming with annoyance, but never concern. because not once did you pick up the call, always reaching out blindly to silence it without even acknowledging the accompanying messages. 

the number changes, but you learned not to accept any call from one you didn’t recognize. important communications were typically followed by voicemail and that was how you dealt with that. but the duration was becoming more tedious than either of you imagined, reaching above the white noise decibel it had been reduced to. 

“maybe i should just change my number, “ you suggest forlornly. it would ensure that he had no way to contact you freely, but it would also force you to reestablish connections with all your friends and family. it seemed like an extreme measure but when push came to shove. 

only a few moments pass before the phone picks up again, hammering down the final nail in your resolve. 

“i think you should answer.”

gojo’s unexpected intervention comes from the edge of the bed where he flips the said phone carefully from one palm to the next. his fingers brush past the two blinking options just short of selecting. 

you shift from foot to foot, not sure how to accept that response. gojo was as irritated as you were but you didn’t expect him to cave first. 

frowning, you shake your head. “i’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“why not?” his gaze sweeps over your face, somewhat amused by your discomfort. there is a swirl of mischief alight in those bright blue eyes.  “apparently he needs a little more than a simple no.”

he holds out the device, voice taunting but firm.

“if you don’t answer you’ll miss the call.”

as if there wouldn't be a dozen more to follow. 

your mouth feels dry, hand heavy with the weight of decision. it wasn’t as though you couldn't deal with the situation, so much as if you were prepared to. ignoring had been the more appealing option over confrontation but perhaps it had been your hesitation that had been the problem all along. ultimately your thumb taps to accept the call. 

“hello?”

‘baby, i’ve been trying to reach you for ages.’

the bed creaks but you’re too focused breathing evenly to notice. you weren’t familiar with the etiquette of many break ups, which was why this one was the hardest. it had been a long love that had followed you into the early years of adulthood before spark began to fizzle out. 

“i just answered to tell you to stop calling. i’ve already blocked your number once.”

the attempt to revive the romance before it all fell apart had been one-sided. he’d been quicker to discover other fish in the sea before you had. it seemed as though in your patience, you’d found something better while he spent his time chasing minnows without satisfaction. 

‘yes, but you didn’t give me the chance to explain. we don’t have to be over.’

you should have seen it coming. 

your shoulders tense at the press of his lips at your neck. gojo had a propensity for creating opportunities out of every little divot in life. he lived the role of a jester but held the mind of a genius. gojo had been kind in biting his lip to bare down on the jealousy simmering down beneath.

he gives you a brief grace period as his slender fingers tap the mute button then his lips return to your ear. “if you want this, get onto the bed and place the phone above your head with the speaker on.”

an immediate protest flies to your lips but doesn’t quite make it to fruition. what he’s suggestion goes beyond sexual barriers you’d set up thus far. gojo had a knack for pushing them and helping you discover new fantasies and hidden pleasures. 

at the first hint of a pout against your throat, you cave. 

so weak for him.

your ex seems none the wiser to the hitch in your voice as you press one knee to the bed, then the other before carefully rolling onto your back. swallowing the waning confidence before it leaks from your body, you seal the deal by placing the phone just above your head after activating the speaker. 

“good girl.” the words come whispered for your benefit as gojo crawls onto the bed. as if his intentions weren’t already clear enough, the prominent hardness in his pants as he slots between your legs is. you can’t help but grow dizzy at the thought of your premeditated actions, all while your thighs tighten around his form. 

his hands warm the shivers from your sides as he slides up your shirt and kisses down your navel. gojo delivers a sharp nip just before muttering a brisk,” unmute.” in reminder. 

the command comes just in time for your expected response though you’re no more prepared to deliver when gojo unbuttons your pants and works them over your hips. 

‘maybe if we could just meet somewhere?’

the sincerity coupled with your actions makes it all feel more one-sided with you playing the role of the villain. he’d been an ass, yes, but surely he didn’t deserve this. 

right?

“it doesn’t matter, were-mmph.” no part of you expected gojo to play this fairly. you choke on the response when his tongue licks a firm swipe against the fabric of your panties. 

‘what does not matter? speak to me. lets talk this out.”

funny how he chose now of all times to acknowledge the issues you had and attempted to resolve in the past. 

gojo words feel condescending as he mimics what’s heard against your cunt. there was no doubt in your mind that he’d completely written off your ex from the beginning. the same confidence from your first date dripped from his touch as he worked down the fabric from your hips. 

not once did he promise to watch his volume as he sloppily wets his fingers. he’s is ruthless as he plunged in two in on the first thrust, palm curling up to rub friction against your clit. any other time you would have revealed in his ability to make you come apart so easily, now you were more embarrassed by how much easier you felt. 

‘is this a bad time? you seem distracted.’

every time was a bad time. that was the point. 

gojo’s tongue wet the inside of your thigh, “don’t let him hang up. you want this to be his last call, remember.”

at this rate he was going to make this your last waking moment. 

somewhere between a squeak and a whimper, you managed to form words against the friction of gojo’s touch sliding in and out. “no, let’s just-i- yeah, no, we should talk it out now. i’m tired of going back and forth.”

the line pauses briefly. and you almost hope for a second he reaches clarity and saves you from the embarrassment. ‘alright then. are you really not willing to give it another shot?’

your groan of arousal is disguised by disappointment but the opposite warms gojo’s breath against your damp skin. “i didn’t realize you were dating such an idiot. how can he be so dense.” his lips smack, shiny with your stimulation.” you must just really have a thing for pretty faces, willing to look past so much.”

you were willing to look past his deviousness right now, ready to let him desecrate you over the phone like this.

“you’re pretty, toru.” you try to jab but are countered with the addition of a third finger as he starts a relently pace. the sounds are so dirty, reckless suckling sounds that had to carry. gojo made sure of it as he twisted his wrist in retaliation over every shift of your hips. 

“i am much prettier than they guy. much better at a lot,” he enunciates sharp smack to your thigh. 

then he curls just right and you turn for face into the phone and keen.

‘seriously what is going on you sound- strained.’

gojo’s chuckle vibrates within you. “poor guys don't even know what you sound like on the verge of an orgasm.”

your voice is impossibly hoarse and not very convincing as you choke out,” i’m fine. n-no look … i only answered because i wanted us to-fuck-no sorry.” gojo wasn’t making this easy. “- wanted us to reach some closure and move on.”

gojo pulls out just short of your building orgasm and you gasp breathy at the loss. 

‘we were together for two years. surely that amounts to more than just moving on.’

it did. way back when the unexpected break up had torn your hearts to shreds. the misunderstanding and lost connections had eaten you out from the inside. left you failing in the unknowns of what you did wrong and why he wanted to slow down your progress.

now it all seems insignificant in comparison the sight of your current boyfriend slowly fisting his cock. 

‘you wanted to use the break to decide if you were ready for a future together and i think we both realized that we weren't-”

gojo had chosen the right moment to intervene in your life and the moment at the head of his cock pushes through the first ring. he follows through in one motion, filling you to hilt as his hand reaches up to fist the short of your hair. 

‘baby, no one knows you like i do.’

the sharp sting of his fist clenching as he hips rock back is the last warning you get before he slams back in. there was more to the familiar precision as he ruts into you. gojo was the better man, but even he felt short to the green-eyed-monster. 

he was relentless with his pace, fucking into you harder with each new whimper you give up. your consciousness is a fleeting cloud, wafting high out of your reach as your mouth opens up to sharp cries. 

‘are you working out right now? your words sound broken.’

gojo’s hand presses into the curve of your back as he leaves over you. “fuck, you should just tell him. get this over with. let him know that you belong to someone else now. someone who is currently fucking you better than he ever could.”

your protests mirror your resolve and you can already feel your lips forming those exact words before you catch yourself. “i-i cant.” that was too much, right?

gojo didn’t seem to think so. he suddenly pulled out just enough to turn you over, hand still holding your hair hostage as he pushed your face into the mattress effectively ruining your ability to speak properly. 

“tell him, or i will. and i’ll add in every dirty little thing we’ve done leading up to this moment. you don’t belong to him anymore and he should know it. properly.”

‘hey, should i just come over?’ comes that voice again, a constant glutton for punishment.

“no!” you cry out. “i-we can’t- i’m.”

gojo decides to help you out. no longer willing to be a spectator as if he could be called such. “fuck, baby. make those pretty noises for me.”

‘is that someone else? are you with someone right now.’

gojo snatches up the opportunity, hand curling around the phone to place it against the tacky sweat accumulating against the skin between your shoulder blades. you can feel it teetering with each jerk of your body. 

“yeah, she is. apparently she needs help getting her point across. if she wants to contact you  she will do so on her terms. “ he huffs peevishly,“ until then fuck off or you can listen to me fuck her doesn’t matter to me.”

his commanding tone shouldn’t sound so hot. you can’t help but moan as he hits that spot just right. 

a high pitched ‘what the fuck’ grates unpleasantly against the mood you’re so desperate to build to its peak. 

“i take it back, hearing you screech is going to make me go soft. don’t call again.”

‘wait don’t-’ his protest comes a moment too late for gojo’s waning patient as he abruptly cuts off the call and flings the phone somewhere above your head. 

“I imagined that going much smoother in my head,” grunts as he picks up the pace.

your mouth falls open but nothing comes out. you’re unable to blink past the flood of light as you melt into the roll of his hips. there is nothing left for you to do but squeeze around him as you absorb each thrust. 

“i don’t know what i was expecting thinking you could form coherent sentences when i fuck you stupid like this.” his voice is markedly softer now, still agitated but gentler in his touch as he loosens his grip. your head turns without instruction, eagerly catching his mouth in a sloppy kiss. 

the tell tale tremble shudders from one end to the next as you dig your knees into the mattress and gyrate your hips. the angle rewards you with an opportunity to ride his cock straight into nirvana. gojo comes to shatter the already broken cry of release by manipulating speed and precision while you chant his name all the way over the edge. 

his breath comes in short rasps as he follows you over, body drawn up taut as his orgasm washes over.  

gojo’s weight is unforgiving, but thankfully brief when he collapses on top of you before rolling onto his side. he gathers you into his arms and rolls you in against his chest. his fingers chase yours and he brings them to his lips to kiss each one. 

“maybe you should have just gone with your idea and changed numbers.”

somehow you find the air to laugh as your head falls back against his sweaty shoulder. he shares your humor, smile sharp with a new prospect.

“or perhaps we can try again? maybe repeated exposure will do the trick.”

[emerald-chaos]

Touchdown

*gif not mine, credit goes to the owner*

I just want to take a moment to say thank you for the love on my last fic! It made my lil ole heart swell to see that peopled enjoyed it enough to leave a like or reblog.

This is just something special I had in my arsenal that I wrote for a friend a few months ago. I touched it up a bit and added a few things here and there. It all started when we were talking about how much we loved when Chris' accent got heavier after he'd been drinking, and well, I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you enjoy the fluff! xoxo

I apologize for any grammatical errors, I tried to proof-read but am also a little exhausted lol.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings: I don't think there's anyway? Mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol, cursing, and illusions to sexy times, but that's about it.

You hadn’t noticed how furiously your knee was bouncing up and down until the person sitting next to you on the subway got up to move seats once the train squealed to a stop. You sighed and ran your hands down the front of your thighs. Normally being a little late didn’t bother you as much, but tonight you were meeting him.

You flipped your wrist over to check your watch. 8:30pm. In all honesty, it had probably been only thirty seconds later than when you checked it the last time. Another deep sigh escaped from your lips as you started to become hyper aware of the train remaining still at the current stop. What could possibly be taking so long? You knew he wouldn’t care if you were running late, but the time the two of you had together already felt so minuscule. You wanted to capitalize on every second you could.

The train began moving again and you slumped back into your seat, feeling only a small amount of relief. It was becoming painfully apparent that you needed to try and relax. You could feel the sweat building up on your body, the sting on your palms from where your fingernails were pressing in with a vengeance moments ago, and you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Your hand dug around in your purse for a few moments before finding the small case you were looking for. Opening it, you slipped your headphones into your ears and let your head rest on the window behind you as music intertwined with your thoughts.

Once upon a time, you made fun of people who decided to go to grad school. What kind of a clown would spend thousands of MORE dollars and go BACK to school?? Not to mention the stress of the assignments, the due dates - it was not for you...or so you thought.

Now here you are, a regular booboo the fool.

NYU’s graduate program for design and merchandising wasn’t necessarily part of your 5-year plan, but when the opportunity landed in front of you it was difficult to pass up. NYU was a school you had only dreamt of attending back in high school. When you were a senior in high school you were able to tour the campus and fell in love immediately. Hours upon hours were spent researching grants, scholarships, and all sorts of ways to try to make it happen. However, the dream ended as most teenage dreams do - crushed. There was no way you or your parents could afford the loans that it would surely wrack up to attend the out of state university, and there was no way you could ask your parents take on that kind of debt just so you could go to college. UMass was the way to go - close to home and familiar. Not to mention you were able to obtain several scholarships and grants that helped bring down the cost tremendously. Little did you know, boring ole UMass would bring you one of the most important things in your life.

Applying for graduate school wasn’t an easy decision and one you couldn’t really take all the credit for. A smile crept across your face as you reminisced on the night you nervously brought up the idea to your long-term boyfriend.

“I think you should do it,”

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “it’s insane, why would I do something so stup...wait, what? You do?”

“Of course I do. This is something you love and that you’re passionate about. Do you know how many hours of my life were spent listening to you ramble about NYU?” he questioned with a grin.

“It will open up so many doors for you. We can make things work,” a chuckle escaped from those beautiful lips as he saw your dumbfounded expression. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and pulled you close, “What? Did you expect me to forbid it? Cmon, baby, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

You didn’t have a lot of wins in your life, but you did have Chris.

When you got accepted, he took off a week from work to drive you 3 and a half hours south to help get you settled and moved into your temporary new home. The two of you ate a disgusting amount of pizza, moved a ridiculous amount of heavy furniture in the middle of a summer heat wave, and enjoyed each other’s company before the long-distance thing would set in. Chris spent that week encouraging you every step of the way, talking you off the ledge when you were convinced you had made the wrong decision, and made sure to help you christen every possible surface of your new place in the most deliciously sinful way.

You bit your lip slightly at the thought and a warm feeling spread across your face. Chris was one of the most incredible people you had met in this world. Kind, caring, funny, intelligent, passionate, and god was he sexy. The connection the two of you had was scary at first, but now you just couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The robotic voice came over the loud-speaker in the subway car and you were rudely ripped back to reality as it pulled into your stop. You hurriedly scooped up your bag and jogged off the train.

It had been a promise between the two of you when you moved that there would be equal effort when it came to visiting and keeping in contact while having good, open communication. Long distance was hard but the two of you were determined to make it work. FaceTime calls, hours upon hours of texting, and even as far as writing the occasional letter back and forth (because your boyfriend was a hopeless romantic and you loved it so much). This weekend was your turn to come home to visit, and of course your last class had to go longer than anticipated. Fuckin’ Tiffany and her stupid ass questions.

The muscles of your calves burned as you kept up your hurried pace, weaving through the crowds of people gathered on sidewalks outside of various clubs and restaurants. It was a weekend night and the Patriots were playing, which meant the city was more alive than usual. New York was it's own beast, but it was a different type of hustle and bustle. Nights like these made your heart ache for home - the thick Massachusetts accents, the rowdy voices of bar patrons arguing about the game, the hugs shared between family members as they parted after dinner, and the faint smell of nicotine and alcohol that hung in the air.

As the neon sign that hung in the pub window came in to view you felt your heart dip down into your stomach. Last weekend’s visit had to be cancelled due to some stuff coming up with Chris’ work and a surprise assignment for you, so you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in 2 weeks. With a deep breath you swung open the door and scanned the crowd for him. He told you that he would be there promptly at 7:15pm for pregame shenanigans with his friends - which actually translated to how many pitchers of beer could they suck down before kick off.

“Aw, come ON! That is such a bullshit call!”

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. A grin spread across your lips as you shook your head. The thought of leaving to avoid secondhand embarrassment crossed your mind briefly before you picked up your feet and made your way through the crowd toward the sound. A room full of people from New England and you would still recognize that voice anywhere.

Everyone else seemed to fade away as you saw the outline of the tall, dark haired man standing at the bar. The slight freckles that spattered the back of his neck, the Brady jersey that he spent WAY too much money customizing, and the signature backward ball cap were ingrained in your subconscious memory. Not to mention if you didn’t recognize his outline or his voice, you would definitely recognize that ass anywhere.

You loved how passionate he got about sports and the way his Boston accent seemed to get thicker with each beer he consumed. Growing up in the area, you wouldn't think the accent would send a tingle down your spine the way it does, but it was different - it was Chris. Not to mention the sparkle in his eye when he would watch his favorite team or the way he would get in to arguments whenever someone tried to say something negative about them. You loved your big, handsome, over-sized toddler man so damn much.

A light tap on his shoulder made him whip around, his slightly opened mouth from his interrupted conversation curved upwards into a wicked grin as he made the connection of who was finally standing in front of him.

“Hey there, handsome. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You single?” You grinned, feeling your entire body fill with warmth as Chris leaned back and grabbed his chest as he erupted in laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah, unfortunately for you I am taken” he responded as he snaked his arms around your waist, sliding his hands into your back pockets as he pulled you into his figure.

“That is too bad,” you tsk'd, running a finger down his toned bicep, “she’s one lucky girl.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he grinned. He leaned down to meet your lips in a kiss. You sighed into it, allowing your body to mold itself so perfectly into his. The taste of beer on his lips and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating - it was home. You immediately allowed him entrance as you felt his tongue glide along your bottom lip. Your body felt small in his strong grip and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he gave your ass a firm squeeze. Normally, this type of bold, public display of affection would make you cringe away but at this point you were lost in Chris that you had absolutely no shame. Each time the two of you embraced had always felt like the first. Your heart still fluttered and your knees still got weak, like you were a 16 year old being kissed for the first time.

In the middle of your reunion moment, however, something happened in the game that made the entire bar erupt in boo’s and curses. Chris lifted his lips from yours to look over his shoulder and inspect what he had missed. You laughed and shook your head as you pushed him back towards his friends and took a seat in the bar stool he had been standing behind initially. His large hands found a natural place on your shoulders. While his eyes remained glued on the TV he began applying a moderate amount of pressure to your neck and shoulders. You didn’t realize how much your body craved that touch, his touch, until you immediately melted back into him.

The bartender slid a beer in front of you with a wink and you mouthed your thanks. You felt a twinge in your heart as you looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. This was a typical weekend night for the two of you whenever you were living together. Football, drinks, pub food, and friends. If it wasn’t this pub it was your living room, just a couple blocks away. You didn’t even mind that it was your first night back and you weren’t alone, spending it immediately wrapped up in your satin sheets. The atmosphere, the people - it was so warm and familiar that you really wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Plus, being wrapped up together in the sheets was sure to follow.

“I missed you,” hummed a pair of lips as they placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. A shiver shot down your spine at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over your neck. You reached up a hand and connected it to the nape of his neck.

“I missed you too,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

His arms changed position as he wrapped them in front of your shoulders and crossed them, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed his forearms as you nursed your beer and placed your focus onto the game for the first time tonight.

The laughter seemed to escape from your chest naturally and effortlessly the entire night, as it always had a habit of doing when Chris was around. The camaraderie between him and his buddies during a game was something you’d grown to enjoy over the years. Chris’ competitive nature and the way his jaw clenched when something wasn’t going the way he wanted was always kinda...hot. All of his friends were huge assholes, but in the best way. It was always entertaining to hear them jab at each other and do what they could to rile someone up. They were the life of every party you had ever attended and they had a way of making a boring night a lot more interesting.

Thankfully (for the integrity of the bar) the Pats won the game with a surprise touchdown in the last 30 seconds of the game. Chris, being the guy he is, bought a final round for his friends and a nearby group they had been going back and forth with all night. You couldn’t help but laugh as he drunkenly leaned across the counter and slurred his order to the bartender.

“I need a round for m’friends and for these assholes over here who thought Tom Brady was anything but a winner!” the group started yelling in protest and he simply waved them off and started sliding beers down the bar.

The group eventually moved to a bigger round top so everyone could shoot the shit and banter about the outcome of the game. You were tucked into Chris’ side, hands intertwined as he was passionately discussing the importance of Brady’s legacy with a stranger who made the mistake of stopping to talk to him. Your eyes followed the motion of your thumb as it traced small circles onto the back of his. Your other hand under your chin, holding up the weight of your head as your exhaustion started to catch up with you. Chris, although slightly drunk, picked up on your body language and raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Alright, fellas,” he said as he stood up from his seat, pulling you up with him, “the lady and I are gonna call it a night. See you boys next weekend”.

“Chris, we don’t have to go,” you began to protest as he tucked his jacket around your shoulders.

“Mm, ‘course we do,” he replied with a soft smile, “you’re so tired, baby. I can see it in those beautiful eyes”.

You could feel your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you rolled your eyes at his attempt at laying it on thick. After what felt like a proper 10 minute goodbye session, the group said their final goodbyes, hugs included, and you walked out of the pub hand in hand.

The walk home was filled with the sounds of cars passing by and conversation of what each other had missed in the week prior. Small talk typically felt like such a chore, but with Chris every conversation came naturally. Even when he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, he would listen intently and ask all the questions as if it was the most interesting conversation in the world.

The lock on the apartment door clicked as you pushed it open and entered. You smiled as you stopped into the middle of the living room, taking in the home you missed so dearly. A soft tapping of toenails against the hardwood made your heart soar as you met the eyes of your sweet pup, Dodger. A squeal left your lips as you squatted down to give love to the sweet boy. Chris always made fun of you when you came home, saying that you always seemed to miss Dodger more than you did him and I mean, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that statement.

Once again lost in your own world, you didn’t even notice Chris leaned up against the wall watching you with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you gushed, standing up, “do you like...like me or something?”

Chris grinned as he crossed the room and caught your belt loop with his finger, pulling you into him slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice had dropped down an octave, “you could say that”.

“Mm,” your tongue swiped across your lower lip and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “care to show me how much?”

The look in his eyes made your core burn. The tension building between you two became too much to handle as you crashed your lips into his. The kisses were messy and you could feel the sense of urgency between you two. His beard scratched against the column of your throat with a delicious burn as he left wet kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Chris’ hands found their way back into the ass pockets of your jeans as he started walking you back towards the direction of the bedroom.

Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and you felt very sorry for your neighbors. It had been a long time, but Chris always had a way of welcoming you home.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

What is Jim’s plan here?

Regarding “only Trollhunter will know”:

What if the Ghost Trollhunters also remember the other timeline?

Jim can lean on that for credibility points.

What if Jim loses his memory of the other timeline now that he’s arranged for someone else to pick up the amulet?

A) Jim isn’t expecting that to be an issue, because “I am the Trollhunter, amulet or not,” but just in case ...

B) That’s why he set up his highest-priority plans (aka, the ships he was hoping would set sail, aka, making his mom and alt-timeline girlfriend happy) on that first day, before pointing Toby towards the amulet.

What if Toby gets back his memories of the other timeline?

Jim figures he and Toby have basically the same information on most topics, and that Toby will forgive Jim for trying to save his life even if the method put each of them in different danger.

Regarding Toby: 

Jim’s planning to use his future-knowledge to steer Toby through and around most of the danger, as his best friend and Trusted Advisor. 

(But Seriously, What The Hell, Jim?! 

Being the Trollhunter directly led you into most of the traumatic experiences you’ve had recently, and you’re just turning that over to your best friend? 

There are a lot of ways for Toby to potentially die besides apocalyptic battles, Jim!)

Regarding Claire: 

Since Jim isn’t the Trollhunter, he won’t be missing play rehearsals all the time, and will therefore have more chances to talk to and bond with her. Also, he already knows his lines, which should impress everyone.

Regarding Strickler, and Barbara:

In Unbecoming, Strickler initially attacks Jim when Jim reveals he knows Strickler is a Changeling - but, it takes less than a minute for Strickler to switch sides once he realizes Jim is not hostile-on-principle towards Changelings, and Strickler is then literally willing to die for Jim.

In the post-Titans redo timeline, since Jim seems to be laying the groundwork for getting Strickler and Barbara together early, I’m guessing Strickler will start having second thoughts about releasing Gunmar before Killahead Bridge is fully rebuilt, and at the very least will try to warn the Lakes and/or get them to safety, perhaps under the guise of a “vacation”.

Then Jim will reveal he knows Strickler is a Changeling and why he’s really trying to get the Lakes out of Arcadia Oaks, and Strickler will officially change sides. Barbara will be mad at both of them, but forgive Jim because “It wasn’t my secret to tell, Mom,” and forgive Walter because “centuries of habit are hard to break”.

Regarding Blinky, AAARRRGGHH, Draal, Vendel, and everyone else in Trollmarket: 

Jim is assuming Toby will not keep being Trollhunter a secret from him and therefore Jim will get to meet everyone again. He’ll try to steer the timeline away from Draal getting brainwashed and killed, and away from Vendel getting murdered.

Regarding the Changelings and Familiars in general: 

I don’t think Jim has considered a plan here, beyond maybe “I know where the Triumbric Stones are this time around, so a rescue mission to the Darklands will be less risky.”

Regarding Douxie, Archie, Aja and Krel: 

Again, I don’t think Jim is thinking about them yet. If Angor Rot shows up again Jim might suggest going to Douxie for magical help.

So, did Jim make the right decision? 

In my opinion, no, for meta reasons: because ending a story with time-travel undoing everything is the magic/sci-fi equivalent of “and then they woke up, and it had all been a dream”, which is frustrating. It can make character developments within the past timeline by everyone but the time-traveler seem futile. 

Undoing everything in the hopes of getting it right next time, and expecting that to read as a ‘happy ending’, is a story trope that I feel works better in fanfic than in canon. It appeals to me more if it’s the beginning or middle of a story. 

But I think Jim did at least have a general outline of a plan, not just an impulsive “undo everything and hope for the best” mentality. 

... Wait. A. Flipping. Minute. 

Did Merlin foresee this happening? Was this what that shit the wizard pulled in ‘Unbecoming’ was about?! Impressing upon Jim the importance of thinking through your ‘reset time and start over’ goals?!

Damn it, now I have to respect that bastard just a little bit.

Infinite Loop Theory: 

Jim and Toby are unknowingly perpetually trading the Amulet back and forth between them, each trying to find a way to defeat the Titans without his best friend/surrogate brother dying, finally dying to save him instead, only to have that loop’s Trollhunter become the next loop’s Time Traveler with the same intention. 

[ultimate-sidemen-imagines]

A Not So Happy Anniversary

Title: A Not So Happy Anniversary

Pairing: Reader/Harry

Word Count: 3,151

Warning: SMUT SMUT SMUT

Summary: You and Harry have a long distance relationship. When Harry messes up and misses your three year anniversary, you confront him face to face.

Author’s Note: Ladies and gents, it feels good to be back. My inbox is open to requests. Let me know what you think!

You were furious with him. 

Completely and utterly furious with him. 

He had done this to you a million times, you always had forgiven him and moved on. But this? This was definitely something you couldn’t let go.

Both you and Harry had been dating for three years now, not a moment did you regret the decision to date the famous "wroetoshaw" on YouTube. You would be the first one to admit that his fanbase and everything that came with being labeled as his girlfriend terrified you but Harry made it worth it. Thankfully, the both of you had managed to keep your relationship away from the public. Fans not in your personal lives eliminated any unnecessary stress you both didn’t need. You were happy, he was happy. You guys barely fought. But that was about to change tonight.

Harry lived in two places: Guernsey and London. He traveled back between the two constantly which always made you a little bit upset. You understood why he'd want to live in London, of course you did. When you had gone out there with him, even you struggled to leave London once your time was up. A mix of the city life and the fact most of Harry’s friends lived there - it was a no brainer. 

But being stranded in Guernsey while Harry was away in London had been the first major roadblock in your relationship. There would be long amounts of time that Harry would be in London, leaving you by yourself at home and missing your boyfriend. He'd always come back eventually and apologize in a shower of kisses. You couldn't help yourself but forgive him but this was too far now. 

You stormed off back inside your small little flat, flipping off any guys that whistled at you in your short, black mini-dress while doing so. You had decided to get dressed up since tonight was a pretty big deal - the three year milestone with Harry. Your anniversary was today, something that you had reminded Harry about for two weeks. He promised over and over again that he would be home on time for your anniversary and that he'd meet you at your favorite restaurant for a romantic meal. Long story short, you had been sitting at the table for two hours with no sign of Harry. He'd let you down. 

You burst through the front door of your flat, throwing your heels off to the floor and locking the door with both locks. At least that way, Harry couldn't get in if he got there in the morning. You sniffled, feeling yourself now start to get upset more than angry. How could he do this? He promised. You’d always forgiven him for being late to come home before but this just felt like a slap in the face. 

A second later, you were at the fridge - taking out a bottle of wine and taking a swig from it. You knew it was stupid to try and numb the pain with alcohol, it would only leave you feeling like shit in the morning. You shook your head and put the bottle away, deciding to just go to bed and forget about Harry until the morning. 

It was about half an hour later when you had finally gone to bed, wearing one of Harry’s t-shirts and sweats. You were scrolling through Twitter to see if Harry had written anything yet no tweets came up for today. You were a little concerned at that but once you remembered just why you were angry with them, any feelings of being concerned were out the window. You turned off your phone and placed it on your side table - not being able to avoid the framed photo of you and Harry sitting there. At the sight of it, you quickly turned off your lamp and went to sleep. 

-

"Y/N, Y/N. Baby, wake up." You felt yourself being shaken out of your dream, your name being repeated over and over again. Eventually, your dream of a happy anniversary slipped away and your eyes fluttered open. 

You saw a dark figure over you in the bed, causing you to scream out. The figure put his hand over your mouth, trying to reach over to turn on the light as you struggled against his hand. "Babe! Stop! It's me! Harry!" He exclaimed in a loud whisper, turning on the dim lamp light to reveal himself. 

You calmed down as soon as you realized it was him, shoving him off you and sitting up in the bed. "For fuck sake Harry, you can't just hover over me in pitch darkness at-" You looked over at the time. "2:30 in the fucking morning!" 

"How the hell did you get in here anyway? I locked the front door with both locks." You grumbled, crossing as arms as Harry raised an eyebrow

"Yeah, I noticed that. I had to climb up a floor outside and get in through your window." He motioned the open window before shooting you an amused look. "I told you that you needed to lock your windows." 

"And you need to take the hint when I don’t want you in the flat." You grumbled, before grabbing one of your pillows and throwing it at him. "Harold, leave. I don't want to fucking talk to you or even look at you right now." 

"C’mon babe, don’t be like that. I know you missed me." He joked, only making the situation worse in pure Harry style. How the hell could he be making jokes and not even acknowledge how badly he had messed up? You just glared at him, shoving him off the edge of your bed and laying back down. "Go to the couch - we’ll talk in the morning when you’re actually ready to have a serious conversation.”

"Baby, come on. I'm joking." He cooed as you just ignored him and tried to go back to sleep. Harry bit his lip and sat back on the bed again next to you, watching your body turn away from him. He took the peaceful moment to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before running a finger down your arm softly. 

"Harry, I’ll seriously do something I’ll regret if you don’t get out and give me some space." You seethed, though Harry didn't budge. 

"Your threats don't make you scary, babe. You're like a hamster." He teased before he decided to get serious - he knew you'd really kick him out of the flat if he kept pulling jokes as such. "Look I'm sorry, okay?" 

"Sorry for what, Harry? Missing our anniversary, maybe? Maybe promising you'd be home yet you didn't come back on time. Really? I always let it go but you crossed a fucking line this time." You shot back at him. 

"My flight got delayed, okay?" Harry admitted in defeat. "The plane was having engine failure so we couldn't take off in time. I had to sit on that plane for ages, I only just landed an hour ago." He said, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. "I'm really sorry that I missed our dinner. I'll make it up to you, okay? Please don't be angry with me. It’s not my fault that Gatwick is proper shit." 

"No Harry, I will be angry at you." You said annoyed, still refusing to turn your body towards him. "Okay fair enough, your flight got pushed back far. But you could've come back to Guernsey days ago so you wouldn't miss our anniversary or maybe actually spend some time with me - but no. You're too busy partying it up in London with all your friends and all the girls that probably want to sleep with you the first chance they get. I know there’s gonna be one day where you just don’t come back to Guernsey for me and that’ll be the end of us." 

"Babe, where is all this coming from? You know when we started dating that I said I’d be travelling back and forth." Harry frowned, knowing your anger was coming from something more than him missing dinner tonight. He hated to see you aggravated over this topic. Especially when all his friends knew just how much he loved you and how loyal he was. He knew that you weren’t exactly the biggest fan of the amount of female attention he received online. He understood that. But it did bother him seeing you truly believe that he’d never come back home to you one day. “What makes you think I’d ever do anything like that to you?”

"I’m just scared, Harry." You whispered back at him. "I'm very scared of what could happen while you're in London while I'm stuck here." You closed your eyes and tried to block everything out. Until you felt him turn you on your back. You opened your eyes slowly to look up at Harry hovering over you. You felt your heart skip a beat looking up at him in the dim light. Even when you were upset and mad with him, he still had the power to take your breath away. 

"You're mad, you know that? Absolutely crazy." Harry stated, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. "You think I'd get bored of you? Seriously? Take a look in the fucking mirror, Y/N." He teased you before he returned to neutral. “Whatever I’ve done to make you believe any of what you just said? I’m so sorry, babe. The last three years I’ve had with you have been the best of my life. I would never violate you like that.”

“You know I also work in London too - doing all the Sidemen shoots and videos. I’m building that brand more and more to make sure that I can always come home whenever I want. I’m doing it so that we can live comfortably, that I can take you on holidays and help you pay for this place while I’m away. Never once have I been in London and not missed you, Y/N. I know I’m definitely far from perfect but I won’t let you think that I don’t love you. Cause I do, so fucking much.”

He leaned down and placed kisses down the side of your face - pressing a quick peck on your lips before moving down to your neck. 

"I fucking hate you sometimes." You insulted, gasping when you felt him leave love bites on the certain spot on your neck that drove you crazy. You snaked a hand into his hair when he did so, feeling yourself wanting him more rather than wanting to punch him back to London. 

"I sincerely doubt that you hate me right now." He said in a cocky tone, pulling his head back to admire the hickies he had left on your neck and smirking down at you. 

"Shut the fuck up." You growled, grabbing his fistful of his jumper and pulling his face back down to yours. You slammed your lips back against his, the whole action coming from both anger at him missing your anniversary dinner and lust at the same time. You knew there was love in your actions as well but you were more focused on other things at hand. 

Harry did a pretty good job at keeping up with the pace of your lips against his, deepening it and taking the moment to nip at your bottom lip. You moaned softly at that before your hands were underneath his clothes, practically ripping them off him and throwing them off to the side. He did the same with you, the both of you continuing to keep your lips together almost like it was a form of life source. 

It wasn't long before the couple were now fully naked, Harry's body pressing against yours as you made out. Something about his skin pressed against yours always gave you a funny feeling in your stomach - such a warm and safe feeling. You knew that you loved this boy after three years of dating, you only hoped you'd be able to communicate that through this.

Harry pulled back after a while, leaning over to the bedside table to retrieve a condom while you placed kisses along his neck. You made sure to leave your own marks on his skin. He grabbed one quickly enough and groaned at your hickies, pulling himself off to you long enough to roll the condom onto himself. You felt your eyes gleam at the sight of your fit boyfriend in his most vulnerable state. You completely understood why she got so jealous of him being away from you - he was such a gorgeous boy. 

Your boyfriend was back on you a second later, continuing to make-out with you again as he settled himself between your legs. You wrapped your legs around his waist to keep him close, eventually both of you pulling away for air. There were no words uttered between the two, speaking with your eyes and facial expressions. The rough lust and anger had faded away now to a soft kindness and love that you felt whenever you were near Harry. You smiled at him as he returned the favor before pushing into you without another second wasted. 

"Oh!" You moaned, leaning your head back against the pillows as he did so. It had been awhile for you both, having been ages since he was last home. You had definitely missed this. "Harry," You breathed out as he let out a long sigh, getting used to the feeling of being back inside you before he started to set a pace. “Feel so good around me, baby. Fuck I missed you.”

"Harry," You moaned louder this time, going up in volume the faster he went. "Harder, baby." You urged him on, hearing a type of groan and growl leave from his lips. He buried his face into your neck as he continued to thrust faster, leaving more hickies on the other side of your neck. 

"Oh fuck yes." He grunted against your skin, his words only bringing back that fluttery feeling in your stomach. "My gorgeous girlfriend. Even when you’re angry at me, you’re still so fucking hot.” He whispered, lifting his head up from your neck to look at you in the eyes while he fucked you. “No-one can have you, you hear me? You're mine." He whispered, taking one of his hands to wrap around your neck. Not too tight but enough to send your mind spiraling.

"Oh fuck Harry!" You cried out at this, your hands going straight to his shoulders. You dug your fingernails into his skin, dragging them down his pale back as you struggled to get your words out. "You're mine, Lewis. You're mine and I'm yours." You choked out, gasping and moaning out a version of his name at every thrust.

"Damn right." He growled, eventually turning you both over so you were on top of him. He kept control despite the change in position, angling his hips up and holding your hips to keep you steady. He kept doing that for a while, just smirking at hearing the porn-worthy noises that came past your lips. That smirk wiped away however when he felt his thrusts starting to falter, Harry coming closer and closer to his orgasm just like you.

"Oh baby, I'm so close." You whispered, clutching onto him as she felt her high nearing. Harry only smirked at this, trying to go as fast as he could in that moment. He sat up from the mattress, keeping a hold on your hips. He kissed you, "Go on baby, come for me. I wanna hear you." He growled against your lips. That was your breaking point.

"Harry!" You practically screamed, reaching orgasm. It was incredible the types of orgasms Harry gave to you, they always left you speechless and shaking. You heard strangled groans of your name come from Harry, feeling him reach his orgasm too. You kept rocking your hips against his as you both worked each other through your orgasms - eventually stopping when Harry pulled out. He collapsed down onto the mattress, bringing you down with him and holding you against him.

You were left a panting mess, resting against Harry’s body and your head on his chest. All that could be heard was your and Harry's panting, both of your eyes closed to take in what just happened before Harry motioned you to look at him.

"You still mad at me?" Harry asked sweetly after a while, “I don’t know how you could be after that.”

"Oh shut up." You rolled your eyes playfully, enjoying his laughter before you pecked his lips.

"Still - I still think something needs to change, Harry." You admitted, gaining Harold's attention. "I mean... I... I love you, I do. And I want to be with you. But you’re in London constantly. I can’t even travel to see you that often because of university. If I’m just barely going to see you, I can't deal with that. I need a compromise." 

Harry thought about what you said for a moment, placing a small kiss to your forehead. "You're right. I will admit that I love London more than Guernsey but I love you more than anything." He admitted to you, nothing left but love filling his beautifully colored eyes of his. "So let's fix the problem. When you graduate from uni, come back to London with me."

"What?" You asked, confused. 

"Come back with me to London, move in with me and Cal. We never have to be apart that way." He cooed. "I can talk to the guys about letting me come back to Guernsey every couple weeks or so to see you more rather than what I have been doing until you finish school. But when you finish, I want you to move out to London to stay with me permanently. I want to have you there for everything. None of this long distance bullshit. Especially if it’s making you doubt me. I want you with me. To prove to you that you never had anything to be scared about.”

It was definitely a lot for you to take in, moving from your small little town to the big city of the UK. You were nervous about thinking of starting a life there but as you looked at Harry and saw that future involved him - it became a no brainer. 

"We'll talk about it properly in the morning, okay? For now, let’s get some sleep. Especially since you gotta make up for missing today." You said softly with a smile, pecking his lips before laying your head back on his chest. 

"So after the morning sex?" Harry teased, making you roll your eyes and hitting him with the nearest pillow as his laughter vibrated throughout the whole flat. 

Yep. London sounded pretty good.

[cotccotc]

♡ 1:26 am ; lonely

set in the domus amoris universe !

genre/s: comfort/angst to fluff, established relationship/domestic au, hyunjin x gn reader

wc: ~1.1k

warnings: reader is shorter than hyunjin but that’s all !!

a/n: omg d.a. is back 🤭 jsd i haven’t been able to write for hyunjin for while because of ,,,reasons...... so i’m a little rusty. it’s a wee bit messy and poorly/sleepily edited BUT i hope y’all like it :)

“what do you do when you feel lonely?” you ask. there’d been a brief moment of silence leading up to your question, during which hyunjin put his arm around you, pulling you closer as the two of you stand beside the bedroom window. neither of you could sleep. the sweeping sound of the nightly breeze is tranquil. but it’s not enough.

despite the chill of night, his presence is warm. he’d pressed a kiss against the top of your head, bringing you in to rest it against his chest before you spoke. when you did, his brow furrowed. concern. “lonely?”

“lonely,” you repeat. “like when i’m not around. when it feels like nobody’s around.”

he pauses. he didn’t expect such musings from you. perhaps, he thinks, this is why you were having trouble sleeping. with you under his arm, he begins to sway, gently shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. you wrap your arm around his middle, leaning against him as he guides you from side to side. “well… i’m not sure.” he’s telling the truth. he understands the feeling more than you might expect. “i usually come and find you.” after a beat, he continues. “but sometimes, if i don’t know how to get to you, i’ll try to concentrate on something else. listening to music, drawing, making something...” he trails off, looking at you. your gaze is pointed straight ahead. “lovey, what’s wrong?” he asks.

you blink a few times. you didn’t realize how serious you might have looked. you quickly flash him a forced smile, muttering a hasty “nothing” before turning your head back toward the window. he knows you’re lying. he stays silent for a little while, holding you close to him and continuing to sway. the wind lets out a soft howl. hyunjin worries for you. maybe he’d done something wrong. though, if that is ever to happen - which it very rarely does - you wouldn’t hesitate to tell him about it. there’s too much love and trust between you for such petty discourse.

“i wouldn’t be upset if you told me you were lonely, you know,” he says.

that’s when it clicks. all the tears you couldn’t bring to the surface finally rise to grace your eyes, blurring your view of the navy blue night outside the window. slowly, as the first droplet descends upon your cheek, you turn to face the one you love so dear. his eyes widen.

immediately, hyunjin wraps his arms around you, prompting you to do the same. you can no longer conceal the weight of the remoteness with which your mind has plagued you, letting your sobs emerge in full intensity. there’s something so freeing about being held so tightly - so tenderly - during a time like this. you can do no wrong. you may simply let everything out, molded back into shape by his engulfing presence like clay in the hand of a sculptor. he shuts his eyes tightly, listening to your choked expressions of anguish and feeling as you shudder in his arms.

“i’m sorry,” you mutter into his chest as the intensity of your weeping begins to diminish. “it’s not your fault.”

he pulls you away from him, looking into your eyes with deep sympathy as he holds onto your shoulders. “it’s not yours either. baby, everybody feels lonely. i do, too, when you’re not with me.”

you sniffle, lifting your eyes to look back into his. your hands remain on his waist as you absentmindedly fiddle with the fabric of his t-shirt. you’re vulnerable. “really?” you murmur.

scoffing, he replies, “of course! i’m obsessed with you!” you giggle. that was his aim. he smiles back at you, admiring your features. he loves it when you smile. when all the world grows silent for but a moment, allowing for his favorite soul to shine. the life in your face is pure enough to bring tears to his own eyes. he cups your cheeks with both of his hands, surveying you closer. his smile diminishes, turning urgent. he then continues, “i love you. you know that right?” you nod in response. “good. don’t forget it. and never forget that you’re not alone either. feeling lonely and being alone are two different things. it’s okay to feel lonely sometimes. but as long as i’m alive, i’ll be with you. you’ll never be alone. okay?”

hearing his words and gazing into his honest eyes, your heartbeat comes to a steady pulse. you love him more than anything in the world. he always knows what to say. you sniffle again. “okay.”

“and to prove it to you,” he adds, pointing a finger toward you and taking your hand in his, guiding you back to the foot of the bed. “i promise to hold you all night long. and all day tomorrow, if you’ll let me.” he smiles. though his tone and expression are playful, you’re aware of the truth behind his sentiment.

“you promise?” you ask, a smile forming on your face.

“i promise.” his voice takes on a mockingly villainous persona as he grips onto your waist, quickly pulling you to him in one swift motion. “you’ll never be able to escape my clutches!” his eyes widen to a comedic degree, squinting in playful villainy. but alas, his growing smile does little to hide his inner goodness. his love.

“luckily for you, i’d never want to,” you tease in response. you’ve nearly forgotten that which had kept you awake all this time. he just has a way of making you forget about your troubles. it’s an indescribable gift.

he does his best evil cackle, lowering his voice and puffing out his chest. as he does so, he slowly lets himself fall backward onto the bed, taking you down with him. you let out a small squeal as you land on top of your giggling lover, surprised by his actions. as you join him in his laughter, he raises his hand to pull your face down to his, connecting your lips in a spontaneous, unfeigned expression of his love for you. kissing you is always more of an instinct than a decision. he can’t help it. there’s no other way, in his mind, to express the depth of his emotions toward you. and with each kiss, you accept and reciprocate his affections.

he pulls away, flipping you onto your back with his hands on your hips. as soon as you land, he’s quick to climb on top of you, wrapping himself around your form as if his life depends on it. you let out a full belly laugh, mainly due to the new pressure he’s applied to your body, as he proudly and wickedly exclaims, “you’re MINE!”

so you are. and he is to you as you are to him. he always will be, no matter how lonely you might feel. what he said is true. as long as he’s here, all of your intrusive thoughts are just that: thoughts. there is a clear distinction to be made between what you think and what you know. and, as bouts of laughter arise from both yourself and your predestined beloved, you know that you are truly never, ever alone.

tags: @stayndays, @hanniiesuckle17, @leggomylino, @freckledberries, @kisskissbanggang, @mr-jisung-main, @childofthecosmos, @kpopscape, @skzwriternet, @hyunsins, @sleepylixie, @sunshine-skz, @vera-liscious, @thatrandomoneinthecorner​, @cyberskz​, @seungminsaidsta, @somethingrandomworld, @ethan806, @siedhr​ ( join my tag list !! )

©️ cotccotc 2021 ~ all rights reserved. do not repost my work on tumblr or other platforms.

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 1

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she'd been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Preface: Let me say, I am immensely nervous about this. After months of back and forth inside my mind, I’ve decided to go for it and begin the long process of moving my long running series to Tumblr, along with changing the name (something I’ve wanted to do for a long time). I hit a big emotional road block after over a year of writing and posting, so I’m hoping this move will eventually get me back into the swing. But for now, I’m looking forward to revisiting the beginning of this space love triangle.

If you’ve already read the saga, absolutely NO pressure to read again. Each chapter will be edited a little, but no major plot points will change. To any newcomers who find themselves interested, the story is already posted on AO3 if you are desperate to continue. Otherwise if you prefer reading on Tumblr, or simply like the forced breaks between chapters, I’ll be posting a new chapter every couple of days. I know it’s not written as reader insert, but I just couldn’t make the story work out in any other fashion. I poured a lot of love and heart into Alexys so I hope you’ll give her a chance.

Chapter 1 - Crash Landing

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: descriptions of severe injury including blood and bone, medical procedures 

Read on AO3

~

I felt it before I heard it.

A booming crash of metal and glass, sending a shattering vibration through the walls and furniture around me. After the years of mostly silence I’d become accustomed to, the noise that came pummelling into my ears almost made me shriek in surprise. It was short lived, coming and going in a flicker so quick I had to wonder if it was real at all.

Lights began to flash, blinking rapidly in uneven time. The mixture of harsh beeps indicated something was faulting my electricity circuits, plunging me into the darkness of night over and over.

I could only question myself again at the plausibility of this being a dream, but the slow, increasing creak emanating from beyond the walls of this building brought me to a certainty.

Something had crashed outside.

Fear radiated through my limbs, leaving me stuck where I was standing for a few moments, before an uncontrollable urge of selflessness and honestly, curiosity, forced me to move and exit the safety of my clinic.

There wasn’t really a way to prepare for what I saw not metres away from my front entrance. A ship, an X-wing of some variety, was wrecked into itself, varying metals twisted and curled over each other, flames beginning to billow out from the creases. I could feel the heat of them rise as I cautiously stepped forward, taking in the scene with wide eyes. Only seconds had passed when I saw it – the movement of something – no, a person, demanding my attention. The pilot of this battered machine had been thrown just beyond the edge of its hull, broken transparisteel smattering the ground around them.

Hm, the Resistance should probably investigate their flight safety measures.

That thought quickly flittered away when the pilot moved again, this time with a painful moan echoing into the atmosphere. The switch inside quickly flipped, and an all too familiar feeling of conviction flooded through.

This is your cue Alexys.

I raced quickly to the pilot and knelt on the ground before them, fingers carefully removing the black and red helmet with both urgency and restraint as to not cause any more possible damage to their head or neck. The moan I'd heard just moments before let me know this person had some kind of airway, but it was pertinent I assess further. With the helmet gone I noticed the short, lightly waved black hair of a man, his eyes pulled closed, a few bruises and smudges of grey soot smattered over his face. His chest was moving, laboured breathing with the occasional heave on inhale.

At least he’s breathing.

“It’s alright,” I insisted. “I’m here to help you.”

There wasn’t any discernible response from the pilot other than a groan that withered away slowly, and that in itself was worrying. Kneeling over his body, I placed two fingers under the line of his jaw, halfway down, trying to feel for a pulse. I could sense the thump of blood under my fingertips, but it was too slow, too faint, too uneven.

Not great, but it was enough for now.

I began to scan over his body, knowing it was time to assess what was giving him reason to cry out in pain. There were severe burns on his left arm which had caused some of his flight suit to stick to the skin, with more scalds reaching down to his torso and abdomen. His right arm was almost definitely broken with the limb morphed into an irregular angle almost halfway along.

Without being able to look at them directly to ascertain whether I was going to be able to move him, I pressed on his hips gently, silently praying he hadn’t broken his pelvis. He muffled softly, but anyone who had actually shattered the bone would have screamed. As my eyes continued to scan down, it became obvious all too suddenly the shattered edge of his right femur bone poking out of the orange flight suit.

Kriff, this is not ideal.

I wanted to kick myself for not noticing it before, but there was no time, not with the very real possibility of him bleeding out in front of my eyes. My feet moved under me, racing back to the clinic room, knowing where the bandage and splint lay waiting, along with the anaesthetic injections I had stocked in the pharmacy cupboard.

He was certainly going to need them.

Within minutes I was back to the ground with the pilot, clicking together the injector handle and vial, piercing the needle straight into his thigh above the fracture site. I wouldn’t be able to wait for it to dull most of the pain, so internally, I braced myself for the scream I was about to elicit from this poor human's chest. The second I started to wrap the bandage around the splint, a piercing wail echoed through the air, almost causing me to hesitate. Still, my hands continued to haphazardly wrap the white material around his leg, pushing through the guilt it ignited. 

Suddenly, the noise stopped.

My eyes darted to his face as his head slumped over on its side. “Hey!” I shouted into his face as I scrambled back to the top end of his limp body. “Hey can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me!”

There was no response.

I pinched at the muscle on his shoulder, harder and harder to elicit any kind of reaction. Nothing. My hand pulled into a closed fist and grinded against his sternum. “Come on, open those eyes if you can feel this!”

Still nothing.

Again I took check of his breathing, chest still rising and falling, yet shallow and with little power. His heartbeat had begun to race, but through my fingertips I could feel the strain in the muscle. Something was seriously wrong, even more so than his other injuries. Something internally. If I didn’t get him into the clinic, he was going to die.

In a snap decision, I chose to forgo an attempt to run back and locate the hover-stretcher. It would take too much time to set up and power on, time this man didn’t have. I would have to move him myself.

How the hell am I going to do this?

With my arms hooked and locked under his armpits I began to drag the pilots hefty body backwards towards the clinic behind me, thankfully only a few meters away, barely making it past the entryway when a roar of flames overtook the X-wing. I looked up to see the blaze almost completely engulfing the ship, a ferocious heat searing into my eyes and face. With even more urgency I heaved the body into the large clinic room, getting up and slamming the door just in time. Just before a house rattling explosion sent shockwaves into the atmosphere.

Lucky didn’t seem to be an appropriate feeling considering the situation I was in, but at least no one had died. Yet. With my last bit of brute strength, I hoisted the pilots limp body onto the closest hospital bed, noticing then the trail of red liquid I’d brought along with me.

Oh no no no.

With him still lifeless, I tugged at his body and limbs to lie flat on the bed, scurrying to my medical trolley and hauling it back to where the pilot laid, ragged breaths still thankfully escaping into the air. Snatching the heavy shears from the top drawer, I began to tear through the thick fabric of the flight suit, unclipping and removing as much of the life support vest and belt as I could. I had to be careful not to rip away the fabric that melted into the burns scattered all over his body, the number of them increasing as I peeled away the suit, starting from his legs, up to his abdomen and chest over to his upper arms. His torso was in full view now, a smattering of dark hair over his pectorals, underneath which showed the bruises of his crash’s impact.

Oh he’s definitely got some broken ribs.

As my gaze scanned over his skin, I could finally isolate where all that blood had escaped from. A deep penetrating wound just below the last rib on his left flank. As I registered his quick shallow breaths and the uneven rise in his chest, it became obvious.

Collapsed lung.

Whatever had pierced through his chest had poked an extremely damaging hole in his lung, the pleural space now filling with air, leaving no room for his lung to expand. My following movements were swift and calculated, almost automatic. A pointed scalpel was soon in my hand, poised to cut. But I couldn’t help but hesitate. It had been so long since I’d had to do this. And yet, somehow, concern for this stranger’s life was quick to weave it’s way through, dissolving my fear into pure resolve.

I made my incision in between the 4th and 5th ribs, using a clamp to push into the underlying tissue and past the pleural cavity, a gloved hand then entering to check I’d made it through. With an instinctive confidence, I guided the chest tube between the layers of tissue, undoing the ratchet of the clamp to an immediate rush of air. The pilot’s chest heaved in relief, along with my own.

One crisis averted.

But there was more to do. Connecting a drain to the tube, I haphazardly sutured it in place, before flying to the pharmacy cupboard. My stock of bacta was limited, returning with an already prepared vial into the pressurised injector, reminding myself I would need to use it sparingly if this stranger was going to make it through the full extend of his injuries. I had cursed at myself only a few times in the years past at being so far removed from a higher level medical centre that would be overflowing with bacta and medical droids that could help in exactly this kind of situation, but the thought had never burned me so badly. There was no way to know if I could keep this man alive with the resources that yesterday I had been more than comfortable with. I would just have to try.

I injected some of the bacta solution throughout the surrounding area of the wound and covered it with heavy dressing, knowing the bleeding would quickly be curbed. Unfortunately, the wound itself would take a few days to fully close, only ever being able to afford lower quality bacta. Before moving on to the burns, I placed some basic monitoring, lines extending from electrical dots over his chest, wrist and neck to the data monitor above the bed. As the numbers lit up on the holo screen, I felt myself breathe a small sigh of relief, having prepared for a much worse result. His heart rate was better, oxygen levels returning to normal, blood pressure not optimal by any means but high enough to sustain his life, for now.

After securing an oxygen filter over his battered face, I continued to inspect and clean as many of the small and more sizeable burns dotting his body. Even with the many I had uncovered, the one extending from his shoulder past his elbow was the one of most concern. Third degree and extremely unhappy looking. If I wasn’t quick to treat this, it could leak even more fluid from his already compromised circulatory system. I was thankful he still remained unconscious when I began to slowly shed the charred material melted into the skin layer. I couldn’t help but shudder as I remembered the initial scream this man had let out, knowing I would be hearing it now if not for his comatose state.

Covering the immense scald in as much salve as I could spare, I began to wrap it in protective antibacterial bandage, soon moving on to protect his many blisters and deeper burns with dressings. Glancing at the monitor screen, he was still stable, and swallowed hard. Now it was time to attempt possibly the most daunting part of this patient’s treatment.

His femur was still sticking through the tissue of his thigh, slightly dried dark red blood creating lightning strike looking lines extending from the wound.

I need to get some blood into him before moving this.

I quickly got to work on an IV cannula, his poor blood pressure making it significantly more difficult than it should have been. Two bags of O- blood were all I had, and a wave of dread coursed through me with the thought of that not being enough if this all went wrong. My fist squeezed the fast flow pump of the IV line, pushing fresh blood urgently into his system, making his blood pressure rise only slightly. With the last of the red liquid trickling through the line I wheeled over the portable X-Ray. It was so old the mechanical arm screeched at me as I positioned it into place over the pilot’s leg. The bone had to be at least somewhat in place before getting the bacta to work its magic or this guy might walk with two uneven legs for the rest of his life.

If he actually made it through the rest of his injuries, that is.

Shaking my arms out at my side, I sucked in a few deep breaths to build my stamina. Unfortunately, this stranger was stuck with a small framed female to attempt reducing his severe fracture. With one last inhale, I drew the courage to pull as hard as I could horizontally at the knee joint, digging my fingers into a vice grip around the limb and yanking it towards me. To my relief, the fractured edge of the femur to slipped back into the hole it was peeking out from, settling back under the skin.

Thank all the stars in the galaxy he’s not awake for this.

I quickly pressed the image button on the X-ray to assess the progress I’d made. The faint white lines of bone edges were stark enough on the grey background of the image. The fracture wasn’t reduced even nearly enough. I prepared myself again, with another deep breath I pulled hard. This time my efforts were forced into angling the lower portion of bone to try and lock it back into place. The grinding of bone edges could be felt through my fingers, pushing myself to pull even harder, creating more space between the fracture in the hope of giving a fighting chance of lining up the splintered edges. My muscles were whining, begging for this to be over, tears of exhaustion soon stinging at the edges of my eyes.

With one final twisting motion there was a sudden click.

Finally.

My relief was short lived.

It was slow at first, before racing faster. A stream of dark red blood pooling at the wound the broken bone had made.

Oh maker no.

Within moments the pace of the blood quickened. I shot my hands to the open flesh site, pressing down hard in an attempt to disturb the flow. The liquid quickly covered my gloved hands, already sure I’d sliced into the femoral artery. The pressure of my hands into the area made the blood spurt out onto my arms, my clothes, my face, everywhere. The monitor was screaming, blood pressure falling quickly. Wiping some of the hot coppery fluid away from my left eye, I slid my fingers back into the gash, moving desperately to stop the overflow before the man lying in front of me bled out, knowing it would all be my fault.  

You have to do it Alexys. He will die if you don’t.

The voice nagged at me, pleading to do what it wanted.

He’s with the Resistance! If he survives, if he contacts them, they’ll find me. And they’ll know.

It is time to decide. His life. Or yours.

Seconds ticked by fleetingly, numbers flashing on the monitor trickling down, the speed of blood flow from the pilot’s leg stubbornly keeping it’s intensity.

Everything I’d done to get here, to isolate myself so no one could find me. It would all amount to nothing. My easy, albeit lonely life, would be gone. All because of this stranger.

But I couldn’t let him die. Not like this.

In one flash, I removed my hands from inside the wound, ripping off my gloves and placing two palms at either side of the leg. With closed eyes, I willed the energy out of the depths of its slumber. From the darkened corner of my mind I pulled it back into existence, opening the gate I’d locked it inside for so long, letting it finally burst through and fill up my brain. From there it down through my neck, through my chest and down my arms, right to the end of my fingertips. Its warming glow was almost comforting, friendly. I would have basked in it for a while if not for the life that hung in the balance before me.

Through the pads of my fingerprints I pushed the stream outwards, connecting past the skin of this innocent human being, and felt the overwhelming heat of pain and dimming of energy.

Hurry, he’s dying.

I began to map out the tissue of his leg, frustratingly slowly, starting at the smallest of capillaries, weaving and winding through the flesh, connecting them through the maze of fat and muscle. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, my breathing forced and harsh. The vessels grew bigger as I pushed the energy through, skipping past broken points of other smaller injuries. I could fix them later.

Finally, I felt a molten warmth radiating close to where the maze had guided me. Racing to it, I sensed something pushing me back, the pressure of escaping fluid holding my efforts. I’d found the cut, but now I had to somehow knit it back together.

You’re taking too long.

The alarms of the monitor started to echo with a hollow ring inside my ear, fading until I could hear almost nothing. The world around me was blurry, only the image of vessel tissue and all-consuming redness visible in my minds eye. The energy I was expending began to burn me - I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. I reached out with it, what felt like many hands grasping desperately at the severed edge of the vessel, frantic yet delicate, pulling whatever tissue I could hold back into place.

Several fringes connected, the pressure pushing forcefully against me, making it harder to hold. I couldn’t help but begin to shake at the strain, the sound of my own heart pounding over the slowing heartbeat of the pilot. My grip was already beginning to fade before I started to sew the pieces of artery back together, an ache growing behind my eyes as I pierced an invisible needle through the tissue, over and over, still clawing at the unsewn edges as I made my way around the tube.

I was so close, the tension of the fluid still being driven out of the broken seal almost overcoming me. The unseen thread had almost made its way full circle. I was almost there.

My entire body rattled with exhaustion and pain. One final thread wove itself around the artery, its abrupt closure alleviating the strain on invisible fingers that had been clutching it all together.

You did it.

The energy dissipated quickly in a rolling wave, letting it retreat back into my mind, scampering to the secluded area of my brain, hidden once more. I felt light suddenly, dizzy, the world coming back into focus, screaming alarms growing louder. It was too much, all at once.

A sharp pang of fatigue enveloped every part of my senses and I faltered back, knees giving way, slumping to the floor.

Then, there was only darkness.

~

Next Chapter

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