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1kook · 4 years ago

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some way, some how

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

Summary: Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you. Warnings: emotional constipation, toxic ex, internalized misogyny, jk has bad experiences w/his ex’s dad, one scene where jk throws up, brief episode of panic, mentions of terminal cancer (minor); smut; fingering, praise kink, face fucking, spitting kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex on top of a car im sorry Misc: autoshop owner!jk, businesswoman!oc, slice of life, childhood crushes, friends to lovers, ex gfs, pining, country bumpkin pjm w/crush on oblivious oc, ex-bf kth but it’s not real lol Wc: 19.4k (wow!!!)

the spirit of auto shop jk possessed me n next thing i knew i was 11k into a drabble. if ur curious: the 1975 corvette, car at the end, the tweed suitskirt (not actually chanel ☹️sowwyyy) also: this is the longest fic I've written!!!!! clap for me!!!!! i proofread the first few paragraphs n was like thats enough professionalism for the day

inspired by ain’t no mountain high enough one of my fave songs ever🥺 the title is a lyric from the song bc i love it so much enjoy !!

The garage is mostly dark when you enter, the faint hum of a radio quietly filtering through the stagnant room, its source coming from the back wall, where the only light is. It’s a rolling lamp, shining down an ugly yellow glow onto the figure of one man.

Jungkook’s sitting in that same rolling stool he always is, the metal one that’s rusted beyond repair, the cushion so uncomfortably flat. He’s caught up in whatever paint job he’s been tasked with this time around, a classic muscle car from what looks like the 80’s. He’s humming along to the radio, so caught up in stenciling out his design that he doesn’t notice you creep behind him until you’re very purposefully rattling the tool cart beside him, a teasing “boo!” making him jump.

“Fuck, you scared me,” he gasps, rubs over his chest as if to check if his heart is in fact still there. You grin, brandish your bag of takeout out for him before he can lecture you on the dangers of startling people who work around very complex machinery. Instead, all he says is, “you’re an angel.”

Once you’ve got the food carefully scattered across his work bench, your cherry cola tucked next to a canister of gasoline like that’s the safest practice, Jungkook wastes no time diving into all the details of his project, the 1975 Chevy Corvette behind him. The longer you look at it, the more you feel you’ve seen it somewhere. Probably a car show, you presume.

“Purrs like a kitten,” he sighs dreamily, completely ignoring the way half his toppings slide out from the opposite end of his cheeseburger. You don’t, and you swipe a fallen pickle from his tray before he can catch you.

“A kitten?” You ask, glance over at the car. It’s desperately in need of a paint job, and you only realize this now as you stare at it more in depthly. The niggling feeling that you know this car is still there, but you ignore it in favor of indulging your best friend. “Don’t people usually compare cars to bigger, better cats?”

There’s a taped stencil running alongside the car, a thick stripe followed by a thinner one, and you suppose Jungkook’s trying to spice her up, give her back the same youthfulness she probably had in her prime. What better way to do so than by adding some classic stripes alongside it.

Jungkook hums, gulps down his soda noisily. “Not this one. Never heard an engine as soft as hers.”

You roll your eyes. For a minute, the two of you quietly chew through your burgers, the radio filling in the gaps while you analyze the car. You know this car, but you can’t remember where. Jungkook coughs into his palm, probably from trying to inhale his fries too fast like he does every time you go to the diner you’re eating from today.

The diner.

A mouthful of braces. A pretty waitress. A strict dad.

“Holy shit, this is Sojin’s dad’s car,” you inhale, the memories from high school suddenly hitting you full force. Jungkook chokes, out of surprise this time, and furiously goes to deny your claims. “This is totally his car. The one he tried to run you over with when he caught you trying to put her on the back of your bike.”

“He didn’t try to run me over,” Jungkook whines, and the tips of his ears are red from your revelation.

You glare. “Why are you fixing that asshole’s car for him?” You interrogate, the last quarter of your burger forgotten in favor of squeezing the truth out of him. You’d had enough of that treacherous woman and her equally deranged father causing Jungkook trouble, and to catch him still helping her now, almost ten years later, was enough to make a brain vessel pop.

He shrugs, avoids your eyes as he picks through his fries. The radio is still on, some tune you recognize from those old days at the diner when Jungkook had become so unbelievably smitten with the part timer that served you milkshakes every Wednesday afternoon.

He had been in love with her the moment he saw her, and the look in his eyes was only magnified by those dorky glasses he wore pre-lasik. You'd been his friend long enough, recognized the jump of his scrawny thigh beneath the table. Like a bunny, thumping in excitement at the sight of her.

Sojin was... full of surprises.

She was nothing less than a supermodel, long legs carrying her around the diner as if it was her runway. She was nice too, so you hadn’t originally had an excuse to dislike her. She was nice, and so endeared with your best friend that it was inevitable when they began dating. Her presence consumed the end of your high school careers, overtook the time that should have been yours and Jungkook’s last year before being thrown into adulthood. He decided on studying at a technical school nearby—per your encouragement to save money—while you travelled five hours out for your degree in business. That last year, when you had finally come to terms with your feelings, had been so painfully ripped away by Sojin and her never-ending list of teenage drama, and by Sojin’s dad and his overbearing need to police her and Jungkook every chance he got.

Jungkook still hung out—“Sojin was busy, do you wanna do something?”—but more often than not those hang outs consisted of Jungkook telling you about her and her dad, about how hard he tried to get into his good graces.

The bike incident had only been one of many. Times where Jungkook would put his heart—and life—on the line for that girl only for it to be in vain every time she broke up with him over the simplest things. You’d heard stories from Jungkook, all told with a tight smile, of a handshake that would bruise, a man chasing him with a bat, of a car following him to school. All things he put up with for a girl who didn’t care for him. One day, after Jungkook had grudgingly sat through an hour long dinner with her family, the stare of her father piercing through him, she broke up with him because she didn’t like how long his hair had gotten.

(If anyone were to ask you, he was handsome with long hair. Dreamy even.)

He cut it that same day.

As her childishness grew, you quickly came to dislike her. She strung Jungkook around, you thought, and just when you thought she was finally done toying with him and making his life difficult in the sneakiest ways, the damn kid started hitting the gym. His growing frame, toned arms and now straightened teeth had turned him into a heartthrob, and Sojin was just as aware of this as you were. “Don’t we look perfect together?” She’d ask, twirl around him like they were on the cover of a magazine and not standing on his chipped front porch.

Needless to say, by the time graduation had rolled around you despised the woman. You absolutely disliked how she treated Jungkook, how she let her father treat Jungkook without ever stepping up and defending him. Granted, you didn’t know exactly what went on in her household behind closed doors, you’d seen enough of her uncaring attitude to want to ram her and her dad’s head against the hood of the car.

Which is why seeing the old car, in Jungkook’s shop nonetheless, was rekindling a boiling hatred in your chest. “That man should rot in hell for all he put you through,” you huff, glare at the car like it holds some magical connection to him and he can feel the intensity of your stare.

“___,” Jungkook scolds, swirls his cup around to distract himself. “He was just trying to protect his only daughter,” he defends, quietly, like it’s what he tells himself to justify all those years of mistreatment. Even when he and Sojin had continued through college, it had never stopped. You, being five hours away, couldn’t do a damn thing. “Besides, the guy’s old as hell now.”

You snort, finally breaking your staring match with the car. Glancing at Jungkook, he’s got that same forlorn expression on his face, the one he started wearing when he first came to terms with the fact that her dad would never like him. There was a time it was stuck permanently on his face, the pressure and the discomfort that came from the father of the girl you’ve dated for five years looking at you like you were nothing more than a speck of dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

When you came back from school, educated and confident, you almost didn’t recognize your best friend. Tall and broad, tattoos splattered over his arm. Hair long like you loved it, but eyes still as round and wondrous as they’d been when you were kids. He had his own place now, he told you, and you vaguely remembered all the times he mentioned him and Sojin moving in together, mentally preparing yourself to see that wench for the first time in a while.

Much to your surprise, there was no Sojin in sight. No lingering artifacts of her presence. Nothing that showed she existed in this space besides an ugly orange mug she’d given him for his birthday one year, tucked into the very back of his cabinets. They’d broken up, he explained. Almost immediately after graduation.

After stringing him along for the better part of five years, she had decided this wasn’t what she wanted. No, what she wanted was a man ten years her senior with an abundance of cash to flow. Jungkook hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even looked the tiniest bit upset when you ordered pizza and drank some beer, watched your favorite episodes of The Simpsons like you were seventeen and avoiding your homework again.

You stayed the night, a little too tipsy to drive home. Besides, Jungkook had a spare bedroom. It was a room beside his, just a full bed with a chest of drawers. You liked it, liked the scent of him surrounding you after only seeing each other for a couple weeks in between months of distance. You liked it, because when he shifted in bed you realized the beds were pressed against the same wall, and you liked it until the shared wall spared you no secrets, and you listened to him quietly sob into his pillow.

“Old or not, he’s still the devil,” you murmur, snapping back to the present where Jungkook is wheeling himself closer to the car again. “Where did you find that thing anyway?”

He stays silent, quietly pretending like he still has something to do on the car besides paint it. Then, “I bumped into Sojin at the store.”

You sigh, drop your head between your shoulders. You can only imagine what whirlwind of a sob story she had to throw on him to win this favor.

“Kook,” you start, gauging his reaction only from his backside. His muscles ripple beneath his dark t-shirt, his usual red jumpsuit knitted around his waist. “What happened?”

Again, silence.

You say nothing, let him sort through the hurt on his own while you creep up behind him, sliding your hands over his shoulders and pressing down on the cricks behind his neck. He melts into your touch, head lolling forwards as a quiet sigh escapes him.

“She told me she was low on cash, and she needed the car to get to work,” he confesses, and from his ducked position, his voice trembles. You roll your eyes.

“And the paint job?”

A particularly rough press of your fingers has a whimper escaping him. God, this boy needed to see a chiropractor and a masseuse soon. All that hunching over and under these cars was doing a number on his back.

“I… I figured I might as well fix up the exterior too.” Of course he would, you think, Jungkook’s heart was stupidly big and easy to manipulate. He would get so swept up in it sometimes, trying to do the best he can for everyone’s benefit that he’d ignore himself.

You sit in his confession, fingers digging into his skin for a few minutes as you consider what to say.

The mature adult in you, the logical half of you, wants to hit him upside the head, scold him for letting that wench into his life again so easily. You were going on twenty-six now, all three of you, and you didn’t have time to be fixing him every time that childish woman decided to toy with him. Granted, it’s been four years since you last saw her, since you heard him muffle his cries on the other side of the wall, and you liked to think Jungkook was a respectful adult of society now. He didn’t have time to get dragged around by self-absorbed women with insane fathers.

The other part, the best friend since childhood, wants to run away. Wants to pack Jungkook into a suitcase and take him far away from here and from her. Unlike you, who now lived in the city, Jungkook had stayed in your small hometown, a quiet place just outside the bustling city. It was difficult to ensure his happiness when you were always forty-five minutes out of reach. It would be so much easier to just take him and fly to another province, maybe on the beach, Jungkook loved the beach.

“Listen,” he says, successfully pulling you out from your spiral. “I know what you’re gonna say and I just wanna tell you it’s not like that.”

You blink, hands stilling on his shoulders. Your lack of movement allows him to spin around on his chair, gaze up at you with the same shiny gaze he’s given you ever since you were kids. “I’m just doing her this tiny favor. She looked...” he trails off, face scrunching to find the words.

“Like shit?” You propose, and he smiles. “Like flaming dumpster shit behind a club?”

Jungkook laughs, loud and beautiful. You want to kiss the mole beneath his lip.

“She looked bad, okay?” He settles, reaches forward to take your palm in his. You’re standing between his thighs, and you wonder how he would have acted if you were Sojin. “Don’t think things worked out with that CEO she was dating. I’m just giving her a push.”

You sigh, try to push those crestfallen sobs to the back of your head. “Okay,” you agree, briefly glancing back at the damn car. “You fix her car, and that’s it,” you state. Jungkook nods, makes a little X over his heart. He knows how much you hate that woman. “No funny business.”

“No funny business,” he agrees, then reaches down for a white spray can. “You wanna spray some dicks on it before I paint it?”

“Please,” you laugh, taking the face mask he offers you with a grin.

—

One day your car starts making a weird noise as you pull out of the underground parking garage of your building. It’s somewhere between a pig squealing and metal scraping. You’ve been around Jungkook long enough to know this is probably something to do with your breaks, something about them being loose or old, one of the two. You have a short day at work today. There’s repairs being done to the office you work at, so everyone’s been spending more time working from home.

You leave work a little after two pm, head pounding from the hour long meeting you sat through, the mediocre business proposals your boss had asked you to look through and file. There’s a hefty load of emails waiting in your inbox, mostly the interns requesting you write them a recommendation letter. You’ll have to look through those later, pick out the good ones and write them each a unique piece kissing the ground they walk on.

The scent of freshly fried donuts hits your nose as you pull into your old town; the bakery down the road from Jungkook’s has their windows open. You can already taste the sweetness on the tip of your tongue, the iced coffee cooling your insides as you sit and watch Jungkook work on your car.

Jungkook’s shop is on the corner of the street, takes up a huge chunk with it’s massive garage and driveway; the office area is tiny compared to the sheer size of the actual work floor. There’s music blaring through the overhead speakers, and when you pull in you recognize it as Jimin’s playlist.

“Morning, Miss,” the country bumpkin says, leaning against your car door as you rifle through your purse. “What’re you in for?”

“Hi, Jimin,” you reply sweetly, take his hand as he helps you out the door. You very vaguely explain the noise your car had made that morning, glancing around the shop as Jimin gets to work inspecting it. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin’s waving over some other employees, all greeting you in their matching red jumpsuits. “Kook’s in the office,” he tells you, and it’s almost sensual the way his hand glides over your palm for your keys. God, you needed to get laid. “Has some lady friend in there with him.”

You pause, the bustling of the crew behind you fading into the background. Something inside you snaps, and you whirl around the garage, before catching sight of a 1975 Chevy Corvette, almost unrecognizable from how you’d last seen it. It’s bright red now, a color you only briefly saw before you’d left the other night, with two, lightning bolt racing stripes decorating each side. It looks new, almost in mint condition, and the fact it’s still here has you storming through the garage.

Your heels clack loudly, the crew moving to the side as you torpedo straight into the offices. You barely remember to greet the receptionist before you’re stomping straight into the main office.

There’s no knock, no warning given, before you’re flinging the door open, seeing exactly what you’d expected.

“___,” Jungkook stutters, jumping onto his feet from his position on the couch. He looks frantic, wide eyes flickering between you and the woman sitting in front of him, her back turned to you. But you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Did you say ___?” She says, and she’s still as tall and as beautiful as you remember her. Had it not been for the heels you wore, you don’t doubt she’d tower over you. She flashes you a killer smile, lips carefully painted red. It almost looks murderous. “My! ___, you haven’t changed a bit,” Sojin exclaims, rushing around the couch to pull you into a tight hug. You don’t return it.

You let her cling to you for a second, before pushing her away as gently as you can by the shoulders. As much as you’d like to rip her in half, tear her apart for all she did to Jungkook, you won’t. You’re older now, elegant in all the ways you weren’t before. It would be a huge disservice to your maturity if you shoved your heel up her ass right now.

“It’s lovely seeing you, Sojin,” you smile, taking her hand in yours.

Besides, being a woman in business meant you knew better, more creative ways to strike.

“And your boyfriend?” You ask, tilting your head in staged confusion. You even glance around the office, like you’ll find the geezer hiding behind the potted plant or Jungkook’s frozen figure. “The rich one with the huge company? Did he come with you today?”

Her smile tightens, red lips pursed as she gauges you with those cat eyes that haunt your nightmares every now and then. “My ex-boyfriend,” she corrects after a minute, pastes a forlorn expression onto her features. “We’ve separated, and you know how it is for women like us,” she jests. “We need a man to push us along—“

“Do we?” You ask, think back on all those years of school, of studying and working and pushing yourself, all the time you spent investing in yourself for yourself. “I don’t think so,” you contemplate. “It’s really embarrassing if you can’t care for yourself without the help of a man. Almost like you don’t trust in your own abilities, and ride other’s coattails instead.”

A beat of silence. Two completely different worlds, and Jungkook hovering awkwardly beside you.

Two palms grasp your shoulders from behind, and when you turn Jungkook is smiling at you, forced and stressed like he can’t stand to be in this uncomfortable situation any longer. “Well,” he announces, pushing you behind him as he guides Sojin towards the door. “There was an issue with her car, so I’ll just check on it real quick, okay?”

You nod, feel empty as he takes her by the wrist, and not you. He hands her her purse, palm on the small of her back as they exit the office. When the door clicks shut behind them, you throw your own handbag at the ground, barely stop yourself from stomping like a child.

Instead, you breathe in, hold it, and exhale, just like your Tuesday yoga instructor taught you. By the time you’ve collected yourself a few minutes have passed, so you kneel down to gather your fallen lipstick tubes and cellphone from the floor, scooping them back into your purse.

Tugging the door shut behind you, you mindlessly wander down the hall, until you reach the small receptionist area and nearly get jumped by Kim Taehyung. “Holy shit, you won’t believe this,” he gasps, takes you by the shoulders and nearly shakes you until your brain falls out through your ears. You would have slapped him, had this been any other man, but he’s quite possibly the only man besides Jungkook you’d let jostle you like this. “You’ll never guess who just left the office with J—wait,” he pales, suddenly connecting two and two, your exit from said offices definitely a key factor in whatever conclusion he’s drawn. “You were in the office with Hwang Sojin and you didn’t kill her?!”

You huff, let him shake you again until you’re nearly tripping in your heels. “Yes, I know,” you groan, finally slap his hands away when you begin to feel this morning’s breakfast bubbling from all the motion. “I’m surprised too.”

“Wow,” Taehyung marvels, leans back against the receptionist desk even though the poor girl has told him time and time again not to. He ignores her, something he can do as second best friend to the boss. “Remember when she showed up crying outside his mom’s house and you threw a potted plant at her? Oh how the great have fallen.”

Rolling your eyes, you drift over to the plexiglass window in the office that looks out across the entirety of the garage floor. In the corner, Jungkook’s got the hood of the Corvette open as he works away on something, Sojin tapping at her phone beside him. “Why are you here, Tae?”

He steps beside you, tuned into the same scene. “Can’t visit my ex-girlfriend every now and then?” He teases, you groan.

“We dated for three days, dude, let it go,” you whine, and watch with rapt attention as Jungkook motions for her to start the engine. She does, and it purrs to life, soft and silky just like Jungkook said it does. She squeals and claps, launches herself into his arms in thanks. You look away.

“Yuck,” Taehyung gags and you couldn’t agree more. “Can’t believe you ended the best 72 hours of my life for that pinhead and the hussy attached to his hip.”

He shrieks when you pinch his side, and you take great satisfaction in the judgemental stare half the crew sends him through the glass. After all, they weren’t soundproof. “You embarrassed me and my brand,” he huffs, crossing his arms as the two of you return to watching Jungkook and the hussy.

“He’s not a pinhead,” you softly retort, watch him wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead as he waves her off. Sojin sends him a brigade of air kisses, none of which he catches. A sick sense of glee consumes you at the sight, but then he’s turning to stare directly at you and Taehyung through the glass, and the both of you quickly whirl away.

“His ability to find you in less than a second is so weird,” Taehyung shivers, and you ignore it, taking the candy from the bowl on the receptionist desk. She doesn’t care, having heard these conversations more than enough times to get the general gist of what you and Taehyung gossip about. You’re surprised she’s never mentioned it to Jungkook before.

Regardless, you listen to Taehyung complain about his life for a few more minutes, before Jimin’s sweet voice pops into the room. His ash blonde hair is all ruffled, and there’s something dark smeared over his otherwise perfect skin as he tells you your car is fixed. Taehyung bids you goodbye, and Jimin walks you back to your car out on the garage floor.

“All set, miss,” Jimin grins, puts a hand against the car so you don’t hit your head as you go in. You thank him, and don’t miss the way he lingers by your window.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, tilt your head quizzically. Jimin’s cheeks flush, and he looks shyly at the ground.

“Actually, I was wondering if—“

“___,” Jungkook calls, jogging over beside Jimin, who looks almost ashamed to be caught doing...whatever it was he was gonna do. Jungkook glances at him, catches him in some weird staring contest before crouching down to your window. “You needed your car fixed? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You blink, don’t know how to politely tell him he was too busy kissing the ass of his toxic ex-girlfriend to help you out. “Jimin helped me,” you smile, the same practiced expression you’ve mastered since college. You usually get by, usually trick people with that look, but not with him. Jungkook knows you too well, knows that look, and knows you’re holding yourself back. “You were busy.”

His lips part in surprise, tugged downwards with the hint of a frown. “I,” he stutters, looks at Jimin, who doesn’t seem that impressed with him either. “I… I would’ve came if you called.”

You tug your sunglasses out from their little case, slide them over the bridge of your nose as you strap your seatbelt over yourself. “Would you though?” You ask, flash him another polite smile before shifting your car’s gears. Jimin walks off, clears the path for you to exit, and with just Jungkook standing there, you speak freely. “I would hate to distract you from something important.”

—

Some of the proposals end up being better than expected, and after carefully sifting through them, your boss asks you to sit through presentations for the next few days. Your time gets consumed in graphs and budgets. There’s a multitude of businesses you have to look into, some big and well-known, and others small and local. You drive around the city one day, visiting business after business, until your ankles hurt in your heels and your cheeks hurt from all the smiling. Your only comfort is the nice Chanel skirt suit you’re wearing that makes you feel like the most important person in the room wherever you go.

By the time the week’s over, there’s a thin cut forming on the back of your ankles from all the walking you’ve done in your heels. You slump against your front door, tossing your heels in the vague direction of the closet before padding through your house.

You nearly scream yourself sore at the figure in your kitchen, hunched over what looks to be a hastily made cake with a number three candle. “Oh my god,” you seethe, turning the overhead light on to illuminate Jungkook’s grinning figure, dirty and sweaty from work. You glance at the clock on the stove; it’s only been about an hour since his garage closed.

“Surprise!” He exclaims, and you’re not the slightest bit amused when he begins humming the happy birthday song on a day that is definitely not your birthday.

When he’s done, you don’t clap and his beaming smile doesn’t waver. “It is not my birthday,” you calmly state, placing your leather padfolio on the counter.

Jungkook blows the candle out for you. “It��s the birthday of when we first met,” he explains, and gets to cutting the cake. How he remembers such a day, you don’t know. You do know that this is his mom’s birthday cake recipe, and you love that. “Can you believe it? Friends for almost three decades.”

“Almost,” you repeat, dutifully sitting across from him and taking the plate he offers. He nods at you like a bobblehead.

His eyes are sparkly and big, like he’s drunk, and it’s only then you notice the red wine on the table, bottle open and halfway done. You set your fork down, grasp the neck of the bottle in your hand. “Have you been drinking?” You ask, even though the answer stares you right in the face. You frown. “You hate drinking.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, shovels more cake into his mouth to delay his response. “Needed it,” he offhandedly explains, nearly eats the candle but you jump forward to snatch it off his fork before he can.

“What do you mean?” You inquire. You’re not hungry anymore, too interested in whatever’s going on in his head to make him think he needs to be drunk around you.

Jungkook gulps, reaches forward for more wine but you cradle the bottle to your chest. You nearly gasp when he levels you with a real, stony glare, the expression out of place on his face. “Cuz you’re mad,” he huffs. “At me.”

There was a time you would coddle Jungkook’s every mistake, never let him think he was at fault for anything. You’d grown out of it shortly before high school, recognizing boys were stupid no matter how much you tried to prove otherwise. Since then, you’ve watched him get into trouble time and time again—Sojin being the prime example—and only intervened when absolutely necessary. Some part of you, the half that hates seeing him upset, wants to tell him you’re not. The mature part in you, however, doesn’t let that happen.

“I am,” you agree, watch his eyes widen almost comically at your admission. You set the wine bottle back on the table, leaning your chin on your palm as you level him with the most unimpressed gaze you can. “I’m furious, actually.”

He whimpers, actually whimpers like a kicked puppy, and you can almost see the metaphorical ears pressed against his head and the tail tucked between his legs. His lips are big and pouty, stained from the wine. You’d love to know what they feel like.

Jungkook’s vulnerability lasts all of three seconds, before he’s shaking himself out of whatever emotional pit his foggy brain has him in. “Well, it’s dumb,” he spits, and it’s your turn to sit in shock. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, incredulously, because this has never happened before. Are you overprotective and sometimes overbearing? Sure. Has Jungkook ever voiced discomfort with that before? Never. “I’m not telling you what to do,” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest.

He rolls his eyes, pushes away from the table like a moody teen. You know it’s because he’s drunk, because he’s not himself, but you have to remind yourself that he obviously felt this way somewhere in his heart to voice it to you now. “You’re not my mom.”

You choke. “I’m not!” You angrily agree, pushing away from the table as well.

Jungkook snarls, “well you sure do love acting like her.” He picks up his plate, glances over at you with a look in his eyes that can only be likened to that of a sneaky cat, and then purposefully shoves the bread and frosting down the garbage disposal in the sink. You shriek, fly around the table and shove him away.

“What is wrong with you?” You seethe, push him away rudely with a hand on his face. Jungkook stumbles back, slips on the floor and nearly cracks his head on the corner of the counter. “Oh my god,” you exclaim, abandoning the sink in favor of watching the way his face twists up at the sudden motion, stomach contracting beneath his black t-shirt, cheeks puffing. “Oh god, oh god,” you stammer, tugging him to his feet with the strength only a panicked individual about to see an entire cake regurgitated onto their kitchen tile can have.

You’ve barely kicked the door to the bathroom open when Jungkook begins throwing up, gooey vomit spewing from his mouth and onto the floor. It touches your arm, and you shriek before shoving him in the general direction of the toilet.

“Ew, ew,” you freak, shoving your hand under the sink faucet to get that gross feeling away. You wanna vomit yourself, but you tell yourself there can only be one sick person at a time, and right now it’s Jungkook.

He’s got his head in the toilet, disgusting sounds echoing off the ceramic of it. By the time you’ve calmed down and washed your arm thrice, you move over to pull his bangs away from his face, letting him hurl in peace.

“I’m sorry,” he mopes, spews another round of birthday cake into the toilet.

You look away, blindly reach out to turn the bathroom fan on. “Mhm,” you nod, rubbing a hand over his back. Jungkook nods sadly against the toilet seat.

“‘M sorry,” he repeats, gags around nothing but the gross feeling left in his throat. “I-I know you just want…” a pause as he considers throwing up some more, “...want what’s best for me.”

“I do,” you agree, wipe a hand down the side of his face that he leans into. “Not trying to be your mom,” you assure him, and he snorts.

“Be a good mom,” he murmurs, so soft you don’t hear him. You hum, leaning closer and he repeats it. “You’d be… a good mom.”

Not knowing what to do with that information, you just pat his back until he falls asleep, cheek against the toilet seat.

—

“Woah, the sexual tension in this garage is off the charts,” Taehyung blurts from behind you, and you smack your clipboard against his chest. “Oof,” he grunts, rubbing his chest like it actually hurt. “You doing finances for him again?” He asks and you nod.

In an ideal world, Taehyung would leave upon finding out you’re busy. In this world, he simply leans into your personal space, nearly knocking you into an empty tool cart. “Oooh, an extensive list of all the money Jungkook’s stupidly blown this month. How much did he spend on neon signs this time?”

You relent, showing him the shop’s finances. Anywhere else, revealing a business’s finances without the consent of the owner would be a federal crime. Here, it’s the equivalent of showing Taehyung Jungkook’s browser history. “He spent how much on window tint?!”

“A lot,” you say.

There’s a whistle from across the garage, the shop’s resident country bumpkin Park Jimin standing at the huge garage doors with his hand on his hip. “No fraternizing, please.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Boooo,” he shouts, peels himself away from you to flick an impolite finger Jimin’s way. “He’s just jealous,” he tells you, and you frown.

“Of what?” You ask, and Taehyung nearly loses his shit.

“My precious ___,” he sighs, leans his forehead on your shoulder. “So beautiful and smart, yet so slow.” You flick the side of his forehead just as Jungkook strolls by and, seeing your attack, slaps the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Why do you guys hate me!” Taehyung exclaims, jumping at least five feet away from you and Jungkook’s giggling forms.

“How’s it going?” Jungkook asks you, completely ignoring Taehyung’s soulful cries as he glances over your shoulder at the clipboard. You tilt it his way, but he stands close anyway, until you can feel his breath huffing against the back of your neck.

“Okay, but you’re spending a lot of money stockpiling on things that haven’t shown signs of running out yet,” you explain, pointing at the window tint that had astonished Taehyung only a moment ago.

Jungkook grimaces, pink tongue swiping across his lip as he looks at the total amount he’s spent the last three months. “Well, it’s a good thing I have my accountant,” he grins, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Not your accountant,” you correct, “just a friend who doesn’t wanna see you run your business to the ground from overspending.”

Jungkook waves you off, and Taehyung tries to sneak into the receptionist office behind you, but Jungkook catches him with his free hand. “This is the life,” he sighs, wistfully gazing over the garage floor. It reeks of motor oil and car paint.

“Count me out,” Taehyung snorts, voicing your disinterest toward such greasy and smelly work. He tries to wiggle out of Jungkook’s hold, but the muscle bunny only straps an arm around his neck, until Taehyung’s squirming and clawing for air against the red sleeve of his jumpsuit.

“My own successful business, a shitload of sexy cars, and of course,” he pauses, squeezes the two of you tighter until you’re both groaning. “My two best friends.” The sap has the gall to peck the top of your heads, and that seems to be the final straw for Taehyung who rips himself away.

“Have this lovefest somewhere else, man,” Taehyung says, flattening his rumpled clothing down. “You’re really putting a nail in my reputation around here.”

Jungkook cackles, mindlessly goes to wrap himself around you from behind. “Your reputation has been trash since that scream you let out the other day,” he informs him, swaying the two of you back and forth. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you just barely manage to avoid Taehyung’s pointed stare.

“Whatever, I’m outta here.” With Taehyung peaced out, you’re left in Jungkook’s arms, gazing over his business like two old lovers. It makes your chest tight, so you quickly go to shake him off.

“We’re okay?” Jungkook murmurs, so soft you almost don’t hear. He’s got his hand wrapped around your wrist, thumb massaging over the bone there like he’s afraid you’ll bolt the second he lets you go.

You nod, tuck the clipboard to your side. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Those sad puppy eyes, pouty lips turned southward. You want to wipe that look off his face. He sighs, glances at where your skin meets and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been an ass lately,” he settles on saying. “Said some mean things and ruined your bathroom rug—I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what to say.

Jungkook takes your silence as understanding, reaching down to hold both your hands in his slightly dirty ones. “It won’t happen again. I’d rather lose a million friends than lose you,” he confesses, and something about it feels too real, too raw. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You nod, the constricting feeling in your throat only tightening when he smiles at you, those gentle eyes and plush lips for only you to see. You want to kiss him, swallow him whole. Right here on the garage floor so everyone knows he’s yours.

But you can’t because he’s not.

You settle on swinging your arms between you. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” you warn him, narrowing your eyes playfully. There’s a heavy feeling in your heart, something akin to anguish, but you could never voice it out loud.

“I won’t,” Jungkook promises.

—

Jungkook visits again on a weekday, and you nearly send him straight home when he brandishes another bottle of wine in your face. “It’s nonalcoholic!” He exclaims before you can shut the door on him, foot lodged against the frame. You give in.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, curling up on the couch in just your shorts and huge t-shirt. Jungkook pops the bottle open, pouring the wine into two limited edition Shrek 2 cups you pulled out from the depths of your cabinet.

“Can’t hang with my bestie?” He throws back at you, snatching the remote from your hands before you can click on another episode of that dumb housewives show. You end up watching National Geographic, some documentary about the role of bioluminescent shrimp in the sea.

“Aw look, they’re kissing,” he cooes at a pair of seahorses that wander across the screen halfway through a shot of some school of shrimp. “How romantic.”

“Wonder what that’s like,” you comment, not thinking too much on the meaning behind your words until you can feel Jungkook’s stare pierce your cranium. “What?”

“You’ve never been kissed?” He blurts, and you choke on your wine.

“You were my first kiss,” you remind him, flush at the memory of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on his bed, knees knocking in what was probably the worst first kiss in the history of first kisses.

Jungkook blinks. “Oh yeah,” he laughs. “With the Tony Hawk poster behind my bed, right?”

“The one and only.”

Jungkook hums, and the two of you melt back into the silence. Nice aquatic sounds fill the room, the camera panning over more colorful fish that Jungkook oohs at appreciatively. You don’t really pay attention, more interested in the way the wine swirls in your cup and the way you can feel Jungkook’s thigh pressed against your knee, like when you were thirteen and trying something new.

You know it doesn’t mean a lot to him. Just another silly childhood memory of you. Not like you have hundreds, thousands of them with each other. By the way he’d blurted the question, you doubt he even remembered it most days. But you did.

It plagued your mind all the time, the soft feel of his mouth and the trembling hand that had held yours. You wonder if he kisses the same still, lips gently puckered. He’s had years to learn, half a decade to get creative with Sojin, and the past four years of being a bachelor to explore more.

You’ve kissed too, plenty of guys who had no meaning and ones you thought would replace him. But it’d been a long time since you’ve let anyone into your bed, more content to please yourself without the overbearing weight of feelings and emotions to wrap around your throat.

Jungkook coughs, and you shake yourself from your thoughts.

He’s looking at you inquisitively, like he can’t get his usual read on you and would rather just ask what’s wrong. “You don’t,” a pause, “hang out with guys?”

It’s devastatingly cute, the way he asks if you’re fucking, and you want to pinch his cheeks. Instead you shake your head, try to hide the grin on your face from his inquisitive expression. “Just you and Taehyung,” you admit.

Jungkook nods. “Do you and Tae…?”

You shake your head furiously. “No! God no, we don’t do anything like that,” you clarify, the thought of Taehyung in your bed enough to make you want to gag.

Jungkook says nothing, just turns back to the documentary to watch more Nemos and Dorys flit across the screen. You polish off your cup of wine, leaning forward to settle it back on the coffee table. As you settle back into the couch cushions, Jungkook speaks again. “So you take care of yourself?”

You freeze.

“Yeah,” you admit after one complete meltdown in your head. Where was this coming from? Why did he want to know? You and Jungkook were close, but you never did this. You never divulged the details of your sex life, never bragged about who you slept with or how many there were. What was going on?

Jungkook doesn’t say anything after that, just turns his attention back to the tv screen, where you’re almost certain the sea horses from before are fucking. Not that you know what it looks like, but you hope at least someone in this room was enjoying themselves and not drowning in the mortification of having their life long crush ask them if they masturbate.

“So, do you use your hands or a toy?”

You choke, slap your chest to ease the pounding of your heart at Jungkook asking such a question. “E-Excuse me?” You ask, scandalized that Jungkook, your sweet and caring childhood friend turned Fabio, could ask you such a bold question about your personal affairs.

“What?” Jungkook says, like he truly doesn’t see the inappropriateness of the situation. He even raises his eyebrows at you, as if urging you to answer the question.

You sigh, fight the flush of your cheeks and stare idly at the cups on the table. “A toy. Hands don’t feel good,” you curtly reply, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your legs off the couch, hoping that’s the end of his curiosity. This was enough to fuel your 3am anxiety meltdowns for the next five years.

Jungkook nods, and you can feel his penetrating gaze on the side of your face again. A great white shark swims across the screen. Jungkook strikes. “My hands feel good.”

“Jungkook!” You exclaim in horror (and excitement, but you’ll pretend it wasn’t there). “What has gotten into you?”

“What!” Jungkook defends, Bambi eyes looking at you like you’re the unreasonable one here. “We’re having a civil conversation in which I’m trying to open up your worldview.”

You’re flabbergasted. “This is not a civil conversation, what are you even talking about?” You scold, tug your arms around yourself like it’ll actually protect you from the words that don’t seem to be filtering out of his mouth properly. “Why are you so concerned about that?” You interrogate, hope your forceful tone will scare him away.

It doesn’t. Jungkook shrugs, some noncommittal i dont know sound. “I can’t be interested in what you get up to? What my best friend gets up to?” It’s the obvious emphasis on best friend that makes you step down.

“No,” you sigh, rub a hand down your face. “You can be interested,” you tell him gingerly. “We just never really… talked about... those kinds of things,” you rush out, turn away from him as the narrator on screen dives into the intricacies of bioluminescent shrimp in the animal food chain.

As if sensing your discomfort, Jungkook softens, scooting closer to you. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too close and too warm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says, places a palm on your knee.

“I’m not!” You rush to assure him, facing him head on again. His eyes are big and implorative still, and you wonder why he became stuck on that of all things today. “It just surprised me.”

His lips quirk to the side, an unsure grin that has you leaning into his shoulder. You sit in silence, the rise and fall of his body with every breath lulling you into a sense of comfort.

A false one that Jungkook zeroes in on.

The documentary’s wrapping up, soothing ocean sounds and wind instruments playing as the credits roll across the screen, when the hand that had been laying so comfortably on your thigh inches up. At first, you don’t notice it, writing it off as Jungkook just shifting around. You tell yourself it’s just that, until his pinky makes contact with the end of your shorts.

Slowly, you turn towards him, catch his mocha irises lustfully lidded as he toys with the hem. “Kook?” You murmur, so soft, barely there.

“Hm?” He replies, continuing to play with the edge of your shorts, until he gets brave and his fingers slip beneath, index finger just barely grazing the panties underneath. You gasp. “This okay?”

Stuck between your arousal and your common sense, you flounder for a response. He’s so close, and smells so good, curls brushing against your temple the closer he gets. You want him so bad, want him to find his place between your thighs and put those pouty lips to use. But you know it’ll make things different, change whatever it is you’ve had for the past almost thirty years, and you’ll never bounce back. Another brush against your panties, pointer finger wiggling it’s way beneath the fabric, and you’re choking out a “yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and something in your core tingles at the name, thighs clenching together. “Uh uh,” he chides, nudges them open. “Stay still for me,” he commands, and you do, for all of ten seconds, but then he’s pressing his finger on your clit, panties and shorts muting the sensation. Still, it makes you squirm, fingers clutching the couch cushion beneath you as you struggle to keep them open. “Too much?” He asks, and you shake your head no.

“I-It’s fine,” you whisper, and Jungkook smiles.

He pets you, almost wondrously, for a few beats, watches the way the muscles in your thighs twitch with every press against your mound. Eventually, he decides it’s enough. “Hands don’t feel good for you?” He inquires, your words from earlier obviously having left their mark on him. Slowly, you shake your head. He glances down at the fist you have on the couch, composed features sliding up your face. “Well, yours are so small, princess. Of course they don’t feel good.”

He manhandles you around, tugs you onto the couch until you’re laying down, legs sprawled on either side of him. Pleased with the arrangement, Jungkook glances back down to your bottoms. “These have to go,” he tells you, hooks his fingers in the waistband and abruptly yanks down, leaving you just in your t-shirt.

You go to shy away, but Jungkook stops you, palms resting on the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin soothingly. “My fingers are long, see?” He says, raising a hand to wiggle his fingers at you. You nod, heartbeat thundering in your ears. “They’ll feel nice inside.”

You know they will.

You can tell he knows his way around a woman’s body just from the way his hands glide over yours, carefully like he’s mapping you out. Ever so slowly, one hand grows closer, until his thumb is gently circling your clit, and you inhale sharply.

“So wet,” Jungkook hums, his other hand traveling further down, until he’s spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, trailing them through the arousal that gathers there.

You’ve never been so attentively cared for, never had a man zero in on your cunt like it was his first meal in ages. Jungkook’s eyes are clouded with lust, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he watches your pussy lips flutter at his touch.

He swirls his hand over your clit, pressing down. The first sound escapes you, a soft whimper that has you clamping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment. Jungkook grins down at you, shifts closer to press a kiss to the knuckles over your mouth.“Don’t hide from me,” he purrs, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your neck.

You cry out when he gets back to it, massaging your pussy with gentle hands and a thumb against your clit to placate you. “Jungkook,” you choke out, and he beams at his name, takes it as a sign to finally slip two fingers inside. “A-ah,” you whine, arching beneath him.

He basks in your noises, leans close again to press a kiss beneath your ear, against your jaw. “This okay?” He murmurs, curling the fingers inside of you. You mewl, throwing your arms around him as he begins working you open. “How does it feel, baby?”

“G-good,” you pant, turn your head until you can bury your nose in his hair, drown even more in his all-consuming aura.

Another kiss to your neck, before he’s suctioning his lips right below your ear, nipping and sucking at the skin to brand you his. “You like my hands?” He husks, and the patch of saliva he leaves on your neck feels cold without his mouth there. You nod, and Jungkook rewards you with a soft smooch over the hickey he’s left.

His fingers inside you curl and scissor, brush against every inch of your walls until you’re quivering beneath him, gasping his name out. You could melt if his fingers weren’t holding you together. “So tight,” he groans, curling his fingers. The movement touches upon something sensitive within you, and you moan his name loudly.

“O-Oh,” you pant, wiggling beneath him as you try to feel that again. Jungkook lets you, watches you desperately rut into his hands. He drifts away, lets his tongue mouth over your breasts, licking until there’s a damp spot on your t-shirt, the flimsy house bra you’d worn and the t-shirt combined not enough to hide your pebbled nipples.

The drag of his hands against your pussy isn’t enough, the motions not quick enough. Jungkook glances at your twisted features, your quivering pussy, and then, ever so gently, ducks over you, puckered lips letting one, long glob of saliva touch down on your pussy, trickling around his knuckles.

“Fuck,” you choke, watch his tongue swipe over his lip to break the thin bridge that connects you too. Suddenly, everything is smoother, the combined lubrication of your arousal and his spit making the glide of his fingers sinfully slick.

Frantic for release, you lose yourself in him, ready to free fall into your pleasure so long as Jungkook is there to catch you. “That’s it,” he encourages, picks up the pace of his fingers inside you. “Come on, beautiful, let me see that gorgeous face of yours when you come.”

“K-Kook,” you sob, and he smiles against your neck. His fingers work fast, until your muscles are all pulled tight, waiting for that final push to unravel. You make the mistake of glancing down, only to be caught by that pearly smile and adoring gaze. You’re in heaven, you know you are.

There’s no other explanation for this—the way Jungkook holds you like you’re his, hands so gently caressing your most intimate parts. You’re almost convinced you’re having a fever dream, a sick, too realistic dream, but then Jungkook’s biting down on your shoulder through your t-shirt, subtly rutting against your thigh.

“Cum for me,” he purrs against your neck, and you do, sobbing as your orgasm rolls over you, the heavy weight of his cock against your thigh. “Jungkook,” you cry, so pitifully, it has him lunging forward, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.

You feel sweaty and gross, unbelievably tired from the gentle way he opened you up. Blindly, you reach down, feel the hardness of his cock beneath his sweatpants, but Jungkook nudges you away. You huff. “Let me,” you whimper, reach for him again even though you can see the slowness in your movement. “Need your cock in my mouth,” you drawl, almost sleepily.

“Shh,” he soothes, lips pressed against your neck, where he’s still licking and sucking over every inch of you. You whine. “You don’t have to do a thing, gorgeous,” he assures you, “just wanted to make you feel good.”

—

Work gets stressful shortly after. There’s a new batch of interns coming in this season, new faces who will mess up your coffee orders and jam the printers for a good few weeks. There’s normally a team of employees who train them, a mix of relatively older people from different departments who show them around; a girl in the finance department, the one who usually trains them, is on maternity leave. With no one else to fall back on, the head of the department pushes the duties off on you, claiming your flexibility and work ethic make you the perfect candidate for such a role.

Normally you’d thrive at the praise, eat up every single word like it sustained you. In a way, it did. It was nice to be appreciated and recognized for your hard work, to be thought of so highly, especially in a male-dominated company. However, this time, you know it’s out of convenience that the head kisses up to you, and you end up begrudgingly taking the role.

The gaps in your schedule you’d normally spend relaxing or catching up on other projects are filled with bumbling interns, calling for help every chance they get. It’s like they’ve never done anything on their own, this group, always asking you the correct way to do this, the right way to do that. You haven’t mentored interns in a while, so you spend the first day breezing over old powerpoints and print outs you made years ago. You remember why you’re not fit for mentoring when one of them asks you how to navigate Excel. You nearly rip their head off.

There’s so much going on, you barely get time to see Jungkook, let alone text him. You saw him once the morning after, stack of pancakes on your kitchen table as he rushed you off to work. The shop didn’t open for another hour. He was sweet, kissed your forehead as you left, but he’s always done that. You didn’t have time to talk about whatever the night before was, or what that made the two of you now.

On Friday night, one week into your nightmarish role, you pull into the shop. You'd like to convince yourself it was routine, visiting the shop, but that’s a lie. You desperately miss Jungkook.

Most of the garage doors that are usually pulled open during the day are shut, save for one. The last of Jungkook’s employees are leaving, bidding you adieu as you step out of your car. Park Jimin is there, repairing some rickety car in the back corner.

“Boo,” you call playfully, and Jimin doesn’t flinch, merely pulls his head from out of the hood to flash you an easygoing smile.

He whistles at the sight of you. “You look like you’ve been through one of helluva week,” he says, and you, despite your strong personality, feel yourself blush at his comment. Jeez, did you look that bad? Jimin doesn’t elaborate, just pulls out a stool for you to sit on beside where he’s working. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You glance at the plexiglass, the offices hiding down the hall. Jungkook could wait, you presume, settling down beside him. Your skirt tugs up as you settle onto the pleather seat, so you cover your legs meekly with your purse. “Work’s been crazy,” you explain, and Jimin laughs at the obvious.

“You’re telling me,” He hums, and you roll your eyes playfully. “What’s going on at work?”

What hasn’t been going on, you think to yourself, before launching into a full retelling of your new horrendous position, of all the interns with their clueless eyes and useless notebooks. Jimin chuckles, indulges you in a few comments here and there that only fuel you on. He’s just about done with whatever he’s doing to the car at the same time your story wraps up, explaining how you found yourself here, desperate for Jungkook to whisk you off to that arcade you loved as kids. “Jungkook?” He asks, and you nod. “He left a while ago.”

You freeze. “Huh?” You say, dumbly. You almost want to laugh at your own impulsiveness, for showing up without sending him a text or a warning to let him know you were coming. You almost do laugh, but then you remember you and Jungkook never did that anyway. Hell, he showed up at your house a few weeks ago unannounced and drunk. The two of you were hardly the type to plan ahead, so it was weird for him to not be here. He’s been at the shop almost every night since it’s opened, the days he’s not usually a holiday.

“Jimin…” you begin, glancing at the receptionist window once more. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin shuts his tool box, kicking a cart off to the side. “He left with that lady,” he tells you, doesn’t hear the way your heart rips straight out of your chest. No way. “Tall, pretty. Had that nice Corvette he fixed up a while ago.”

“Sojin,” you mumble, and Jimin nods.

“Think that was her name.” As if sensing your tumultuous thoughts, he steps closer, one hand reaching out to steady you. “You alright?”

“God,” you exhale, pushing yourself away from Jimin and the garage and the window. The stool rolls away, almost hits the side of another car but Jimin catches it. He rushes over towards you, watching you wobble in your heels.

“Honey,” Jimin says, steady and warm beside you. “Sit down for me, yeah?” He guides you to a row of seats against the wall, nailed into the floor so you can’t push them away and make even more of a mess. Not that that’s your concern, your mind and heart too preoccupied with thoughts of Jungkook lying to you, going out with that woman again, despite your obvious hatred for her and his promise to you.

Jimin disappears, rushes over to the other side of the garage before returning with a water bottle for you. He cracks it open, presses it into your hands, and then against your lips when you don’t move. “Drink,” he encourages, watching you with worried eyes that only grow more and more concerned the deeper you fall into your thoughts.

You want to cry and beat Jungkook up at the same time. You want to scream at him for lying to you after treating you so nicely, holding you so warmly. Instead, you gasp for breath, clutching your face in your hands like it’s the only thing that grounds you.

There’s a beep outside, chirpy and cute in the way only older models are, and you whip your head up, the headlights of the Corvette painting you in shades of yellow as it rolls to a stop, the tears you hadn’t felt glistening under the light.

Jungkook flings himself out of the driver’s seat, and a sob catches in your throat when Sojin steps out of the passenger seat. Jungkook shoves everything in his path to the side, carts flying into the few automobiles on the floor, tools clanging loudly onto the cement, and just as those arms you love so much are reaching out for you, there’s a hand on his chest stopping him.

“What did you do to her?” Jungkook snarls, pushing Jimin roughly to the side. Jimin, smaller but not weaker, holds his ground, clutching Jungkook by the material of his jumpsuit a second time. “Let— go!” Jungkook shouts, finally worming away from his employee.

He nearly trips before you, stumbling to his knees as he takes your quivering hands in his. “What’s wrong,” he asks, throwing a nasty glare back at Jimin who watches silently from the side. Sojin is still by her car, leaning across the driver’s side now. “What did he do, what did he say?”

You shake your head, dropping your head to tuck your chin against your chest. You hate this. Hate letting him or Jimin or Sojin see you cry. It’s not the person you are, not the self-made woman you claim to be as you cry over the same man who is unknowingly defending you from himself.

“Let go,” you whisper, hoarse and choked. You shake your arms, but he doesn’t let up.

“Tell me what's wrong,” Jungkook pleads, inching closer to you. His breath is warm and he smells like oil, just like he always does. He also smells sweet and floral in a way only a woman could. He smells like Sojin.

You sob, rip your hands away from and scurry blindly towards Jimin, who catches you in his arms despite the shock that paints his face.

Jungkook watches with an expression of hurt, watches you snuggle into the arms of another man over an issue you won’t tell him about. Jimin says nothing, just rubs his palm over your back. He gestures towards the red corvette, the woman standing by it and Jungkook takes the hint.

You hear the kitten-like purr as it pulls off, the silence that follows afterwards. You don’t know where Jungkook is, if he’s here or if he left with her, and you don’t want to. “Tell me he’s gone,” you beg Jimin, quiet gasps against his neck.

He nods, slowly lets you untangle yourself from his arms as the two of you stare over the empty garage. The Corvette is gone, and so is Jungkook. Before Jimin can tell you where he is, you’re wiping a hand over your face, embarrassed at the moisture it comes back with.

“I take it he’s not supposed to be with her?” Jimin tries to joke.

Neither of you laugh.

You sniffle, process what just happened, how you acted. You’ve never felt that way before, never experienced such brutal heartbreak.

You don’t know what you expected from Jungkook. In your heart, you convinced yourself what happened in your apartment was the start of something new between the two of you, a natural result of your long friendship. Realistically, you know you should’ve waited until the two of you spoke, discussed whatever happens next. But you’d spent the past week comforted by the fact you’d finally gotten to experience something like that with him, daydreaming about him every chance you got.

Somewhere in your mind, you had convinced yourself your involvement with him would finally be what broke his connection with Sojin, the final nail that would make him forget about her. It’s painfully funny how such wasn’t the case.

Jimin breaks you out of your thoughts. “You okay to drive home?” He gently inquires, and you turn your gaze over toward your car.

Did you trust yourself to make it home without shedding a single tear? Absolutely not. But between Sojin and Jimin, you had let enough strangers see you fall apart over a man tonight.

“Perfectly okay,” you tell him.

—

The interns pick up on your sour attitude the week that follows. They don’t ask dumb questions, and don’t mess up your order. You talk them through a presentation, show them how to properly organize finance charts. There’s a slide that has clip art, a goofy dollar sign with a smile and shoes. Jungkook put it there when you first made the PowerPoint. After the little lesson, you go to the bathroom and try not to cry.

A week later, and the interns don’t need you anymore. They do well, and your boss praises you for being such a good mentor. You thank him and he lets you go home early.

Home is empty. Jungkook doesn’t show up unannounced, mostly because you’ve changed the number lock on the door. You want to eat salad today, for some reason, but don’t have any of the ingredients for it, so you walk to the supermarket a few blocks away.

The supermarket feels the same as it always does at night. That ghostly feeling of being watched in an empty aisle, the scratchy tune of whatever Top 50 radio station they settled on today. You get there and decide you don’t want salad anymore, so you buy ingredients for a stew instead, all of which you probably had at home.

When you step outside, the air around your bare thighs is cold. Summer was ending, which meant Jungkook’s birthday was coming up. You ball the receipt in your hand and fling it at the trash. You miss, so you hobble over to pick it up.

The trash is beside a red Corvette with two racing stripes.

“Hey,” Sojin says, arms crossed over her chest as she walks up behind you, sizing up your crouched form beside her car. “What’re you doing to my car?”

You breathe in, shake the crumpled up receipt at her, before stuffing it in the garbage. She says nothing as you stalk by her, and you’re back on the main road when she pulls up next to you, window rolled down to speak to you. “Get in,” she gestures, “it’s gonna rain.”

“No,” you say, and a fat raindrop falls right on your nose.

The door unlocks and you climb in, plastic bags crowded by your feet.

The drive is silent. You only live a few minutes from the store, and you point out an empty spot by the sidewalk for her to pull up to. A dry thanks is on the tip of your tongue, but you never get to say it.

“My dad has cancer,” Sojin says.

“That sucks,” you respond, feel bad right away and say, “I’m sorry.”

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by it, shifting the Corvette out of drive and cutting the engine. “He’s probably not gonna see Christmas,” she adds, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about her or her crazy father. “I wanted to do something nice for him before he, y’know.”

“Died,” you fill, and at that she glares.

“Yeah,” she huffs. “Before he died. So I fixed up his car. But the place I took it to didn’t know how to fix an engine so old, and ended up fucking it up even more.” You nod, she continues. “Then I bumped into Jungkook and—“

“Took advantage of his kindness,” you finish, remembering the twinkle in his eyes when he’d told you about their encounter, that day in the empty garage that seemed lightyears away. “Well congrats. Hope your dad liked it,” you sigh, push open the door and get soaked to the bone immediately.

“Wait!” Sojin calls, hopping out after you. She’s still as beautiful as she was when you were seventeen, even with rain soaking her entire being. “I didn’t ask him to repaint it, but that’s what my dad loved the most.”

You want to go inside, make your stew, and cry in it.

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by the bangs that stick to her forehead or the water that washes down her spine. “When I told him Jungkook did it… he wanted to see him. Apologize and stuff.”

You snort. “Apologize,” you repeat, tightening your grip on your shoppings bags. “For what, Sojin? For almost killing him with this car or for treating him like shit for five years?” She says nothing, stares at the hood of the car like she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “He was crazy for you, you know that? He would have done anything for you and not once did you stand up to your dad for him. You let that man call him worthless, stupid, a waste of space. And for what? For you to break up with him for some rich asshole who would never treat you half as good as Jungkook did?” You sneer.

The rain feels cold and your groceries feel heavier, so you whirl on your heel and make for your building entrance.

“He never liked me,” Sojin calls out, and you wonder if she even heard the second half of your emotional outburst. You turn to face her with fire in your eyes, and are only a little surprised at the sadness that paints hers. “He never liked me the way he said he did.” You could knock her teeth out.

“You’re stupid,” you spit, and she rounds the car at an insane speed until she’s glaring down at you over her perfectly sculpted nose.

“He never liked me,” Sojin repeats angrily. “He was always busy looking at you—for approval, for attention, I don’t fucking know. He would hold me and touch me but it never felt real. It always felt like practice for him…” she sniffles and your breath hitches in your throat. “We dated all through college,” she says like you don’t know, like you didn’t stress about it for years. “Everyday closer to graduation felt like a ticking bomb. Like he was just waiting for you to come back. To come home.”

You remember it.

The excited texts he’d send you everyday, the plans he made for you. Jungkook was more excited than your parents about you coming home. The five hours had done a number on him, and after four years all he wanted was to have you close again. You remember the hug in his driveway, the way his mom had told you he’d waited all day for you. It’s weird hearing it from Sojin.

Too overwhelmed, you decide to deflect. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur, and you’re surprised she hears it over the pouring rain.

A loud scoff. “You’re stupid,” she repeats back, jabbing a finger at your chest. You glare, and so does she. Like two animals in a cage you size each other up. “You’re stupid and ugly and I hate you,” she spits, and you drop your shopping bags to lunge at her.

You don’t swing, just grab her by the shirt and move to slam her against the wall, but she’s tall and a little strong, bony fingers wrapping around your wrists like spiders. “Why can’t you see how much he likes you?” She screams, like it hurts to admit it. “He’s been in love with you since forever, and all you’ve ever done is run away!”

“I never—“ you gasp, pushing her away from you. Sojin stumbles, but she doesn’t fall. “I’ve never run away,” you defend, heart beating in your chest too fast to be normal. “Some of us have careers and lives we want to live—I don’t want to depend on a man for the rest of my life!”

She growls, tugs at her wet hair like you’re giving her a headache. Stomping up to you once more, she pushes you hard with both hands, and you barely catch yourself in time. “He would have followed you to that fucking fancy school, but you told him it was better to save money here! Told him to not waste his time and just settle there! You did this to us—to all of us!”

You choke. Lightning flashes behind her, and for a moment all you can see is your gentle prodding, sitting behind him as he filled out applications, big wannabe business brain telling him the easiest way to save money for his auto shop was by going straight into technical school. The small frown on his face that day you’d packed for college, and the way he’d stood in your parent’s driveway until you couldn’t see him anymore, a little spec in your rearview mirror.

Sojin, sensing she’s made her point, says nothing. She scoops up your fallen grocery bags and shoves them into your trembling hands, stomping back to her car and pulling off with a roar, loud and ferocious, and nothing like a kitten.

The groceries in your bag end up in the trash.

—

Taehyung invites you to lunch one day, and you go. You’re starving and desperate to get away from work, where you’re paranoid everyone knows there’s something wrong with you. You meet up at a cute little bistro, and he smiles and hugs you when you arrive. You sit in comfort for all of two seconds before he jumps into his interrogation.

“What’s going on with you and Kook?” He asks, casually flipping through the menu. Your hand stills around your glass of water, and you eventually set it down without ever taking a drink. Your mind instinctively maps out a lie, but Taehyung has known you a while now, knows the quirk of your lips when you’re about to lie your ass off. “Don’t lie to me. I haven’t seen you at the shop in almost a month. And he doesn’t go out,” he mentions. “I think he spent four nights at the shop before I made him go home.”

You deflate.

Too embarrassed to explain, you flip through your own menu, and when the waitress comes you order the first words your eyes focus on. Taehyung doesn’t push you, just patiently gazes out over the bustling street.

Finally, you break. “We… did a thing.”

“Uh huh,” he nods, reading some ad on the side of a bus that passes by. “Need you to elaborate, babe.”

You squirm. “We… fooled around,” you say for lack of more appropriate wording. There’s a family sitting beside you, and you’d rather die than let some nooby pre-teen listen to the details of yours and Jungkook’s night.

“You fucked?” You choke, make a loud sputtering noise like it’ll drown out Taehyung’s voice to the other patrons. “What’s wrong with that? We all knew it’d happen sooner or later,” he shrugs.

“No,” you seethe. “We didn—I didn’t.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, the same way Sojin did that day on the sidewalk. You almost throw your glass of water at him. “We…” you sigh. “We did a thing, and then the week after he went out with Sojin.”

Taehyung scowls at the mere mention of her, so the glass of water is returned to its coaster. “Really? He went out with her right away? He’s cancelled.”

You nod, rubbing your hands over your face. “He… her dad has cancer and is literally on his deathbed so she wanted to fix up his car for memories sake, which he loved, so he wanted to apologize to Kook and thank him for fixing up his car,” you rush out, and now Taehyung chokes, water spewing out of his nose. You shriek, drawing everyone’s attention as you pat down your soaked blouse. “Tae!”

“I’m sorry,” he cries, wiping at the sting in his nose. “He-she, what?!” You ignore him, focus on battling the damp spot on your blazer. “God, that’s crazy,” Taehyung snorts, winces at the feeling in his nose.

After the two of you have settled, the manager kicks you out for your inappropriate conversations and childish behavior. You leave with your tails tucked between your legs. Taehyung holds your hand as he walks you back to your workplace, you quietly fill him in on all the other details surrounding yours and Jungkook’s fallout, from your breakdown in the garage to your weirdly dramatic confrontation with Sojin. “Well,” he claps, slamming a hand down on the traffic light button, even though both of you know it doesn’t work. “That explains a lot of things.”

“Yeah,” you agree, pushing down the crosswalk when the light finally changes of its own accord. “Do you,” you pause, feet glued to the sidewalk. “Do you think she was right?”

Taehyung glances back at you, so small and unsure in the midst of a bustling crowd. He smiles, sweet and soft. Rare coming from him. His free hand ruffles the top of your head, and he brings you into his chest. “Babe, the hottest guy in your grade was intimidated by scrawny, pre-muscle bunny Jungkook. I’m pretty sure he feels some type of way towards you.”

Your lip wobbles dangerously, and you bite down on it to stop. Taehyung pats your head, barks at some old guy when he yells at the two of you for standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

When you’re outside your office, you speak again. “You were not the hottest guy in our grade, by the way.”

Taehyung snorts. “I totally was.”

—

You hideout for the rest of the week.

On Friday night, you finally have the balls to show yourself again, and you hop on the highway leading out of the city before you can overthink it. The buildings slowly melt away, replaced with cozier homes, tinier shops, and by the time you’re pulling up the street, you’re deep in doubt again.

It’s not that late yet, only a little past sunset, but the garage doors, usually open to the street, are all shut. You frown, pull around the block, reverse into a spot across the street. Locking your car, a gust of wind nearly trips you as you cross the street. The front office is dark, metal shutters pulled over the entrance.

Eventually, you stumble around until you find the tiny backdoor squeezed beside some dumpsters, grateful for the key Jungkook had given you so long ago.

Just as Taehyung predicted, a pair of red jumpsuit clad feet stick out from beneath a car. A nice car, an even older Corvette than Sojin’s dad’s, still shiny despite the model it is. It looks like a show car with the way it glints at you, black paint almost glossy. The only light in the entire garage is a lamp, positioned over the area where the legs are working, and a flashlight that occasionally beams at you when the holder loses his grip. No music today, just the hum of a rotating fan. You creep over.

Jungkook’s humming a song when you get to him, foot tapping idly on the ground. You suck in a deep breath and nudge his foot with the tip of your heel. You have exactly two seconds to jump away when he abruptly rolls out from beneath the car, concentrated features scanning quickly around until they land on you.

The garage is still, until Jungkook jumps into action. “___,” he stammers, stumbling to his feet. The rolling board drifts away, bumping into the corner of the metal table beside you. “Hi, um,” he flounders, brushing his fingers through his hair, palms wiping over the front of his pants. Finally, “hi.”

The bad bitch Chanel skirt-suit you’d worn today fails you for the first time in a long time. Your hands feel sweaty, so you clutch them behind your back. “Hi, Jungkook,” you exhale, and all the emotions you’d swallowed for so long, the feelings that tightened around your chest and throat like boa constrictors, come oozing out, until all you can see is his puckered mouth and twinkling gaze.

He coughs, tries to casually lean against the car, but greatly miscalculates the distance. “What, um, what brings you here?” He asks, foot tapping nervously against the ground.

There’s a box of takeout on the floor he tries to subtly kick beneath the car, and a plastic bottle of soda that makes a loud noise when he tries that too. You twist your lips, watching the anxious shuffling of his feet. You breeze over his question, plaster a tight smile into your face, and ask your own question; “how long have you been here?” Tentatively, you lower yourself onto a rolling stool. “It’s late,” you state the obvious.

Jungkook’s leg bounces, and he pats his hand over it nervously. “Um, an hour? Just working on something,” he answers, cheeks warm as his eyes flicker everywhere but you. “What brings you here?” He repeats, and you know you can’t deflect it this time.

Shrugging half heartedly, you wait for him to finally look at you. When he does, he almost looks away but the glint in your eye stops him from doing so. “We need to talk,” you finally say. Jungkook visibly deflates, lips pulling into a thin line. You contemplate letting him relieve his thoughts first, but you came here with a point to make, for questions that needed answering, and you’re scared one word from him will wash them all away.

“Listen,” you start, smoothing your hand over the edge of your skirt. “I know something weird happened between us, and then I kinda freaked out on you, but… I need you to tell me the truth.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

You swallow, try to push back the frustration that builds in his throat. “Did you ever even like Sojin?”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?” A snort. “You’re joking,” he snickers, wipes at faux tears in the corner of his eyes, before your unsmiling face registers and he’s schooling his features. “___, I did like her. I dated her for five years. How could I not like her?”He says seriously, like he can’t believe you would ever question such a thing.

You exhale, pick at your fingernails. “I met her,” you admit, and Jungkook’s face twists in confusion. “At the supermarket last week. She said you never liked her.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Of course she’ll think that—we’re exes. I doubt she remembers all our best memories,” he sighs, turning back to organize his tool cart like he’s done with this conversation.

Raising to your feet you call his name again, and he hums absentmindedly. “Sojin said you never liked her because you were always chasing after me,” you accuse, laying all your cards out on the table. Your claim startles him, and you watch as he jostles half the tool cart with his surprise.

“She, what?” He huffs, cheeks as red as his jumpsuit. He forces out a laugh, airy and tight like you’re starring in your elementary school play again and the nerves are eating him up. “I-I don’t know why she’d say that.”

He’s flustered, obviously so, as he scoops the metal tools back onto the cart, bumping into three other things before settling back down on the floor to roll under the car. He pushes himself under, and you sternly call out, “Jungkook.” He freezes.

You strut over, brush your hands behind your skirt as you crouch beside him. “Always,” you quietly remind him. Jungkook says nothing. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve grossly misread the situation, if this was just another one of her schemes to drive the two of you apart.

Slowly, Jungkook appears from under the car. There’s a new stain on his cheekbone, brown and slick. He sits up, wide eyes tracing over your features likes he’s trying to seal them in his memory. “Yeah,” he admits, lips twisting as he watches the surprise take your features, before he’s lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling, leaving you to stare at the column of his neck.

“I do,” Jungkook admits, pushing through his emotions. It’s hard for him to confess, you realize, watching the way his Adam’s apples contracts and his jaw twitches from having to say so. “I like you so much it hurts.”

His confession leaves you feeling weird. On one hand, you want nothing more than to spring yourself on him and kiss his face until the stray oil marks are gone and replaced with the outline of your lipstick prints. You want to smother him and hold him, let him know he’s yours, always has been.

On the other hand… it’s sad. Going on thirty years and never did the two of you guess your feelings for each other. You doubt either of you are good at hiding them, with the way everyone seems to have known except you two. Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.

A hand touches your knee, and you return your attention to his downtrodden appearance, chin tucked against his chest. “Please,” he murmurs. “Say something.”

You say nothing.

Tentatively, you reach a hand out, run it along the side of his head, through his mane, chocolate waves touching his cheekbones. He almost looks like when you guys were kids, round eyes watching your every move. Your hand continues down the back of his head, cupping the nape of his neck comfortingly. Jungkook leans into the touch, even though his shoulders are tense. You soothe your fingers over the tight muscles in his neck.

“Since when?” You inquire.

Jungkook blinks, lets your palm trace along his jawline and cup his cheek. “Since you dated Taehyung when we were sixteen.”

Mentally, you curse every deity in existence for putting Kim Taehyung in your life. “God,” you groan, burrowing your hands in your palms. Jungkook, surprised by your reaction, rolls closer, moves around until you’re crouched between his long legs. “Since me and that pinhead dated for twenty minutes?” You repeat.

Jungkook shifts closer, rubs your back. “It was 65 hours, actually,” he corrects, and the exact duration of your relationship makes you cringe. “I… counted.”

Small and shy, almost embarrassed. You glance back up at him. “Why?” You prod, and Jungkook’s cheek flush, palm stilling.

“Uh,” he starts. “I was nervous? That you two were in it for the long run. And I, I don’t know. It was easier to just count,” he lamely finishes, and his dangly earring whips around with him when he avidly avoids your gaze.

You sigh, catch his hand in yours. “Tae and I would have never lasted,” you tell him, remembering all the times the guy made you pick him up from one night stands in the last few years. “He wasn’t who I wanted.”

His foot jumps, toe tapping against the wheel of the car next to you. He wants to ask, you know he does, but Jungkook was quite possibly the only other person on this planet who could overthink something more than you.

Deciding to ease his worries, you give his hand a squeeze. “It was you,” you confess, feel like an elephant lands straight on your chest. “It is you,” you correct.

His forehead knocks against yours, hard, and you hiss at the bump that probably forms. “What the fu—“

“Tell me it’s not temporary,” Jungkook pleads, eyes crinkled in worry. You’re going cross eyed from trying to look at him like this, so you flit your eyes off somewhere to the side. His hand is heavy in yours. “Tell me you’re not just doing this for closure, or because you want to see what it would have been like, please,” he begs, “that would be so fucked up, because I’m so in love with you I actually think I might die.”

The dramatic confession makes you painfully warm. You nod, your lower lip trembling at the way he looks at you, like you single-handedly controlled this entire world with a flick of your wrist. “I-I love you too,” you parrot back, the first time you’ve ever said it, the millionth time you’ve ever thought it.

Jungkook visibly relaxes, pulls away from you to drop his head on your shoulder instead. Your legs are starting to cramp from the tight crouching position, ankles wobbly in your heels. His hair smells good still, despite the hours he’s probably spent beneath a car, and you gingerly pat the back of his head.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and you repeat it. “I love you,” he says again, and you repeat it. “I lov—“

“Me, yes, I’ve heard,” you cut him off, smile at the snort he releases, and when he turns his head, his lips brush against your neck. You’re instantly thrown back a few weeks, to that night on the couch with the limited edition Shrek 2 cups and the wine; the gentle touches that left you trembling for weeks. You inhale quickly, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

His eyes are too soft, face too relaxed as he stares at you. “My legs hurt,” you tell him, quickly getting up. You whirl around, facing the car and digging through your purse like you suddenly have something to do.

“Oh,” you gasp, watch two arms wind around your waist, the dirty red jumpsuit contrasting against the tweed material of your high-end Chanel jacket. Jungkook sighs lovingly by your ear, snuggles his face into your neck. “W-we should go out,” you blurt, nerves jumping when he squeezes tighter, burrows closer. “To celebrate!”

Jungkook hums. “Yeah?” His voice is too low. You’re in trouble. “Celebrate what?”

You squirm, breath catching in your throat when he presses you closer against the hood of the car. “Um,” you shakily exhale, hands splaying out over the sleek surface of the black hood to steady yourself. It’s so shiny you can almost see your reflection. “U-Us!” You finally manage to exclaim.

A kiss against the side of your neck, and your spirit just about exits your body. Your knees feel weak, and you're just about ready to throw another mediocre excuse his way, when something warm and wet traces up the column of your neck. “Kook!” You gasp.

“Shh,” he murmurs, deep voice instantly soothing over your nerves. His hips nudge against your behind, and you jump at the bulge that presses against your lower back. One hand unwraps from around you, gliding down your arm sensually until he’s trapping your fingers on the hood of the car with his own. A swift kiss against your ear. “You owe me, remember?”

You flush, remember the filthy promises your list-addled brain has spewed that night at your house, the almost erratic development of your thoughts as you became consumed in the thought of him. Reminisce on the prod of his fingers against your cunt, his hot breath against your ear.

Suddenly, Jungkook whirls you around, traps you with his gaze as two hands flutter to rest on the small of your back. He’s looking down at you with those lovesick eyes, hooded with lust as they trace over the dip of your Cupid’s bow. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” A soft brush of his mouth against yours, pouty lips guiding you through a kiss, until you’re sighing against him, and he’s pulling away.

Numbly, you nod, almost hypnotized by the soft smirk that overtakes his features as he pushes you down, watches you sink to your knees before him. The concrete feels cold and hard beneath your knees. His jumpsuit is knotted around his waist, and you shakily unravel it, the elastic waistband staring you in the face afterwards.

“Take your time,” Jungkook croons, hand coming to rest on the side of your face, knuckles brushing over your skin delicately.

You tug it down, and one flash of that underwear band has your nerves flying out the window. You shove his t-shirt out of the way, let your hands trail over the ridges of his abdomen in your haste. He helps you by tugging it over his head. With that gone, his black boxers stare you in the face, and you yank those down with no hesitation.

“Jesus, baby,” Jungkook chuckles, though it’s choked off when you grasp his engorged cock in his hand. You should be surprised, marveling at the sight, considering it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. But you brain is working overtime, too immersed in the vein that runs alongside it and the tip that throbs back at you. Later you can worship it, you think. Right now, you needed it down your throat.

The tip is flaming and swollen, his cock still growing plump in your hold, your hands slowly dragging up and down the length. You lean forward, press a gentle kiss below the mushroom head, trail kisses down the length until you're meeting your knuckles, and trail them back again. Jungkook sucks in a tight breath, leans to rest his palms on the car behind you, as he watches you on him.

A head of precum escapes, and you lunge for it, swirl your tongue in and around the slit on his cock, until his entire body tenses up. “Fuck,” he grunts, watches you ease his cock into your mouth. You groan at the stretch, the drag against the corners of your lips making your eyes roll backwards. “___, baby, a little more?” He asks, voice hoarse as he watches you sink down further on his cock.

You comply, close your eyes and focus on relaxing your throat. There’s a hand on the back of your head, impatiently pushing you down his length. “Shit,” he cries, unconsciously ruts against you. You gag, and he shushes you with a caress against your cheek. “Sorry,” he huffs, “just a little more for me, okay?”

Eyes squeezed shut tightly, you let him push you down until his cock hits the back of your throat and you can’t take anymore. The prod against your throat has tears springing to your eyes. “Gonna move now,” Jungkook announces, thumb brushing away the tears that collect in the corners. “Be good.”

He drags himself out, your saliva coating every inch of him, and when just the tip is resting on your tongue, he shoves back in. You whimper, palms digging into his thighs. Jungkook brushes a hand down your hair, soothes you for all of two seconds before he’s pulling out and doing it all over again. He picks up the pace, loses himself in the feeling of your hot mouth around him, tongue dragging over his cock.

The feeling in your throat burns, each thrust of his hips against your mouth making your jaw more and more sore. But god, it feels good to have him so close, his scent swarming your sense, groans like music to your ears. You want to please him, want him to feel as good as you did at your place. You want it even more now that you know how he feels, know he’s probably thought about this before.

A brutal thrust has you gagging, throat contracting around his length. “Shh,” Jungkook sighs, the fingers buried in your hair flattening out to run over your head. “Doing so good for me, beautiful.”

You bask in the praise, let a hand flutter down to the apex of your thighs, pressing down to relieve some of the pressure. Jungkook groans, rolls his hips against you and keeps you there for a second. Your throat spasms, his dick pressed hotly against it, and you feel your panties grow embarrassingly sticky. Eventually, he draws back out.

“You like this?” He hums, rutting against you faster now, nose brushing against the sparse hairs on his pelvis with every slam of his hips. You nod around a gag, eyes clouding with tears, lips slippery with saliva and precum. One particular thrust is so hard, it nearly sends you knocking back into the car, Jungkook’s hand on the back of your head barely saving you. “Fucking hell,” he spits, “look so pretty with my cock shoved down your throat, princess.”

You moan around him, feel a subtle twitch against your tongue before he’s pulling himself out. “Shit,” he cursed, pushing you away as he goes to grab his own dick in his hand, tugging at it like a madman. “Wh-Where?” He asks, and you stare dumbly at the sight of him playing with himself, almost don’t realize he’s asking you a question.

You take too long, scramble for words too long, and even if you did have one your throat is far too sensitive yo answer. Jungkook grows impatient. Pulling you closer by the collar of your Chanel suit jacket, tugging it open until the flimsy buttons snap, and the tank top you wore beneath comes into view. He aims the tip of his cock towards your sternum, and a few jacks later, he’s coming, cum spurting against your chest. You watch the cum trail down between the valley of your breasts, until the feeling comes to rest against the inside wire of your bra, sticky and gross, sliding along the underside of your boobs. “Shit,” Jungkook repeats, eyes furrowed over you.

Your knees ache, and you nearly trip when you stand up, steadying yourself against the side of the car. Jungkook seems to regain his sense by then, hand trailing around your waist. You meet his eye, and almost immediately turn away, the blood in your face rapidly rising.

Jungkook laughs. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he teases, gets too close and your noses bump. “Sorry,” he smiles, too shiny and bright for the sinful acts you just committed in an auto shop.

“Put your dick away,” you huff, let him nuzzle closer to you, and when he doesn’t move to tuck himself into his pants, you go do it for him.

Jungkook frowns, swats your hand away. “This dick has places to be,” he informs you, and you scoff.

“Refractory period,” you remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Well I’m not exactly gonna stick it in you this instant,” he drawls. “Gotta stretch you out first.”

You go to complain, tell him he doesn’t have to over exert himself. Truthfully, with Jungkook you feel like one good session was enough to sustain you for weeks. After last time, your skin had flowed for an entire week. But then his hand is slithering up your backside, sneaking under your skirt to grab a handful of your ass.

There’s quickly drying drool collecting at the corners of your mouth, saliva from when he’d fucked your throat just a few moments prior, that he kisses away. His mouth slots over yours, and your heart and pussy both flutter at the kiss.

It’s gentle and sweet for all of ten seconds, his mouth moving against yours until you feel the wet press of his tongue against your bottom lip, tracing along until you open your mouth. He wastes no time shoving his tongue past your lips, letting it dance with yours as he pulls you closer, hands gripping the globes of your ass. You let him lick his way into your mouth, more and more saliva catching in the corners of your mouth until he’s pulling away with a wet pop.

He pulls away, doesn’t stray too far, proud smirk crossing his features at the sight of your slicked lips. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, tongue mindlessly swiping over your lips.

Jungkook’s eyes track the movement. “The saliva,” he clarifies. “The spit. You liked it at your place too,” he reminisces, moving in on you again. “Liked watching me slobber and spit all over your body. Isn’t that right, baby?”

You blush, discreetly rub your thighs together. “I-I do,” you admit, willing the warmth of your face away because at this distance he must certainly feel it.

Jungkook nods, doesn’t say anything else as he captures your lips a second time. He doesn’t bother with the gentle prodding anymore, jumping straight into tongue right away. He’s messier, letting his saliva coat your lips and drip down your mouth, and as messy as it is, you love it. You whimper when he pulls away, but gasp when his hand tugs at the hair by the nape of your neck, pulling you back until you’re looking up at him.

“Open,” he murmurs, and you do, tongue pressing against your bottom lip.

It should be disgusting, the rev of his throat, the sound of his saliva collecting, and the way his jaw shifts when he’s got enough. It should be filthy, the way he shoots it down your open lips, the way it splatters against the back of your throat. It should be gross, but god do you love it. “Swallow,” Jungkook commands, and you do, feel his spit drip down your throat like it’s your own, whimpering at the feeling. A quirk of his lips. “Good girl.”

You have to bite down the pride that grows in your chest.

Jungkook’s hands continue their mapping out of your behind, eventually ending with a hard squeeze that has you squealing. Automatically, your back arches in surprise, breasts pressing against Jungkook’s chest. He smirks down at you.

“Bet you taste good,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Let me taste?”

“Please,” you beg, nearly losing your shit when he lifts you up onto the car, the cool metal making you jump, heel on your foot nearly kicking the side view mirror clean off. “Wait, Jungkook,” you sputter, glancing down at the sleek metal. “This is someone’s car.”

Jungkook ignores you, pushes your legs apart to slot himself between them. His palms run up your legs, over your thighs, until they’re toying with the hem of your skirt. Mocha eyes glance up at you, as if daring you to question him again, so you promptly zip your lips shut. The skirt goes, ever so slowly, over your thighs, bunches up at your waist until he’s staring at your lace panties.

He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose faintly brushing against your skin. The kisses trail over your skin, until he’s hovering over your panties, and he’s staring like a man starved. He gives no warning, suddenly leaning down to press his mouth over your party-clad folds, nose flush against your clit. “Kook!” You squeak, hands flying to clutch at his hair.

Jungkook mouths at you, drags his tongue against your panties until they’re soaked in both your essence and his saliva, just how you like. A hand slithers around your leg, wrapping around until he’s got a firm grip on it that he uses to hold it open.

“J-Just take them off,” you gasp, squirm when his mouth moves towards your clit, lapping against you. “Please,” you cry.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook tortures you with those kitten licks, muted through your panties, until you’re begging him to stop, to take them off and do it right. He loves it, you can tell, dazzling smile peeking up at you every time you tug against his hair, until finally, he’s had enough.

The underwear comes off, dangling uselessly by your ankle, and then the show really begins.

“Wait,” you choke, head falling back against the hood of the car when he finally gets his mouth on you, suctioning his lips around your swollen clit. The niggling reminder that this is some stranger’s car he’s eating you out on rings in your brain, and perhaps that’s what makes it more exciting.

His mouth is warm, tongue flicking over your sensitive bud like it’s candy and he needs the sugar. The sounds are so loud and wet, the squelching of your pussy every time he pulls off a pop that resounds throughout the garage. He pampers your clit for what seems like hours, switching the movements of his tongue every time he gets the chance until you’re quivering.

When you think he’s done, he’s not.

Fingers slide up your thigh, featherlight, as they reach your drenched cunt. They drag over your lips, and you mewl, feeling the muscles jump and tighten at his touches. “Jungkook, please,” you moan, rolling your hips against him, but it’s hard and everytime you move, you feel the sweat on your skin weigh you down, glued to the metal beneath you.

The first finger breaches you, just the tip of his index slowly wiggling inside. You muffle a moan in your palm, and Jungkook pulls away with a huff. “No hiding,” he warns, slowly lowering back to your cunt with a stern glare. You nod, but can’t help it when his second finger pushes its way in and you bite down on your knuckles.

“Oh,” You sob, body quivering as he begins scissoring his two fingers inside you. With your attention focused on the digits sheathed inside you, he pulls away from your clit, bestowing one final kiss against it that has your foot kicking out wildly. “Th-there.” His other hand catches your palm in his, presses it against the metal by your head.

Jungkook smiles, curls his fingers around until he finds the soft spot inside you that turns you to jelly. “There we go, beautiful,” he purrs, pushing himself to his full height, leaning over your trembling form. “So sweet for me,” he sighs, licks his lips like he’s remembering your taste.

“I'm gonna,” you choke, become hypnotized by the dark cloud in his gaze, the arrogant smirk on his lips. He curls his fingers, palm brushing against your abandoned clit. The touch makes you jump, nerves tingling.

“Cum for me,” he encourages, silky tone swarming your head as your pleasure slowly washes over you. It’s probably the most relaxed orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, his low voice and delighted eyes guiding you through it, until your entire body clenches, dissolving in a puddle of contentment. Your arousal surges around his fingers, trickling down onto the metal.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you pant, overwhelmed from the touches and the kisses. Jungkook’s smile gets swallowed by your greedy mouth, desperate for more kisses now that he’s made you feel like this.

The kisses only placate him for so long, and when he presses his body against yours, there’s an awfully hard cock that slides against your dripping cunt. “Think you can go again, gorgeous?” He murmurs against your jaw, nipping at the skin on the way down. You nod, eyes falling shut at the warmth you feel in your bones.

Jungkook kisses your neck one last time, before leaning back once more to line himself up.

This was a scene straight from your teenage fantasies, a dripping, shirtless Jungkook at full mast between your thighs, looking at you so lovingly. It makes your heart thunder, imagining how long you could have been doing this if you weren’t both so stupid. As if reading your thoughts, Jungkook rubs a palm over your thigh, eyebrow quirked. You nod his concern away, squirm closer until the tip of his cock nudges against your hole.

“Fuck,” Jungkook sighs, moving his hands to your hips as he slowly pushes in. His fingers, bless their intentions, could have never prepared you for the size of Jungkook’s cock, thick and veiny as it pushes inside. You whimper, clawing at the hands on your waist that stop you from impaling yourself on it fully. “Waited so long for this.”

“Then fucking do it,” you beg, nearly pass out when he shoves in harshly at your tone. “J-Jung—“

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, jostles you until you’re flush against his cock, clit brushing against his pelvis. Your back arches, and Jungkook slips his arm around you, the other lingering on your waist.

Every subtle shift has him brushing along your swollen clit, and you sob at the sensation, begging him to move. He complies, changes his stance to make it easier, and finally begins thrusting into your throbbing pussy.

“So good,” he huffs, eyes zeroed in on where the two of you meet. You would have looked too, if your body hadn’t felt so completely boneless beneath him, the grinding of his cock sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. “So pretty and mine.”

“Yours,” you choke, heart swelling in your chest at his words. It’s almost animalistic, the way he ducks down to bite at your neck, like some animal staking its claim, and you like it. You like it because it’s all you ever dreamed of for so long. “Faster, Kook,” you urge, wrapping your arms around him.

He does as you say, slow and careful thrusts transitioning into a fast piston that would have had you bouncing out of his reach if he wasn’t holding you so tightly. “Fuck,” he chokes, lost in the way you clench around him, lips dragging against his cock with each thrust. “Baby,” he grunts, sweat trailing down his temple, eyes furrowed shut. Eventually, his head falls into the crook of your neck, his weight pressing down on you uncomfortably, subtle ridges on the hood making you ache. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. “All I ever wanted,” he gasps.

You could cry, right now and he’d pull out right away, big heart fretting over your emotional well-being. Which is exactly why you hold your emotions in, let yourself get fully immersed in the feeling of Jungkook pounding you against some stranger’s car and not the inevitable emotional crash you’ll have later.

He fucks like he’s waited all his life for this, and you guess he sort of has if what he’s saying is true. You have no doubt it is, and when his lips suck a mark against your neck, you feel like you’re in heaven. “Almost,” you pant, legs wrapping around his waist tightly. Jungkook nods, his hair tickling your jaw and neck, as he picks up the pace. Your cunt swallows him up every single time, suctions him in until he’s shaking, and so are you.

It can only last for so long, your heart and body eventually reaching their peak, and you unravel. His arms are there to catch you, to pick up the pieces and hold you together. You want to cry, you really do, and when the coil in your stomach snaps, you finally do. “I love you,” you sob, and Jungkook shudders, glances at your tear-struck face to push himself off.

“Love you too,” he mumbles, grinds his cock against your spasming folds one last time, and comes mid-thrust, cum spurting inside you. He holds you, just like you knew he would, as you come down from your highs, hot breath fanning across your skin.

You feel warm, loved, and in love, body trembling in sensitivity afterwards. He’s pulled out since, soothingly rubbing a hand against your side. You’d like to say you wouldn’t be anywhere else, but one shift reminds you of where you are.

“Shit,” you groan, taking in your surroundings before letting your head fall back against the hood. Jungkook hums, round eyes looking your way. “We really just confessed and had sex on some stranger’s car.”

Jungkook snorts, leans away just the slightest to look you in the eye. He’s lost in thought, chocolate irises swirling as they drink you in. “Say thanks to Taehyung,” he finally says.

You roll your eyes, and when you shift beneath him, your sweaty skin sticks uncomfortably against the metal hood. “Yeah, let me thank Taehyung for dating me for three days and awakening your crush,” you huff sarcastically, resigning yourself to your new life stuck against the hood of some classic automobile from the 50s. Jungkook laughs, tucks himself back into his underwear. “Thanks Taehyung, for your noble sacrifice ten years ago that allowed me to fuck Jungkook on some stranger’s car—“

Jungkook hums, snuggles closer to you. “Tae’s car.”

“—after confessing our—Taehyung’s car?” You shriek, sitting up with the strength of three football players, Jungkook toppling off you. “Oh my god. No.” Jungkook rubs his elbow where he knocked it against the hood, looks at you with solemn eyes. Slowly, a smirk crawls over his features. “No,” you gasp, mortification crawling up your spine. “We didn’t.”

He tugs you off the car, tugs your skirt down when you wobble on unsteady heels. “Yup,” he says, pops the end of the word like a child. “Say hello to Taehyung’s new car!” He exclaims, patting the hood you just defiled. “Straight from the car auction he went to this morning,” he beams.

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your hands when you finally spot the puddles of... something on the black hood. “This is terrible.”

Jungkook ignores you, wipes up the mess with some napkins from his takeout bag, but there’s already some that's dried, only fueling your mortification. “Not like he’ll find out,” he shrugs, then narrows his eyes at you. “Or will he?”

“No!” You stutter, carefully rounding the car as if inspecting it for any more signs of the treacherous things you and Jungkook did on or around it. “I-I won’t tell him.”

“Uh huh,” Jungkook teases, settles on that rolling stool and pushes himself towards you. There’s a hand easing itself around your waist, tugging you between open legs. Still in shock, your hands flutter around his neck, muscle memory causing you to immediately begin massaging the skin there.

Jungkook sighs into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Too bad Jimin’s not here,” he sighs, and you visibly see his nose grow in arrogance.

“What? Why should Jimin be here?” You ask, pushing your fingers against the knots in his neck.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed, one-eyed glare. He scoffs, “maybe you are as dumb ad Taehyung says.” And then, “hey!” when you tug his ear. He isn’t upset, just tugs you closer until his face is buried against your stomach. “You know country folk like him marry on the spot right?”

“What are you even saying,” you huff, burying your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging his head back to properly look at him. “Why do you care who Jimin marries?” He doesn’t bother answering.

Instead, Jungkook sighs into the touch, an easygoing smile thrown your way, and for a moment you forget about the trauma Taehyung will have when he inevitably learns about this. “This is the life.”

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

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stanknotstark · 3 years ago

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Serinakakers As Proof

Serinakakers are actually called Norwegian butter cookies in english and I don’t think i’ve ever had one but they look good to me lol i didn’t feel like making a whole new otherworldly dessert sorry I’m lazy sometimes 😂

Summary: You’re dating Loki but keeping it a secret as per Loki’s request. The team starts to question if you’re lying about your ‘lover’ and Loki has to save you because Thor has really bad timing.

It all started two weeks into dating Loki. Loki was a little unsure what the team’s reaction to you two dating would be so he told you to keep it a secret for now. You respected his wishes but that didn’t stop you from flaunting about how you had the best ‘lover’ (Loki refused to be called boyfriend) in the world.

Two weeks in Valentines came up and Loki had a vase of beautiful flowers sent to you with a little card that said, “For the fairest of them all - your love” In reference to Snow White, which you had both watched very recently.

You had taken them around the whole tower, telling people it had come from your lover when they asked.

“At least give us his name, I promise to not, like, totally have a background check on him!” Tony says with a pout.

You laugh and shake your head. “No can do Tin Man. He doesn’t want you all to know who he is just yet.”

“See, that makes me a little skittish, if he doesn’t want us to know he has something to hide.”

“I agree with him and think he should remain nameless.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Tony points out.

You shrug at Tony and do the motions for zipping your lips closed and throwing out the key.

Loki ends up picking a random day, a month later, to send you a big basket of chocolate, your favorite hard candies, and really small plushies of all the Avengers (It’s totally not his way of giving you sweets because you’re on your period). Your favorite plushy isn’t one of the Avengers, it’s a small plushy of Loki. Because you’re given the basket in front of everyone you make sure not to freak out over the Loki plushy but you keep stealing glances at the god who sits apart from everyone else, reading.

“He even got you Loki?” Steve asks bewildered.

“Like it or not, Loki is part of the group. Seems he has built a group of fans now.” You say, stealing a glance at Loki who smirks at his book. You know he’s pleased you’ve defended his honor.

“You do realize I’m right here, do you not?” Loki says, still not looking up from his book.

Steve at least has the decency to look ashamed and his cheeks flare up.

“There’s not a card with a name!” Tony says making everyone look at the basket again.

“Of course not, you dumbass.” You say, slapping the back of Tony’s head, Tony proceeds to throw his hands and slap away at your receding hand. Thor and Bruce chuckle with you at his childish antics.

“Can you at least give us a letter in his name?” Clint asks from your side.

You sigh and look to the ceiling in thought.

“K.”

“Kevin!” Clint immediately yells. “Wait, we don’t know a Kevin.”

“Who said you know who it is?” You ask as you gather your basket to put in your room.

Clint completely disregards what you said and yells, “Kate!”

Natasha hits Clint’s arm, “She’s straight, stupid.”

Tony then pipes in as you walk away rolling your eyes, “Kyle! Kaden! Kayden but with a y!”

“His name doesn’t start with a k guys!” You yell as the elevator closes, exasperated.

Next, a week and a half has passed when they start questioning your relationship. Thor figures it out but only because he grew up with the thing you’re gifted.

You had been the last one to enter the kitchen for dinner and right as you entered Thor came up to you with puppy dog eyes and was holding a tin of sweets. You take a long look at the delicacies, they’re some type of cookies, in a swirl pattern, and decorated with powdered sugar. Thor answers your questions right after you think that.

“They’re butter cookies, can I please have one, your boyfriend sent them.” Thor says making sure to enunciate the word boyfriend. Your eyes snap to Thor’s and the god smiles down at you. On one hand it looks innocent but you see past his facade.

He knows.

You clear your throat and grab the tin from him, making sure to pull one of the cookies out and give it to him.

“Since you’re nice, sure, big guy.” You say giving Thor a look that said ‘Say nothing’. Thor bounces from foot to foot, shoving his cookie in the face of the other Avengers.

“She likes me!” Thor roars then demolishes the cookie in a single bite.

You laugh, glance at Loki from under your lashes as you look at the cookies and pick one out to try.

When the cookie touches your tongue you can’t help closing your eyes and moaning. You chew and the cookie just melts in your mouth. You moan as your take another bite and you think you could practically orgasm this cookie is so damn good but remember the entire team is there.

When you finish the cookie you open you eyes and look at everyone. Tony is looking at you like he wants to eat you, Natasha is eating her food like she doesn’t fucking care, Steve is blushing so hard you think his head might explode. Clint is shocked, and Bruce is looking at you with a raised brow. The last person you look at is Loki who sits there staring at you with flushed cheeks and a glint in his eye that says he’s going to tear those noises from your lips again, this time without the cookies.

You cough and look at Thor who is smiling like he is satisfied. You understand why he wanted one so bad now.

“I’m sorry but what the fuck just happened.” Tony says shaking his head.

You laugh. “I had an orgasm while eating a cookie, get with the program.”

“Honestly, if his cookies are that good you need to marry the man, just saying.” Tony waves his had at you then goes on to start eating his dinner.

You go to eat another cookie but Loki finally says something.

“No dessert before dinner, put the cookies down.”

“Or what?” You challenge the god.

Loki raises a brow at you and levels you with a glare.

“Put them down.”

You suck on your gums and squint at the god as you put the cookies on the table.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“Ok, first of all, you like everyone so I don’t see the point in saying that. Second, how have you told Loki you like him before me? We all know I’m the favorite around here.” Tony scoffs while aggressively stabbing a broccoli floret.

You take your seat next to Loki and that’s when it’s asked.

“Is your boyfriend even real? Or are you gifting yourself all these things so you’ll make one of us jealous?” Clint asks in a normal voice, he really doesn’t mean it to be mean.

You stop smiling at Tony and frown at Clint.

“He’s real.” You say a little hurt.

“I mean it just seems a little fishy.”

You pout at Clint.

“I could look into her purchases and see if she bought it herself.” Tony rouses from the other side of the table. He’t totally joking but Steve doesn’t take it that way.

“Tony! That’s private, you can’t just do that!” Steve tries protecting you.

You start to get a little angry.

“He’s real. If you don’t think he’s real then that’s on you. I know he is and that’s all that matters.” You reason, more for yourself than anything else.

Under the table you feel Loki’s hand squeeze at your thigh.

“Just give us something to let us know he’s real.” Tony pushes.

You slam your hands on the table and stand up so fast the chair you were in topples over.

“Stop!” Loki yells, in a quick move he stands and puts an arm in front of you, not to protect Tony but to stop you before you did something you regret.

The room is silent save for your rough breathing.

“It’s me.” Loki harshly says, glaring at Tony and Clint.

“You don’t have to cover for her, it’s embarrassing but-”

“Shut up!” You scream at Clint.

“I’m not trying to cover for her. I’ve been dating her for the past month and a half. I did not want her to tell you because I wasn’t sure how all of you would react.” Loki gets out then turns and brings you to him so he may kiss you.

Loki makes it a show for the team, relaxes as you lean into him, your hands wrapping around his neck and tugging at the nape of his neck. He pulls away before you can lose yourself in his kiss and looks at the team with a raised eyebrow as if asking ‘Is that enough for you?’.

Finally Thor peeps in between a big bite of his food. “Ay, Loki is telling the truth, those are Serinakakers, an Asgardian delicacy my mother used to make us.”

Loki rolls his eyes at his brother’s really bad timing and then looks back down at you, you’re still wrapped around him, now with a tiny smile on your lips as you look at him.

“Ok, darling?” Loki asks anyways.

“I’ll be happy if you let me take those cookies and eat those for dinner in my bedroom.”

Loki brings a hand up and trails a finger from the back of your jaw to your chin, going up to touch your bottom lip. “Only if you promise to make those sweet sounds every bite you take.” Loki whispers.

“Ok this is seriously gross, I’m literally gonna throw up.” Tony says with a fake gag.

You laugh and pull from Loki who glares at Tony. You point at Tony, then at Clint. “Don’t think you two are off the hook, I’m still royally pissed, you’re just lucky when I’m around Loki I can’t stay mad.”

You make your way around the table, Loki following, dinner forgotten, and pick up your cookies. Then, you head towards your room.

Halfway to the elevator Loki grabs your hand and doesn’t let go until you’re both laying on your bed enjoying your cookies. Talking about everything and nothing.

#loki x reader #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #reader insert #my writing #i had this idea a few days ago and didn't have any time to really write it out #i feel i could have done more but my mind is working at like ADD mode right now #my adderall is wearing off cuz i took it early #so idk if ill get to write more or not #but hopefully i can ^^#also my transitions could use a little work i apologize about that i try not to make them so generic and like next #this happens #or like then he #and on this day #i just have trouble of thinking of good ways to transition sorry

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writinglizards · 3 years ago

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Something the Cat Dragged In

Summary: It's been almost a year since Lambert's seen Aiden.

He's likely not interested anymore, even if Lambert had done his best to curb his sharpest edges, keep him coming back. It hurts and he tells himself it doesn't. It's better than the alternative. Better than Aiden hurt...or worse.

Then he finds the cat.

Pairing: Aiden/Lambert Rating: Teen Warnings: None

This is for @contemplativepancakes who asked for a comedy of errors. I am awful at that, but I’ve been assured this is funny, so. Please enjoy!

Read on Ao3

It's been almost a year since Lambert's seen Aiden when he finds the cat.

Or more accurately, perhaps, the cat finds him.

It's been about two weeks since he set out from Kaer Morhen to the clearing where he usually meets Aiden. He hadn't shown last year and Lambert hadn't been able to find him, even keeping an ear out for word about a tall, dark-haired cat witcher too nice for his own good.

He's not sure what he's hoping for this year, or at least he's not comfortable admitting to himself what he's hoping for. He likes Aiden, but they don't need to travel together. He's sure he's fine, he's just...busy.

It doesn't make the ache in his chest any easier to deal with, but he pretends it does.

Regardless, he heads for their meeting spot and sets up camp. He'll wait a week and if Aiden still hasn't shown after that, well.

He's fine. He's just...not interested in Lambert anymore, probably.

That hurts worse, somehow.

-----

The cat shows up the second morning Lambert's camped out.

It's a skinny thing, sleek black with a patch of white on his chest and haunting green eyes.

Lambert wakes up to the creature nestled between his calves and startles, upsetting the cat who mews his annoyance and bites his foot. Lambert shoots out of his bedroll after that.

"What the fuck?" he asks the cat, who eyes him with distaste but doesn't move, and Lambert figures, well. The cat will leave on its own he'll just...wait.

-----

The cat doesn't leave, and it's starting to freak Lambert out, just a little bit.

When he settles down to eat, the cat creeps from his bedroll to sit by his boots and stare with big, green eyes that remind him of Aiden. He shoves that thought from his head as quickly as it arrives.

"Cats don't like witchers," he says, as if the cat might have forgotten, but he doesn't move, just sits and stares at Lambert's jerky.

"Are you just hungry?" he asks, and, after a brief hesitation, he snaps a small piece off and offers it to the cat. The cat, for his part, briefly sniffs the offering before taking it into his mouth only to drop it on the floor and bat it around like a toy.

"Really?" he asks the cat, but the cat doesn't seem to care about Lambert's none too silent judgment, just continues to amuse himself with the bit of food. Lambert only hopes the little creature will move on, and quickly.

-----

It keeps trying to creep into his bedroll.

"You can't sleep here," he hisses, shoving the little creature away from his feet for the third time in as many minutes. In response, the cat hisses and bites, sinking its sharp little teeth into Lambert's calf.

"Son of a bitch." The cat stares defiantly at Lambert over its mouthful of flesh as if daring him to retaliate. Reluctantly, he can admit the little thing has gumption.

"You're mean you know that?" he asks the cat, who, when it becomes clear Lambert isn't going to continue fighting, lets go of its mouthful and steps daintily over his leg to settle between his knees.

"This is only for tonight," he says, huffing irritably, "and only because you're such a little dick." The cat ignores him, settling down and beginning to purr softly. Lambert pretends that doesn't make his heart swell.

-----

Lambert can't bring himself to disturb the cat when he wakes so he just...lays there and lets the little beast slumber.

He tells himself it's because he doesn't want to be bit again. It has nothing to do with the fact the cat is small and warm, and the weight of it against his shins is comforting.

It's fine until the little creatin begins to chew on his toes.

"I thought you were asleep," he hisses, twitching his ankles to dislodge it. The cat only delights in the movement, pouncing after him. Lambert groans.

"When are you going to get lost?" he asks, hauling himself up and depriving the cat of their game. He's not expecting the small thing to sit back on its haunches and merp softly at him. Slowly, he stills.

"You wanna say that again?" he asks, and the cat meows plaintively. Staring at him like this, he's reminded again of Aiden. The eyes, the color of the fur so close to the deep black of Aiden's own hair, and the jagged, mangled left ear, just like--

Something like ice settles in his veins.

"Aiden?" he asks tentatively, and the cat meows delightedly, striding forward to wind between his legs. Lambert crouches to put himself on level with the cat again.

"Tell me I'm not crazy," he begs. The cat just stares at him before headbutting his knee. Without thinking, he raises a hand, running fingers meant for killing back through silky fur. Beneath his fingertips, the cat kicks up a purr again.

"Fuck, it is you, isn't it?" he asks, scratching gently at the base of the mangled ear just to listen to the way the cat--Aiden, it's Aiden--purrs his pleasure, head tipped into the contact.

"What the fuck am I gonna do with you?" he asks. Aiden, too distracted by Lambert's gentle caress, isn't in the least bit helpful with an answer.

-----

If Aiden is here, there's no point in sticking around camp and waiting any longer, but Lambert still feels off-kilter and he did budget a week's worth of resources for camping, so he’ll just...he'll just give it another day or two. Just until he feels a little less like he's losing his mind.

He feeds the cat the bits of the fresh rabbit he caught the night before for breakfast and the cat does eat that, quietly delighted with its little meal. And now that he knows it's Aiden...

"Do you have any idea how worried I was last year?" he asks, petting down his lanky back and enjoying the way he arches into it, purring again, "I thought...uh," he can't quite say it. The I thought you were dead or the I thought you didn't want me, bit. Both hurt.

"Anyway," he mumbles awkwardly, "how long have you been like this?" Aiden just makes a little chirping sound and headbutts his hand again to get him to pet him. Lambert sighs.

He spends the day charting out a path to the nearest mage who might be willing to help. He's pretty sure that would be Triss where she’s been staying in Ard Carraigh, even though she's more than a two-week ride away. She's helped Lambert in the past, he figures she's probably his best bet now, too.

"What do you think, Aiden?" he asks, but the cat is napping curled up on top of one of his saddlebags and otherwise unhelpful. Lambert is pretty much on his own.

-----

That night is a repeat of the night before, Aiden curled up across his shins and purring sweetly. As he lays staring at the stars and trying to sleep, he can't help but wonder how much of Aiden is...present, for lack of a better term. The cat acts like a cat, except he's eerily like Aiden in appearance and the fact that he's...he's fond of Lambert, apparently. He'd known, immediately, Lambert would care for him. He at least needs to get him turned back, proved that Aiden's instincts there had been right.

He falls asleep worrying about it.

-----

Traveling with Aiden as a cat is...not as simple as it should be.

"If you won't stay in the god damned saddlebag, you at least need to hold still," he hisses wrestling the cat into his lap. Aiden’s been trying to walk the length of his horse as they ride, and the prick of his claws is making Cinnamon nervous. Lambert doesn't want to be thrown from the saddle, so he's got the cat under the arms, holding him to his chest as he wiggles in an attempt to get free. Aiden is clearly not amused by the situation.

"You bastard," Lambert hisses when Aiden takes a chunk out of his arm through the thin cloth of his shirt, unprotected by his bracer or jacket, "Aiden would you, fuck--" the cat yowls and Lambert jerks Cinnamon to a halt. "What?"

Before he can figure out what's wrong, Aiden's lept from his arms, landed gracefully on his feet, and bolted into the trees.

"Aiden, wait! Fuck," he hisses, and the next minute, there's a click of hooves and--

"Having a good morning, Lambs?" Lambert whips around so fast his neck cracks alarmingly.

"Aiden?"

He's astride a horse Lambert doesn't recognize, not Sugar, and he looks...he looks...

"You're not a cat," he says dumbly, and Aiden grins, the bastard.

"No, but it's been very fun watching you the last day or so," and oh, Lambert's going to kill him, actually, "you didn't really think the cat was me, did you?"

"I...it was...fuck," he spits, wheeling Cinnamon to march past Aiden's gelding, now headed in the opposite direction. If the damn man is fine, then he doesn't need to go see Triss and he can head back towards Aedd Gunvael looking for contracts as he'd planned previously.

"Aww Lambs, no need to get embarrassed," Aiden calls, and Lambert can hear the shit-eating grin, "I'm just teasing."

"Fuck off," he growls, but Aiden's horse falls into step beside Cinnamon.

"Oh, don't pout on me, Lambert. I thought it was cute," he says, and Lambert can't bite back the words in his throat any longer.

"I thought you were dead," he spits, "or worse." Disinterested. Abruptly, Aiden leans over and catches Cinnamon's reins, pulling them both to a stop.

"Whoa, wait. You thought...what?"

"I haven't seen you in a year," he bites out, horrified to find his throat thick with tears, "what was I supposed to think?"

"You didn't get my letter?" he asks, and then, before Lambert can process that statement, "fuck, Lambert, I'm so sorry. I thought you knew I was working far south last year, I couldn't...I couldn't ask you to come with me, so I left you a note at that inn we drink at every year. Bastards must have tossed it. Fuck."

"So you didn't..." you didn't abandon me, you aren't tired of me, you haven't moved on to something better. He can't say any of that, just goes quiet.

"I didn't leave you high and dry on purpose, no. Fuck, Lambert, how could I?" he smiles, a small, timid thing, "you're the best part of my year, puppy dog, how could I?"

The sincerity in his gaze and his words makes Lambert's face hot, makes his throat tight. He spurs Cinnamon back into motion, and Aiden's horse follows.

"Whatever, you fucking sap." It's the best he can manage without risking something drastic, like tears or his own dopy smile. Still, he can feel Aiden radiating smug energy behind him again.

"Aww, come on, puppy, I just poured my heart out for you, I deserve better than a whatever."

"You did not," he snaps, "shut up."

"Oh, you need declarations of love then? Fine. I--"

"Aiden," he cuts him off, not willing to find out how far Aiden will take this game of emotional chicken, "stop. I'm...I missed you. You're the best part of my year too." He says it without looking at him, Cinnamon a few crucial paces ahead of Aiden's horse. The back of his neck feels hot and he knows he's blushing.

"O-oh," Aiden stammers out, "uh--"

"There," Lambert cuts in, "now you can shut up."

Gratefully, Aiden does.

-----

Lambert's so relieved about Aiden, he doesn't think about the cat until they stop to camp for the night.

"Do you think the cat's okay?" he asks, and Aiden gives him a long, slow look.

"Why does it matter?"

"Why does it--what the fuck Aiden? It's just a little cat. How's it gonna take care of itself out here? I should have gone after it." He regrets being so wrapped up in Aiden that he'd forgotten the other Aiden, cat Aiden. Not cat Aiden? Fuck, he's tired.

"Cats take care of themselves, Lambs, don't stress about it. He was managing just fine until he found a soft-hearted witcher to feed him, he'll be fine."

"Excuse me, who the fuck do you think is soft-hearted here?" he growls, and Aiden lays his bedroll out beside him and grins.

"Why you, puppy dog. You're the sweetest--" he doesn't let him finish, hooking his foot around Aiden's ankle and bringing him down on top of the bedroll hard.

"Not sweet," he hisses, but it feels like overcompensation even to him, and Aiden just laughs, rolling to stare at him with eyes that are far too fond.

"Sure thing, Lambert."

And if, as they both fall asleep, Lambert shifts closer to throw his arm around Aiden's waist, pull him in closer amidst Aiden's sleepy mumbling, well. It's still cold at night. Nothing more.

-----

There's a slight, warm weight across Lambert's shins when he wakes.

It takes his half-asleep mind a minute to realize what that means, and then he's sitting up so fast Aiden makes a startled noise.

"Lambert, what the fuck," Aiden husks, but Lambert's not listening.

No, he's focused on the cat curled across his shins, jet back with one mangled ear and a white spot on his chest. He peers up at Lambert with those same big green eyes, and something in Lambert's chest shifts.

"Hey there Aiden, thought I lost you," he murmurs, reaching out to pet across the broad side of the little creature. He allows it for a moment before catching Lambert's hand with his paws and biting, just enough for him to feel it. "Yeah, yeah, I deserve that."

"What are you--oh." Aiden comes up short when he sits up and sees the cat again, nestled across Lambert's legs, "well I'll be damned." He reaches out to pet the cat too, who promptly hisses and swats at Aiden, claws extended, "Oi, fuck, rude." Lambert laughs.

"Guess he doesn't like you much, eh?" His chest feels light as he scoops the cat up into his arms. He tolerates it, although he gives a fretful little meow at the treatment.

"You would find the only cat that stands witchers and get it only to like you," Aiden grouses, but he doesn't seem genuinely troubled about it, "I can tell why you thought of me, though. That's sweet." And that--

"Yeah," he says, unable to come up with something suitably snarky and mean. He sets the cat down, who scampers back over to make himself comfortable on Lambert's saddlebag, away from the indignity of surprise cuddles. He's trying not to look at Aiden's own mangled ear, the one cut round in a rough approximation of a human's, a reminder of how he’s been treated in the past. Lambert had been...so fucking worried.

"You can't keep calling him Aiden, though."

"Sure thing," he says, forcing a grin. He has no intentions of calling the cat anything else and he knows Aiden knows, too, can see it in the fond little crinkle around his eyes, the sweet upturn of his lips, "Come on, we've got a camp to pack."

And if Lambert keeps calling the cat Aiden and starts calling witcher Aiden witcher Aiden just to piss him off? Well. How else is he supposed to know he's loved?

#witcher #witcher fic #lambden #laiden #lizard writes #rating: teen

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trickster-tabby · 3 years ago

Text

Feral

Patton has forgotten to feed for a few weeks, which leads to a big, big problem.

Pairings: Logicality, prinxiety, demus, moceit, intrulogical

Warnings: Vampirism, blood, smoking, biting, ferality. And at one point it's not outright said but it is heavily implied that Patton killed a mouse

❤️Janus uses all pronouns(mainly she/her) and is on estrogen, Virgil uses all pronouns(mainly he/him), Logan is a transgender man, Roman is transfem nonbinary and uses they/vaey/it/she❤️

Patton rolled over, making sure to keep his back pressed against Logan's. His stomach growled and twisted; he was hungry.

The kind of hungry that food won't help.

He needed to feed. And fast, before...

Well, that could wait, couldn't it?

After all, it was almost morning. If he left now, Logan would wake up and be worried about him.

He just had to try and hold on until the next night,when he could find someone to feed on.

---

"Morning, Pat!"

Patton awoke to Logan snuggling up against him, nuzzling his face.

Logan smelled like...

Blood.

Patton's eyes glowed a faint red-orange as he tried to restrain himself. It smelled so good, though...

"Morning, Lo..."

"You feeling okay, Starlight?" Logan laid his hand over Patton's forehead.

"Y-yeah, why?"

"You just look a bit off, is all. Just making sure." Logan slid off the bed, pulling his clothes on. "Hey, don't forget your ring today."

"Mhm. I'll be out in a bit, hon."

---

Patton lazily poked at his breakfast, trying to find a reason to eat. After all, it wasn't food that he needed.

"Hey, Azeron to Patton." Janus called out.

Patton shook his head, coming back to reality. He looked up at everyone. "Huh?"

"You okay there, buddy?" Remus laid down his fork and took Patton's hand. "You're like, really spacey right now."

Patton leaned against his fist, finally taking a bite of his food. "I'm fine, I promise. Just... Tired, is all."

Everyone was suddenly startled by Virgil crying out.

"Dammit!" Virgil dropped his knife and clutched his finger. He'd cut himself.

Patton's vision went blurry. All he could see...

Was blood.

It smelled incredible, and it was flowing quickly despite it being such a tiny cut.

"Here, honey, let me get you a bandage." Roman stood up, leaving for the bathroom.

Virgil stuck the injured finger in his mouth, causing Patton to regain control over himself; he couldn't see it anymore.

He pushed his plate away and laid his head down, trying to focus on something other than the blood.

But it had smelled so delicious, and Patton was starved...

"I'm going out to smoke." Patton stood up, pushing his chair in. "If you need me, I'll be on the roof."

---

Patton leaned down against the parapet, pulling a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket. He put the cigarette in his mouth and raised the lighter, hesitating a bit before lighting the cigarette.

He sighed, looking down at the trees, before looking back up and gazing at the Tree of the Nether.

This tree had been there long before any other, and was massive. It was covered in vines, mushrooms, and flowers. At the base was a Nether portal, which no one knows who built it. A large pond surrounded it, with lilypads forming a path to the portal.

Patton sighed again as the image of Virgil's blood reentered his mind. He looked down, making sure he wasn't over Roman's balcony, before ashing his cigarette on the edge of the parapet.

"Patton?"

Patton flinched as he heard Virgil, of all people, behind him. He turned to face her.

"Make some damn noise, jeez."

Virgil giggled a bit. "Sorry, but I don't do shoes. So, that's about as loud as I'll get." He leaned next to Patton. "I just wanted to make sure everything was okay, you've seemed really down this morning."

"Like I said before, I'm just really tired today." Patton offered the cigarette box towards Virgil, who shook their head.

"Look, Vee, I just..." Patton took a draw from his cigarette, making sure to blow the smoke away from Virgil. "I just need some time alone, okay?"

Virgil nodded. "I get it. Alright, I'll leave you alone now. See you later, Pat!"

He waved with the hand he had cut, which only wafted the smell of blood into the air around Patton.

It was everything for Patton not to let out a growl then and there.

---

That afternoon, Patton was sitting in a tree with his guitar, trying to figure out the chords to Seether's Plastic Man. He'd forgotten about what happened that morning, having fed on a mouse he found on the way to the tree.

Suddenly, he heard... Someone's bloodstream?

Someone was coming. He vanished his guitar, sending it back to his room. He crawled down to the end of the branch, sniffing the air.

It was Virgil.

He was alone, walking through the woods and humming quietly to himself.

Patton relaxed a bit once he knew this person wasn't a threat, but tensed again...

When Virgil got caught in a bush.

"Ah-! Shit..." He tried to untangle his jacket from the branches... But she had taken the bandage off their finger, and a thorned branch sliced it back open, only this time it was much deeper.

Patton's eyes dilated and glowed as he smelled Virgil's blood pouring down his hand.

He couldn't think. All he knew was there was someone here with no way of fighting back, and their blood smelled amazing.

Patton swung down, dropping from the branch gracefully and sneaking up behind Virgil.

He was still trying to detach the bush from himself, completely obvious to the fact that a feral vampire was right behind him.

Patton grinned fiercely, grabbing Virgil from behind.

"What the- AA-"

Patton slapped his hand over Virgil's mouth, stifling her screams. He yanked him out of the bush and pinned him to a tree, pulling up his hand and shoving the cut finger into his mouth.

"Mmph!!" Virgil tried to scream out Patton's name in surprise.

Patton wrapped his tongue around Virgil's finger, groaning is pleasure as he tasted blood for the first time in weeks.

Virgil squirmed, trying to scream for help, trying to summon someone... But he couldn't get them, and didn't have enough power at the moment to use an emergency signal.

Patton pulled away from her hand, staring at her neck.

He smiled again as he leaned forward and sank his teeth into Virgil's neck, near his shoulder.

He listened in delight as he heard his victim trying to scream. This foolish human should have known better than to stay unguarded for so long...

Patton sucked on the wounds that his fangs were in, smiling to himself as he felt the red liquid running down his throat.

He pulled away for a second, looking deep into the human's eyes.

"Enjoy your last few days of mortality, human."

With that, he threw his head forward and bit the same spot again, this time letting venom flow into the human's bloodstream through the tiny holes in the back of his fangs.

After a few more minutes of Patton suckling on the human's neck, Patton finally began to come back to being himself...

He realized who he was biting and jumped backwards.

"V-Virgil?! Oh no, are you..."

Virgil clapped his hand over the wounds in his neck, cowering away from Patton.

Patton covered his mouth. "By Talos, what have I done..."

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, before opening them again with a small flash of purple and green.

He'd sent out an emergency signal to the other sides.

"Vee, I'm sorry, I didn't... I-I wasn't, I just... I'm sorry!"

Patton fell to his knees, hugging himself as he tried desperately to apologize.

He suddenly heard the flapping of several wings behind him, along with a few screams and a couple "what the fuck?!"s.

Roman rushed over to Virgil, pulling her hand away and checking the wounds.

"...Patton, tell me you didn't... Turn him?"

Patton looked back at Janus with tears in his eyes. "I... I didn't mean to. Please, honey, you have to believe me, I'd never... I-I didn't..."

Janus stepped forward, pulling Patton into a standing position. "I knew something was off with you today."

Logan gripped onto Remus, shaking.

"Logan, Firefly, I promise I didn't mean to..."

Logan buried his face further into Remus.

Patton's face fell. "You... You're scared of me..."

He looked down at his feet. "...Alright. Do whatever you want to me, just... Please, try to understand that I couldn't control myself. I didn't mean to hurt anyone, I swear it.

Roman stepped forward, summoning a leather muzzle.

"We know you didn't mean it. But we won't let it happen again."

---

Three days later, Patton was locked in a padded room, alone. The sides had been tossing him a squirrel every now and then trying to keep him fed.

Patton sat on the bed, staring at his feet and sighing. He fiddled with the leather mask, but didn't dare take it off unless he was feeding.

Suddenly, the door opened.

"Patton?"

Patton looked up, blinking. "Thomas? What's going on?"

"Virgil's due to turn any minute now, and he wanted you there in case he needs help... You know, since you've been through it before."

Patton blinked in disbelief. "He didn't... Cure it?"

Thomas shook his head. "Nope. He wanted to see what it's like. Besides, if he changes his mind, you can always take him to see Falion. He's the one that can cure vampirism, right?"

Patton nodded, sliding off the bed and following Thomas.

---

In the dark sides' house, Virgil paced in front of the couch as he waited for the transformation to begin.

"So, Patton, what will it feel like?"

Patton thought for a second. "Well... It might be a little painful, like your body if trying to collapse on itself... But that only lasts a few seconds, and then it's almost like a high until it's over. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

Virgil nodded, continuing to pace.

No more than a minute later, he cried out and doubled over, hugging himself.

Virgil's skin faded to a paler color, making her freckles more noticeable. He fell over and writhed for a bit before curling up and screaming in pain.

Roman jumped up, rushing over and pulling Virgil into their lap and cradling him.

Virgil twitched against Roman's chest, whimpering.

He felt a sharp poke on his lip. He opened his mouth, causing Roman to gasp as they watched Virgil's canines grow into long, sharp fangs.

Virgil kept screaming, less out of pain and more out of fear.

Until suddenly...

The transformation was over.

Virgil was a freshly born vampire, having been turned by one of his closest friends.

Patton knelt down and placed his hand on Virgil's shoulder. "Are you okay, Vee?"

"I... I think so."

"Hey." Everyone turned to face Thomas as he spoke. "So how does sunlight affect vampires? Will Virgil be able to go out during the day?"

"Yes. Sunlight doesn't actually hurt us, save for our eyes being more sensitive to it." Patton hugged Virgil as he spoke. "But, Virgil, you need to know that in direct sunlight, any wounds you may have will not heal at all until you're out of the sun."

Virgil nodded, hugging Patton back.

"Hey, I'm not mad at you for biting me."

Patton pulled away, shocked. "But you... You should be! You even called them to stop me!"

"I was just... Scared. I'd never been attacked like that before and didn't know how to fight back, so I was terrified. I'm not upset with you, I promise."

Patton nodded slowly, hugging Virgil again.

He was safe, and wasn't upset with Patton, and that's all Patton cared about.

@sablesides @nerosdayinhell @januceit @vellicrow @unknownpupper @boredomrewards @xandriagreat @lord-of-the-frogs @heartwitchhouse @falsemood @you-dont-have-to-hide-your-pain @8beez @gay4mormonz @sleepykittens

#sanders sides #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #stel's tss au #logicality #prinxiety #demus #dukeceit #moceit #intrulogical

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shorkbrian · 4 years ago

Note

Ooh i’m so excited rn omg...what i need rn is more of aizawa and villian!soulmate reader. They just keep acting like a brat until aizawa takes them home and punishes them X3

Prelude - shoutout to y’all for being so patient with me! appreciate it so so much. Also, there was like one other ask that I wanted to include here but I couldn’t find it, so rip. Also, @bbygirlpastel ty for the “Villain? I’ll show you a villain.”

Pairing - Yandere Aizawa X Reader

Warnings - dub con, non con, NSFW, overstimulation, no actual penetration. Creepy Aizawa, vibrators, uhhh literally nothing good here. Dead dove man, if you look at a dead bird and KNOW it’ll taste disgusting and make you sick to your stomach.... DON’T FUCKIN EAT THE BIRD. listen to the warnings my dudes!!

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/6p8eEdiZLKJH8tcjGZuNTK?si=9r_2kgkoR56h9UkBCybxLw

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

Maybe he wouldn’t be this infatuated, this utterly obsessed, this angry with you if you had just given in from the start.

You weren’t even a high-priority villain, just some desperate nighttime thug that preyed on innocent bystanders. Snatching wallets, causing a ruckus, stealing from thrift stores or gas stations a couple of times a week. You were a nuisance, but not big enough to catch Aizawa’s attention - not until you stole a women’s watch right in front of him on the street while he was buying a snack from a food-cart before his shift started.

And yeah, Aizawa tried to keep a low profile, not flaunt his hero status in order to effectively capture and subdue villains, but surely you would’ve noticed the man clad in black, obviously sporting hero gear standing nearby. But you didn’t, and then he was grabbing your shoulder so he could drag you to the police station. Aizawa had been surprised when you wiggled out of his grip and took off, and damn, you were fast.

The game of cat-and-mouse had begun, and while the underground hero failed to catch you that night (and every subsequent night he saw you out on the streets) he was determined to do so. Well, maybe not /as/ determined. When it came to you, the man was easily distracted.

The clothes you wore were baggy, hid your form effectively. But if someone looked close enough, they could notice the curves of your body, especially as you ran, evading capture. Aizawa was loathe to admit at first, but it was tantalizing watching you flee from him.

He beat himself up over it. He’d always had a solid grasp of self-control, and usually he felt no attraction to his targets, even if they were wearing the skimpiest of outfits. One time he had turned in a villain wearing nothing but pasties over her breasts and panties (her quirk was seduction-based), and he hadn’t felt anything but utter boredom as he filled out paperwork at the police station while they found her some actual clothes. It probably had something to do with the “soulmate” quirk he had been hit with once, but Aizawa had never really put much faith in it, nor thought about it extensively. He had always had a bit more self control than other men.

So for him to almost have feelings for some low-life idiot? It made his skin burn with irritation (and maybe something else, but he wasn’t ever going to address that). It didn’t make any sense.

The fact that it didn’t make any sense did not stop his brain from plastering not-suitable-for-work thoughts about you whenever he ran upon you committing some minor crime. It was infuriating.

The satisfaction the man felt from finally pinning you down, taking advantage of a small stumble, tackling you down and pressing you into the cold concrete of the rooftop was probably unholy. It just felt so damn good, catching you, forcing you to submit, getting you underneath him. When he had flipped you onto your back, you wouldn’t look at him, just staring off to the side, almost as if you were ashamed.

You should be - stealing from anyone and everyone, being a brat, making Aizawa’s life difficult as you infiltrated every waking moment.

He had started to lecture you, starting out with his usual cool-headed,

unbothered demeanor, but slowly getting more and more annoyed as you still refused to look at him. Pretending he wasn’t there, refusing to listen - Aizawa felt the urge to slap you, just to make you react.

He settled for harshly gripping your chin, forcibly turning your head so he could look at your eyes. Eye contact was an important thing to Aizawa - it was the basis of his quirk, but he wasn’t prepared for the punch to the gut he felt when he looked into yours.

Words escaped him, mouth dropping open, his body frozen. There was - there was something going on. You took advantage of his pause, shoved the man off of you, took off running. Aizawa could do nothing but sit there, staring after your form with his own eyes wide and wondering. What had just happened?

He reflected on the moment for the entire rest of the night, musing over the strange feeling coiled in his stomach, the weird tug in his chest, his brain wanting and desiring and lusting and it was so distracting, he wanted it to stop, but at the same time, he wanted to indulge.

The realization finally hit him - the soulmate quirk he had been hit with, all those long years ago.

Some lady had come up to him while he was shopping, smiling at him toothily before asking him wether he believed in soulmates. He had stared at her for a second, before blankly responding with a curt “no”, turning back to continue browsing the selection of applesauce packets. A hand on his wrist, a burning sensation from his arm to his heart, and then he was rounding on the woman, ready to drag her to the police station for using her quirk in public without a license.

She had just cackled, citing something about soulmates and how he was going to believe now, he’d learn what it would feel like to find your true love when he looked into their eyes. Some sappy, romantic, crazy bullshit that he had ignored and promptly forgotten, before calling the police.

The lady had been deemed mentally ill, driven mad by the loss of her husband in a hero-based accident. Aizawa quickly forgot about the incident.

Aizawa didn’t believe in soulmates, and even if they existed, there was no way in hell that his soulmate would be a villain.

But apparently, the universe did not care about Aizawa’s opinions.

He tried to ignore it, turn a blind eye whenever he saw you sneaking around late at night, would turn and head the other way. But there was no denying the burning flame in his heart, the yearning to see you again, to talk to you, learn about you, what you liked, what you didn’t, where you had grown up, what your aspirations were.

Aizawa hated it.

But he couldn’t ignore it.

The feelings grew and grew, festering in his body like an open wound, infecting his mind, crawling through his veins and slowly seeping into every aspect of his life, until all he could think about was you. The man needed it to stop.

The cat-and-mouse game was picked up again, except this time, Aizawa wasn’t going to give you any opportunities to get away.

You were able to sense the change, could see the rabid look in his eyes when he sought you out for the first time since the night you had slipped out of his grasp. There was something different, and it wasn’t good, it was dangerous.

You managed to dodge him for a time, and some part of Aizawa swelled with pride that his supposed “soulmate” was so clever. The other part of him wanted to break something.

He was almost frightened by the change in him, this volatile anger, the impatience and the lust. That wasn’t who he was, but ever since meeting you, looking into your eyes, it’s what he had become. Maybe if he tracked you down, got close to you, spent some time with you, this needy feeling would go away. You couldn’t run forever.

Aizawa caught you during the daytime, when both of you were off-guard and not paying attention. It was luck, really, or maybe destiny or fate, that he had looked up to watch as passengers filtered onto the subway. You were wearing the same baggy clothes you always wore, hoodie over your head, earbuds in.

There was a backpack slung over your shoulder, and Aizawa watched you sling it off to place it in your lap as you sat down before the doors closed.

It was easy to follow you home, to the dingy little deathtrap you called your own, on the first floor of an abandoned, moldy motel building. It was even easier to follow you inside, through the broken window , his footsteps undetected through the blare of music in your earbuds.

It was less easy to subdue you, with the desperate fight you put up, trying to kick and punch and scream as soon as Aizawa’s thick arm circled around your throat. Still, the man had been subduing unruly villains for a while now, and it wasn’t hard for him to keep his hold on your smaller from, no matter how you thrashed in his arms.

When you finally passed out from the lack of air in your lungs, Aizawa gently followed you down to the floor, staring at you for a moment (god you were pretty, how had he not noticed how pretty you were?) before looking around the room.

It looked like a regular motel room, except there was no TV, there was signs of rot dotting the walls, and the air smelled decidedly unhealthy. He wrinkled his nose as he took it in - you would be much better living somewhere less unsavory.

Which, Aizawa’s home was perfectly capable of hosting an unwilling guest. Aizawa wasn’t naive enough to think you’d be happy waking up in an unfamiliar room, but he figures it would be better than jail. Like hell was he going to hand you off to the police, not when the ache in his chest was subsiding in your presence, the burning need for something lowering to a slow simmer. Justice be damned, Aizawa was going to be the judge, jury, and executioner in this particular case, and he had yet to decide your fate.

----

“You are insufferable - if you would just give in, everything would feel so much better. Holding out like this is illogical.”

He was tired. Tired of your stubbornness, tired of your refusals, tired of your insults, tired of the way his skin itched and blood boiled every time you spat at him or knocked over the plate of food he brought to you.

When he was met with silence, Aizawa sighed. This was getting old. It had been a month since he’d brought you under his roof, a month of holding back, a month of playing nice, a month of letting you “adjust”. But you hadn’t adjusted, hadn’t even tried, and he was tired.

“You’re only hurting yourself by acting like this.“

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to act like this if you hadn’t kidnapped me.” You spat, glaring daggers at the man.

Aizawa paused, almost humored by your spiteful response. “You would rather I have turned you over to the police? The prison system isn’t kind to pretty little things like you. No matter how tough you pretend to be, you’d be broken in less than a week.”

You scoffed, pulling at the chain that held your ankle to the wall. “As if this is somehow better. You’re a sick man, I hope you choke on your next meal and /die/.”

Aizawa gestured to the room, his patience wearing thin. “I could make it worse.”

And he could. He could take away the thin mattress you were sitting on, shorten your chain so you couldn’t reach the bare-bones bathroom, he could stop feeding you, or make you eat scraps like a dog. Of course, he could make it much better too, but only if you’d stop fighting him at every turn.

“I don’t even know what you want. You’re just an old pervert, you’re no hero. You claim to be good and just, but you’re no better than the villains you put behind bars.”

Within a second, Aizawa was crouched in front of you, gripping your chin, yanking you forward until you could feel his heated breath across your face, could see the tension in his eyes.

“I want you to behave.” He ground out. “I’ve treated you with nothing but civility so far, but if you’re so determined to see me as nothing but a villain, then fine, I’ll show you a villain.”

Aizawa was at the end of his rope. It was uncharacteristic for him to exhibit such anger, such impulses and wild feelings, but when it came to you, Aizawa felt like he was an entirely different person, ruled solely by his instincts.

With a push, you were sprawled onto your back on the mattress, quickly trying to scramble upright, ready for an attack. But Aizawa just watched, letting you panic before you realized he was going to stay put. Well, stay put for a time.

There were some things he needed to go get, to show you how good he had been to you, to prove that he had been nice and accommodating. But if you wanted to play dirty, then Aizawa could play dirty.

He stood, shoving his hands in his pockets, keeping his eyes locked onto your face. You were such a shy thing, barely able to hold eye-contact, always blushing and stammering and fighting when he made you look at him. It wasn’t his fault that your eyes were enchanting, drawing him in like a spell. If he could, Aizawa wouldn’t mind spending a few hours just watching you, watching your eyes take in the world. Of course, that was an illogical desire, but the man found he was having a lot of those these days.

You huffed as you felt him watching you. “You’re a creep.” The man didn’t answer, and you deflated, voice coming out small “Please…. let me go. I won’t like, steal stuff anymore, alright? Just let me go.”

Aizawa could bet that you were scared - after all, you were nothing more than a common crook. It’s probably the first time you’ve ever been held hostage, the first time you’ve been immobilized. You were probably used to intimidation, maybe even abuse - someone living in a rotted, abandoned motel and living off of what they could steal each day probably didn’t have a good story to tell about what had happened to them.

Either way, Aizawa didn’t really care. If it wasn’t for the tearing sensation in his chest when he was away from you for too long, he’d definitely have handed you over to the police by now. It was driving him insane, how he couldn’t focus, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think, couldn’t live now that his mind was constantly occupied with thoughts of you.

When he went out at night, he worried that you would hurt yourself, or escape - get away from him somehow. When he was at home, trying to do the “right” thing and give you space, not touch you, not invade your space, he was bombarded with the single-minded desire of holding you, feeling the warmth of your body against his chest.

It had to stop. He didn’t know how to make it stop.

Aizawa had tried everything, from leaving you alone, to spending time watching you from the other side of the room - the man had even tried to erase the supposed “soulmate” quirk he was infected with by using his own quirk in the bathroom, staring into the mirror. Nothing seemed to help.

He had tried to be nice, he had tried to be good. But there was still the tugging in his chest, the itch he couldn’t scratch when it came to you. He wanted to do so much, but he wasn’t a villain, he wouldn’t force you.

But there lay the problem.

Aizawa wanted to.

He closed the door behind him as he left your room, the “torture chamber” he had said once, deadpanned tiredly in an attempt at a joke. You hadn’t laughed.

The man supposed that this last month had really just been him warring against the dark, whispering corner of his mind that urged him to just take. To do what he wanted, to lay waste, to ravage you in every carnal way he so desired. To force you to lay by his side at night, force you to give him long, loving kisses, force you into domesticity.

Aizawa knew it was wrong. He had tried to ignore that part of him, push it down, focus on the logical solutions he could think of, the ones that kept his actions pure and heroic. But at this point, with you resisting so strongly? How you called him a villain, a pervert, a creep? Why not let the villain inside take a moment in the spotlight.

That’s what he was thinking as he gathered items into his arms from his room, spending hardly any time picking out what he wanted and needed. He’d had so many dreams, so many thoughts of what he would do to you once you finally submit to him. The man had plenty of ideas, especially now that he was deciding to throw his inhibitions out the window.

The fact that you most likely weren’t going to be willing merely meant that Aizawa added a spreader bar and an extra set of cuffs to the growing pile in his arms.

Stepping back into your room was almost thrilling, seeing your eyes snap up, to the bundle of items he held, then at his face. They were so wide, scared, panicked. It was a good look on you honestly, one that Aizawa didn’t mind seeing more often. He was done being the nice guy.

“This is entirely your fault, you know that (Y/N)?” He mused as he strode forward, crouching to set down a towel on the ground, slowly laying each item down onto it. Might as well build up your fear and anticipation.

“If you hadn’t provoked me so, I would’ve been able to be continue holding myself back.” He could hear your breathing pick up as each item was set down, had to fight down a mocking smirk. “You had to be a brat though, egg me on like that. Well, if it’s not apparent by now, you’re probably going to regret that.”

“Please, please, oh god, this-you don’t need to-you-there’s-“

“Didn’t you just accuse me of being a villain? I’m just trying to live up to your expectations here, isn’t that what you want?”

Aizawa finished emptying his arms, then headed towards you, holding the extra pair of cuffs in his hand. He caught your eyes, watching you beg, try to push yourself back into the wall, away from him. There was no doubt that you were terrified, practically having a panic attack as you hyperventilated, eyes darting between Aizawa, the cuffs in his hands, the items on the towel behind him.

It was easy for Aizawa to grab ahold of your already-bound wrists, pulling them down to the ground, right above the top of the mattress. Quickly, one cuff was attached to your wrist, the other cuff slipped through a small, recessed metal ring in the ground.

After you had…. “moved in”, Aizawa had done some renovations. The angle he had you trapped at now kept your arms stretched above your head, immobile and unable to move more than an inch in any direction. It’d be uncomfortable if you were left like that for too long, but Aizawa was still planning on being somewhat merciful today.

You were still babbling quietly, pleading with the man. “You don’t need to do this, please, please please please please-!” You sobbed out the last “please”, trying to wrench your arms free. Of course it was useless, and you were doing nothing but tiring yourself out, but Aizawa didn’t mind.

It was easy to attach the spreader bar to each ankle, despite the way you cried and kicked, ankles slipping out of his grasp a couple times before he could finally pin them down. Aizawa felt eerily calm, patient, but at the same time seething, excited, almost foaming at the mouth for what he knew was to come.

“Struggling won’t achieve anything, but feel free to do so.” He encouraged, shuffling backwards on his knees to look at you, stretched out body on display.

You were still wearing clothes, a thin t-shirt, a pair of loose basketball shorts - all Aizawa’s. He had immediately told you to leave your old clothes outside the bathroom door when you showered the second day after he had captured you.

You had resisted at first, but quickly relented when the man raised an eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders before advancing towards you menacingly. You had gotten the message loud and clear, immediately backing down, agreeing to wear the clothes you were given.

Aizawa retreated to the towel, swiping a pair of scissors off of it. Brandishing them, he snipped them twice in warning. “You might want to be still for this part. I don’t actually want to cut you, so if it happens, it’ll be your fault.”

And then he bent over, carefully snipping the clothes off of your rigid body.

As soon as the last shred of fabric fell away, you breathed in air, immediately letting out a loud, tearful wail. Aizawa felt a twinge of regret, but the quickly-growing bulge in his pants currently outweighed any other feelings he might be having.

Putting the scissors safely out of reach, the man let himself rest back on his heels, surveying your body the way one surveys their food before taking a bite. And oh, was he going to eat you up.

You were writhing, tears falling from yours eyes, still babbling out nonsense as you begged for him to stop, to reconsider, to think about what he was doing.

“I’ve thought about this plenty. It’s called fantasizing.” He murmured, before gently resting his hand against your naked hip.

You spooked like a wild horse, thrashing the second his hand made contact, crying and wailing, shying away from his touch.

Aizawa was glad he had the foresight to bring a gag.

You were so worked up, you didn’t even notice him grabbing it, didn’t register his hand clamping around your jaw, wrenching it open and shoving the ball gag past your teeth. You quickly fought against that too, outright screaming, trying to shake your head, pull away from the hands fastening the strap around your head. But Aizawa was quick, and good with his hands, and your screams became muffled, nothing more than desperate background noise to the defiling of your body.

Resuming his exploration, Aizawa cradled your head in both hands, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “If you relax, it won’t be as stressful for either of us.”

With another muffled scream, you turned your head, tear-filled eyes glaring at the wall.

“Or you can be a brat.” Aizawa laughed, a sound he wasn’t used to making. “Either way, it’s not gonna change what’s happening.”

Returning to the towel, Aizawa picked up the next couple of items, turning back to see you watching him through teary eyes. He presented the items in his hands, showing them to you. If you were curious, might as well let you see how he was planning to take you apart.

The second your eyes fell onto the lube, the bullet vibrator, the skin-safe tape, you wailed again, closing your eyes in horror, shaking your head. Aizawa breathed out his nose, humored at your terrified reaction. Not so tough when you were tied up, at the mercy of a man, were you?

Your legs were already held apart by the spreader bar, and no matter how you squirmed when Aizawa kneeled next to your hip, you couldn’t close your legs. When Aizawa’s warm hand ghosted over your stomach, you cried behind the gag, and when his hand made contact with your soft pink folds, you absolutely bawled, the sound loud and pitiful even as muffled as they were.

Aizawa wanted to tease, to feel all around, rub against your labia, tickle your clit, skirt around your opening. He let himself indulge a little, before pulling back, squirting out a dollop of lube onto his fingers. When the cold wetness touched you, there was barely any reaction, the way you were already panicking essentially making you loose all feeling.

That was alright, Aizawa knew that would change soon.

He let his hand wander around your entrance, massaging the lube into your skin, taking special care of your clit, your inner labia, the puffy folds. The man got lost in the sensation of your warmth underneath his fingertips, eyes slowly falling shut, a low hum coming from his throat in a natural attempt to soothe you.

The man didn’t know how long he stayed like that, gently massaging wetness onto your skin, humming, but by the time he opened his eyes, your weeping had essentially subsided. You were making cute little sniffling sounds, trying to calm yourself, your own eyes closed, limbs almost relaxed, as if you’d accepted your fate.

When Aizawa took his hand away to reach for the bullet vibe, you barely moved. When he pulled back the lips of your labia, nestling the small, ovular vibrator against your clit, you only flinched. He pinched your labia lips almost painfully, hiding the vibrator underneath them as he pushed it hard onto your clit, before taping thick strips over your skin. When he was done, the vibrator was firmly in place, immovable, covered almost completely by your labia, which in turn was held over the vibe with the skin safe tape.

The vibe was turned on, and Aizawa swore that your back arched so fast and hard he heard it pop. You writhed on the thin mattress, pulling at the chains binding your hands to the floor, trying to turn onto your side, bucking your hips, jerking and twisting this way and that at the overwhelming sensation. Aizawa had never used the bullet vibe on himself, but he’d felt the strength of the vibrations against his hand as he decided on a setting for you, feeling the tingly sensations through your skin through the tape, before kicking it up a few notches.

You were screaming behind the gag - Aizawa guessed you weren’t used to toys, but he felt no remorse. He put a strong hand on your hip, holding you flush to the mattress as your hips moved about wildly.

“This is what a villain would do. They’d tie you up, assault you…. Tear you down and exhaust you until you turn into a broken little cockslut. Aren’t I so much nicer? At least I plan on taking care of you after. Plus, I’ll still lo-“

He cut himself off, grimacing at the words that had almost slipped out. Aizawa wasn’t ready to admit that to himself just yet. He wanted to hold onto the allusion that he could resist you, that he didn’t need you, that you weren’t unequivocally important to him

Not like you were listening.

With a sigh, Aizawa sat back, content to watch you writhe as you wiggled your hips, the movement making your breasts jiggle slightly. Aizawa groaned internally, his erection straining, throbbing inside his pants.

“You’re so beautiful, your body is…. Indescribable really.” The man mumbled, eyes trained on your form. A sheen of sweat was covering your skin, making you shimmer, making you slick. Aizawa’s hands itched as he looked at you, wanting desperately to wrap around your waist, to hold you close as he rut against you. But he wanted to prove a point. He wanted to show you that he could be nice, that he had been treating you good, that you shouldn’t be a childish brat and shout insults at him every day.

But god, was it hard to just sit back and watch you.

He unzipped his pants, reaching past the waistband of both pants and boxers, hissing as he took his erection in hand. He was wet, leaking precum, but did he expect anything else? You were laid out in front of him like a feast, delicious.

You were so overwhelmed by the vibrator strapped to your pussy, you didn’t even notice Aizawa beginning to jerk himself off. It’s probably better that way, he figures - if you realized what he was doing, you’d probably have a fit. Your cries faded into tearful whimpers, long whines, which then morphed into guilty moans, enjoyment that you couldn’t hide. When you came the first time, Aizawa was watching your body, stroking his cock in time to the way your hips jumped against the vibe.

When you came the second time, hair a mess, Aizawa moaned your name a little, his own cheeks flushed with embarrassment and desire as he squished his thumb against the tip of his cock.

The third time you came, screaming out muffled nonsense, Aizawa couldn’t take it anymore.

He leaned forward, quickly undoing your gag, having to let go of his cock to work on the straps. When the plastic ball was free from your mouth, drool slicked over your chin, gulping breaths being taken, Aizawa surged forward, pressing you back into the mattress as he kissed you hungrily.

You whined into his mouth, naked chest pressed against his shirt, crying in overstimulation as the vibrations between your legs didn’t give up.

“Mhm, you taste-“ The man had broken away from your mouth, only to dive back in again for a quick taste before speaking again. “-so damn good.”

“Aizawa-Aiz-aah! Aah!” You keened, a fourth orgasm washing over you, leaving your nerves tingling, buzzy.

“That’s right, that’s who’s making you feel so good. You feel good, don’t you?” He pressed, crowding closer to you. He was in the process of pushing down his pants, his boxers, kicking them off.

“No, no no no, can’t-can’t-it hurts! Mmmfh-!” You moaned, back arching again.

“Don’t lie. Listen to yourself, you sound like a whore.” Aizawa chuckled breathlessly, turning you slightly onto your side. He was feeling hot, flushed, feverish. He wanted to do so many things - fuck you stupid, cuddle you close, give you warm hugs and kiss your pussy until you ground against his face.

“No I…. I don’t!” You yelped, the way he was positioning you pushing the vibrator into a different position. “Aiz-mmmm, Aizawa! Please-oh god, oh god-oh, please, st-OP!”

A kiss shut you up, Aizawa licking inside your mouth, feeling your saliva smear against his stubbled chin, felt you fighting against your bindings again. Where did you get all the energy?

He didn’t break the kiss to look down, to take himself in hand and guide his cock into the tight plushness of your thighs, right up against your dripping, messy cunt.

When he pushed forward, his mouth fell open. There was so much /pleasure/, he felt dumb, thick-headed and cotton-mouthed. You were so warm, so wet, and the vibrator was still buzzing away happily, pulsating through his cock as it rested against your pussy.

He wanted to cum, right then and there.

Feeling his thick cock pressing between your thighs, you wrenched yourself away from the kiss, whimpering as he pressed his cock up to chase the buzzing sensation, increasing the pressure of the vibe against your skin.

“Wait, ah, wait! Please, no more-mhmm! I’ll-I’ll be gO-od!” You whined, hips bucking again as the feeling built up again.

Aizawa thumbed at the wetness covering your face, trying to wipe away the tears, but simultaneously forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Shh, it’s okay. Let it out, I won’t look, there’s no need-fuck-no need to be embarrassed sweetheart.”

He reassured, knowing you were close to humming again. This time, he didn’t want you to have to finish alone.

With another gentle caress to your cheek, Aizawa grabbed your hips, before smoothly sliding his cock through your thighs, fucking right against your pussy. It felt incredible, better than anything else he’d ever experienced in his sex life - hell, in his entire existence.

Aizawa tried to hold himself back from humping against you, pumping his hips wildly, but he couldn’t stop himself. Not when he was so worked up, not when you were moaning and gasping in his arms, shaking towards another orgasm.

“That’s it, almost there, just a little longer.” He reassured, voice strained and almost cracking in pitch as he neared his end.

“I can’t, I can’t, don’t make me! Don’t-aaah! No, no, plea-SE!”

Your muscles tensed, Aizawa could feel it, your body pressed so tightly against his own. Then you were gone, eyes rolling back, mouth open in a silent gasp, brows furrowed as you were forced into cumming again.

It made Aizawa burst, feeling your thighs tense around his cock, your cunt convulsing, body trembling. He came easily, covering the inside of your thighs with his sticky seed, before quickly pulling himself free.

He had just had an earth-shattering orgasm, but he needed to get you cleaned up. After all, you had just had /several/ earth shattering orgasms.

The vibe was turned off, the tape gently pulled away You flinched at every tug, skin burning with sensitivity, all of your nerves fried and overstimulated.

Tape off, Aizawa reached up and unbound your hands, quickly throwing the vibe and extra set of cuffs back towards the towel (he hoped - his brain wasn’t working well enough to know if he was accurate or not).

Aizawa felt... good, warm inside. He didn’t want to acknowledge the feelings swirling around in his chest, the contentedness that came from just holding you, but he couldn’t exactly deny all of it either.

The two of you sat there, you lost in your own headspace (subspace? Aizawa didn’t know the terms.. but for you, he’d be willing to learn).

“You did so well, look at you.” The man breathed, looking down at your body. Fuck him, even covered in sweat and cum and fluids, you were still the most enticing thing he had ever seen.

You didn’t respond, just occasionally blinking at the ceiling, still as a mouse.

You were submissive and compliant for the time being, not struggling when Aizawa gathered you into his arms, cradled your head to his chest. His heart soared at the physical contact - you hadn’t let him do so much as look at you without yelling or snarking some mean insult. This was progress.

Aizawa kissed the top of your head, noting that the two of you would need a long shower in a bit.

You were so fucked out, Aizawa almost felt a little bad at your disheveled state.

At least he had been merciful this time.

458 notes · View notes

maryannaugerbooks · 3 years ago

Text

The Beginning of Something Good

Fandom: Stardew Valley

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: Makeout session

This piece is on AO3, Wattpad and Tumblr.

Océane is the new farmer in Pelican town. She quit her job at Joja Corporation and decided to follow her grandfather's footsteps and take care of Blue Coral, the farm he left her when he passed away.

After her initial shock of seeing the farm in a pitiful condition, she admired the wonderful beach surrounding the cabin she would call home. When she found out her grandfather was leaving her a farm, she didn’t expect it to be a beach farm!

Thankful for not being stuck in an office anymore, the long ash-colored-haired farmer got to work. She watered the crops, explored the mines and spent her afternoons fishing.

She settled into a routine, every day looking slightly different but also very much the same. That is, until that Tuesday evening.

Océane had realized she was out of seeds. She wanted to extend her garden and grow a bigger variety of vegetables but Pierre’s General Store would be closed the next day. Determined to get her seeds so that she could start planting them in the morning, she ran all the way to the store, swung the door open and greeted Pierre with a big wave.

“Hey Pierre. Sorry for coming in right before you close. Can I get some potato and green bean seeds please?”

Pierre handed over the seeds and Océane placed them in her bag. She wanted to get home quickly in order to cut down a couple trees to make more space to till more soil.

She swung her bag over her shoulder and started walking towards the exit. She half-turned around to wave goodbye to Pierre when the wind got knocked out of her.

Before she fell to the ground, a sturdy – and soft – hand grabbed her arm.

At first, she was too shaken to see who she ran into. Then, she regained her senses and saw a young man with long brown hair and mesmerizing green eyes.

Oceane was pretty sure her mouth was still open when the man said “Hi. I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s Elliott. I live in the cabin on the beach.”

She slightly shook her head and said, “Oh. I live on a beach too! How fun.”

She internally cringed at herself. How fun she said mockingly in her head.

Elliott chuckled and it was the most beautiful chuckle she’d ever heard.

Get yourself together. She scolded herself.

“Thanks for... catching me. I’ll see you around.” Océane left the store quickly and walked home, her heart beating fast and her face flushed.

When she got home, the farmer got straight to work. She didn’t want to think about what happened. She was definitely embarrassed but there was something more underneath her bruised ego that she didn’t want to admit.

---

After a few days of mining and fighting monsters - trying to reach the bottom of the damn mines - Océane was tired. Her shoulders were aching. Scratch that, her whole body was aching.

Feeling like she deserved a break, she made her way to the Stardrop Saloon. It was Friday night after all. She was excited to speak to Emily. She hadn’t seen her all week as they were both too busy working.

They became friends soon after her arrival in Pelican Town. They had met when the farmer got to the Saloon on her second day in town, desperate for some food. She had been fishing all morning and afternoon and had forgotten to eat. Her grandfather’s old house didn’t have a kitchen so she had hungrily made her way to the bar for a bite to eat. After ordering, Océane had sat at the bar and Emily and her talked about clothes, the universe and everything in between.

The local bar was booming with the regulars. Océane sat down at her usual spot, the barstool in the middle. Not the one closest to the cash and not the one closest to Shane. She didn’t particularly feel like getting cold remarks from the disheveled young man.

Also, by sitting in that spot – although not the original intention behind sitting there- Océane’s main goal was trying to hide Emily from Clint’s view. He was notorious for sending furtive glances her way all night. Emily was friends with Clint, but the farmer didn’t like him.

“Hey Emily. How’s your night?”

The blue-haired girl who was facing away from the bar cleaning some glass turned around and flashed a bright smile to Océane.

‘’Hey girl. Tonight’s pretty busy but that’s usual for Friday. How was your week? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.’’

Océane brought her hand to her forehead and rolled her eyes. ‘’I made a huge fool of myself on Tuesday. I’m still embarrassed.’’

Emily gave her that tell me more look so Océane continued, ‘’On Tuesday I went to Pierre’s to get some seeds and as I was walking towards the door, I turned around to say bye to Pierre and I ran into someone - hard. I think he said his name was Elliott. I had never seen him before.’’

Emily squealed which made Océane shush her. ‘’People are going to hear you!’’

Completely ignoring her friend, Emily subtly nodded in Elliott’s direction with her head. He was sitting at the table near the Jukebox with Leah.

After seeing the one who had made her heart race - from embarrassment, of course - Océane looked at Emily with wide eyes. ‘’Does he come here every Friday? How come I haven’t noticed him before?’’

Emily shrugged, ‘’He’s pretty quiet’’. After a pause she adds, ‘’you could buy him a drink. He likes a strong beer.’’

Appalled, Océane interjected ‘’Why would I do that? I don’t even know him!’’

‘’But he’s cute,’’ Emily said as if that was a good enough reason.

‘’I guess I have nothing to lose. If he rejects me, I’ll just dig a hole and bury myself in it.’’

Emily laughed, ‘’stop being so dramatic and hand him this beer. You’ll thank me later.’’

After staring at the beer for a couple of minutes, contemplating running away, Océane decided to get up and give Elliott the beer before it got warm. No one likes a warm beer.

She awkwardly walked towards his table, her feet feeling heavy. She was suddenly feeling self-conscious about the way she was walking.

When she got to the table, she realized that Leah had left. She was relieved. Océane set the beer on the table and said, ‘’I heard you like a strong beer.’’

He looked at her, surprised. ‘’This is for me? Marvelous!’’

‘’It’s for saving me from further embarrassment on Tuesday.’’ She said nonchalantly even though that’s not quite how she felt.

Elliott took a sip of the beer, licked his lips and motioned her to take a seat.

Her heart felt like it was about to explode in her chest, her face was warm but she kept it cool on the outside. ‘’How’s the beach life treating you?’’

‘’I like it. I moved here so I could get away from the big city and write.’’

‘’That’s why I moved here too. To get away from the big city, I mean. I couldn’t stand working at a desk all day,’’ Océane said, ‘’what do you write about?’’

“I typically write poems but I’m looking for inspiration to write my first novel.” Elliott took another drink. “What kind of books do you like to read?”

Océane’s cheeks got even warmer. “I like romance. It really helps me unwind and it gives me all the feels.”

The writer chuckled, “maybe my novel will be a romance in that case.”

Was he flirting with her?

“I would love to read it when you’re done.” She was genuine. She loved a good book, but she also wanted to see if Elliott was the kind of romantic she imagined him to be. She may or may not have been imagining scenarios between her and the writer as she was tilling the soil, planting her seeds and doing all her other farm work this week.

“It would be an honor to have you read my book,” Elliott responded with a smile.

Océane made to get up, gently pushing her chair away from the table with her hips. “I wish I could talk some more but I should get going, it’s getting late and I have a lot of work to do in the morning.”

“Let me accompany you home.”

Océane stared at the writer with wide eyes. Elliott quickly added, “only if you’d like me to, of course. It’s dark out and...” He hesitated before continuing, “it would be my pleasure to spend more time with you.”

The farmer’s heart started racing but she gave him a big smile before saying, “Sure, I’d love that.”

The cool spring air chilled her skin as they started walking towards the farm. Elliott noticed her rubbing her hands on her arms in an attempt to warm up. She watched as he removed his red jacket and handed it to her. “Thanks,” she said gratefully. His jacket smelled like old books.

They made small talk until they reached the front door of her cabin.

“Thank you for walking me home. I appreciate it,” Océane said. “Hold on a sec, I’ll give you your jacket so you don’t get cold on your way back to the beach.”

She removed the piece of clothing, already missing the warmth of it and the smell of books. Elliott’s gaze was on her as she handed him his jacket, their fingers brushing for longer than necessary.

Océane licked her lips and Elliott’s green eyes seemed mesmerized by the movement. She could tell he wanted to say something but he was hesitating.

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this in case you don’t feel the same way, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that day at Pierre’s.”

“Me either,” she breathed. He took a hesitant step forward and gave her a searching look. He was waiting for her approval. She looked directly in his eyes and nodded.

Elliott closed the distance between them, lifted his hand to her hair and brushed his lips against hers. Océane felt like she was going to melt on the balcony of her cabin.

She deepened the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. Elliott brushed his tongue against her lips and she opened to give him access.

The wood door of her cabin was now pressing against her back. One of Elliott’s hands braced him against the wood of the cabin while his other hand settled on her waist.

Océane lowered her hands from his neck to his chest, feeling the muscle there before lowering them towards his lower belly. She fidgeted with the hem of his shirt before sliding her fingers underneath feeling the warmth of his skin. Elliott gasped at the touch and Océane smiled against his lips.

His hands explored her curves like he wanted to remember the shape of her forever. They couldn’t get enough of each other. Océane finally allowed her hands to linger dangerously low.

Elliott pulled back, out of breath. “Let me take you out on a date first. Then, you can do whatever you want with me.”

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at 6 then,” She winked at him and kissed his cheek before entering her cabin, closing the door and leaning against it, heart racing.

She had a feeling this was the beginning of something good.

#stardew valley #stardew elliott #elliott stardew valley #sv elliott #fanfic #ao3 #wattpad #elliott and farmer #my writing #fanfiction writer

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teddytdr · 4 years ago

Text

The Stranger

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of abuse.

Word count: 3223

This is my first Elriel fic, so be indulgent with me please!

I would love to write more, let me know if you have any requests! I’m open to ANYTHING and EVERYTHING so feel free to let loose with the suggestions ;)

( However, I draw the line at Gwynriel and Elucien)

“ I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Don’t.” He snapped lowly.

The rain was pounding against the window in his living room, the sound matching the one of my heart nearly beating out of my chest. I knew he would say that. Stupid me for hoping otherwise, even predictability couldn’t help ease the pain that crept over my insides. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. Why couldn’t I keep my fucking mouth shut.

Closing my eyes as I wait for this perfect bubble to burst, the memories surge through me.

I met him two weeks ago, and it felt like I’d known him forever. As cliché as it may sound, it’s the truth. As soon as i’d looked into his hazel eyes, everything seemed to click. Like an answer to a question I never wanted to ask. It felt like something inside me went taut, stretching towards him, trying to reach him. I thought he felt it too, from the look of realization that swept across his beautiful face and the way his lips twitched upward as he retracted his hands from my waist, leaving me so cold.

“I’m sorry, are you okay?” He whispered, searching my eyes for the answer.

I stood there frozen, staring at him in confusion. Oh! Because he ran into me and almost sent me crashing to the ground. Right! Shaking the thoughts from my head, “Yes! I’m fine. You should watch where you’re going.” I snapped back, lifting an eyebrow.

Gaping at me, his gaze searing, “I was looking.”, like it was a fact I was too slow to comprehend.

Oh! This man had some fucking nerve. This inhumanly gorgeous man had some fucking nerve.

I scowled at him in response, my fingers twitching on his strong arms.

He glared back, brows creasing as his eyes dropped to my lips and lingered there, “I feel like I know you, have we met before?”, his voice as incredulous as i’m sure he felt.

God his voice sounded like the night itself, so sensuous and velvety. Never in my life has a stranger left such a mark on me.

But that was the thing, since the moment we crashed into each other, it felt like I could finally breath again. Like a piece I didn’t know was missing has finally made it’s way back to me. This stranger that didn’t feel like a stranger at all. I suddenly realized we were still standing close enough that I could actually taste him if only I dared.

Lost in my daydreams, I didn’t realize what was happening until his lips grazed mine ever so softly. His kiss, somewhere between a brush and a breath, tasted like promises long forgotten, like souls awakening upon recognition of their mate. This kiss, his kiss, is nothing like I’ve ever thought a stranger could make me feel. It felt like my insides had been set ablaze and I was falling into him again, wanting to melt into him.

I brought my hands to the nape of his neck and pulled him closer, crashing his chest to mine. He sighed into my mouth and I opened delicately to slide my tongue against his lower lip, asking for entry, asking for more.

Groaning at the invitation, he let me in and our tongues finally met. Bolts of lightning ran down my spine as his silken tongue traced the roof of my mouth. His arms came to wrap around me, lifting me slightly off the ground.

Realization slapped me so hard, making me pull away from this mind-numbing kiss. I’ve never been kissed this way! Also, I’d never kiss a stranger! I must’ve lost my fucking mind. Opening my eyes hesitantly, I find his already on me, blazing hazel on my brown.

“I think you should come home with me.” He purrs, holding me tighter than he was seconds ago.

What? Fuck me. What am I doing? I can’t. I really want to.

My heart is pounding so hard, I think he can hear it. I’m insane, this is insane. I know this, and I still-

“Yes!”, the answer leaved me before I could even form the thought.

Smiling knowingly, he eased me back to the ground, tucked my hair behind my ear, grabbed my hand and brought me to his place.

What happened after that foolish, life-alteringly dangerous decision was the best two weeks of my life. We spent every waking hour together, tangled up in each other, sitting in front of the TV or eating the food we cooked. Basically, we were joined at the hip. Every second I spent with him, talking to him, made me want to drown in him. Even more so than I already was.

We spoke about our lives, our fears, our regrets, our hopes. He told me about his fucked up childhood and how it left him with scars that ran deeper than the ones on his hands, a story I can’t even let myself think about because it brings tears to my eyes and makes my heart break for him. I told him things about myself that I never even told my sisters. I shared the story of my engagement to a psychotic, abusive ex-fiancé and how it left me in pieces. I was completely enraptured in this man. This seemingly perfect man.

But I learned things about him without him having to tell me any of them. For instance, how he often hid his hands from me without even realizing it, how he smiled every time I smiled, or laughed when I laughed -even if we were laughing about two completely different things. How he stared at me like he was scared to find me gone if he looked away for just one second, or how his hands shook when they came in contact with my skin. Even how he always asked for permission before touching me, even just to wipe chocolate from the corners of my mouth, because I always having been a messy eater. These subtleties scream romantic to me, even if telling him so would earn me and incredulous scoff. So I kept it to myself, close to my heart and protected it fiercely.

The fact was, I was falling hard and fast for him. The thrill of it was both paralyzing and intoxicating. A feeling I was afraid to admit i’ve never experienced before, especially with the monster I was supposed to marry.

This beautiful man has both ruined and saved my life, and he still has no inkling.

Coming back to reality, “Well that’s too damn bad!” I say, waving my arms around in despair. I am so fucking scared of returning to my sorry existence, these past weeks have been the best of my life and I can’t even fathom going back to how I was before him. I am so fucking petrified of losing this bubble we lost ourselves in, but it’s better to ruin it myself before I get hurt again.

“This isn’t normal. You think I don’t know that this is just a dream? That we are in a perfect bubble, and that a reality-check is going to burst it soon enough?” I continue, my heart is beating so loud I’m afraid he can hear it from across the room.

“This is a fling. This is a fantasy. It’s not meant to last”, my voice rising higher and shaking in barely concealed terror, “Is it?”

I see the words hit home as his body goes rigid and his nostrils flare. We stand like this, separated by a few feet, breathing heavily, for what feels like eternity. Frozen in time, the scalding ice creeping up my bones is burning every hope and dream I foolishly believed up until this moment. And still, I can’t leave. I don’t want to go, my very being is screaming at me to stay right here.

He takes a step closer, then stops, like a hunter trying to corner an unpredictable beast. From this close, I can see his tightly leashed rage, his fists are clenched at his sides, knuckles paper-white, his eyes so bleak, so emotionless. I’ve never seen him like this, this vision so at odds with the patient and quiet man I’ve come to know.

“You think this isn’t real?” He asks in utter disbelief.

I can only stare at him, my pulse ringing in my ears as I wait for the rejection.

“You think this isn’t real?” He screams, body shaking so much I worry he might be nearing a stroke.

Fuck, I definitely should’ve kept my mouth shut.

Moving closer to him, I search his eyes for any sign of feeling as I lash out, “It’s not real, isn’t that what you’re-“

“Don’t.” He interrupts me viciously, his face is taut, his mouth etched into a deep snarl. He comes to stand directly in front of me, his chest heaving, throat bobbing and eyes searching my face for something.

“Don’t assume you know what I mean. Not about this.” gesturing between us, like there’s something visible, tangible, in the space separating our bodies.

He’s so close, I can practically taste his harsh words before they fall out of his lips, “Don’t you dare assume what I feel.” Seeing the doubt in my eyes, he continues before I can even think of opening my mouth to retort.

“I don’t know what this is. I don’t understand how it’s possible that I’m already so attached to you, I can barely stand the separation when you go to the bathroom. That I can barely breathe when our eyes meet. That you already feel so familiar, like I’ve finally found the missing piece. That I can’t imagine ever being apart from you. That waking up with you is by far what I cherish the most. That seeing you smile takes my breath away. That touching you is like an answer to a question I never thought I so desperately wanted to ask.” His breathless words skitter across my senses like shadows.

I can’t even breathe as I let him continue.

“How is it possible that we know so little about each other, yet you know more about me than even my friends do? How is it possible that looking at you crying right now, makes me want to rip my own heart out? How is is possible that I’m fucking terrified of losing you after knowing you for only two weeks?” He looks at me with such agony and hope, silver lining his exquisite eyes, that the sheer intensity of it makes my insides clench.

I didn’t realize I was crying. Raising a shaking hand to my cheek, I wipe away a tear.

“I don’t know. This hurts so much.“, shuddering as the pain rakes over my soul, I try to look at him but my vision is blurry. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’ll leave.” I whisper weakly, turning to move away from him.

I barely make it a step back before I feel a warm hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me back to him.

His voice hoarse, “Don’t. Don’t leave.” His hands gripping my wrists tightly.

I look up, seeing how we are, our chests touching on every inhale. “I don’t want you to go. Please.”

The pain in his eyes nearly brings me to my knees, but instead, I cover my face with my hands and let the tears fall freely, my head dropping to his chest as he brings a hand to my hair, stroking it soothingly.

I brought this upon myself the moment I decided to come home with him, and further proved my stupidity when I let the fantasy of him sink itself so deep in me.

Its talons shattering all the walls and defences of my mind, crawling down my spine and breaking a path between my ribs, then making itself comfortable in the shadow of what was once my heart. It’s very essence flowing through my blood and secretly mending every festering wound. It’s ethos plucking every memory of bruising slaps, bone-breaking punches, and terror-inducing threats from my soul and replacing them with warm scarred hands, comforting hazel eyes, sweet smiling lips and hopefully honest words. Replacing them with him, this too perfect stranger that changed everything in so little time.

I drop my hands from my face and fix my stare on his chest, the sound of his voice pulling me from my innermost revelations, “I’m sorry. I was so scared this whole time. I was just scared that our perfect bubble would burst and I didn’t want it to. I don’t ever want it to. I was scared about how quickly I fell in-

My shocked gasp seemed to cut him off, making him realize the enormity of what he was about to admit. Looking at me with surprise and something else I can’t bring myself to decipher but feel in my every bone.

“Say it.” I order him softly, not breaking eye contact, I bring my hand up to trace his full lips with my fingers.

With an understanding smirk gracing his sinful mouth “I’m in love with you.”

The air leaves my lungs as I crash my lips onto his in answer.

Moaning at the touch, he brings a hand to the nape of my neck, titling my head to better taste me. I think I could die from the pleasure his kiss brings me. The way he kisses me makes my heart stop every time he does it. He kisses me like it’s the last time he ever will, and that is the best feeling in the world.

Our tongues dancing together makes me whimper with need for him. I don’t think I could ever tire of kissing him. I don’t ever want to stop kissing him.

Growling in approval at the sound, he lifts me up so I can wrap my legs around him, bringing our cores together.

Before I can even make sense of what’s happening, he sits me on the counter and steps into the space between my thighs, pulling me flush against every inch of his hard body.

I want to fuse my everything to his everything. I want our bodies so close, that we cannot tell where we end and where we begin. I want our souls melting and reshaping into an ever-glowing one.

Raw desire riding me, I slip my hands through his soft midnight black hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan.

“What are you doing to me?” I whine as his mouth moves to my neck, sucking and nipping lightly. His hands glide across my back before settling on my hips and digging his fingers into my flesh, enough to undoubtedly leave lovely bruises. Something I never thought I’d be able to accept again, but with him, i’m ready. With him, I know I am safe, because he would never hurt me.

We are a tangle of moans and groans, grinding against each other, and I am fucking trembling with need for this man to completely ravish me.

Pulling his head back, I find half-lidded eyes locked on mine, a look of utter adoration and lust swimming in his green-flecked hazels. Biting my lip at the intensity of his gaze, I run a hand along his neck, grazing my nails against his skin as I go down his shoulder, then his chest and all the way down to his erection, cupping him through his sweatpants. This earns me a gentle thrust and-

Startled, I look at him, and ask the question that had not once crossed my mind since I met him, maybe because some part of me felt like I already knew the answer.

“What is your name?”, I whisper, grinning sheepishly at the astounded look on his face.

Realization and need grace his features as his eyes flutter and he breathes, “Azriel.”

And the sound of his name is like a key that finally fits in the lock, unleashing my very soul.

His name is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

Azriel Azriel Azriel, my soul seems to sing.

I smile stupidly at him before taking his face in my hands, “I love you, Azriel.” and it feels like I can finally breathe again. He smiles at me, and I swear I’ve never seen anything so bright, it could light even the darkest corners of my mind. Certainty blossoming in my heart, I’ve no doubt that someday it will.

Mouth parting on a silent moan, “And what is your name?” Azriel purrs against my neck, grinding his hardness into the junction of my thighs. I throw my head back, gasping loudly as the feeling of his cock makes liquid warmth pool from my center.

“Elain, I’m Elain.” I groan as I rub myself against his pulsating arousal, not being able to stop myself from seeking any contact to help ease the need. I’m already on edge, and nothing has even happened yet. The power he has over me drives me insane. Just a look from him and i’m already drenched for him. Just a taste and I want more, so, so much more. And I know I have the same effect on him.

Moaning at my name, Azriel runs his teeth along my jaw and bites on my earlobe before moving on to my neck and breathing me in deeply, like the scent of me is pure ecstasy and he can’t get enough.

I swear I am about to lose it. I am bursting at the seams with want for him. All I can see is him, all I can smell is him. The gloriously arousing essence of him, night-chilled mist and cedar.

Sensing my need, Azriel wraps his arms around me and walks us to his bedroom, running his hands all over my body, like he can’t touch enough of me at once.

“Elain, my Elain.” he mumbles repeatedly to himself, like a prayer to the gods.

The sound of my name from his lips makes me drag my nails down his muscular back and grind harder on his velvet-wrapped steel, eliciting an animalistic growl from him.

Gods, I want him unleashed. I want his cock so deep in my mouth that it brings tears to eyes. I want him to fuck me so thoroughly and passionately that just thinking about it makes me wet.

“I need you so bad, Azriel”, I whimper as he deposits me on the edge of the bed, and kneels on the floor. Something inside me liquefies at the sight of him on his knees for me, making me completely soaked. Reading the need in my eyes, he smirks, trailing his fingers up my calves, to my thighs, gripping them hard.

Never breaking eye contact, he spreads me apart, baring me completely to his ravenous tongue, and moans at the sight of my desire for him.

“I’m going to devour you now.” he growls, before lowering his mouth to my throbbing cunt.

#elriel #elain x azriel #elriel au #elriel smut #elriel ff #elriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #overcoming trauma #smut #angst #elriel owns my soul

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mrspanky · 4 years ago

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The Time We Lost: pt 1.

Jason Todd x Reader (female pov).

Content: Angst and language.

Readers note: Hi love, I hope you enjoy this! I had so much fun coming up with this story. Can’t wait to put out part two, because that’s when it really gets good. For the best experience listen some sad music while reading, I wrote this to the songs “Last Cigarette” by Ruby Waters, “What Are You So Afraid Of” by Videoclub, “All My Friends” by the Revivalists, “Ghost of Mine” by Kailee Morgue, and “I Didn’t See You Coming” by Fefe Dobson.

𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫

It was freezing outside.

You hated asking for help but you broke a little when you stubbed your toe on the pavement and didn’t feel anything through your boot, only to take it off on a nearby doorstep and realize that your toe was broken.

Should’ve worn sturdier boots.

You pondered what to do, stranded on the step, fuming. You knew where you’d end up going you just hoped he wouldn’t be there.

You were in the heart of the city but you remembered the way to his apartment like the back of your hand.

It had been so long, but it felt just like yesterday as you looked around remembering the landmarks that would lead you to your destination.

“Fuck”, you muttered.

There was the coffee shop you two used to go to. Overwhelmed by emotional memories of bad days, and days that hadn’t been so bad, you started to panic. You looked in your wallet. $7.00 looked back at you pitifully.

“That’s enough for a coffee, and if I get a coffee it’ll keep me warm, AND give me enough mental power to think of a solution other than going back to his place”.

Your mind was made up. You walked in the direction of the coffee shop with stubborn resolve. As you entered the door, you bumped into a man.

“Sorry”. You mumbled.

You weren’t really sorry, you were actually quite annoyed, but you were too tired to get into an argument.

“No, my bad”, said the man. Your jaw tightened.

“Tim”, you thought.

You’d recognize his and all his brother’s voices anywhere.

“Well what the fuck do I do? Do I say something? No, I don’t want to talk. Wait, but he might.. know if.. he’s home”. You sighed, and turned around.

“Wait, Tim?” Tim turned around, looked at you, and raised his eyebrows in realization.

“...Y/n?”

••••

“Y/n not to be rude, but you look like shit”.

Tim slid a coffee across the table to you.

“What happened?” He looked concerned. You sighed.

“I’m fine. I was just in the area and I was taking a walk and forgot how cold it was. I left my jacket at home”.

“Which is where..?”

“...Not too far”.

He furrowed his brow.

“You have cement on your shoe and there’s only one street in Gotham getting redone right now. It’s in the middle of the city. Not close”.

He paused and glanced down.

“Also you were limping on your way over to the table just now”.

“Damn”. You thought.

You’d forgotten that it was annoyingly difficult to lie to Tim.

“You’re not ok, are you”. He leaned in.

“Y/n, why are you really going to see Jason?”

You stayed silent.

He looked at you closely, seeming to make up his mind.

He sighed, and got up out of his chair, grabbing your coffee cup.

“Come on”, he gently took your hand.

“Tim..I don’t-“

“-He’s not home right now.” Tim cut in.

He helped you up, and started for the door, then paused.

“Look, I get it. But me and a couple of the other’s are just crashing there right now for a mission. You probably won’t even see him, and you really look like shit. Let’s at least get you a bed for a couple nights”.

You tried to consider his offer.

You didn’t really have any other options.

“Let’s face it y/n”. You thought.

“Todd manor is probably at least a little warmer than the streets”.

Even thinking that name hurt you deeply, but you pushed it down.

“Alright”, you solemnly nodded your head and let him lead you out the door, a wave of anxiety washing over you about the impending painful memory rush you knew was coming.

•••••

The red front door.

You hadn’t seen this door in ages.

He had been so excited to walk through it the first time. You remembered it so well.

He had called you on a Friday afternoon as you were getting ready to suit up.

You had thought he would be calling about the mission you two were working on, but that hadn’t been the case, and you had been so glad for it.

You teased him mercilessly and he teased you right back: But you really enjoyed his company, and you got excited whenever he called, as much as you would deny it back then.

“Hey. I’ve got news”, his voice had solemnly announced over the phone.

“I’m king of my own castle now. I’m gonna call it Todd manor”.

“You got the apartment! Wow. Your very own manor. Time for you to adopt a million kids”. You could practically hear him smirking on the other end.

“Well do you want to see it or not? I’m at the front door right now. I sent you my new address.”

Images of you grabbing your motorcycle and riding over as fast as you could, rushed through your mind. You had pulled up to see him standing there, right where you stood now. You had sauntered up to him, teasingly.

“Ok bird boy, let’s see the new cardboard box”.

He’d looked so happy.

You gasped quietly.

“Tim I don’t know if I want to do this”.

He looked at you quietly.

“He’s not the same, but if you see him, he’s still…Jason. You of all people know how stubborn he is. Not even death could kill that...personality of his”.

He smiled with a twinge of sadness.

“He’s not gone anymore”.

You looked at him, with panic in your eyes.

“Come on. The others miss you.” He opened the door, and you both walked inside.

It was just like you remembered. So much so that it felt like a dream you’d had over the past years countless times, of life before Jason had died.

Tim ushered you forward into the kitchen space. You looked up hesitantly, steeling yourself for whatever your eyes would be greeted with.

Positioned around the kitchen were Dick, Wally, Damian, and Jaime.

You tried to hold down your emotions. You hadn’t let yourself feel how much you’d missed them fully until now.

“Hey guys”. You smiled a little.

“Y/n?”

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise.

Wally was characteristically swift to reach you. He raced over and stood at your side, putting his hand on your shoulder.

“How are you?”

A tear fell from your tired eyes.

“I’m ok”, you smiled softly.

“I missed you guys”.

Wally’s brows were furrowed with worry.

You realized that none of them had ever really seen you cry.

You tended to be too embarrassed and see it as a sign of weakness, but you were too exhausted to hold back right now.

“We missed you too”, Dick said as he walked over.

“Yeah”, said Jaime. “We haven’t been able to find you all this time, we’ve all been worried”.

“I’m fine,” you shrugged. “Just needed to be on my own after...after... you know. And I have been, and I’ve been ok I just got caught up a little I guess. No big deal.”

Tim met Dick’s eyes in silent communication.

The older brother pursed his lips together with recognition and resolve.

“Let’s get you some food”.

After you finished eating you trudged upstairs to shower. When you got the water going, you let the steaming water run down your hair. It felt so good after the freezing gotham streets you’d been experiencing the past week. You sighed. You couldn’t stay here long. Everything was a reminder of what your life had been like before Jason was murdered and you went off the deep end. You didn’t want to remember all the hope that you had had, and how naïve you’d been. For a while after he died, you had broken away from everyone for this exact reason.

You wrapped a towel around you, and examined yourself in the mirror, wiping away the steam so you could see your reflection clearly. Over the time that Jason had been gone, you felt like you’d changed completely. Your naturally y/h/c hair was now a shade of y/c/c, and your previously youthful face looked hardened. Not necessarily in a bad way, you just felt sharper. “Amazing”. You thought. Stress had given you a jawline. You laughed to yourself bitterly. You needed a vacation. Badly. This past year of fighting crime on your own and making somewhat questionable decisions had taken its toll on you. You slipped into the large white t-shirt Tim had lent you, dried your hair with the towel as best as you could, and walked to the room he’d told you that you could stay in.

The room was Jason’s, but he wasn’t home so it was empty right now. It was going to be extremely painful to be around his things for the first time again and you were a bit overwhelmed already, but like everything else today, you didn’t really have a better option. You felt like you were invading his privacy somehow even though you knew it was technically fine. “This is so fucked up”, you thought. You hadn’t even ever been brave enough to not mask your feelings for him with banter, and now you were staying in his room while he was away because you had been homeless for the past week. And you had been homeless all because you couldn’t pull your life together after he fucking died and you couldn’t save him. “I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t fucking save him”, you whispered to yourself, holding back more tears as you reached the door. You took a deep breath, wiped your eyes and opened it.

Cautiously, you looked down as you closed the door behind you, not ready to face everything yet. As you began to turn your eyes upwards, you heard a noise in the direction of where you remembered the window to be, from the tour Jason had given you so long ago. Your fighting reflexes kicked in on instinct and you raised your fists. A red helmeted man entered your line of vision as you stared at where the noise had come from. Your arms fell limp to your sides as you registered what you were seeing. Who you were seeing. “...Jason”, you whispered.

To be continued...

#my writing #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd #red hood #the time we lost fic #batfam fic #young justice #dc fic #the time we lost pt.1 #jason todd angst #red hood angst

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ladykissingfish · 4 years ago

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Bedtime with the Akatsuki (Part 1/2)

Pein Nagato worked hard to put together the group known as the Akatsuki, but he works even harder to keep them all together. It’s difficult, considering the group contains so many clashing sets of personalities, so many different desires and beliefs. Nagato has read before that sharing a meal can foster a sense of bonding and communication within a group of diverse people, so he makes it a rule that whoever is home in the evenings must sit together at the table and share dinner together. The others balked at this at first, but after several first disastrous attempts (and several wonderful meals put forth by Konan) it quickly became something everyone looked forward to. For an hour, negativity could be dropped, rivalries and grudges temporarily forgotten as the group broke bread with one another. The Pein-body doesn’t eat, but Nagato listens through him, and is able to see these people that he chose to serve his cause, as PEOPLE. After dinner, after making sure that everyone is clear on the next day’s upcoming missions, the Pein-body goes to his room, and shuts down for the evening; and Nagato spends the night in much-needed sleep. Sasori Sasori doesn’t eat, so unless he’s feeling particularly bored/in want of some company, he won’t join the others for dinner. Sasori partakes in bathing rituals every night, although not in the way an organic human does; he keeps himself clean with scented wood-centric polishes. He’s surprisingly vain of his red hair, and will comb/wash and dry, with real shampoos, each night. Also spends a lot of time cleaning up Hiroku, as this is the main form that everybody sees him in. What’s “bedtime”? This man/boy/puppet doesn’t sleep. However, if asked Sasori would state that nighttime is his favorite time of the day. Everybody else is either asleep or on an overnight mission, meaning the hideout is quiet and Sasori can work on his puppets uninterrupted. If he knows that he and his partner have a mission coming up the next morning, he will sit with the maps and carefully plot out the quickest, most convenient route for them to take to reach their destination. During the long night, or during a lull in his work, Sasori might pause and go outside, sitting on a tree stump and staring up at the inky sky. Evenings remind him of happier times with his grandmother, who used to tell him stories about the Gods who resided amongst the stars. Foolish, maybe, and made-up, obviously; but still immensely satisfying to a little boy who needed to be distracted from the pain of missing his mother and father. Sometimes Sasori will be joined by the insomniac Itachi, and the two will sit quietly side by side, both lost in their own thoughts (but grateful for the company). Deidara Besides being young, there’s another reason why Deidara is so slender; he barely eats as much as he should, or when he should, or WHAT he should. If left to his own devices at night, the kid will sit on his bed and eat snacks. Chips, candies, pastries; Deidara has almost as bad a proclivity for sweets and junk food as Tobi, although he would never admit this. If it’s one of the fabled Family Dinner™️ nights, he will join the others ... but between him and Hidan fighting to make their voices the loudest at the table, neither gets much food into their mouths (which is a shame, because whatever Konan makes is always delicious). Beauty like Deidara’s doesn’t just happen; it takes a lot of meticulous prep work and a very disciplined routine to keep the blonde looking the way he does. While he saves the majority of his work for the morning, one thing he can’t neglect in the evenings is his hair. Dividing the locks into sections, combing, oiling, and brushing until it shines; by the end Deidara’s arms feel ready to fall off ((again)), but it’s worth it. He also takes care of his eyes; nobody knows this but Deidara has suffered from severe dry eye since he was a kid. He puts in eye drops each night, and gently massages the muscle to keep them vital. As he goes through his routines, he (very softly) sings. To the others,

he’s always maintained that he doesn’t remember anything about his parents; but in reality, he can vividly remember his mother. And mom liked to sing. Before bed he also likes to get in some exercise (push-ups mostly, as he’s trying to strengthen his arms back up). If he’s in a rare good mood, he’ll allow Tobi to sit on his floor and talk to him for a bit. He’s been made to work with this guy for a while, and he stills knows almost nothing about him. Sometimes Deidara thinks he’s just a simple-minded buffoon, but sometimes he seems like ... more. Sometimes the veil is lifted and Deidara sees glimpses of a very different Tobi. A calm Tobi, a quiet Tobi. A Tobi who had a damn brain on his head. Sometimes Deidara thinks that the guy might be — but then the idiocy comes back in full force and Deidara just sighs and tells the kid to go to bed. It takes FOREVER for the artist to fall asleep (his thoughts are always racing so fast that it’s hard for him to shut them off entirely), but once he does, he’s down for the count. He’s learned the hard way that when he sleeps he has to wear gloves on both hands, because the mouths on Lefty and Righty have the unfortunate habit of drooling, and Deidara doesn’t like waking up in a soggy mess. He’s also learned that he has to lock his door, or he risks the chance of being visited by prankster Hidan or Mr. I-Had-A-Nightmare-Senpai-Can-I-Sleep-With-You- Tobi. Itachi Itachi is not much one for eating a big meal at night ... well, at ANY time, really. He can be coaxed by Kisame or Konan to eat snatches of things at the beginning or end of dinner, but you’ll never see this guy with a full plate (or a full belly). After “dinner”, one of the few joys in the young brunette’s life is an occasional nightly bath ((as opposed to his normal routine of morning showers)). Steaming hot water, scented oils, time to wash his hair and moisturize his face — the only time anybody has ever seen Itachi lose his cool calmness was the time that Tobi broke the bathtub and Itachi couldn’t take a single night-bath for the week. But as for sleep, well; Itachi has been existing off of three hours a night, MAX, since before he’d even joined the Akatsuki. Nobody can figure out how he lives like this, unless the Sharingan gives the guy some sort of magical staying-awake powers. And to make matters worse, he’s an ultra-light slumberer; even the tiniest of noises will have his eyes wide open and his ears straining in the darkness to identify possible danger or threats. To compensate for the lack of good rest, Itachi will spend a good deal of time BEFORE laying down in meditation. Being able to put his mind fully at ease, even if he can’t achieve the same for his body, is what keeps him from going completely insane. Although he doubts that the others care about his well-being, in truth everybody expresses some mild concern for Itachi’s worrisome habits. Kisame has even approached Sasori, who is a master herbalist, about making a sleeping pill that he could slip into Itachi’s nightly cup of tea. Sasori won’t do it, because he has no desire to drug his fellow teammate — but he IS working on a tea variant itself that might help Itachi catch a few more Zzz’s per night.

#the akatsuki #bedtime routine #konan #nagato #deidara #sasori #itachi #kisame #obito #zetsu #hidan #kakuzu

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devildomdoofus · 4 years ago

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Winter Storm:Part 2

Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor

WARNINGS:

‼️contains spoilers from chp. 16‼️

[[angst, cursing, anxiety, fear/terror, depression, near death experiences, hypothermia, dehydration, fainting, severe pain, cliffhangers, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suggestive themes, if I missed any - please let me know!!]]

Author’s Note:

As you already know, I will forever apologize for my sluggishness but I hope that when I do get to posting, it is worth the wait 😣 I’m particularly proud of these pieces, especially Beel’s and Belphegor’s... the angst was fun to write and helped me let off some steam! Forgive me, but Asmo is kind of hard to write for as we’re practically polar opposites 😭 OH!! Since this is the final piece to my “Winter Storm” puzzle, I’ll be needing more requests so if you’ve got something on your mind that you wish to bring to life, send ‘em my way and I’ll do my best to help make it come true!! I’d love to hear what you lovely individuals have rattling around in your brains✨. As always, thank you kindly for your patience, your generosity and support, and thank you very much for hyping me up to write and continue writing. You’ve helped me in more ways than I can count. Stay ruling them all, MCs ❤️

- DevildomDoofus

Prologue/Part 1:

Asmodeus:

It was difficult letting you go on an adventure without him, especially since you were taking the camera with you and he was all dolled up to the nines, looking way too good to not be in the pictures you were going to take... but then you offered him a reward he simply couldn’t refuse, IF he were to be patient. You took him by the hand, gazed into his beautiful eyes, and whispered low enough that he had to lean in close to hear your proposition. “Wait for me here and when I get back, we can dip into the hot tub and sip our favorite drinks until we’re pruny.” He practically kicked you out of the door so that you could hurry back and fulfill your promise.

In the time that you were gone, he busied himself with intricately arranging yours and his belongings until he felt you’d be proud with his eye for organization. By then, you hadn’t returned in the time he felt you‘d said you’d be back but... if he went out looking for you now, he might not get to be warm and bubbly with you later on and damn it, he was going to get that time with you. Once again, he tried to find something to keep his mind off of saying ‘the devildom with it!’ and going after you anyway. He flipped through magazines, scrolled on his D.D.D., sang and danced to his favorite human songs on the radio, but eventually, all he could think about was you. Wondering if you were ok, if you were having fun without him, what kind of pictures you might be taking to show him later... “Ok, that’s it. MC, sweetie, you’ll just have to forgive me.” He donned his comfiest and cutest winter trend setter, lathered the remaining exposed skin in protective lotions and creams because he simply CANNOT have his skin cracking or breaking, and stepped out the door to come find you- “Unholy shit...” The sky had darkened and the wind had picked up immensely. This is not good. For him, his skin, and much less you. He had to find you and fast. He spotted markings on the trees and the piles of stones nearby and he tilted his head. He knelt down to pick up a stone and eyed it a moment before he brought it to his nose for a quick sniff. It smelled of the lotion he had given you on one of your birthdays and for a brief moment, his heart flutters. You wore it constantly because it reminded you of Asmo and whenever you were feeling down, you’d take a whiff of yourself to feel closer to him and whatever was bothering you would instantly vanish. You told him this and he never forgot it nor did he ever let you hear the end of how happy it made him. Emotional in nature, Asmodeus started to tear up a bit as his fear of losing you increased. If he couldn’t find you soon, you’d surely be in danger if you weren’t already. He continued after you like a bloodhound, following you primarily by scent as his vision was becoming obscured by the blinding snow and ice. In addition, he would call out your name, hoping that by some unholy miracle, you’d hear his voice and come trudging through the snow into his arms. Today, he wasn’t so lucky.

Before long, your trail of markings and scent waned into nothingness and he came to a halt. “No, no, no, noooo!!” He turned in circles, sniffing until it hurt to do so, desperately trying to pick up your scent again but it never came. “Damn it!!” he cried as he dropped to his knees, a bit exhausted and heavily defeated. He couldn’t catch the tears before they trickled from his eyes so instead, he held his face in his hands and let them go. How could he have let this happen? The only one he could love more than he loved himself was probably stuck out here alone, terrified, and most likely hanging on for dear life but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it because he couldn’t find you. He was so overcome by his feelings of weakness and hopelessness that he almost missed the echo of your voice crying out through the storm. Almost.

He perked up in an instant, stumbling back to his feet before chasing the sound and calling after you. “MC?! Where are you, love?!” Although there was no reply, he continued in the same direction with your scent having picked up, until he came across the makeshift shelter you held up in. As he crawled in and got closer to you, he came to a complete stop before his jaw dropped to the floor and heart concaved within his chest. You were lying there like-... like you had been lying once before like a broken porcelain doll, abandoned and forgotten by it’s owner. He covers his mouth with his hand and began to cry once more, only this time in much more pain. Crawling over to you, he takes one of your hands in his and brings it to his quivering lips, gingerly kissing your hand before taking the rest of you into his embrace. “Oh MC... My sweet, sweet MC,” he whispers through his tears, “I’m so sorry.” The lump in his throat strangles the words that try to come out. “So very sorry.” He clutches you tighter, leaning his head against yours and rocking you in his embrace, telling himself this is a horrible dream. He never imagined days would come when someone else’s wellbeing came before his and yet the moment you had made a pact with him, he was immediately catching himself thinking of you before he ever came close to thinking of himself. It was incredibly bizarre... and he only wanted more. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that if fewer thoughts of himself meant more thoughts of you, he’d gladly take himself off the pedestal and place you on top instead. Unfortunately, this newfound wondrous feeling wouldn’t last long as the possibility of losing his source of selflessness and humility was rapidly increasing.

“As..moo...” His crying stops and he jerks up, looking down at you. For a brief second, he thought he heard you speak but seeing as you looked the exact same, he assumed he was starting to hear things. Until you said it again. “A..sm..oooo.” Any human would have thought that their ‘cheese had slid off the cracker’ because now, they’re hearing voices from beyond the grave, but Asmodeus knew better. He saw the curving of the delicate lips that your frozen face had allowed and he gasped. “MC!!” He tugs you ever so closer and snug to him that your spine could’ve snapped if he hadn’t of pulled away seconds later to litter your profile with swift and gentle kisses. When he’s done showering you in his smooches of relief, he stands up with you cradled to his chest and flies to back to the cabin to try and bring you back to the MC who once inspired him to be more by thinking of himself less. Besides, you owed him a dip in the hot tub and he wasn’t about to let some horrible blizzard take that away.

Beelzebub:

When you told this man that you wanted to go on a little scavenger hunt to check out the area, he thought you meant you were going to go see what kind of food joints were nearby and he was a little heartbroken at first, thinking you were doing such a thing alone. Without him. The avatar of Gluttony. But you assured him that you two would go together to do that later, and then buy as many groceries, snacks, and take-outs as he pleases as soon as you got back from a quick sight seeing. You also mentioned that you might find some berry bushes on your outing and you would bring some of those berries back for him to try. His cheeks dimpled and he gave you that smile that made your heart do cartwheels in your chest. For his cooperation, you gave him the location of the secret but not so secret because he could smell them anyway stash of your packs of fruit snacks. Ever since the pact, he has never been offended that you had ‘secret’ stashes because he understood all too well why you had to hide them away. His brothers did the same. But even still, you would always, and I mean always, share parts of your food with him so all he really had to do was wait for you to get hungry and surprisingly enough, it was almost as often as he would. You two were a match made in the celestial realm that could eat take the world by storm and he could never really put into words how much that connection that the of you two shared meant to him other than sharing HIS food with YOU.

Thinking of all of this food inevitably made him hungry so he went to your luggage, fumbled around a bit until he found them, and then gobbled down the full packs of fruit snacks, one by one, to hold him over until you came back. He then shuffled over to the couch to plop himself down and wait for your return. Before long, he was shifting and fidgeting in his seat as the cabin started to creak in the uncomfortable silence. He tried watching tv, doing little exercises, and eating more snacks but nothing was helping ease the uneasy feelings he was having.

There were many times in his life where the world around him seemed uncomfortably quiet. Yes, he was technically used to bouts of quietness with Belphegor, the Avatar of Sloth himself, being his twin brother and roomie. But typically, Belphegor was at least in the vicinity; either quietly snoring across the room, resting himself against Beel in one way or another, or could be called on and they could reach each other in a matter of seconds. They were never too far apart nor were any of his other brothers for that matter, if Beel needed a distraction. But as life can be a bit unforgiving, Beel was left alone, on occasions, for long periods of time with nothing but his increasingly loud thoughts to keep him company. And mind numbingly loud they were. It would range between his memories from The Great War of battling angels he once called friends, his overwhelming guilt of not being able to save Lilith, a bit of leftover anger with Lucifer for locking his brother away and then lying to him about it, guilty anger over Belphegor’s attempt to kill you, but most of all... he’s bent to the point of breaking over the fact that he knows he has a problem with his sin, more so than his brothers, and yet celestial realm knows there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it and that is what hurts most of all. And when thoughts like these come knocking at- no- BEATING DOWN his door, he either works his body until he crashes from fatigue, goes on binges for months to drown them out, bottles it all up until it terrorizes him in his dreams, or all of the above. That is, until you came along. Whenever you’re around, his mind, body, and soul seem at peace, and no more does he feel that he is starving, or broken and in need of fixing, or so far beyond forgiveness for what he’s done and who he has become that no one should ever be around him again for he’d only hurt them in the end, unable to stop himself. With you around, the quiet nor his own mind are his enemies but rather, potential friends. Indeed, he still has his moments where the ‘darker’ silence still pays him visits but they have become fewer and farther in between. And it’s all because of you.

That being said, this is one of those ‘darker’ silence visits and before it can get any sort of footing in his mind, he shoots up from the couch and heads out of the door to come looking for you.

He noticed little digits in the trees and piles of stones lining up with a trail going in a particular direction. If he remembers correctly, Satan had once mentioned that humans used these types of techniques as a survival tool in order to find their way back or leave a trail to be found if need be. Wow, his human is a smart cookie- “Damn it.” Shouldn’t have thought that. His stomach growled as if it was summoned and he pats his belly in an effort to console it. “I know, I know. I’m sorry buddy. We’ll find MC soon and then we can go eat with them.” It practically purred in response.

Minutes passed of following your trail and the sky began to darken with the wind picking up, followed by the walls of snow and ice. This was unsettling as he knew that humans couldn’t really survive out in weather like this for long, no matter how smart or capable they were. It was even more unsettling that your markings had disappeared and you were nowhere in sight.

“MC!!” he calls after you but you don’t respond. He continues, over and over, calling after you yet only the wind calls back. There was only one solution left and it was one he didn’t particularly like. He could use his ability as the Avatar of Gluttony to enhance his senses and sniff you out but... the problem was in the fact that he only ever used it when he was particularly starving, so inherently, whenever he zeroed in on something, he was going to eat it when he found it. This didn’t bode well for you considering you, in particular, had an exceptionally appetizing scent and it was extremely difficult to ignore, even with a full belly on the rare occasions that it is and out of his demon form. But because he was out of options and time was running out on the possibility of finding you alive, he had no other choice than to shift into his demon form and zero in on your scent. By Lord Diavolo, it was immaculate. The oh so sweet aroma was speaking sweet nothings to his stomach and the growl it emitted could shake the earth, if not hidden away under flesh and bone. He could make out a ghostly outline of your old footprints, beneath layers of snow, leading in one particular direction. He followed blindly, his hunger now at the wheel and in full on stalking mode as an apex predator on the prowl. It lead him in a few circles before ending up at the miniature shelter and by now, your scent was overwhelmingly delectable to his senses. He ducked low and could make out your silhouette in the darkness. Inching towards you, his nails turned to darkened claws and his teeth bared themselves with an impending goal to devour you whole until there was no trace of you but the outline of the snow of where you once laid- “NO!!”

Beelzebub stripped his sin from the reigns of his mind and he dropped to his knees beside you before it could begin it’s feast. He shook his head, trying to completely erase the thoughts of consuming your body and the immensely alluring smell that lead him to you in the first place. He then looked back to you and your drooping, solidified form and couldn’t hold back the tears that started to trickle down his face. “M-MC...?” Your heart would’ve shattered, just as his did in that moment, upon hearing the pain in his voice. “MC, no... please don’t do this.” He takes your head in his hands and turns your vacant, expressionless face towards him to try and get you to wake up. His thumbs trace circles over your cheeks and he’s calling your name but with no reply. The hands that are usually ever so steady and gentle with you, the hands that you’ve come to love with your whole heart, now shake in bits of agony as he pleads with his entire existence for you to wake up and come back to him. You continue to lay there, upon the cold, hard stone with your empty eyes looking right through Beelz’s and he can’t take it anymore. He lifts you into his arms and races back to the cabin with your limbs dangling towards the snow. Once there, he gingerly places you on the couch and flies around the cabin, grabbing the things he needs to get you warm and bring you back to him. He strips you of your wet clothes and dresses you anew in dry pairs. He throws a plethora of blankets over your body, covers your hands with fuzzy mittens and your feet in multiple pairs of fuzzy socks, then wraps a scarf around your neck and adjusts it so that it comes up to just beneath the opening of your nose. Lastly, he tosses firewood into the fireplace and sets them ablaze before settling onto the couch, placing you between his legs and wrapping his large arms around your frame, snuggling his face into the crook of the scarf around your neck. He inhales deeply, taking the sweet scent of you into his lungs before exhaling and letting his tears fall again. His grip on you tightens as he’s torturing himself for allowing this to happen to you a second time, the one and only person who could ever really take all of the darkness in his life into the palm of their hands and toss it to the four corners of the earth like it never existed. Like it never even knew his name in the first place. Now it was his turn to take away your pain, your darkness, your mistakes and it terrified him because as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t feel as if he could, no matter how strong he was or tried to be. The only thing he was certain of was that he had try his damndest to bring you back but then wait for fate to decide the rest.

Belphegor:

To be honest, Belphegor didn’t exactly want to come up to the human world in the first place, for a couple of reasons.

(1): He still has a teeny tiny ginormous grudge against humans, even if he knows Lilith became one and you were one as well. That didn’t mean that the rest of them were not still thorns in his side and most likely will remain so until the end of time. Especially Solomon. I mean really, what is that sorcerer up to half of the time?

(2): There isn’t much he prefers to be doing more so other than sleeping. He’s the Avatar of Sloth, Mr. Sandman himself. It came with the ‘job description.’ So he would just be going from sleeping down in the devildom, his palace of comfort, to sleeping up in that Father awful human world, the bane of his existence. “What a joy that would be,” he thought to himself while rolling his eyes as you were in the midst of going over all of the reasons he should come with you on this trip.

And finally (3): As much as he refuses to admit it, deep down in his heart of hearts, he often times feels guilty for being so low energy while you attempt to do things with him and share your life with him. He’s angry with himself for not being able to do much about it given that it is his sin, other than try his best to spend as much of his waking hours with you as he can for as long as you live, rather than sleeping both of them away. Which is why he inevitably caved and agreed to come with you on the trip. Besides, maybe the human world isn’t so bad when he’s with his favorite one? And maybe the chill from the snowy mountains could be his obvious excuse for snuggling ever so close to you under the piles of blankets and pillows. A smug little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth while he imagines it, eyeing your frame slowly, up and down, before nodding at whatever you had just said... sorry, MC. He wasn’t really listening at the time.

That is how the two of you ended up waving goodbye as you stepped out of the cabin to go sight seeing for a bit and he stayed behind, assuring you he would try his best to stay awake and unpack. We both know how that went

He awoke to the sound of an alarm you had secretly set on his D.D.D. knowing all too well that his promise was empty and growled at the ringing in his ear, nevermind that it was as soft as a loving mother’s lullaby. He jerks up, fumbles his hands in and around the mountain of blankets in search of his device, until he feels the vibrations of it and snatches it from its snug hiding place between his rump and the cushions. The light from it was blinding, having him squint into a frown as he swipes away the alarm. He grumbles, scratching his head through the tuffs of chaos before lifting his intertwined fingers towards the ceiling and letting out a groan, stretching his limbs. “MC?” he calls with his eyes still closed in a grumpy squint. Assuming you simply didn’t hear him, he calls for you again, a little louder, and with no reply for the second time, his eyes finally open and he looks around the empty cabin. He wiggles out of the blankets and walks around, giving the entire cabin a quick once-over, looking for his little, seemingly hard-of-hearing human. That’s odd. You weren’t home and it was-...? He checks his D.D.D. It was about the time you said you would be back. He glances out of a nearby window and frowns. It was swiftly darkening outside and not because of the sun laying down to rest, but due to a vicious storm beginning it’s onslaught. It ticked him off that you hadn’t returned since he felt that you knew better than to leave him waiting for you and it ticked him off a little bit more that now, there was a storm brewing and he had to go out in the cold to drag you back himself before you got yourself killed. Being here was pointless without you and staying awake was quite difficult; Therefore, if you weren’t going to be there with him when he happened to be ‘with the land of the living,’ he would simply go back to sleep... angrily for that matter considering he put time and effort into staying awake for you. He never did that for anyone, not even Beel. So you had better have a good reason for still being out in the cold, soon to be cold storm, or there was going to be devildom to pay. But instead of laying back down to return to his rudely interrupted slumber, as much as he wanted to do so out of spite, he grabbed a coat that was thicker than the one he typically wore and stepped out to come looking for you and then eventually punish you for your transgressions. He sighed as he pulled the hood over his head in an effort to reduce the blasts of ice filled wind and shambled through the rising snow, looking high and low for any traces of you. That’s when he noticed the carvings in the trees and stone piles shaped in an odd fashion. “Ah... not so naive after all,” he mutters to himself and another one of his signature smirks makes its way to his face, but that soon fades as the wind picks up and his line of sight shrinks further and further. This storm was becoming a bit too strong, even in the eyes of a demon such as himself, and that thought alone gave him chills that no blizzard could muster for he knew that this kind of storm was not something humans typically survive in, especially alone. “MC, I swear on Diavolo’s very demon soul that if you’re out here goofing off, you’ll regret the day you came back from my attempt to kill you.” The threat was empty and uttered without any true intention of being carried out. He was simply masking his fear with anger because he felt that his fear would weaken him and you didn’t need someone who was weak, you needed a strong and capable Belphegor to find you and bring you back home, safe and sound... being that you’re still alive.

He followed your trail until it came to a complete stop and with you nowhere in sight, he leaned against a nearby tree, one of the last ones you had marked, and traced his finger along the outline of the markings in the bark. “MC!!” He shouts for you but you don’t respond. He shouts your name over and over but the wind simply swallows them whole. Those fingers he once had on the bark, curled and tightened into a fist and he inhaled deeply just as he was rearing back before delivering an earth shaking blow to the center of the tree, leaving a gaping hole in its wake before the giant finally slunk to one side, toppled to the ground, and sent clumps of snow up in the air. His body shook no longer from the cold, but from the fear and the rage and the guilt overtaking him. He was terrified that he was losing you. Angry over the fact that no matter how hard he was trying, he couldn’t find you, much less save you. And celestial realm only knows how immensely guilty he felt for being the cause of your possible death, both in the past and now. He was shifting in and out of his demon form, his mind and sin arguing over who gets to take the reigns. Regrettably, his sin won without too much of a struggle and he bursts into his demon form onto his hands and knees, and began to scream, balling his eyes right out of his skull. “Please, MC!! For fuck’s sake, I can’t do this alone!! I need you, damn it!! I need you so fucking much!!” The world itself seemed to darken even further as Belphegor poured his breaking heart right out of the newly vacant pit in his chest. Nothing in all of the three realms could pull him from his decent into madness...

...until the sound of your voice makes it way to his ears, past the baying wind and cries of agony. Time itself seemed to stand still and the world around him grew deathly silent as he listened for your voice. He hears it echo from not too far off from where he kneeled. In the time it takes lightning to reach the earth, he has wiped his tears clean off and is now on his feet and bolting in the direction of your voice. That oh so delightful sound of your voice.

He reaches the knockoff shelter that you hid away in and hunches down, making his way to you. As soon as he reaches you, he slows to a stop and places his trembling fingers against your neck, testing for a pulse. It’s dangerously low but his heart lightly flutters because now he knows there’s a chance that you could make it out alive... if he hurries. Refusing to give up, he takes you in his arms and bolts back to the cabin to try and warm you up. If he can save you, he will make the celestial realm seem pale in comparison to the world he will provide for you. If not... Father have mercy on them all.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #otome #mine #my posts #devildomdoofus #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mc #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #mc

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seita · 4 years ago

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— bnha abc's: hitoshi shinsou [angst edition].

well, finally the angst! i have no idea what character i’ll do next but we shall see...

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ɴsғᴡ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ | ғʟᴜғғ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ

⤑ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

A- Accident, Would they blame themselves if you died in an accident?

∴ unless he was the reason you were involved then no. ∴ he wouldn’t search for correlation to himself in the event of an accident. ∴ he’s not looking to throw a pity party for himself. ∴ you were the one who was dead, after all.

B- Break up, How would they deal with one?

∴ it depends on the relationship. ∴ if it was long term, a few years together then he’s pretty broken up about it ∴ and will probably take a while to get himself back on the market ∴ but a relationship that’s only been a handful of months ∴ he figures it’s best to just move on from it.

C-Crying, Are they much of a crier?

∴ no not at all, really. ∴ sure, he feels sad but tears never fall from his eyes. ∴ however, if there is something traumatic that happens. ∴ he may shed a few tears into his pillow as he goes to sleep.

D-Death, How do they deal with any death?

∴ pretty well, actually ∴ he finds a way to cope so he can move on as quickly as possible ∴ that’s not to say he doesn’t mourn or just erase their memory ∴ he just moves to work past being broken up about it ∴ he doesn’t want to go through his days with the heavy weight of a death on his mind ∴ the type of guy to visit graves and leave flowers for his loved ones once a month.

E-Emotion, What’s the emotion they tend to push away the most?

∴ anger. ∴ he doesn’t like to be angry and he doesn’t like to show anyone his anger ∴ that’s not always possible so he’ll remove himself from situations that make him angry ∴ he’ll go somewhere private where he can let his anger out without prying eyes. ∴ he feels like shit after losing his temper so he’ll apologize or you’ll have to console him and let him know it’s okay to be angry ∴ he’s human and bottling it up isn’t healthy ∴ he agrees but...tbh nothing changes.

F-Frustrated, How much would it take to push them off the edge?

∴ it truly depends. ∴ day-to-day, he doesn’t really get ticked off or upset easily ∴ he’s pretty patient tbh ∴ but in an event where he worked hard for something ∴ or he really, really had a drive to do something (like get into the hero course) ∴ and he fails to do it ∴ he is pretty easily set off. ∴ but he pushes past and works 10x harder than before until he accomplishes his goal. ∴ he’s a driven man.

G-Great Pain, What is the most painful thing they have witnessed?

∴ when he became a pro, the first time he failed to defeat a villain ∴ and many civilians perished as a result ∴ it’s something that absolutely haunts him. ∴ he had nightmares for weeks afterwards ∴ he fully went to a therapist ∴ like he was fucked up over it ∴ to this day, if he’s reminded of it he will literally get so anxious and depressed, even though he’s seen lots of casualties since then ∴ it was just that first failure that fucks him up.

H-Humiliation, How could they be humiliated?

∴ being cheated on. ∴ the idea that he wasn’t good enough, to the point his lover had to find someone else. ∴ that really damages his sense of self worth and self esteem which is already a bit low to begin with. ∴ he’d feel like there was something wrong with him and now everyone knew he was defective.

I-Injured, How do they handle themselves when injured?

∴ very calm and collected. ∴ he figures there’s no real reason to lose his head over it. ∴ panicking will only make the situation worse. ∴ if it’s a bad injury, he’ll seek help as fast as he can. ∴ if its a superficial wound he’ll probably handle it himself.

J-Jittery, Which part of their past makes them flinch or even worked up?

∴ his childhood. ∴ he was the target for teasing and bullying due to his quirk. ∴ so if anything reminds him of those times, he gets really down ∴ he doesn’t like spiral into depression or anything ∴ but he’ll feel anxious and self conscious until the moment passes

K-Kill, Would they kill for revenge?

∴ no, never. ∴ he’s worked so hard to become a pro hero that he wouldn’t want to jeopardize it by some sort of misconduct as that. ∴ also, he has been accused of having potential to become a villain ∴ and he doesn’t want to give anyone ammunition for that.

L- Loss, What was their greatest loss?

∴ he hasn’t actually experienced much loss in terms of losing anyone to death. ∴ when he was a child, he had a friend before his quirk manifested ∴ and accidentally used it on them, unsure of how to control it ∴ and it scared the other boy so bad he stopped being friends with him ∴ that hurt shinsou pretty badly. ∴ he also probably lost a pet dog, which was traumatic because of how much he depended on the furry animal for comfort

M- Mistakes, How much do they want to fix the mistakes of their past?

∴ shinsou isn’t the type of person who will do things that have the potential for regret ∴ he thinks his decisions over thoroughly and runs through all options before choosing the most logical one ∴ of course, he fucks up sometimes but ∴ he stands by his decisions, confident that he did the best possible thing he could have. ∴ being a pro hero doesn’t allow for him to regret things -- if he stops to mourn every civilian loss, for example, he would only be run into the ground. ∴ that doesn’t help anyone.

N-Need, How would they react if you needed emergency surgery?

∴ calm and collected ∴ especially if you’re scared ∴ then he’s going to make sure he’s a pillar for you to lean on ∴ that’s not to say on the inside he isn’t losing his mind ∴ bc he def is ∴ he just finds it counterproductive to stress you out while you’re already scared of the surgery ∴ it would get neither of you anywhere good ∴ once you’re in surgery, he’d be anxious as he waited. ∴ he’s check the time and refuse to leave the hospital until the doctor announces you’re safe.

O-Outrage, What makes them angry?

∴ betrayal. ∴ shinsou, when he trusts, he trusts hard. ∴ he puts his faith into them and expects them to stand by his side ∴ so if, for example, you used an insecurity of his against him in an argument. ∴ or cheated on him. ∴ or spilled a secret he told you in confidence ∴ he will be pissed. depending on how bad it was, he’s liable to break up with you. ∴ naturally, once his trust is broken, however, it’s near impossible to fix ∴ so good luck getting your relationship back to how it used to be lol

P-Pressure, What stresses them out to the breaking point?

∴ training ∴ he works hard to better himself to become the best hero possible ∴ but it stresses him out that he’s not improving fast enough, he’s not doing enough, he’s falling behind others ∴ he’s really hard on himself and his drive only makes the thought of failure terrifying to him. ∴ he doesn’t want to fuck up and lose his chance at his dream.

Q- Qualify, What part of themselves do they see as dangerous?

∴ his quirk, naturally. ∴ it’s a pretty dangerous quirk but ∴ truthfully, everyone’s quirk is dangerous in some way. ∴ it’s just that he’s always been trated as if his quirk was the worst possible outcome he could have been born with. ∴ so he feels like his quirk is the Most Dangerous.

R-Rock, What weighs them down?

∴ the idea that his quirk, very well could be a villains quirk. ∴ he worries that he might abuse it by accident and fuck everything up ∴ his quirk is different from combat quirks or rescue quirks ∴ he can control people. he can lock them into their own minds and force their bodies to do anything he wants without having to lift a finger. and there’s nothing they can do it about it. ∴ that scares him. ∴ it’s such a powerful quirk ∴ and it’d be so easy to abuse it ∴ he worries about his own morality at times, due to all the times he’s been called a villain ∴ it makes him doubt himself even though he knows himself better than that.

S-Sorrow, Would they feel empty after your death?

∴ very much so. ∴ shinsou is the type who gives himself completely to relationships ∴ whether it’s platonic or romantic, he puts 100% in. ∴ so to lose someone he had cared for so completely ∴ leaves him with a devastating emptiness ∴ he’s not going to know how to fill the gap your presence left behind for a long time.

T-Time, What if they had a limited time to live?

∴ he wouldn’t panic ∴ he’d spend the time doing everything he needed to do ∴ like see his mother, hang out with his friends, eat his favorite food, spend a night with you ∴ he’d be determined to make sure he wouldn’t regret wasting the time he had left ∴ so he does everything he feels is necessary for having the happiest time that he has left.

U-Urge, How badly do they get the urge to see you after separating?

∴ on a day to day basis, not much ∴ he’s very good at occupying his mind and thinking logically about whether it makes sense to see you or not. ∴ most of the time it’s not. ∴ he’s not the type to go crawling back to his ex unless it’s something he needs to fix with you. ∴ but at night, when he cant sleep ∴ his mind will automatically wander to you ∴ thinking about how it felt when just a few days, weeks, months ago you were curled up beside him in bed.

V-Vent, How do they get rid of feelings they find unnecessary?

∴ he’s actually really damn good at communication ∴ he is so good at just talking things through ∴ it helps him sort his thoughts and it keeps him calm, rather than getting worked up and upset ∴ he prefers to have healthy ways to release his negative emotions

W-Wild card, A random angst headcannon.

∴ when the bullying over his quirk got worse the older he got ∴ as people started to look at him like he was going to harm them ∴ he got frustrated, angry even ∴ he went off on his mom -- blaming her for giving him such a shitty, terrible quirk ∴ he said some extremely hurtful things in his anger ∴ and the picture of his mom’s hurt face over his words drives him insane ∴ to this day, he still feels like he’s trying to make it up to her. ∴ truthfully, it’s been forgiven and forgotten for a long time but ∴ he doesn’t believe he deserves that just yet.

X- X-ray, What makes them transparent? How obvious can they get around something they hate?

∴ you really will not know when this guy hates you ∴ he seems to have mostly just, cold indifference to majority of people ∴ so him hating you; being ignored or treated coldly ∴ will literally not even make you feel hated ∴ it just seems like his default ∴ he’s pretty open about his opinions though ∴ so if you talk about something and ask what he thinks of it ∴ if he hates it, like a movie, he’ll just come right out and say it tbh ∴ so he’s like 50/50 transparent.

Y-Yearning, Do old memories make them yearn for your touch?

∴ yes. ∴ shinsou is the type of guy to look through his phone at old texts and pictures ∴ when he lies in bed at night, he thinks of his fondest memories ∴ he won’t actively seek you out if it’s not logical -- like if you’re an ex. ∴ but if you’re available for him, he’ll seek you out with a deep craving for you. ∴ he wants to make more memories while he can.

Z-Zest, Add your own letters!

[Parents Headcanon] ∴ when he was a baby, his father left him and his mom ∴ that left his mom to take care of a baby all on her own ∴ she was a young mom too, had him pretty early in life; about 18 or so. ∴ so she struggled really badly ∴ he regrets all the trouble he gave her when he was naive to the struggles of parenthood ∴ once he got older and realized how much his mom did for him ∴ he began to work hard around the house so she could relax when she got home from work, cooked dinner, and never asked for anything he didn’t absolutely need ∴ he absolutely adores his mom ∴ and the idea of ever being without her terrifies him.

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#bnha x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha imagines #mha x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou imagines #mha imagines #shinsou.headcanons #bnha.headcanons

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mypunkpansexualtwin · 3 years ago

Text

Here we come with day two of pegoryu week, and it's gonna be the last one I post on time. I'll still be trying, don't get me wrong, I'm just not the kind of person who can write a fic I'm happy with in one day.

Yet.

As always, bulk of the fic is under a cut, link is in the reblogs, and I will daydream of baking you cookies if you share it.

“I did warn you.”

“Not even an arcade, dude?”

“Not unless you wanna get on a train for forty minutes.”

“Ugh. Laaaaame.”

After nearly a month of planning, Ryuji was visiting his boyfriend for Golden Week. One whole month of bargaining with all of their parents, putting aside every last yen they could spare, studying their asses off to earn the trip, and, of course, long phone conversations that were probably about eighty percent “I miss you”s and “I love you”s and “I can’t wait to see you”s. With Akira’s help via video call study sessions, Ryuji even managed to get into the top thirty percent of the class in their latest exams; a new record for him that effectively guaranteed the visit. But they’d been so busy celebrating and planning getting him out to the country that they may have completely forgotten to figure out what they were actually going to do when he got there. So now they were on the Kurusus’ living room couch, Akira cross-legged on one end and Ryuji stretched out across the rest with his head on his boyfriend’s lap, trying to scrape together a date idea.

“I’ll say it again. I warned you. Several times,” Akira repeated while he ran a hand through Ryuji’s hair. “There’s nothing to see here.” Ryuji caught Akira’s free hand, tangled their fingers together, and kissed the back of his hand.

“Yeah there is. You’re here, so I say it’s worth it.” Ryuji grinned as his boyfriend turned pink at the tips of his ears and wrinkled his nose.

“Sap,” Akira grumbled like there wasn’t a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Like they both didn’t know full well how much he liked hearing how happy Ryuji was that they were together, in every sense of the word.

“You love me,” Ryuji said, his grin widening just a little further. Akira’s expression melted into something almost embarrassingly soft as he went back to playing with his boyfriend’s hair. He curled and combed his fingers gently through the short strands, and huffed out a quiet laugh as Ryuji went boneless when he grazed his nails over his scalp.

“Yeah. I really do,” Akira sighed happily and got another kiss pressed to his knuckles. “You’re kind of my hero, you know.” It was something he’d tried to make a habit of telling his boyfriend, even before they were dating. Ryuji still sputtered and objected like it was his first time hearing it.

“You-- I-- that ain’t…” He sat up and shoved a pillow into Akira’s face with a groan. “Now who’s the sap?”

Akira draped himself across Ryuji’s shoulders and planted a kiss on the side of his neck, then smiled against his skin at the shiver that got. “You just have that effect on me, sunshine.” Ryuji grunted in response. “You like it.” Another grunt. Akira blew a puff of air at the back of Ryuji’s ear and laughed when he got swatted away. “Don’t pout. You were right, a date sounds nice. But you gotta help me figure it out.”

His boyfriend sprawled back out on the couch after pouting for a few more seconds, then looked up at him with those big brown eyes he’d been a sucker for since day one.

“Aight, what kind of food you got around here?” Akira could have been exasperated at his boyfriend’s predictability, but a dinner date was more feasible than a movie date, and a lot more pleasant than a gym date. He may have loved Ryuji Sakamoto with all his heart, but he didn’t plan on running again on the regular unless it was for his damn life.

“There’s only like ten places total around here. We’ve already visited three, two of them won’t serve me because the owners don’t like me anymore--”

Ryuji’s head jerked up at that, knocking Akira’s hand free. It was ridiculous how cute the guy was when he was offended. “What?! Why the hell not?”

Akira shrugged and went back to petting Ryuji’s hair in an attempt to soothe him. “Didn’t exactly bother to ask, but probably my record. Cleared of charges or not, my reputation mutated while I was gone and I haven’t really been able to fix it.” Not that he’d tried very hard when he didn’t plan on staying for even a second longer than necessary.

The frown that wrinkled Ryuji’s features was almost comical, but he probably wouldn’t appreciate being laughed at while he was already agitated. Especially when it was on Akira’s behalf. “Ugh, this town sucks, can’t wait to get you out of here. Wait, only probably your record? Why else would they dislike you?”

Akira huffed out another laugh, wry and joyless this time. “My uncle’s a pretty conservative guy, I heard he didn’t react well when he found out I was dating some guy from the city.” Quite literally heard it; he’d been getting ready to visit his cousin and could hear the old man shouting inside the house from the sidewalk. He’d opted to text Yuuta to meet up somewhere well away from their house instead when that happened. And, naturally, the news had mysteriously spread to the rest of town by the end of that week.

Ryuji sat bolt upright and twisted back around to face Akira with a scowl. “Your own effin’ family won’t serve you? What the hell?!” His expression was thunderous, made worse by the doomcloud over his head when he asked. Ryuji almost never got pulled into fights these days and was very proud of that fact--they both were--but Akira was certain that he was ready to deck the old man on sight on his behalf. He’d never encourage it, but the thought still made something in his chest swell a little.

“Just my uncle when I try to sit in. If it’s my aunt or my cousin taking delivery calls, they’ll still take the order. Plus a discount and extra desserts, if Yuuta’s the one who answers.” Akira shrugged, then tugged at Ryuji’s shirt to coax him into laying back down in his lap. He did, albeit begrudgingly, and Akira went back to running his hands soothingly through that remarkably soft shock of bright blond hair. “Anyways, the other five restaurants in town are fast food that you could get back home. So…” He trailed off and watched Ryuji’s scowl soften into an annoyed frown.

“Yeah, pass.” Ryuji closed his eyes, either to think or soak up Akira’s touch as he played with his hair, then cracked one eye open after a moment. “How ‘bout a picnic? You’re a pretty good cook and I bet we could find us a nice spot to just chill.”

That... was a pretty solid idea. Actually, that sounded perfect, and Akira knew exactly the spot for them to set up. He opened his mouth to agree, but was cut off by a low rumble of thunder outside. “...Maybe later this week? The weather should clear up before you have to go,” he said instead. Ryuji pouted up at the ceiling, or more likely up at the sky beyond it for ruining his brilliant plan. Then it was Akira’s turn to pout when Ryuji abruptly sat back up out of reach, but not for long.

The next thing he knew, he was being crowded up against the arm of the couch by one blond bombshell of an ex-track star. Ryuji was suddenly determined to pour himself into his boyfriend’s lap, all mischief and heat as he crawled across the couch towards Akira. He couldn’t think clearly while facing down that wicked grin curving across Ryuji’s face like Haru’s favorite battleaxe cleaving through the air. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d made out. It wouldn’t even be the first time Ryuji had taken the initiative and left Akira a flustered wreck when they did. But since it had been over a month since the last time he’d seen that look face to face, it was having more of an effect than usual, and Akira was left frantically trying to cling to his cool.

“I have an idea, babe.” Ryuji said lowly and Akira’s mouth went dry. Hands bracketed Akira’s hips on the couch as his boyfriend crept closer. “Y’wanna hear it?” Akira nodded and felt heat flare across his skin when he realized Ryuji was keeping that hooded, heated gaze fixed firmly on his lips. “Since your folks ain’t supposed to be back before tomorrow afternoon,” Ryuji’s tone was as light as his body was heavy as he straddled Akira and looped strong arms around his neck, “I was thinkin’ maybe… we could…” Akira was desperately trying to focus on the words being whispered into his ear over his boyfriend kissing his way up his neck and leaving his skin prickling in the wake of every touch.

“Y-yeah?” He couldn’t help the nervous flutter in his stomach. If Ryuji was implying what he thought he was implying... They hadn’t done… that... yet. Even with the house to themselves all day, they hadn’t actually talked about it, in part because Akira hadn’t even thought about it seriously yet. That nervous flutter hadn’t subsided and was starting to feel a little more like an anxious lurch.

Ryuji continued, oblivious to his boyfriend’s nerves with his face tucked against his neck. “We could maybe…” Akira’s hands flexed involuntarily around Ryuji’s hips. He didn’t dislike the idea, just-- His unsteady train of thought was thrown off again when soft lips brushed over his ear. “...watch One Piece together?” After a beat where Akira was left blinking stupidly for several seconds, Ryuji sat back on his legs with a grin that had gone from sultry to shit-eating on a dime. Oh. Okay, he could handle that. “I gotta get you caught up to me, plus I wanna see how much we can get through in one sitting.”

“...you’re truly a romantic for the ages, sunshine,” Akira responded flatly as his heart rate slowly returned to normal. He was teasing back now, because honestly that idea sounded just as good as the picnic, with a lot less effort to set up.

“I know,” he answered confidently, but his smile slipped a little. “Is that a no? I just thought maybe I could buy us dinner from your shitty uncle, and we can cuddle while we take advantage of that big TV with the fancy sound system.” Ryuji gestured hopefully to the flatscreen behind them that was nearly as big as Akira’s bed back at Leblanc.

“Sounds good. Netflix and chill, it is,” Akira declared. When he caught the way Ryuji’s smile and shoulders tightened slightly, he added, “y’know, in the most literal sense.” It wasn’t as though he was happy to see Ryuji nervous, but when his boyfriend relaxed at the reassurance, he couldn’t help but feel relieved that the two of them were on the same page as far as that was concerned.

---

Aki hadn’t been kidding when he said his cousin would hook them up. There was probably double what they’d ordered plus desserts in the bags the guy handed off.

“So, you must be the boyfriend, huh? He talks about you a lot. Y’know, for him.” Yuuta asked as he leaned on the doorway. Ryuji just grinned, because yes, that was him, he was The Boyfriend. Akira’s boyfriend. Akira’s boyfriend. It’d been months and Ryuji still got all giddy about it like it was brand new. Yuuta interrupted his thoughts when he called out past Ryuji to where Akira was sitting and watching TV, “Man, talk about punching above your weight!” Ryuji blushed and opened his mouth to object before Akira could start bragging on how amazing Ryuji was.

Apparently Akira had other plans, because before he could, two sharp whistles rang out behind Ryuji and he reacted basically on instinct. It was the signal Akira had always used to mean duck or you’ll get hit in the Metaverse, and Ryuji’s knees buckled with almost no input from his brain. He had just enough time to worry if he’d spilled the food--thankfully he hadn’t--when one of the couch throw pillows whiffed past his head and nailed Yuuta in the face.

“ACK! The fuck, dude?! See if I give you free dessert again, jackass,” the guy yelled and hucked the pillow back--and missed, from the sound of Akira’s laughter. Ryuji straightened up with a grin as Yuuta turned to him. “How the hell did you two even do that?”

“We’re just cool like that, I guess.” Ryuji shrugged. No need to explain how many times he’d accidentally taken a Lucky Punch or whatever in the back of the head because he got signals mixed up. “Seriously though, thanks for hookin’ us up, dude.” He held up the food and then added a little more quietly, “and, uh, thanks for havin’ Aki’s back while he’s here. It’s easier to not worry if I know there’s at least someone here talkin’ to him besides that damn cat.” That got a snort of laughter out of the delivery guy.

“No problem? I’d say obviously, ‘cause he’s family, but… Well, I’m sure he told you. Our family kinda sucks sometimes.” He frowned, shook his head, then brightened back up. “Anyways, sweet of you to worry. He really did luck out when he found you, huh?” Yuuta said as he stepped back from the door.

Ryuji shook his head. “You got it backwards, man. I’m the lucky one.” He turned back to where his boyfriend was watching TV, now fully absorbed in the show even if he didn’t really look like it. Ryuji couldn’t help the contented sigh that escaped him; he had his boyfriend again and he was going all in on one of Ryuji’s favorite things just because it was one of Ryuji’s favorite things, and it looked like he was actually enjoying it, too. When he turned back, Yuuta was halfway to his scooter, still loaded down with bags of food.

“You really believe that, huh?” He called back. “You keep that attitude, Sakamoto. Even when he’s bein’ a menace, alright? ‘Cause he’s a menace, but he’s my menace, and I’ll serve you up as dumplings if you hurt him!” The scooter rumbled to life and Yuuta added over the noise of the motor, “And you tell him the same thing. I like ya, so he’s gonna be the next lunch special if he’s an asshole to you!”

Ryuji waved in acknowledgment as he sped off, then closed the door and dropped the bag of takeout next to Akira. They paused the episode long enough to sort through the food; a double order of dumplings, pork miso for Akira, spicy vegetable ramen for Ryuji, ginger pork with rice that he was pretty sure they didn’t order at all, and half a goddamn cheesecake for them to split. It was an impressive spread that Akira was already calculating how much was going to be crammed into the fridge at the end of the night.

“Well. Anything we don’t finish tonight can go with us on the picnic?” He suggested as he started on his soup and turned the show back on. They hadn’t made it very far in just yet, and definitely had an uphill battle ahead of them.

Ryuji nodded, mouth already full of noodles. “Shoundsh good to me, dude.” Akira made a face at him like he always did when he talked around a mouth full of food, and Ryuji washed it down with some of the broth. “Family recipe?”

Akira hummed a confirmation around his own food, but paused to actually finish his bite. “Yup. Not as good as the place you took me, but I could just be biased.” Ryuji could hear the smirk in his voice that always cropped up when he was thinking about saying something sappy. Ryuji cut him off before he could, though. Butterflies wouldn’t leave much room in his stomach for ramen.

“I was thinkin’ the same thing. The Ogikubo thing, not the bias thing. Didn’t wanna offend, though.” Ryuji said and took another sizable bite. Even mediocre ramen was still pretty good in his opinion.

Akira chuckled. “Nah. Actually, the ramen there’s always been a little lackluster. I could’ve offered some advice to improve it once I got back, but now? Fuck that guy.”

Ryuji tried not to choke on his food with the laugh that threatened to escape. Scalding, spicy broth shooting out of your nose kinda sucked, especially if you got a noodle along with it. That was an experience he wasn’t keen on repeating. He swallowed down his bite and rasped, “could always pass it on to your cousin. He seems pretty cool when he ain’t threatenin’ to cook us.”

“Ah, you got the shovel talk, then--wait, us?” Akira nodded, but then froze partway and whipped his head around to Ryuji, who nodded in return after clearing his throat.

“Mhm. Said he likes me, ‘n if you break my heart you’re gonna be a lunch special,” Ryuji grinned.

“Asshole. He knows I can’t stand most of what’s in the rotation.” Akira grumbled and pouted into his soup. “What’d he threaten you with?”

“Dumplings.”

Akira’s eyebrows disappeared up into his bangs at that. “Damn, I think he likes you better than me. Uncle’s place is famous for its dumplings,” he explained as he picked the last bit of pork out of his bowl.

“I’m… honored? So is all your family this weird, or is it just you two?” Ryuji asked around another mouthful of noodles. The broth was definitely missing something, but the vegetables were pretty damn good; still pretty crisp but not undercooked. Good flavor on their own, prolly locally grown, too. “Also, how is a place in the middle of nowhere famous for anything?”

“Hey, we still have several other towns nearby, and folks will come here specifically for those dumplings. So you should be honored.” Akira huffed as he popped one of said dumplings in Ryuji’s mouth. Shit, it was pretty killer. Leagues better than his ramen. And of course his boyfriend looked as smug as Morgana when he caught the look on Ryuji’s face. “As for the weirdness? No idea. Around here it’s just me and Yuuta, but I don’t really know much about the ones that don’t live here. Might be because we’re in the middle of nowhere, might be because the ones who live here make a habit of cutting off any undesirables.” Aki shrugged and leaned up against Ryuji. “Maybe I’ll see if I can find any of them when I leave. I dunno.”

Ryuji leaned right back into him and planted a kiss against Aki’s temple, earning himself a pleased little hum from his boyfriend that he felt more than heard. “I’ll be right there with you if you do. I always got your back, babe.” Akira finished his soup and curled up against his side, tucked under one arm. It was nice, even if it meant now Ryuji had to figure out how to eat his ramen one-handed. Eh, he’d figure it out, it’s not like there was much left in the bowl anyway. “So, uh, earlier. You seemed a little tense when I was teasin’ you? And not like usual. I didn’t, like, push too much, did I?”

Akira had suddenly gone very still under his arm. Not the best sign.

“No. But, uh don’t take this the wrong way or anything, I was definitely glad you just wanted to watch One Piece with me. For a second there, I thought you wanted to…” He buried his face against Ryuji’s shoulder. God, his boyfriend was stupidly cute when he got all shy. “...y-y’know. Anyways, I was relieved when you seemed just as nervous about it? Not to be an asshole, but I’m kinda glad it isn’t just me who isn’t ready.”

“Right.” Well, that was that question out of the way, but now he’d paved the way for a new one that’d been rattling around in his head for a while now. God, best case scenario, Akira was probably gonna laugh in his face. Him? Ryuji Sakamoto, of all people, not interested in that? “What if…” He hesitated and tried again. “Well, how long would you be okay with that?”

“What do you mean?” Akira tipped his head up to look Ryuji in the eye. That really didn’t help things, ‘cause even on a good day Ryuji tended to feel small when Akira looked at him like that.

“Like…” Ryuji took a deep breath and steeled himself. “WhatifI’mneverready?” His stomach clenched. There it was, he’d finally said it. Years of wondering if his friends were just exaggerating what they wanted to do with the girls in their class; months of internet research and arguing with himself even when it was the only answer that made sense and trying to backtrack or minimize it with ‘well maybe I’m only kinda like that, maybe I’m that demi thing, maybe I’ll find someone’ to try and soften the blow; a whole year of slowly coming to the realization that that just wasn’t something on the table for him, no matter how attractive Ann was or how close him and Akira got, he just wasn’t wired for wanting that kind of thing, even if he wanted the rest of the sappy, romantic couple shit for as long as he could get it, ideally the rest of his life. All of that had built up to one rushed confession that could make this trip out to the country really effin’ miserable when he still had four more days of crashing at his boyfriend’s place.

“Didn’t... quite catch that?” Akira said after a moment of trying to process what Ryuji had just blurted out. Goddammit. Of course he didn’t.

Ryuji took a deep breath and tried again. “What if… I’m never ready for that? Would that be a dealbreaker?” His heart was hammering as he forced the words out a little more slowly this time. And Akira already looked annoyed. Shit. Shit. He couldn’t look him in the eye and instead stared down at his feet, trying desperately to swallow the queasy feeling in his stomach that threatened to bounce his lunch back up onto the floor in front of him. Ryuji opened his mouth to backpedal, to assure him that if he really wanted to then Ryuji would try for him even if the idea was kind of completely terrifying--

“Of course not!” The sharpness of his tone was what registered first and Ryuji was already braced for a breakup when the words actually hit him. It wasn’t a dealbreaker. It was okay. They were okay. They were... actually okay?

“Wh-- forreal?” Ryuji’s voice cracked embarrassingly and Akira shifted against him, one hand coming up to his chin to make him look at him.

“I already told you, you’re my hero. You…” Akira opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he was looking for the right words and couldn’t find them. One hand cupped Ryuji’s jaw and ran a calloused thumb across his cheek, and Ryuji couldn’t help but press into the touch. “You’re everything to me. I could write books on all the things that make you amazing; your compassion, your kindness, your loyalty, your smile, all of it. So what if we never…” Akira blushed a little, but he seemed determined to power through the embarrassment. “So what if we never have sex? What do I care? I love you, Ryuji Sakamoto, I’m not giving up my sunshine, the best thing that ever happened to me, for anything.”

Ryuji swallowed hard around the lump forming in his throat and buried his face against Akira’s neck. Even away from Leblanc, he still smelled like coffee and curry, still smelled like home. Akira had called it home too, and had told him once that he made Boss’ recipes whenever he was homesick for the cafe, or his team, or… Or for Ryuji. Ryuji wanted to believe him so badly. “It’s easy to say that when you still ain’t ready for it, but--”

“I won’t change my mind,” he insisted so vehemently that no part of Ryuji could even think of an argument. Even the part of him that had been certain for months that even admitting he was asexual to himself would ruin everything. “It’s not like I can’t take care of things myself. And that just means more time for everything else.” Akira paused and pressed a kiss to Ryuji’s forehead. “More time to cook your favorite foods,” kiss, “more time to cuddle,” kiss, “more time to watch our favorite shows, all of it.” Akira dropped one last kiss on his temple and went back to running his fingers through Ryuji’s hair. Then he added, almost too quietly to hear, “for the rest of our lives if you’ll let me.” Let him? He’d fuckin’ beg him if he had to.

“Babe, you’re gonna make me cry,” Ryuji said thickly, as if they couldn’t both feel the wet spots forming on Akira’s shirt from where tears were already streaming down his face. Part of him was still scared he wasn’t going to be enough, and it probably always would be for one reason or another. But for now it was easy to relax into his boyfriend’s embrace and trust that he planned on sticking around a little longer.

Akira kept playing with Ryuji's hair the way he knew he loved and wrapped his other arm tightly around him. He pressed a few more kisses to the top of Ryuji’s head and then asked, “do you need me to stop?” Ryuji shook his head and got another kiss. “Alright. Take all the time you need, sunshine.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“We’re gonna need to restart the episode after, though.”

#persona 5 #pegoryu #pegoryu week 2021 #my writing #had the idea for ace ryuji halfway through this prompt and couldn't resist giving favorite characters the tenderness I have yet to find #so if you clown here I will physically fight you

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