#almost every time i look in the mirror to make sure i’m not going bald

[catboyllawliet]

got insomnia and started thinking about how sad my entire life has been :p real self-pitying hours

also a couple hours ago i was thinking about how i should get tested for ocd or whatever (since my therapist implied it) so i was thinking of what i could say when i see someone for it and like… listing out in my head all the tics and rituals that i have (plus the hypochondria and what are probably intrusive thoughts lol) and i am now pretty confident that i do have it lmao

[buckysgrace]

Awkward Encounters

Single dad!Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

Closer to My Heart Masterlist

CW: Fem receiving oral sex, light spitting, the word daddy is mentioned

Theo has a mishap with gum. Your night with Billy takes a bad turn.

Gum was not allowed in your classroom. Under no circumstances. It ended up everywhere. On the desks, in the toy bin, on the rugs and on backpacks. And in hair. And oh boy, was this a rather large wad of gum in his hair.

You had tried everything; gum, toothpaste, vinegar and ice cubes. Nothing was working. Poor Theo’s blonde locks remained stuck to the top of his head, making you wince every time you brushed through it.

“You done yet?” The toddler squeaked from in front of you, trying to glance back at you before you gently tilted his head in the right direction once again. He huffed, clearly bored from how long he’d been forced to sit in front of you. 

“No,” You sighed as you rubbed your wrist against your nose, careful not to touch your sticky fingers, “Theo, how did this happen?” You asked seriously, sighing as you tried to massage the gum out of his blonde strands. 

“I chew it,” He nodded his head as you continued to gently brush at the wad of gum, “And then I blew a bubble and this happen!” He replied dramatically as he popped his hands up towards his head. You frowned as you dropped your heads in defeat. 

“Uh huh,” You sighed, “Okay. I’m going to have to call your dad.” You told him softly, finally confirming that you wouldn’t be able to get it out of his hair. You breathed out deeply, worried about what Billy would say. 

“Am I in twouble?” He asked you worriedly, blue eyes wide with concern. You shook your head, sighing softly. You were pretty sure you would be the one in trouble. Billy had such beautiful hair, clearly well taken care of. You were fairly certain he cared about Theo’s hair in the same way. You feared this would be a breaking point.

“No,” You told him gently, “I just can’t fix your hair.” You responded, wincing as you took one last look at the stuck lump.

“Uh oh,” He whined, his bottom lip trembling, “I bald?” He asked you worriedly, almost making you laugh at his concern.

“You’re not bald,” You responded softly, unsure if he would be by the time it came out, “Why don’t you go back to your desk and leave this part of your hair alone, alright?”

You scrubbed your hands clean, trying to give yourself a little pep talk in the mirror before you moved on to the dreaded phone call. You had no idea how you were going to explain this to Billy. You just feared he wouldn’t be mad.

You held the phone between your cheek and shoulder, staring down at the number on the paper before you finally got your fingers to work. You winced, shutting your eyes tightly as you chanted for Billy to not be there. For no one to answer. Please. No one pick up. 

“Speak to me.” You wanted to punch the air as someone answered on the last ring, sounding a little out of breath. Or perhaps exhausted. But there was no mistaking his raspy tone. It left you warm and prickly on the inside. 

“Hi, Mr. Hargrove. This is -,” 

“So formal,” He teased, his tone smug as he interrupted you, “Calling me while you’re at work is risky. What are you wearing?” He teased you as you looked around, ensuring that no one had heard him.

“I’m still teaching,” You squeaked out as you stared down at your cow print skirt, “And I’m calling because Theo got gum stuck in his hair.” You shut your eyes tightly, waiting for the blow.

“Did you try peanut butter?” He asked casually, not sounding nearly as upset as you thought he would.

“And everything else,” You sighed, “I’m so sorry. I don’t even know how he got it.” You told him quickly, nearly promising that you hadn’t had this happen since your first year of teaching. You thought you had learned your lesson then. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know either,” He laughed softly, like he knew more than he was letting on, “He’s a kid, it happens. You can cut it.” He suggested, leaving you speechless.

“Me?” You asked in disbelief, “I only have safety scissors.” 

“You don’t own any adult scissors?”

“Well, I’m sure someone does,” You gulped softly, “But I don’t in my classroom. It causes too many issues.” You explained slowly, knowing that anytime you pulled out a pair of regular sized scissors every single one of your students wanted to use it. It was too much of a hassle. 

“I’ll be there soon.” Came his response, quick and to the point. You blinked, about to answer before you were cut off by the line ending. Shoot.

You felt dread sinking into your bones as you waited and waited. Surely Billy wouldn’t actually leave work to come over some gum in Theo’s hair? 

Snack time was always a bit chaotic. You divided your time between punching straws in juice boxes, opening bottles, peeling fruits and opening different plastic containers. Theo always opened his own snacks on his own. And it was always the same. Half a bologna sandwich with ketchup. 

“Hey,” Billy interrupted everyone, a pained look on his features as all of your little students turned their heads in his direction, “I’m here for Theo.”

“Daddy!” He yelled happily, scooping his sandwich up in one hand before he rushed to grab his backpack. Billy followed, giving him a small shake of his head. 

“I’ll have him back in an hour or so,” He told you as he hung Theo’s backpack up, keeping it behind, “We’re just getting your hair fixed, bubba.”

“Shi-,” Theo paused, the word hanging on the tip of his tongue as you felt your eyes widen, “Shoot.” He corrected a second later, making you sigh in relief. 

“I’m really sorry,” You apologized, feeling awful as you approached them, “They’re not supposed to have gum. I don’t know how it snuck past me.” 

“I got it from-!” Theo stalled by Billy covering his mouth, smiling stiffly in your direction.

“No tattle telling,” He teased Theo softly, making your eyes squint playfully at him, “We’ll see you soon.”

It was a little over an hour before they returned, right in the middle of lunch time as you worked on your salad and listened to Peggy’s story about her dad and moms recent fight. You always got good gossip from them, however you couldn’t always be sure what was true or not. 

Theo strolled in, his happy meal in hand with a pair of sunglasses on. He strutted towards his desk, giving his head a little tilt to show off his fresh hairdo; a mullet. He perfectly resembled a little Billy now, mirroring him exactly.

“Sowwy,” Theo replied as he plopped his Happy Meal down on his desk, “You see my hair?” He asked happily, touching his palms against the little curls as he showed it off to everyone. 

“Wow,” Betty giggled as she covered her mouth, looking at her little friends with wide eyes, “I wike it.” She grinned as she leaned forward to touch it, making him smile a little brighter. 

“You look very handsome, Theo,” You agreed with a smile, pressing your lips together as you glanced towards Billy, “Just like your daddy.” You added softly, stomach flipping repeatedly as you met his eye. 

“Oooh, teachew,” Caleb snickered from his desk, “You wike him.” He pounded his fists against his desk, giggling hard as you snapped your gaze in his direction. You knew where this was going. Once this got started, it never ended. 

“I do not.” You said quickly, huffing to yourself as you shook your head. Your fingers twitched from the flushed sensation that spread over you, nervous as you refused to look in Billy's direction. 

“Teachew and-,” He paused as he tilted his head, “Mistew, what youw name?” He asked directly, making your eyes widen. You did not want your students to start singing the kissing song about you and Billy. 

“You don’t have to answer that,” You pleaded with him quickly, “Don’t answer it.” You held your finger up, not caring how immature you sounded right now. You still had a reputation to try and uphold. 

“That’s my daddy,” Theo said proudly as he dunked his nuggets into his ketchup, “Teachew come over fow pizza!” He added excitedly, hitting the nail on the coffin as you lost control of all of your little students. 

“Ooh!”

“Not like that.” You started again quickly, looking to Billy for support as you tried to think of a good answer. He just shrugged his shoulders, looking a little proud. 

“They’re like four,” He chuckled softly, “See you later, bud. No more gum or it’ll rot your teeth out.” He said before he delivered a little kiss to the top of Theo’s head. His blue eyes widened, jaw slacking in disbelief as he turned towards your direction. 

“Teachew?”

“Well-,” You sighed deeply, heart hammering as Billy glanced back at you one last time before leaving, “Ten minutes before lunch is over.” You said meekly instead, wondering how you’d gotten in such a position. 

You weren’t sure how Billy had managed to find a babysitter so quickly, but he had. You weren’t really concerned with eating dinner, but did so to prove a point. It was nice. You learnt a bit more about him, although it was apparent that he was very reserved. Many walls were placed up, hiding him away from you.

Your apartment felt too small when you dragged him back inside, your heart hammering harshly as you thought about the last time you’d been here. You shook away your guilt, reminding yourself that this had to technically be a date. And not your first either. It was fine to have fun with him. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. 

His hands fell to your hips, squeezing you tightly as his tongue dragged over yours. You moaned at the sensation, your body pressing further against his as his fingertips dug into your flesh. Your heart hammered roughly, your nerves jolting with electricity. 

“God,” He groaned as he pulled away, his bottom lip dragging against yours slowly as he inhaled deeply. His nose brushed against yours, his warm breath coating your face as he slipped his fingers across your damp panties, “Already wet? Slut.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t think you were this desperate for me,” He teased as he stripped you down, blue eyes twinkling as he ran his palms over your thighs. He squeezed your thighs roughly, smirking as he leaned forward to kiss at the front of your panties, “You gonna be a good girl and take my cock?” 

“Uh huh,” You muttered, completely in awe with the way he lazily dragged your panties down your legs. He leaned forward, his lips dragging across your inner thighs as your clit ached in pleasure, “Please, Billy. Wanna feel your tongue so badly.”

He smirked up towards you, his expression cocky as he slowly dragged two of his fingers through your wet folds. He licked at your inner thigh, holding eye contact with you before he dragged his teeth against your skin.

You yelped, jolting forward before he pushed you back down. You gaped, pulse racing as he used his two fingers to spread your folds apart. You gasped, body burning as he spit onto your cunt. He mumbled something under his breath, making your veins ache in pleasure as he began to rub his saliva against your pussy. 

Moans fell free from your lips as you gripped your sheets, your hips slowly rocking forward to meet his movements. You shut your eyes in bliss as he continued to rub your swollen numb between his fingertips. 

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” He praised as he leaned down to give your clit a little kiss, making you jolt in pleasure as he grunted softly, “Tastes sweet too.” He hummed as his large hand fell to your thigh, pushing you apart as he delivered another swift kiss to your folds.

You exhaled deeply, your lungs burning as he slid his tongue across your pussy. You moaned at the way your hole contracted around nothing, leaking as he began to trace the tip of his tongue across your clit. 

He wrapped his pretty lips around your clit then, sucking softly and melting your bones in the process. You felt weak as you slowly rocked your hips forward, enjoying how he played with your clit. The pleasure burned inside of you, leaving you craving for more of him. 

“Billy,” You moaned as your fingers lightly fell to his hair, twisting through his strands as your hips began to rock against his mouth, “Oh God.” You breathed out, nipples hardening in the exposed air as he continued his motions. You felt like you were floating and drowning at the same time.

He lapped at your cunt, licking away your slick and wetness while groaning to himself. The vibrations of his sounds left you weak, your thighs shaking as he dug his fingers deeper into your flesh. You craved the sensation, liked feeling like he was desperate for you. 

The feeling of his tongue rapidly lapping against your clit left you squealing, blubbering as you gripped the sheets and rocked your cunt up against his face. He held onto you tightly, burying himself in deeper as the muscles in your stomach twisted tightly.

You felt the rough waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you breathless as you reached for the head of the bed. You came with a loud cry, overstimulated with the rough way his tongue was lapping at your clit the whole time. It all felt too good. 

You felt weak as he slowly spit onto your pussy before he then licked away your mixture. You moaned deeply, your throat tickling from the rough sounds as he slowly pulled himself away. His lips were slick and red, eyes hazy but arrogant. He knew what he was doing. The bastard.

You gripped his strong muscles, pulling him over your body before you crashed your lips against his. You moaned as you tasted yourself, savoring the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours as he removed his remaining clothes. 

He pressed your legs apart, spreading you wide for him as he slid his knees against your skin. You gaped, sitting up a bit to get a better look at the way he lazily dragged his fist over his hard cock. Butterflies spread through your body, leaving you needy as you wiggled your way closer to him.

“Please.” You moaned as you reached down to squeeze his cock, looking at the way his precum slid from his red tip. You gaped, hungrily watching as he tore open the wrapped condom with his teeth. 

“What do you want?” He teased as he slid the condom over the head of his cock, nearly making you drool at the way his thick girth filled it out. You moved your hands to your sides, trying to keep yourself from playing with your clit. 

“I want you to fuck me,” You begged, gaping as he slid his hard cock around your slick cunt, “Please daddy.” The name slipped free awkwardly as you stumbled over your tongue, your eyebrows furrowing together as you were unsure of yourself. You weren’t sure where that came from, but it certainly bursted free roughly. 

“Uh,” He froze for a moment, blinking quickly, “What?” He settled back on his knees, blue eyes filling with surprise as he stared down at you. You winced as the mistake washed over you. 

“Um,” You gulped harshly, quickly realizing that you had misspoke as the embarrassment set in, “Sorry. Too far.” You apologized awkwardly, your insides burning from humiliation. So much for trying your hand at dirty talk. Maybe calling him a slut would’ve been better. 

“No, no,” He shook his head, watching the way you wiggled yourself free from underneath him, “I just-, I’m a dad you know.” He gestured towards himself, making you look away quickly. You felt your defensive walls coming up, not meaning to make it so weird. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You protested as you sat up, pressing your knees up to your chest as you tried to think of a quick escape. 

“It’s fine,” He shrugged his shoulders, “Just freaked me out a bit.” His smile was soft, but your ego was far too bruised at the moment. You were shutting down. You needed to be alone and try and figure out why your tongue had betrayed you in such a way. 

“Maybe you should go then,” You gulped as you pulled your blanket over yourself, feeling a rush of shame, “I have to work tomorrow anyways.” You said awkwardly, refusing to look at him and instead staring at the schedule on your wall. Almost as if to prove that you weren’t lying. 

“It’s not-,” He sighed as he watched you, but you kept your eyes peeled towards the floor, “Alright.” He replied gruffly as his movements shifted you back and forth on the bed. You continued to stare, almost afraid to look at him. 

You held your blanket tightly over your chest, breathing in harshly as you listened to the sound of his footsteps on your floorboards and then the eventual sound of the door shutting as he left. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You had totally and definitely just ruined things between the two of you.

Tags: @cassandracorvo @marshmallowgem @shes-an-odd-bird @stormy-stardust @highwaywildflower @amberpanda99 @sssstarstruck @zoexme @missingbillyhargrove @let-love-bleeds-red @empath-bunny

[brella]

Peeta pov "She came here with me." ? or him planting the Primrose for her. ?

Haymitch had thought, at first, that he was joking. Peeta can hardly blame him. Who with half a brain would expect the truth from a Tribute? Joke or fable or bald-faced lie, it’s all the same—a good story on Caesar Flickerman’s show is the surest way to get sponsors. Only, Peeta could come up with better stories, and better lies besides, than being in love with Katniss Everdeen.

You’re a good showman, I’ll give you that, Haymitch had said, once he realized that Peeta was serious.

Peeta’s skin had crawled under the soft lighting in the suite. Making a show of what he felt for Katniss seemed immoral, somehow. It was meant to be a whisper under an oak tree, shaking hands and secret wants—not a tool, not a spectacle. Then again, he knows he’d never have the nerve to say it to her face. On live television, to an indifferent Panem, is much less frightening. And even though it’s sooner than later that he’s six feet under (as the old song goes), he doesn’t want that secret to be buried with him.

So: a show it is.

Caesar is almost blinding to look at in person. His immaculate wig, his sun-white teeth, his spray-tan and the baubles on his suit: Capitol excess incarnate. But he’s easy to talk to. Most people are when you’ve got years at the register under your belt, when saying the right thing to your mother could spare you a bruise—Caesar, though, is something else entirely; he’s got a kind of charisma that could stop Death itself for a minute or two. Peeta can’t help but study him. Everything is measured, everything has value: timing, cadence, eye contact. It’s easier to mirror than Peeta expects.

“Tell me,” Caesar says, once the pleasantries and banter have run their course. “Is there a special girl back home?”

Even though just about every Tribute, every Games, gets that question from Caesar, Peeta has to wonder if Haymitch had pulled some strings. His pulse quickens with anticipation, but he keeps his cool. Be coy. Build suspense.

“Nah,” he says, slipping in a little of a District 12 drawl. It makes for a bashful tone. “Not really.”

He has to make it obvious he’s fibbing, but not too obvious. He ducks his eyes, focusing on the tips of his shoes. Patent leather. Probably cost enough to feed a family. Have other Tributes worn these? Surely the cost would make it impractical not to reuse them.

“No? I don’t believe it for a second! Look at that face!” Caesar exclaims. “Handsome man like you…”

Oh, Peeta thinks. So I’m a man now.

“Peeta.” Caesar leans in, so congenial, so inviting. Behind his charming eyes, though, Peeta sees nothing. Nothing to recognize or remember. “Tell me.”

Now is the time. Make them ask you twice before you answer. Peeta can feel the audience’s attention, swelling in the room, almost symphonic.

“Well, there, uh…” He pauses, gathering his guts. That’s where the best acting comes from, he’s found: truth. “There is this one girl that… I’ve had a crush on forever.”

Crush—so half-baked, flourless—but he knows the Capitol will eat it up. Sure enough, Caesar nods his head, eyes twinkling.

“But,” Peeta goes on, “I don’t think she actually… recognized me until the Reaping.”

That, too, is the truth. Why should Katniss remember him at all? She had lived—she had not died. That was all that mattered. What she remembered from that rainy day, he expected, was the hunger—a kind of hunger he had never had to know.

What he remembers is her face—clearer than his mother’s fists, clearer than the pain.

Clearer than any pain in the world.

“Well, I’ll tell you what, Peeta,” Caesar says—almost encouraging, like an uncle giving advice to his favorite nephew. It’s the first time in the interview that Peeta has felt genuinely, truly sick. “You go out there, and you win this thing—and when you get home? She’ll have to go out with you.” He turns back to the audience, drawn by the sound of applause. “Right, folks?!”

There’s that laugh of his: brassy, gleaming, perfectly rhythmic and perfectly pitched. Peeta’s body wants to laugh along, purely on instinct. He lets a fraction of it through. Just a fraction.

“Thanks, but, uh… I don’t think winning’s gonna help me at all.”

“And why not?”

Here. Right here. Peeta’s breath shakes on its way out of him, hollow at the center. How to answer? How to explain to Caesar Flickerman, to the glittering Capitol, to the Districts who couldn’t give a damn about him—how to explain Katniss Everdeen’s braid in the sunlight on the walk to school, the gentle clarity with which she’d sung the Valley Song, the sight of her and Gale Hawthorne and their pocket-knife-smiles in the schoolyard, the devotion that she had to her sister, the calluses along her fingers from a bowstring—how to make them understand the constant, quiet heat of her, and all the winters of life through which it had kept him warm?

This is the time to be exact. A sound bite is worth a thousand speeches. If you’re gonna do it, Haymitch had said, with a kind of cutthroat pride, do it so it breaks their hearts.

“Because she came here with me,” Peeta says.

[detransition]

from permutational

“I never knew a woman like you could exist, so how could I even dream of you before I knew you?”

My wonderful girlfriend wrote this to me in her most recent love letter. She was writing about the concept of a “dream woman”, and how she wasn’t sure what hers would look like or be like until she met me. But, I can’t stop thinking about it, because this one little phrase captures something big about the butch lesbian experience, something I’ve had a hard time putting words to. It also captures realizations I’ve gone through after detransitioning.

It’s almost a “ring of keys” kind of thought. But I love how it highlights the relationship between knowing and dreaming. What you’re aware of influences what you can dream about, what you can aspire to. What you know informs the possibilities of who you can be and love at your core.

Back a few years ago, when my crisis was was coming to a head and I decided to detransition, I felt lost. I craved an “undo” button that didn’t exist. All I knew was where I’d already been, only there was no going back. I couldn’t envision what my future might look like, especially with how far I’d gone in transitioning. I couldn’t imagine that I’d ever “live as a woman” again; I felt “too far gone”. It didn’t seem like the concept of “womanhood” could encircle me as I was. When was the last time I saw a woman that looked like me? Oh yeah, never – that was the original goal, after all.

In that moment, when I didn’t know what to do, I went with my gut: the very first thing I did was make a beeline straight to YouTube. Probably sounds a little strange, but looking back, it makes sense to me. I was searching for possibilities, for people, for stories. I wanted direct evidence that someone like me can exist, because I felt very unreal.

I looked up ‘detransition’, and there they were. Not many at the time, but enough. There were people with deepened voices, facial hair, mastectomies, bodies and histories like mine, unmistakable. And yet, they called themselves women, some even called themselves lesbians.

I watched and listened, and it didn’t matter what they were talking about; I didn’t even agree with everything they said. What mattered was that they existed. They were real.  Some of these women passed as male, but didn’t seem pressed to change themselves any further or in any way, and still emphatically called themselves women. It was mind blowing to me, and comforting. Knowing that I wouldn’t be the first or only one like this was a relief. It gave me courage, made me feel a little less crazy. It felt like I could move forward knowing that I’m not utterly alone in this experience.

And later on, I actually met these women, and others like them. Women with different ideas and opinions, not all of whom agreed with one another, or used the same words, or understood themselves in the same way. Regardless of differences, they had experiences in common with each other, and with me.

Each strange woman I’ve met has broadened the possibilities of what a woman can be, and what kind of woman I can be. Spending time with other uncommon women has fundamentally changed me at my core. There is something they gifted me that I don’t have words for. Something that came from seeing, hearing, and sharing space. Knowing by witnessing.

My beard carries memories of the bearded women I’ve met and loved; when I look in the mirror, I see part of them in me. My head is bald because I met other women who were bald first, and through them got the courage to take the plunge and buzz it all off and never look back. My voice is stronger from singing with others who embraced their changed voices. I don’t have the shame and embarrassment about my voice that I did before.

Every single part of my body carries the memories of other women like me. Detransitioned women, butch dykes young and old, friends, lovers… My opinion of myself and what I can be has fundamentally changed because of the possibilities I’ve seen in other women.

I never knew women like us could exist. But I know now, and I dream of us often.

thinking of detransition? you are not alone

[cutetehe]

ight little request cause your writing is keeping me alive right now ngl

so last week I impulsively shaved my head ( like I didnt go full-on mr worldwide more like a buzz cut) so now I just live to see obey me hcs for a male mc who did the same shit

*evil laughter*

also THANK YOU 🙏

Male Mc shaves their head, how do the brothers react?

don’t ask why these are short as hell- I’m having writers block😪

lil story

Mc stares at himself in the mirror for ten minutes trying to hype himself up to cut his hair after noticing how long his hair was, Mc wasn’t gonna pay 20,000 Grimm for a haircut! That’s just insane

Mc finally decides to go for it, he grabs his shaver and hopes for the best

“For the love of god- or Diavolo please let my haircut turn out decent” Mc mumbles under his breathe before cutting their hair

While mc was cutting his hair he cut off his hair a little to low

“shit- okay I’ll just cut it short don’t freak out” Mc thought before total chaos happened

Mc kept cutting his hair shorter and shorter after every mistake until he was left with a buzz cut and a bundle of sadness

After mc realized what he did he is in disbelief

Mc just stares at himself in the mirror for an entire hour until accepting that, he has a buzz cut and can’t fix it

Then he realized-

HE HAS DINNER WITH THE BROTHERS

Lucifer

When you showed up to dinner with a beanie on he knew something was up

He just ignored it until one of his brothers pointed it out

When one of his brothers pointed out the beanie mc choked

“I might’ve…maybe…. shaved off my hair” mc says sheepishly

The table was silent

“YOU DID WHAT” Mammon yells

“It doesn’t look bad! I actually sorta like it” Mc says while taking off his hat

Lucifer didn’t know how to react

Your hair definitely wasn’t bad but it’s so different that it looked funny at first

Lucifer is definitely the first one to get used it… sorta

One time when he was walking past the hallway he sees some dude with no hair and didn’t recognize you

He thinks you are the only person that can shave their head and actually look good doing it

Mammon

When he heard you cut your hair his jaw was hanging

He’s debating on if he likes it or if he liked your old hair cut more

Both your haircuts were good but… A BUZZ CUT HAS THAT FUNNY FEELING WHEN YOU BRUSH YOUR HAND THROUGH IT SO HE LIKES YOUR BUZZ CUT MORE

Brushes his hand against your hair all. the. time.

At first he thought he’d hate your hair but he actually finds it cool

cool to touch that is…💀

He thinks a buzz cut looks nice on you but doesn’t want you to know

LEVIIIII

Mic drop but with a fork out of shock

He freaks out for like twenty minutes

Then he remembers the amount of bad ass characters with buzz cuts

He slowly starts to like it

Not slowly almost immediately

He went from “ YOUR BEAUTY IS RUINED” to “…wait why is it actually sorta hot”

He asks if you are cold often ever since you cut off your hair

Honestly he likes it cause when you guys cuddle your hair isn’t in his face

Satan

“wait what” Is all that went through satan mind

“Did- did you do that on purpose???” Satan just confused tbh

After you explain to him what happened he’s just chill about it

“I did the same but instead of shaving all of it off I just use my hair to hide my bald spot”

“YOU HAVE A BALD SPOT??” Mc asks a little to loud- now Asmo knows

I headcanon that he has a bald spot

After Satan saw how Lucifer didn’t recognize you he plans out so many pranks to do on Lucifer

ASMOOO!!!!

Asmo more sad that you didn’t come to him for a haircut than the buzz cut surprisingly

“You aren’t freaking out that I have a buzz cut??” You say surprised

“Uh no?? Why would I care, You are still attractive with it”

“…also cause I have a ton of accessories to match you and your buzz cut” Asmo says honestly

He’s going to carry so many beanies to make sure you aren’t cold

BEEEEL

i fucking love Beel

I don’t even think he would care

He probably had one at one point

He’s still confused on why you did it though

“Why’d you shaved off your hair?” Beel asks casually

“New look” Mc lied to avoid the embarrassment

“oh cool- anyways wanna go to Hell’s Kitchen?”

Beel would 100% carry earmuffs so your ears don’t get cold though

belphegor

stuck in the attic *says this as if I’m not at story 77*

that’s my excuse today for not doing him

Masterlist

Do y’all like what I did with the masterlist text

[piecksz]

starstruck | (m)

pairings: rockstar!eren yeager x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, penetrative sex, fingering, creampie, roughness, drug use, explicit language

words: 4.4k+

summary: you and your friend decide to sneak backstage at your band’s favorite concert and the vip treatment you recieve is more than you bargained for.

inspired by 

a/n: you know the drill :p obey (with YUNGBLUD) by bring me the horizon it’s literally not a sexy song so don’t go in listening to it expectin to get horny LMAOO it’s just the kind of sound i imagined eren’s band to have, but it was sexy to me bc the image of rockstar eren tormented me the entire time i wrote this 

“I can’t believe I agreed to this. This is fucking crazy.” Your friend’s voice was a fidgety whisper behind you. Her face’s close proximity to the back of your neck had her heavy expiration fanning over your nape every time she opened her mouth to reprimand herself for allowing you to beguile her into illegal trespassing.

“You’re fucking crazy,” she whispered again, tugging the leather sleeve of your jacket with a pesky grip.

You shrugged her touch off of your arm and took a brief glimpse over your shoulder to offer her a sour look. “Can you be quiet? You freaking out is making us look suspicious.” You whisked your head back around, peering around the corner of the vacant merch tent.

“No, us creeping around to sneak onto a fucking tour bus is making us look suspicious,” she retorted.

The corner of your mouth tightened at your friend’s concern and you lifted your hand to give her a dismissive wave. You were astounded when she had originally agreed to your brazen proposal, although it took minutes of incessant pleading for her to actually give in. Her veiled reluctance surfaced the minute you two had separated from the concert’s crowd at the end of the show and snuck around the stage to the back of the venue. What began as her unease and quiet suggestions that maybe your idea wasn’t so smart, intensified into irritating nagging. You gave her the option to turn around and wait for you back at the car, but as your companion, she sighed and remarked that something so stupid couldn’t be done alone.

“I see it,” you said eagerly and with a proud grin. The vehicle was stationed a decent distance from where the two of you had been standing, but you measured the stretch with your eyes and figured that if you walked quickly enough, you’d be able to make it on without being caught.

“How do we even know they’re on it?” Your friend craned her head past yours to get a better view of what you saw.

“We don’t. I’m just guessing.”

“Oh great, that’s exactly the answer I wanted.” She released a tense and quiet laugh before retreating back behind the screen of the tent.

You surveyed the security guards as they patrolled back and forth along the premises, waiting until the coast was clear. Once you noticed an opening, you forcefully grabbed your friend’s wrist, ignoring her silent grunt of protest, and pulled her along. She stumbled into your stride and peered over at you, doing her best to follow your quick feet while mirroring your nonchalant guise.

Closer and closer, the two of you neared the tour bus until it had to have been only yards away. You tried to remain composed through your excitement, making sure you didn’t break your character. No fucking way your plan had actually gone off without a hitch, it almost seemed too easy.

“Hey!”

You kept walking. Maybe the exclamation wasn’t for you, but once the holler was thrown again, your body went rigid, and the tempo of your steps slowed until you stopped in your tracks. The adrenaline that commanded your legs had been substituted for lead and it kept your feet pinned to the ground. You couldn’t even run.

“Hey, you two aren’t supposed to be back here.”

You blinked once, long and hard, before pivoting on your heel. You watched, mortified, as a burly security guard started in your direction and got closer until he loomed over you both with a threatening advantage in height.

He looked even angrier now that you could see the way his thick eyebrows creased together and created a ripple of lines above them that disappeared into a bald head. His hefty arms were crossed against his chest while he glowered down at you two, waiting to hear a story. You could tell your excuse wouldn’t matter though, it was obvious he wasn’t in the mood for jocular conversation.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, we were looking for the bathroom,” you explained, clasping your hands together and feigning an apologetic smile. You turned your head from side to side, looking around innocently to sell your lie, and then looked back up at the guard with a nervous laugh. “And I guess it’s not here.”

Your friend shook her head and said nothing, but you were certain she was drawing up a creative speech in her head, wondering how she would tell you that she “told you so” this time.

“Nice try.” The guard curled his lip angrily. “Come on.” He reached out a thick hand and wrapped it around your bicep while grabbing the back of your friend’s shirt with a crude yank. Your eyes went wide at his hostile grip and you jerked your arm, trying to free yourself of his hold.

“Hey, whoa!” His grip only tightened. “We can walk ourselves!”

The guard forced you two forward, prompting you to walk so he could escort you off the grounds.

“What’s going on?”

You looked up and your writhing ceased. Instead, heat flushed your cheeks and you stood dazed. It didn’t take long before you recognized the owner of the voice because, naturally, you would have been able to recognize him from a mile away, but luckily you didn’t have to. He was right in front of you.

It was Eren, the lead singer and guitarist of the band you had been screaming your heart out to not even an hour ago. He was your favorite member, meaning you’d watched countless interviews and had several pictures of him saved on your phone, but nothing could have prepared you for what he looked like up close. His long brown hair looked like it was still damp with sweat, a sign of his showmanship on stage, and it framed his face in careless wisps and fell loosely past his shoulders. His torso was unclad, showing the dark inkings that adorned his biceps and stretched all the way up his shoulders until they met at the detailed design of wings in the middle of his chest. Dark ripped jeans sat loosely, just below his hips, and teased a peek at deep v-lines that ran underneath the top of his waistband.

You fought off the urge to drop to your knees and pray for how sinfully hot he looked.  

Trailing behind him were his bandmates, Armin and Jean, the band’s other guitarists, and Connie, the band’s drummer. You had never seen such an attractive circle of friends where you would have been satisfied taking any of them, and although you avowed to your friend that Connie was hers since she favored him, you absolutely would’ve allowed him to do whatever he wanted to you.

“Caught these two trying to sneak onto the tour bus.” The security guard thrusted you two ahead with an unsatisfied huff, and you shot him a glare.

Eren’s attention dropped from the security guard’s face and drifted over to your friend first before settling on you, eyes sweeping over your face and falling at half-mast. He arched an eyebrow then averted his gaze from your chest.

“It’s cool, let them go.”

“Are you sure?” The security guard’s grip on you loosened, and you pulled out of his hold the minute you felt him unhand you.

Eren shrugged. “Yeah. They can hang.” He quickly dismissed the security guard and casually sauntered past you before disappearing onto their bus.

You glanced over at your friend who looked like she was still in the process of trying to grasp the situation evolving in front of her.

“What kind of assholes turn away fans?” Jean teased, giving you a warm smile before he lifted his half-empty water bottle to his lips.

Connie switched his drum sticks to one hand and slipped them behind his back into his pocket.  “You guys are fans, right? You’re not trying to steal a couple of used water bottles to sell online are you?”

You took a lengthy pause and waited for your friend to answer, giving her an opportunity to converse with him, but she said nothing. She just rocked back and forth on her feet, staring at the ground timidly to avoid looking Connie in the eye.

“No,” you answered for her. “I mean yes, we’re fans. Big fans. No to trying to sell your DNA.”

Your response earned a chuckle from Armin and a hearty laugh from Connie while he nodded in approval. “Alright.” He tilted his head in the direction of the bus as though encouraging you two on.

You watched as the rest of the members filed inside, and then your friend seized your hand frantically.

“Holy shit. Y/N, holy shit!” She squealed, and you snorted at her sudden ability to talk once again. “You saw him right? You saw him.” It didn’t take much detail for you to gather that she was gushing about Connie.  

“Did you even see him? Your head was down the whole time, you didn’t say a single word to him.”

Your friend’s animated face slackened into a placid expression. “I didn’t trust myself. If I opened my mouth I would have asked him to put me in a headlock.” She exhaled. “Jesus Christ, those arms.” Your goading smile stretched into an amused grin, and you shook your head at your friend’s hysterical behavior.

The inside of the tour bus was much larger than you would have deduced from its seemingly modest exterior. Its floors were dark and polished wood that matched the ceiling, both surfaces lined with subdued yellow light. Aside from the sizable kitchen to your right, large leather couches sat on either side of the lounge area, and stretching to the bus’ rear were dimly lit bunk beds that were half-obscured by a dark curtain.

“Holy shit, this is a house on wheels,” your friend breathed, mouth agape.

“Well we’re on the road most of the time, so it might as well be,” Armin answered, throwing himself into one of the sofas with a labored sigh. He threw his head back in exhaustion and brought his arms up to rest against the top of the couch. “We never caught your names by the way.”

Both you and your friend introduced yourselves, forgoing a proper introduction from the band’s members. You evidently already knew who they were.

Armin smiled. “Nice to meet you guys.”

Jean shuffled through, handing you and your friend a water bottle, which you accepted with much appreciation. You hadn’t taken heed of how thirsty you’d been, and you hadn���t had anything to drink since the concert had started. Even while you swooned in the crowd between sweaty bodies, dehydration threatening to ruin your fun, you’d refused to pay $4 for a beverage.

“Make yourselves at home.” He threw another bottle to Armin.

“Oh no, we’re not planning on staying that long.” Your friend laughed, clutching onto her drink so tightly that the plastic squeaked in her grip.

You nudged her in the ribs with an assertive elbow and said her name quietly through clenched teeth, barely audible enough for the two of you to hear. She looked at you with uncertainty, and you gave her a forced grin.

“Don’t be rude. They said we should make ourselves at home.” You obliged to Jean’s invite, taking a seat in one of the leather cushions.

The situation you were in was a rare opportunity, the type of opportunity you’d only heard from other people, the type of opportunity you’d read fanfiction about in your early adolescence. If anyone told you that you’d be living such an opportunity, you weren’t sure if you’d really believe them, but had you declined to appease your friend’s irrational concern, you knew you’d regret it for years.

“Did you guys enjoy the show?” Connie leaned against the wall of the bus and wedged a rolled stick of paper between his pursed lips. He brought a hand-held lighter to the end of the stick, sparking it a few times with his thumb before a small flame engulfed the thin paper and thick smoke billowed from its tip. It only took a moment before the pungent, herbal stench of marijuana invaded the inside of the tour bus.

“Of course, you guys are amazing.” You nodded, perching yourself up in your seat and clapping your hands together excitedly. “We’ve been trying to see you guys in concert for a long time now.”

Eren fell into the seat beside you, and your body tensed up almost instantly. You’d managed to feign calmness from your first encounter because it had been easy to masquerade your nervousness from a distance, but now that he was even closer, surely he could have heard your heart palpitating against your ribcage. Its beating grew even quicker once Eren sat back and slid his arm behind you to lay it atop the backrest.

“Yeah?” His voice was languid. “What’s your favorite song?”

“That’s a hard question,” you chuckled, suddenly becoming very interested in the sleeves of your jacket. “I seriously don’t know if I can pick just one.” It hadn’t been a hard question at all, but you simply couldn’t think through the smell of his faded cologne and the feeling of his naked chest up against the side of your arm.

“That’s cool,” Eren smiled, but responded plainly. “You smoke?”

Your eyes drifted up to see Eren offering you a partially-burnt joint in between two fingers. He inhaled deeply from his hit and exhaled, a thick white cloud rolling past his lips.

You hadn’t smoked before, and you weren’t an avid consumer of weed. One edible at a party had you manic until your friends had to calm you down in a separate room and reassure you that you weren’t dying, but you still accepted it hesitantly. You brought it to your lips and took a deep draw before erupting into a fit of coughs.

“Easy,” Eren laughed, and his warm hand rubbed the nape of your neck soothingly. He took the joint from your hands and held it towards Armin.

Your chest and throat heaved with the searing sensation of a foreign substance, and your body racked with an incessant wheeze until it was sure it had expelled all of the stuff. Eren beside you thought it was the funniest thing.

“So you guys in college?” Connie asked, this time directing his question to your friend since you clearly couldn’t respond.

She nodded quickly, still avoiding making eye contact with him. He must have noticed and thought it was endearing because the corner of his mouth quirked upward into a knowing smirk.

“Sick,” Eren remarked. “I dropped out of college, but you guys should stay in school, seriously.”

“Don’t worry I have no plans to drop out and become a musician,” you rasped once your coughing subsided.

He paused for a moment and then looked at you. “What about a boyfriend?” His eyes drank you in from bottom to top until he met your clueless stare.

“Do I have a boyfriend?” You blinked, and then the tip of your ears went up in an uncomfortable heat that spread over the side of your face until your skin was aflame with realization. “No.”

“That’s good.” Eren studied you from behind heavy lids and he lingered on your lips, his own spreading into a suggestive grin. “So it’s cool if I do this?”

He leaned in and affixed his lips at the curve of where your jaw met your ear. His mouth was hot and the kiss was wet against your feverish skin. He planted another one lower, against the hollow dip where your neck curved, and then he bent the arm resting behind your head, using his hand to turn your face toward him so that when he tilted himself forward again, he could kiss you without interference. His lips were soft and slow as they commanded your mouth to follow his rhythm, and you withheld a desperate and excited whimper once Eren slipped a seductive tongue past your teeth.

He relaxed another hand on your leg, rubbing slow circles into the top of your thigh while edging closer and closer to the top of your waistband. Once his leisure fingers skimmed over your pants’ button, he skillfully undid the first hole before moving on to your zipper. You made a small sound of protest and pulled back in embarrassment.

“In front of your bandmates?” you questioned in a breathy whisper.

Eren shrugged, looking unfazed. “They don’t care. Nothing they haven’t seen before.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. He was a goddamn celebrity for crying out loud, had you really thought you were the first girl he brought onto the bus to fuck? And he’d done it in front of his bandmates? You shifted uncomfortably, looking to Armin, Jean, and Connie who were now occupied with showing your friend pictures they’d been sent from professional photographers after past shows.  

“I don’t know,” you admitted timidly.

Eren rolled his head to the side, visibly bothered by your response. He glanced over to his bandmates and swept through his locks with a lazy hand. “Hey, why don’t you guys go show her the stage set before they pack up?”

Your friend looked away from the laptop they were gathered around and over her shoulder. “But—.”

Eren’s fingers trailed up and down the side of your neck, clearly eager to resume your previous matters. Were you really about to pass up this chance?

You gave your friend a reassuring thumbs up alongside Eren’s suggestion. “I’ll come find you later.”

It almost seemed like Eren sent his bandmates an unspoken cue, because Connie quickly chimed in before your friend had another turn to object. “Yeah. It’s okay, we’ll take care of you.” He wrapped a tattooed arm around your friend’s shoulder and gave her a friendly shake.

You could almost see the rise and fall of her chest cease, and you actually grew worried for her. It looked like she had nearly died and came back to life, but her stunned face melted into a flustered smile and she laughed sheepishly. “Okay.”

Connie nodded and gave Eren a two finger salute before escorting your friend off the bus with Jean and Armin following closely behind.

Once the door to the bus closed Eren shifted his attention back to you.

“There. Problem solved.” His green eyes had darkened and clouded over with desire again. “You feel better?”

“I guess,” you murmured.

You didn’t get a second chance to speak because Eren’s lips coupled to yours once more, and his hands continued against your zipper before he slipped his fingers into your underwear. He brought two fingers to your slit, skimming lightly over the delicate skin before sliding his middle finger between your folds to part them.

You released a sharp gasp against Eren’s mouth as you felt the cold metal of his rings against your cunt, but he made no efforts to pull away. The earthy taste of marijuana on his tongue caused your head to swim and you began to feel the drug’s intoxicant effects yourself. Your limbs grew heavier as you lay slack against Eren’s body while the sensation of his soft strokes against your tender clit had you whimpering against his lips.

He dipped his finger down to your body’s orifice, sliding it into your hole to glaze the digit with your arousal.

“God, you’re so tight.” Eren���s voice was deep as he pulled away from your mouth and both of you looked down to watch the way he worked you. “I want you around my cock.”

Your hips jerked involuntarily against his hand with the mention of his desire, and he brought his touch back up to your clit, using your essence as lubrication. The bus was quiet except for the symphony of Eren’s husky pants and your lewd whines as he slowly quickened the pace when he felt your body begin to tremble against his.

“Fuck, Eren—,” you mewled. You hadn’t even given thought to how unusual his name sounded coming out of your mouth. Eren, the singer and lead guitarist of your favorite band had his fingers inside of your pants, and here you were moaning his name. “Oh fuck—.”

Your orgasm intensified quickly after its onset, you hadn’t even realized you were climaxing until your body was convulsing and your fingers were digging into Eren’s biceps.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Eren—,” you cried.

“That’s it,” Eren cooed. “Atta girl.”

His fingers continued working against your clit until you wrapped a sweaty hand around his wrist, a silent plea for him to stop before he sent you into overstimulation.

He hummed in amusement and heeded your request before pulling his hands out of your underwear. Now he worked his hands against his own belt, unfastening the buckle before pushing his jeans down with his briefs in one swift and eager motion. His cock was half-hard and continued growing rigid after he took himself in his hand and began pumping his throbbing length.  

You watched in wonderment as his palm worked painfully slow against his thick shaft, and pearls of precum gathered at his tip before dribbling down his swollen head. Your own dirty fantasies where you’d tried to envision how big Eren was hardly did him justice.

You rose to your feet, kicking off your shoes with haste, and stepped out of your pants. You shrugged off your jacket as well, realizing how uncomfortably sticky your sweaty arms felt against the leather material.

“Come here,” Eren hummed, and released his cock. He held his hands out for you to take, and he pulled you onto his lap. He supported your waist until your knees were mounted on either side of his thighs, and you pulled your underwear to the side, allowing his pulsating tip to prod your entrance.

“You gonna show me how well you ride?” he asked, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips.

You nodded, resting your hands on his shoulders and undulating your wet folds against his cock. You released a desperate whimper every time he nudged your clit.

“Yeah? Show me.”

Eren watched as you slipped him in, and what started as a whine deepened into an obscene cry while you felt him stretch your walls out. You eased down until you sat at the base of his cock and he’d filled you to the hilt.

You dug your teeth into your lower lip, waiting to adjust to his girth before you slowly started moving up and down. Eren’s shallow breathing encouraged you while you lifted yourself up and then back down, each time releasing an agonizing sob.

“Good girl.” Eren’s large hands traveled up from your waist and rested on your chest. “Just like that.” He loosely cupped his hands over your clothed chest, adoring the way your quickening pace caused your breasts began to jounce underneath your shirt, but your ache to feel his touch everywhere along your skin became uncontrollable.

Your fingers curled around the hem of your top and you quickly slipped the material off, tossing it onto the couch beside you. You did the same with your bra, too impatient to fumble around with the pesky hooks.

Eren grinned lazily, before resting his palms against your breasts and giving them a small jiggle. He leaned forward, lolling his tongue out, and flicked its tip against the hardening bead of your nipple. He looked up at you with half-lidded eyes and smiled at the way you murmured his name before rolling his thumb over the wet skin.

“So fucking hot,” Eren praised. He gave your other breast a brisk slap, watching it shake with the impact, and then he took you in his mouth. He sucked hungrily before taking your nipple between his teeth and tugged on it.

You continued bouncing on Eren’s cock before he released a guttural groan and threw his head back. “Fuck, don’t stop.” The tattoos along his sweaty chest expanded with each uneven breath. “I’m gonna cum.”

Eren’s hands traveled down to your ass, and black-painted nails dug into your skin while he directed you up and down. You rolled your hips against him until you felt his cock jerk inside you, and then he was filling you up.

Eren unloaded himself into you and your walls fluttered around his quivering length. His balls spasmed, making sure he’d jettisoned every drop of thick, white cum. He pulled his cock out before your knees gave way and you collapsed next to him. Your pussy clenched around nothing, still adjusting to Eren’s absence, and you felt his release leak out of your hole.

You heaved, eyes strung tightly, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You had to have been dreaming. You kept your eyes closed, fearing that you’d wake, but they fluttered open instinctively when you felt Eren’s weight lift from beside you.

“Where are you going?” You watched as he tugged his pants up and fastened his buckle before shuffling around the bus looking for something. Jesus Christ, just how much stamina did this guy have?

“Your friend’s probably wondering what’s taking you so long,” Eren replied, disappearing behind the curtain leading to the bedroom in the back of the bus.

Your hand flew to your forehead and you sat up, feeling guilty that you had completely forgotten your friend. Knowing her, she was probably worrying herself sick wondering what Eren had possibly done to you. You started retrieving your clothes and getting dressed, but you paused momentarily, calling out to wherever Eren had been on the bus.

“I should give you my number.” You stuck a leg into your pants. “You know, just to keep in touch.” You stuck your other leg in and hopped around, pulling your pants up.

Eren reappeared from behind the curtain, tugging on a fitted black t-shirt. “Don’t worry about that.”

You popped your head out from under your shirt and reached for your jacket. You laughed lightly and gave him a confused look.

“Safety and shit. We can’t give our personal information out to just anyone.” He gave you a pitiful smile, but you could tell it was more for you than for him.

“Oh,” you responded quietly.

Eren seemed unconcerned with the guidelines he was given, as though he didn’t care much about whether he even remembered your name once they were on the road again.

“Don’t look so sad babe. You’re lucky.” He tilted his head toward you and raised his eyebrows. “Not everyone gets to fuck a rockstar.”

[chiwhorei]

pollock

paring: art major!k. tsukishima x fem!reader

genre: a dash of angst, hurt/comfort, smut, 18+ minors dni

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, spitting, dacryphilia, praise, daddy kink, breeding kink, impregnating kink, soft and kinda hard dom!tsukki, sub!reader

a/n: ahhhhh!! this is my first longer fic to come out in a while and i am ~so~ excited to share this with everyone. i have been keening over the idea of art!major tsukki and i hope you all like him as much as i do! this is piece is brought to you by the hqhq monthly server collab, so please go check out everyone’s amazing writing, the masterlist can be found here!

hymn: validation by herrick & hooley, cherry hill by russ

“Your work is always technically very well executed, Tsukishima-san.” The round, bald-headed man shuffles through the photos on his desk, pieces of Tsukishima Kei’s senior project that he’s tried to fit together before his final exhibit only four months away.

“But,” the dreaded word has Tsukki restraining himself from a long eye roll, “It seems like you’re stuck. You still need one more piece for the show. What inspires you?”

You hear a resounding slam of the front door swinging open and meeting the frame again, followed by a shuffle of feet towards where you’re standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment. Tsukki’s mouth is set in a flat line, expression softening only slightly when he sees you leaning against the counter. You greet him with a warm, but cautious smile. It had been a horribly long day, grating on every thread of patience Tsukishima has. The bubbling of anxiety and frustration mixing into a sour look on his handsome face. You hate seeing your boyfriend so defeatus, much preferring the sardonic, confident air he usually holds. Both of your final years of college have been exceptionally taxing, Tsukki’s final art project being the most stressing of all. It seems like as days propel forward, closer to his due date, the less assured he is of his talents, his passions. It’s heartbreaking to see someone so brilliant struggle through a million half fleshed-out ideas and crumbled up leaves of paper.

You pull one of his hands to you, examining the stains of paint and ink across his long digits and kissing each finger softly. You wish you could get inside that big head of his and help in some way.

“Did you have a hard day at the studio, Kei?” You wrap your arms around his neck and search his eyes. He’s not always the best at talking to you, especially when he’s upset, so you don’t expect him to give you an answer. Instead, you rub his shoulders, trying to coax the tension out. He sighs deeply at the contact, hands moving to rest at the plush of your hips and gripping tightly when you work at a particularly sore spot.

“You’re too good to me, princess. Thank you” He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, and you nuzzle into him. You don’t have the answers to his current road block, you don’t pretend to. But maybe, you think, you can offer him a more carnal outlet.

“Of course, Daddy.” The name hangs in the air for a moment, any response hitching in his throat. The title is familiar after years of being together, always being both comforting and electrifying. Since the title slipped out years ago for the first time, your boyfriend feels his cool demeanor snapping like a glow stick, leaving hot lust in its wake upon it rolling past your lips.

He pulls you closed to him by your ass, inhaling sharply at the contact on his jeans. All you have on is one of Tsukki’s loose, paint stained sweaters and a thin pair of cotton panties. You brush one of your bare thighs against his crotch, and he feels the stresses of his day falling out of frame. Your body is always a buoy to pull him back from the drowning of self doubt. A perfect slice of heaven he became addicted to from the moment he spotted you across the dusty stacks.

“What inspires you?”

The question rings in his head again, but with a new perspective. Tsukki hears pieces clicking together with your lustrous body pressed against him.

“Babygirl, I think I have an idea. But I’m going to need your help.” His hands move to cup your cheeks, scanning over your features and finding a devious glint behind your soft, e/c eyes. Tsukki trails a thumb over your bottom lip lightly, admiring how you lean into the contact. Always so eager to please him, your temperament goes straight to his cock every time.

“Anything for you, daddy.” You press your forehead against his, waiting patiently for his next move. There’s astounding beauty in the glossy, temperate look in your eyes that he wants to, has to, to freeze in time.

“I have a few things to set up. Come to the office when I call you,” Tsukki pushes a stray hair from your face with a fond smile before walking away, he stops for a moment to look at you over his shoulder, “Naked.”

Your mind races as to what exactly he wants to do with you tonight as you busy yourself with peeling off your clothing. There is very little that you and your boyfriend haven’t tried at least once, but the tone in his voice has left you reeling at the possibilities.

Your eyes catch your reflection in the hallway mirror, naked body completely exposed to your own scrutinizing stare. Had it been the stress causing the image in front of you to be so unsavory? Every plane of skin promoting a different insecurity. A blasted thing a hallway mirror becomes when you’ve never truly loved what stares back. You fuss with your hair in a feeble attempt to make yourself more presentable. The question of how Tsukishima sees you always rattling around in the back of your head, especially standing completely naked and waiting in your own insecurities.

“Princess, come here.” You are pulled from your deprecating thoughts at the sound of Tsukki’s warm voice. You walk into his office, and notice he’s changed into just a pair of grey joggers. The sight of the low hanging garment making you salivate so much you almost miss your surroundings. He’s struck some kind of inspiration, you can see it in his eyes as he adjusts his easel and props up a large, blank canvas. You fiddle with your fingers as he looks up at you.

“Jackson Pollock.” You meet your boyfriend’s eyes, confused by his seemingly random statement as he parses out different colored paints into small bowls. Red, blue, green, yellow. “He poured paint on a flat surface so that he could view every angle color could create, every curve.” Tsukki muses, dipping two fingers into the bright yellow hue sitting next to him, bringing them towards his face with contemplation. “But I think this sweet little body of yours will prove a much better canvas.”

His eyes provide no sign of bluffing, but you stare back at him dumbly. Sure, he’s used you as a muse before. Studying your hands or the way your hair falls in the sketches you see hanging up by his desk behind you. You love when he wants to use your body for inspiration, but is he really going to cover you in paint?

“We both know you don’t mind getting a little messy,” He trails his wet pointer finger across your collarbone, following a line towards your chin. He tilts your head up to meet his eyes, “Open your mouth.”

Your bottom lip parts from the top, eyes following the line of spit that drops from his mouth to your tongue with a resounding put.

You swallow thickly, the feeling of his control already bending your will to meet him at every pass.

“I want you to look nice and fucked out for me, baby. I want to show my stuffy professors where my inspiration comes from. I’m going to capture how sweet and submissive my little princess is and then everyone will get to see what I get to enjoy every night.” His unmarred hand moves towards your already disastrously wet pussy. You’re drooling at even the most slight contact, bucking into his hand in a plea for more. His words, complimentative but unmistakingly domineering, have your head becoming fuzzy.

“Daddy, please. Please touch me.” Your whines are music to his ears.

“Oh princess, I plan on it. But I need you to be good for me. You don’t want to mess up all my hard work do you?” His voice is steady, authoritative but still soft around the edges in a way that makes you feel gooey.

Tsukki leads you to the stool sitting in the middle of the room, and you perch on it with his hands keeping you steady. You are his muse and medium, his subject and his canvas to use in any way desired.

Smudges of color brandish every inch of your skin, each stroke is a reminder of where your lovers hands have been. Blue and pink splatter against your stomach, a vibrant red outline on each curve of your breast and purple fingerprints against your pert nipples. Your legs wear a trail of hand prints towards your glistening cunt, wanton cunt. Each marring of paint sits beside paths of hot, opened mouth kisses.

All that is keeping you balanced on the squeaky wooden stool is Tsukishima’s strong arms holding you captive in place. Your legs had been thrown over his shoulders after painting across your upper thighs in a sea of greys and greens. As soon as Tsukki’s eyes met with your bare cunt, his mouth was quick to follow.

He’s a mess of paint now too, muscular chest and arms covered in pigment and face covered in you. He’s always insatiable, drinking you in like it’s the only source of sustenance left in the world. He knows how to work you, how to propel you towards orgasm in a way no one else has ever been able to do. Worshiping your body with langued strokes of his tongue. You let out a pitchy moan in response to his mouth, pushing you towards an end you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I bet you want to cum don’t you, baby? I can feel it. Such an eager little thing.” Tsukishima ghosts his lips across your hot cunt, blowing at your clit to make you yelp. You’re so close, too close. Dangling above bliss but not tipping over, knowing you need permission. You’ve been so good for him, he has to give you your release.

“Please, daddy. Please let me cum.” Tears wet your cheeks as you beg, holding onto Tsukki’s blond locks like an anchor. All you need is his approval, but instead of persimmon you are met with a bawdy laugh.

You really should have known he wasn’t going to let you go that easy.

Tsukki stands up, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. You’re wrecked in every way. Hair loose and disheveled, body dipped in a thin layer of sweat and thick splotches of paint. The look on your face is equal parts pathetic and fervent.

“I need you to sit pretty for daddy, I want to capture how desperately beautiful you look right now.” His words make you preen, but it’s a compliment and a warning at the same time. He wants to capture the look of sweet pain of denied orgasm to display at an art exhibit of both peers and his seniors. Sadistic in Tsukishima’s own unique way.

You should have known better, Tsukki’s patience has always been astounding. You know all he wants to do is bury himself in you, but he wants even more to make you suffer under his stare. There’s plenty of times he unleashes his frustration out on you physically, ripening your ass cheeks in bright red handprints and ensuring you can’t walk in the morning. But it’s these moments that can be even harsher, when he regards you with steely eyes and a aloof threat, that make your nerves catch fire more than a spanking ever could.

He sits down to start sketching on the large canvas in front of him, pinning you to your position with a practiced glare and playing on your desire to please him.

You sit as still as you can, listening to the scratch of pencil on vinyl in an attempt to keep calm. Your cunt is still twitching, puffy and slick propped uncomfortably atop the wooden stool. Tsukki hums along to the rhythmic music coming from his phone speaker, a playlist you know to be the one that helps him concentrate on his work. His brow furrows in concentration, pushing his glasses back in place as he stares at you again. His eyes are calculating and coldly observant, but his mouth quirks up in a surprising smile.

“My perfect baby. So stunning in every way.” His thoughts start tumbling out without his usual sarcastic filter.

“I have never wanted something more in my life than you. All of you, all the time.” A genuine regard for you in the lilt of his voice clamps down on your chest. He’s called you pretty, told you he loved you a million times before, but there’s a calm resonance in his words as his hands move across the white caves in front of him that catches in your throat. With the pressure of graduation looming over the two of you these past few months, romantics have been pushed to the side to make room for laser focus on finishing your degrees.

Your eyes well at his confessional, struck by the vulnerability so unfamiliar to him. You missed this side of your boyfriend, unlocking it incrementally through the years and finding it virtually non-existent recently. He sees your shoulders trembling slightly and tears his eyes up to your form.

“I told you to stay still.” His voice comes out harsh, but melts away when he sees fat tears rolling down your puffy cheeks.

“Y/n, are you okay? Did I upset you?” He moves to console you, the action causing another round of sobs, your body on edge in every way after both the teasing and his impromptu affirmation. Your response surprises yourself just as much as Tsukki, not realising how starved of his affection you had become.

“I’m sorry daddy, I-I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just- do you mean all that?” You lower your head in embarrassment, and Tsukishima’s heart breaks at the realization. Had he unintentionally disregarded you? Had he been ignoring you?

“Fuck baby, of course I mean it. I’m so sorry I made you doubt that.” He pulls you up into his strong hold, he lets you cry into his shoulder until your wracking sobs simmer to sniffles. He holds you tightly in an attempt at atonement. He has to do something to show you how he feels now that he knows his words have failed him. His actions have to speak in his place.

Tsukishima pulls you away slightly to meet his gaze before colliding his lips against yours. He traces his tongue in sonnets across your mouth, tasting the lingering essence of your arousal and the salt of your tears. He writes prose in the breathy gasps as you part for air, chests heaving. He has to show you what his words won’t always allow him to.

It’s bodies tangled together, covered in the colors of a man trying his best to show you how much he loves you. You had fallen to the floor at the behest of passion, Tsukki’s body covering yours, lips kissing any extension of your skin, uncaring of the paint covering both of your writhing frames.

You paw at his sweatpants as if they are the most offensive thing you’ve ever scene, Tsukki’s cock springs out to slap against the hard muscle of his abdomen. You don’t waste any time lining him up to your dripping folds, you’ve waited long enough. Hips crashing together like a fever dream, you’re wrapped in each other as if there’s nothing else in this world outside of a set of paints and four walls of a dimly lit apartment. The sun could be hurling towards the sidewalk just outside and Tsukishima, usually observant to a fault, would have no idea. All he knows is your body beneath him, clawing desperately at his back with every deep thrust, and the love poem he has written on your body. Reds across your breasts and brandishing your thighs. Greens and yellows across your neck, up your arms. Messy, sticky, covering the thin sheet Tsukki laid out to spare the hardwood.

Your panting, crying out for your daddy and consumed in the salty taste of love and lust crashing together like waves. His cock is heavy inside you, filling you up so completely. Tsukki rowes on, not daring to stop now, not with the resounding drumming of two hearts beat so perfectly together and the feeling of your clenching, velveteen walls hugging him like he’s coming home.

“I am so desperately in love with you. I want you like this, with me, forever.” He’s delirious, drunk on your body. Primal, as he stares down at you, colorful and completely conquered. He sees everything in your eyes, every baser desire, every hope for the future.

“I want to fill you up with my cum, princess. You are mine in every way. God, I want to see you swollen with my baby. Right here.” He presses against your belly, feeling his cock moving inside you from the splotches of pick and blue.

His confessional spurs you on, the emotions overwhelming. Feeling so loved, so needy, wanting everything the blonde above you is willing to give.

“Ah, Daddy! Please, please fill me up. I wa-want you to put a baby in me, I need it.” Your clenching tightly, each pump of Tsukishima’s cock better than the last.

“You are such a good girl baby, always saying exactly what I need to hear. Cum for me, princess, let me see how good I make you feel.”

His warrant is all you’ve needed this whole time, snapping to hours of tension with a sharp cry. You’re thrown into the pooling, honey-sweet feeling of release. Sinking every inch of your aching body into a blissed haze. Your walls spasm violently, tightening around him like a vice. He meets your hips with his own, knocking hip bones together like pool balls and holding himself in your heat as you milk his throbbing cock, stealing every drop of hot, while cum he has to offer.

He crumbles to the floor beside you, pulling you to his chest. Lying in a mess of paint and sweat and staggered breathing. Through the fog still resounding in your head, you hear Tsukki laughing lightly, “How’s that for inspiration?”

-Four Months Later-

You shift on your toes in anticipation, waiting for Tsukishima to release the hold he has around your eyes. You hear the bustle of people around you, the laughter and tinkling of glasses clinking together filling your ears. He kisses your temple before letting go, and you are met with a new reflection of yourself hung proudly on display. All of the places you see blemishes are drawn with vibrant purposeful color. Every curve of your form mapped out with the care only a lover could administer. Your naked form exhibited for hundreds of critiquing eyes, but there’s not a bone in your body that could feel embarrassed in this moment. As reflection so beautiful it’s unbelievable is staring back at you.

“Is this really how you see me, Kei?” You turn around to meet his eyes, his stare holds the love of epics. He would write you novels if he could, but this picture is worth a thousand words.

“Of course it is, baby,” He brings a hand to thumb at your slightly swelling belly.

“Of course it is.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[flareish]

The Bet

bokuto x reader

summary: Bokuto makes a bet with himself where you end up dying his hair

genre: fluff

warning: swearing, a couple suggestive remarks, quick kiss

word count: 1.3k

a/n: so apparently no one nows what Bokuto’s natural hair color is so I’m assuming its his root color and that he does dye his hair. I’m basing this all off the one time coach ukai called bokuto “frosted tips” 

“Hey y/n! Watch this!” Bokuto calls out to you where you are sitting on the bleachers watching practice. You look up and he continues.

“If I make this spike you have to dye my hair.” Bokuto has already decided you've already agreed.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea-“ Bokuto signals to his team mates to get get ready.

“Don’t worry I got this.” Wasn’t what you were worried about.

“I’ve never dyed hair before-“ His teammates are laughing so hard they can barely jump.

“Ready!” Bokuto jumps up and spikes the ball. His teammates barely get off the ground and he spikes it with ease. You're not sure if it's because they want to see the aftermath of you dying his hair or because they were too busy laughing to even try.

“Feel free to do your worst,” Akaashi walks up to you, “it will be more entertaining if it comes out botched. Might teach him something too.”

“You might think it’s funny but I’ll never hear the end of it.” You grumble, knowing that every argument from then on it would be brought up.

“Why you date him, the world will never know.” Akaashi says jokingly as he walks away.

“Have you seen his ass?” You yell back laughing. Akaashi rolls his eyes but can’t deny it.

“You better be talking about my ass!” Bokuto yells from across the court.

“You bet.” You smirk at him and he bounces his eyebrows suggestively at you.

The two of you are now in his bathroom. Practice is long over and now you must complete Bokuto’s bet. Maybe demand would be a better term.

“You are aware I have never dyed hair before, right?” You ask him as he boosts himself onto the counter top.

“Yeah but it's not that hard,” He says dismissively, “besides I’m here to walk you through it.” You were pretty sure it was hard. I mean have you seen how many failed hair dying videos there are. You were also worried about how helpful Bokuto’s help would actually be. You’ve seen him explain things purely in noises. 

“Alrighty mix up a bit of this, with some of that in this bowl.” He points the stuff out to you and you go to work. 

“What is it?” You ask as you begin mixing.

“The powder is bleach and the bottle has developer in it,” He explains, “Since my natural hair is pretty dark I can’t just dye it otherwise it won’t show up, so this lightens it.”

“Oh you know a lot about this.” You say 

“Well I do this everytime my hair grows,” He passes you something, “Here this is an applicator, just brush the bleach on the ends of my hair.” You stir around the bleach mixture and get a good amount of product on the applicator.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a cap and a hook thing that you pull your hair through?” You question, having seen a video using one. You step over in between his legs and begin applying product. He has to tilt his head down because he’s so damn tall.

“What do we look like? Professionals?” Bokuto laughs at the idea. 

“There was one in the kit but it takes forever so I threw it out,” He says, “I’m better than it anyway.”

“Oh yeah of course you are.” You say sarcastically.

“Woah was that sarcasm.” He says lifting his head to pick a fight. You play fight often over simple stuff, all lighthearted of course. You’re both argumentative people, it’s your love language. Besides from touch cause this boy in handsy.

“You sure you want to pick a fight right now,” You point the applicator at him threateningly, “It’s your hair on the line here.” He gasps at you in offense.

“You wouldn’t.” He playfully glares at you.

“I already got permission to screw your hair up. I wouldn’t push me.” You would never actually on purpose but boy is it tempting sometimes.

“By who!” Bokuto now more interested in who betrayed him. You push in his head back down and continue working. 

“It was Akaashi wasn’t it.” He grumbles.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you mumble, “There last piece.” You take a step back to admire your work.

“Woah done already?” He hops off the counter and looks in the mirror.

“Looks good.” He says and ducks downs to kiss your lips. Its quick and sweet.

You manage to wait the twenty-so minutes for the bleach to do its thing without getting too much product everywhere. You sit on the counter when he goes in the shower to wash out the bleach. His phone dings and you see he got a snapchat from Kuroo. You open it to see Kuroo sending a shirtless selfie.

“Babe why does Kuroo send you mirror pics?” You ask giggling. His head pops out the shower. 

“Wait let me see!” You turn the phone around so he can see before the timer runs out. 

“Damn he’s fine.” Bokuto says before ducking back into the shower. “Geez just date him already.” You joke. Snapping a quick selfie, you reply to Kuroo telling him to stop stealing your man. He comes back and tells you that you’re welcome to join as well. You roll your eyes and tell him that he may change his mind after your potentially botched dye job makes him go bald. You continue back and forth with Kuroo until Bokuto comes out the shower. 

“Ready for round two.” He winks at you suggestively.

“You know it.” You hop off the counter and he takes your place.

“Now its time for the dye,” He says grabbing a couple bottles and pouring them into a new mixing bowl, “Okay now apply this to where you just bleached.” You repeat the previous process. As you go you feel some wandering hands on you.

“Are you bored already.” You ask.

“Usually I do it so I’m busy focusing but now I’m just sitting here it feels so long.” He explains.

“I’m almost done,” You scoop up the last of the product from the mixing bowl, “and done!”

“Just have to wait another twenty minutes.” He mumbles playing with your hair.

“We should dye your hair,” He says excitedly, “Then we could match!”

“No way.” You say laughing. 

Twenty minutes later and your back in the same position. Him showering and you sat on the counter. You two just talk about your days and anything else that comes up. 

“Ooh I should order food for after,” You say grabbing your phone, “What do you want?” 

“I’ve been craving a burger all day.” He says happy with that idea.

“Burgers it is.” You leave the bathroom to make a phone call for a delivery, already knowing his order. When you come back into the bathroom and Bokuto is out and drying his hair. You come up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist.

“Hey there.” He says over the noise of the hair dryer. He passes it to you, wordlessly asking you to do it. You have to push up onto you tippy toes but you manage. You run your fingers through his hair trying to get all of it dried. When it all looks dry you set the hair dryer down and try and spike it up a bit. 

“It looks pretty good,” He compliments your work, “Not a good as when I do it though.” You smack his chest and leave for his bedroom, but you were pretty happy about his compliment. He comes up behind you and throws you onto the bed. You laugh at the sudden movement as he pounces on you. He rolls the two of you over so you are on top and lets you snuggle into his side. 

You don’t mind how you spend your evenings as long as it is with him. 

[dreamescapeswriting]

One Summer In Paris ~ Is She Mine? ~ JJK

WORD COUNT: 3.4 K 

GENRE: Fluffy, romance, ex-lovers to lovers, smut at a later date

PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

DESCRIPTION: Jeon Jungkook had always loved Paris with its amazing views, incredible museums and the small Bookshop right across from the Effiel Tower. It was were he spent a lot of his summer breaks as a kid so he loved it well into his adulthood. There was one bookshop he rented a room in the summer that changed his life. It was a place where he felt happy and at peace whenever he had the chance to stay there. Where he fell in love for the first time and had his first heartbreak, a lot of firsts for him were in Paris. But what happens when he goes back to the same book shop four years later and finds the love of his life in the arms of another with a daughter who looks suspiciously like him…

THEMES: Single Parent, Jungkook x Fem!Reader, self insert, Smut will be included in a later chapter

MASTERLIST || NEXT

As soon as the plane touched the floor Jungkook instantly felt at home even if his home wasn't Paris it was still felt like home to him. Everything about Paris made him feel at peace and in a place, he couldn't help but fall in love with more and more every time they came here. Pulling his bag through the airport calling Namjoon to let him know that he'd arrived in Paris safely like the leader had requested but he had to have been sleeping because there was no answer from him so he just put his baseball cap on paired with some sunglasses and walked out, keeping his head down as he walked.

The joys of the break coming like this meant that no one knew where he was heading, not even his manager knew that Jungkook had flown to France he didn't want everyone following him around he wanted it to be just like his old times there when he was a kid and the last summer he was there. This break was about spending time alone and just having some time to breathe, no paparazzi, no fans. He adored all of ARMY but sometimes he just needed some time to himself.

It was almost four years to the date when the boys all took a break from their idol life to spend some time off and away from everything and just like today he flew to Paris. One of the places he'd loved as a kid since he would always come here on his summer breaks,

"Bonjour," He greeted one of the cab drivers who nodded at him through the rearview mirror with no response, waiting for the address to be given to him. Jungkook could recite the address as if it was his own home address, it had never left his brain even in the four years he'd been away from it.

"234 Louvre Road please," It was the address of an apartment above a book shop, one that he'd spent most of his inside of when he came to Paris with his grandmother, and the one he'd been in four summers ago the last time he was alone in the city without the boys around. Of course, they'd been there many times since but Jungkook could never break away from them or the paparazzi long enough to go and visit the small shop.

"Right away Sir, what brings you to the city of love?" Jungkook assumed he was trying to make some conversation to help pass the time so he just decided to speak back to him. The man was balding and had a thick black beard, he couldn't have been any older than his 50's.

"I've missed coming here, so I decided it was time for a visit." He chuckled to himself even though what he was saying wasn't funny. It was the nervous chuckle he did whenever he didn't know what to say, he turned and began staring out of the window as he passed by everything. Nothing had changed, the views were still spectacular no matter the angle you looked from, everything was still just as beautiful as ever. The sun was already starting to set in the city and it made everything look more impressive than it already did, the fairy lights were just starting to twinkle on the Effiel Tower. 

"No story of a long lost love living here? I've heard them all kid and I can read you like a book," The man laughed softly as he pulled onto the main road, Jungkook's heart sank at the thought of you even still being in Paris, you would have been long gone by now there was no way of knowing. 

"No. Not for me." He lied, laughing it off as though it wasn't weighing him down so he kept his attention on the view out of the window, looking at all the different people that were around him. All of the couples running along together, families huddled together as they toured the city of love. 

This was supposed to be a creative break for him, Namjoon told him that he thought Jungkook could have a breakthrough with some lyrics he'd been struggling on so he was hoping Namjoon was right about that. Paris was always one of the places Jungkook felt most creative, the art and the people all inspiring him. It was where he'd written a lot of the love songs that were on his mixtape...That wasn't released yet, Jungkook didn't think it was ready but he was sure after this break it would be. He just needed something...More.

"Here you go sir," Jungkook tipped the taxi driver and got out at the small book shop. 

It was just the way he remembered it from his childhood and the summer he'd spent there. The small shop nestled right between the river and across from the Effiel tower, the view from the apartments above it was honestly breathtaking and made him wonder how the place was still just a book shop instead of a B&B but he didn't mind, the place was still there, still his private little nesting place. He wondered if the inside had changed all over the last four years of him being gone, Grace was always crazy about changing everything inside. Going on about how the decor was wrong, or the shelves needed rearranging whenever she didn't like something in its place. He was about to head inside of the shop when he froze in place, his hand on the handle of his suitcase tensing while his knuckles turned when he saw you standing there. 

Reaching across the counter probably speaking French to one of the customers since it was practically your native tongue the way you spoke it, your hair was longer than it was Four summers ago and you seemed happier somehow. The corners of your lips were turned up in a smile and it made his stomach flip and kick the longer he watched you engaging with someone. Although he had no idea what you were saying he was making it up in his head, imagining what you would say to someone who was asking for a book recommendation. It had been one of your favourite things to do in the shop, you'd read so many different books Jungkook always wondered how you kept it all in your head.

"Excusez-Moi monsieur, Allez-Vous à l'intérieur?" Excuse me, sir, are you going in?" Jungkook was pulled from his daydream about you and turned to see a small elderly lady holding a stack of books in her hand, he'd hardly heard her and he doubted that he would if she hadn't have tapped his shoulder to gain his attention. She frowned at him as she watched him, Jungkook could have sworn she looked an awful lot like Grace but he couldn't be sure.

"Oh, Oh...Sorry. No." He stepped out of the way darting to hide down the side of the shop when you looked up. There was a bell above the door that alerted whoever was working that someone had entered so you glanced up, right as Grace walked through the door with a stack of books in her hand.

"Bonjour!" He heard your voice and it was just as sweet as he remembered it from before, you still sounded like you which was good since you were you and not some alien that was disguised to look like you...He knew it was impossible. But his flight over here had been cramped full of dreams about you...Nightmares rather. One stemming from an Alien abduction to the next one of you flipping out at him when you see him.

"There was an odd boy outside, I'm sure I know him." That was his cue to leave that meant that the woman had been Grace. Grace was like a mother to you so he knew you would have told her all about him and why he'd left you, he dragged his suitcase down the cobbled road trying to find another taxi service. He couldn't stay in the apartment above the bookshop you were working in. It would feel too weird but his heart was aching to go and see you one last time. To get one last glance at you before he disappeared, his heart yearned for it but he shook his head, keeping his eyes downcast as he tried to find a cab.

"An odd boy? Madame Grace, you think everyone is odd," You laughed softly at the elderly lady taking her in the direction of the back of the shop to settle her down with a pot of tea and one of the books she'd brought along with her. It was her own store but she'd never read anything from inside of it. 'It's all junk' She said to you one day as she settled down with books in different languages you could never understand. 

"He was really odd, just watching you through the window. I thought he was going to come in but then I startled him," She continued ranting about how he shouldn't have been standing in the doorway like that how it would only deter people from coming into the charming little bookshop she owned. You poured her a cup of tea into the small teacup and shook your head at her,

"I'm sure he was just lost Madame Grace," Your voice came out softly and she patted the top of your hand, she always knew you were nice to everyone. 

"Where is your handsome boyfriend?" She meant David, of course, she loved him since she was the one to set you up with him and he was..."One of a kind." There was one thing about him, you hadn't worked out what it was going on between you, you knew he liked you a lot and he and Arehum - your daughter - got along perfectly well but you weren't sure how you felt about him. There was nothing wrong with him of course, he was a great guy but there just wasn't something there that made you feel connected to him.

"He's out with Arehum." You spoke to her, she sighed happily going back to her books as you left to go and answer the bell that had been ringing, it was the latest delivery of books that had been ordered in. Josh was standing there with a clipboard and a box that looked relatively heavy.

"Has the person renting the apartment been by yet?" The delivery boy - Josh - asked as he handed you a box full of books, you grunted putting them down behind the counter. Everyone you were close with knew the ins and outs of the shop and were interested to see who you'd finally decided to rent the apartment out to.

"Not yet, I'm sure they'll turn up soon though. I can't believe someone wants that place, no one's been up there in years." You said as you began singing on the small pad he was holding out for you. The bookshop you worked in had two apartments above it, the bookshop was the bottom and basement floor - the basement was mostly used for storage. Then the apartments were on the second and third floors both of them relatively big to say they were just some small apartments. 

The third floor was one that an ex-boyfriend of yours had stayed in over the summer four years ago since then no one had rented the apartment out. Mostly because you never advertised it anymore, the thought of someone going up there...Being there where your memories were didn't sit right with you but when someone called to book it you couldn't say no. So you had to venture up there the other day when you had to clean it out since Grace was far too old to come to the shop and do it herself. She struggled walking around alone nevermind climbing up all those stairs and cleaning.

"I hope so anyway, I didn't clean that place out for nothing." You joked as Josh bean walking out of the door and left you to deal with the boxes in front of you. Most of them were on the History of Paris and some were old cliche romances that Grace had clearly snuck onto the order, she was a sucker for the cliches and as much as it pained you to admit it...So were you. The cliche romances where there are two people one bed or enemies to lovers...They were always a favourite of yours.

This was not how Jungkook wanted to spend his holiday, he'd been longing to stay in that apartment since it was where all of his memories were but seeing you there sent him into a wave of emotions, mostly guilt for what he'd done to you. How things had ended between you both wasn't the best of ways. 

The Hotel Antoniette was the hotel he'd found the quickest, it was close to the bookshop in case he found himself brave enough to head inside at a later date. The hotel was huge and elaborate, probably since it had been a palace belonging to a French Aristocracy. It was close to the Tuileries Garden and the Louvre which he adored, he could remember all of the times he'd spent roaming around the museum and the garden with you hand in hand as you spoke about your day in the shop and his time in Paris. Back then you had no idea who he was, to you he was just Jungkook who'd been travelling on his break from college to come and see Paris and decided to stay a little longer for the ''view'.' Which of course, the view was you. He wished he'd been honest with you about who he really was. Maybe none of it would have happened. Maybe you would have somehow made it all work out, he could still be happy with you.  

His suite was right on the top floor - the best that money could buy him, he figured it would bring more privacy if he could just hide out in the hotel room most of the days. He was sure he could find something to occupy his mind if he did end up stuck here. The room had french-style windows that opened up onto a balcony giving him the most magnificent view of Paris he pushed the doors open to look at the fairy lights on the Effiel Tower in the pitch-black night. He kept his eyes on the structure, watching the way all the lights changed somehow making them look like stars. It was stunning to look at but his mind was going back to you in that book shop. He wondered how you were, How you'd been doing over the last four years and if you'd even remember him but, of course, you would. How could you after what you went through together? That kind of love couldn't have been one-sided and he doubted you could forget it so easily. 

Trying to distract himself he went back into his suite to go and unpack his bag, the whole place was like a huge apartment all decorated in white with marble counters. The bedding was a pale-peach kind of colour stacked high with pillows that he had no idea how he was going to get back onto the bed the next morning when he got up. He slid his bag over to the dressing room and almost dropped the case on the spot, it was only half of the size of the bedroom and it was lined wall to wall with mirrors all doubling as wardrobes he could see himself in every square inch of the room so he began unpacking as quickly as he could, making a promise to himself not to go in there at night time because it scared him. The thought of walking into a dark room and catching his own reflection...He'd seen enough horror movies to know better than that.

By the time he got back out of the hotel it was getting close to 10:30 pm and he wanted to stop by the shop one last time, just to see you and maybe try to speak to you. He had his hat on, hoodie pulled around his body with some shorts on since it was summer and quite warm at night, most of the shops were already closing up but he noticed the lights inside the book store were all on. 

"Grace I can lock up alone," Your voice came out smooth as you spoke the small old lady who'd been outside of the shop earlier when Jungkook had been there confirming it to be Grace. You slid a cup of what looked like something hot into her hand it was steaming and Jungkook scoffed. Who could drink hot drinks in this weather? It was far too hot for that. It was much better to have a cold drink on a night like this.

"How was your day?" Grace questioned you sitting back against an armchair that was inside of the shop, Jungkook remembered picking the chair out with you at a car boot sale you both went to. He remembered taking it back to the shop in a struggle before the both of you curled up to sleep in it. The chair wasn't huge but it was comfy enough to take a nap together there for an hour or two until he woke up and had a dead arm from the position you'd fallen asleep in. Jungkook felt like such a creep for watching through the giant glass window but there was something about you that was different that he couldn't put his finger on. 

"It was okay, Josh came by with a new delivery. How was your day Areum?" You called out behind Grace, Jungkook wondered who Areum was who you seemed to change your tone for. Your tone went from soft to even softer as you looked down at someone. Jungkook remembered you mentioning the name a lot around him but he knew it wasn't one of your friends. All of your friends had french snotty names which were one of the reasons he never wanted to meet them, that and he couldn't risk them knowing who he was and blabbing it to the press that he was in Paris with a girl.

"Areum, how was your day?!" Grace asked politely and a small girl came out from one of the bookshelves dressed in a Princess dress twirling around and waving a wand in the air, Jungkook's mouth fell open as his eyes landed on the small girl. Her hair was long to the lower of her back it was curled at the ends and she had the biggest smiles he'd ever seen on her face as she twirled around and around in one spot. 

As he finally got a good look at her his heart sank to the floor as he realised she was the spitting image of him, she had his smile, his eyes and hair colour even the little dimple that he had on his left cheek. He stumbled into a metal table knocking it over and knocking the sign to the shop over, you laughed looking up to see which drunken idiot had knocked it over this time but the smile faded from your lips as soon as you locked eyes with him outside of the window. Your heart began to pound as you stared at one another, your mouth falling into an 'O' shape the longer you watched him. Part of you was praying it was just your eyes playing tricks on you. 

"Y/n?" Everyone was in the background as you stared at Jungkook through the window swallowing the huge lump in your throat. No one else in the room mattered now that your eyes were on him. Grace followed your gaze wondering what the big deal was when she saw the same boy from before standing there. Both of you having a stare off as you looked at one another through the giant window. 

"He was outside earlier! I told you he was a creep, I'll ring the police." You shook your head rapidly, taking her hand away from the shop phone and telling her to take Areum up the staircase instead. Grace nodded rushing your very confused daughter up the stairs in the back of the shop while Jungkook made his way into the shop, red in the face as he looked at the small girl. All of the dots in his head connecting to get a different image but one still remained as he watched the small girl. Her eyes locking with his as it hit him, 

"Y/n...Is she mine?"

MASTERLIST || NEXT

A/N: Just an introduction chapter but what do you guys think so far? 💞✨ If you’d like to be added to a tagline for it let me know 

@taestannie @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @fan-ati--c​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @sw33tnight​ @sweeneyblue1​ @rjsmochii​ @innersooya​

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

heart+head(ache), m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: Like the seasons, the highs and lows come and go. Unlike the seasons, the lows are unpredictable and multiplicative, because life is not just one aspect, but many. If there's one person that can be your heart, it's Min Yoongi. If there's one person that can occupy your head, it's Jeon Jungkook.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; fluff / comfort, then PWP; smut (fem reader, nipple play, scratching / marking, fingering, hair-pulling, penetrative sex); softdom!Jungkook

this series has always been the personification of Yoongi and Jungkook as my muses. therefore it's not really a story, but rather a glimpse into my emotional state at the time it was written (about two weeks ago). I thought about not posting it, but, hey, you can choose to read it or not. I don't expect anyone to read it, tbh.

--

heartspace!Yoongi - his POV

"Leave me alone."

He sat down, silent, beside the hunched form.

"I can't take it anymore."

The only light came from the desk above them, the laptop screen blaring brightly in the darkness.

"I want to go back to the way it was."

He reached up and touched her knuckles, rubbing his fingertips over them.

"Back when no one knew I existed. Back when no one wanted to get in my head."

Over the silver rings, tracing reach one, decoration and armor, mirroring the outward self that protected the one inside. The fragile one that hid from the outside world. She let him see the fragility in this space, but only in this space. Her nails dug into her skin, tearing it up from the outside as the thoughts inside tore her to shreds.

"I don’t want these wings. I don’t want to fly high."

He waited, quietly, saying nothing, hand on hers. In this space, it was only him and only her.

The heart and the heartless.

"I don’t want to be in this light..."

Her eyes found his and he looked back, into shadowed orbs clouded from struggling for far too long and would continue to do so until she was no more. That was the way of the world, persistent and hurtful for no reason at all.

Time heals all wounds, but some wounds are blind to time, stagnant and frozen.

"I don't know the difference between pretending and not pretending anymore," she whispered, so quietly that he had to strain to hear.

He finally spoke, squeezing that thin hand gently.

"In some ways, they're the same thing for you, aren't they?"

She looked at him for a long, long time.

He lifted his hand from hers and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“You are with me,” he murmured. “And with me, you can be anything.”

This face hid behind smoke and mirrors. This face didn’t trust the world and trusted their own reflection even less. The world could pretend to know, but the reality was the depth of the scars was much deeper than anyone could ever fathom and this mind was unlike anyone else’s, too creative for its own good, producing new and intricate tortures for the one that lived within it. Only here, in this space, did he have a glimpse. Even then, he wasn’t sure he would ever see all of it, because that wasn’t necessary and because some shadows should stay in the dark where they belong.

"I can't be like them, Yoongi."

Min Yoongi shook his head.

"They're ordinary. You're special."

"I'm not."

"You know you are, otherwise no one would find solace in knowing you exist."

He held her face in his hands.

"Nameless, faceless, and yet... they flock to the safety of you."

He leaned forward, forehead to forehead.

"Who else can say that? No one. Not even me. Everyone knows my face now."

Into dark, dark eyes full of pain, reaching in, shouldering the weight so it was a little lighter, a little less heavy. He didn’t need to know the reason for the weight. It was there, and so he assisted.

"They'll never know the one I know."

A little despair, a little helplessness, all her.

"I'll never know the one you know."

He kissed her, softly, whispering her name and his love.

“If you think you can’t feel, then I will feel for you. If you ever feel like you don’t have a heart, know that I will be yours. Trust me.”

“Can I?” she breathed against his lips, eyes closed, lost in his taste.

Yoongi chuckled, running his hands through her hair, breathing in the scent of sweet matcha marshmallow, deeper, richer, warmer now that it was soaked into her skin, smooth and soft under his fingertips. She was like that. Everything she touched became more vivid, more alive, more real, even if it was only a fantasy.

“Of course. You are with me.”

He pulled her into his hold, into his lap, both of them still on the floor, cradling her at her lows so he could raise her at her highs.

“However long you need, one day, one week, one month, a year, until the end of time… I will be whatever role you need me to be. Obsession, possession, enemy, protector, muse, lover, one of them or all of them,” he murmured softly, lips on her temple, hand on the left side of her ribcage, cradling that rapid rhythm under his fingertips.

It was easy to say, don’t think about anyone else, but much harder to do so, and thus he didn’t say it. There was no need to. She already knew. That’s why she had retreated in the first place, retreated to the safety of his heart and blocked out the outside world.

“They are but visitors and they should be grateful to visit.”

Her fingers twisted into his shirt, clutching the fabric tightly.

“But I am, can, and will be everything you need, if you let me.”

She spoke into his neck, her hot breath wafting over his skin.

“You already are, Yoongi. You already are.”

They stayed like that, for a long, long time.

-

headspace!JK - reader's POV

You opened your bedroom door to find Jeon Jungkook laying on your bed.

His dark brown eyes shifted to you.

You looked away and closed the door.

“Where have you been?”

Every time. Every time you heard his smooth, silvery voice, you were reminded of home, even if he wasn’t always here. Then again, home was never a place to you. Like a permanent resident, Jungkook always managed to find his way to your bed and you, well, you resided with his voice.

“Who knows,” was your answer.

Because, in truth, you didn’t know.

Jungkook tilted his head, pink lips slightly parted. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He sat up, watching you, black strands brushing against his dark brows. There was a slight furrow to them, somewhere between disbelief and inquisition. White t-shirt, blue jeans. He hadn’t been here long, otherwise he would have given up on the jeans. His eyes followed you, resting his right arm on his knee, black tattoos standing out against the light wash of the jeans and white-shirt, tan skin the perfect background for them. With the red eyeball tattoo, perhaps it was more accurate to say that three eyes were observing you.

You stood beside the bed but didn’t get on it.

Jungkook let out a soft sigh, the side of his lips quirking up ruefully. “If I was hyung, I would say the right words.” He frowned slightly, chewing on his lower lip, tiny mole underneath flashing into view, a soft kiss from the moon, perfectly placed in the middle. “He always knows what to say.”

You could almost hear that gentle, deep voice murmuring to you, hand on your chest, right above the rapid rhythm below his palm.

You always say it’s nothing when it’s something you know no one will understand.

Jungkook placed his chin on the back of his hand and looked up, catching your eye and pulling you from your thoughts with his voice.

“I don’t know what to say, but I can make you feel.”

You looked back, but still didn’t get on the bed.

“You cut your hair.” It was to his ears now, still black, just shorter.

“Mhm.” He smiled. “Do you not like it?”

You chuckled dryly. “You could be bald, Jungkook, and you would still look good.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Someday I’ll show up like that and then I’ll know if you’re telling the truth.”

You didn’t laugh or banter back, settling into silence instead. He noticed right away. His features softened and he raised his other hand to beckon you to him.

You didn’t move.

His lips formed to the words and you could tell he meant them because he maintained eye contact, not letting you avoid his gaze.

“I missed you.”

Where have you been?

You placed your hands on the bed, fingers spread, silver rings glinting in the light, lighting each and every one, all except your left pinky. You still hadn’t found the perfect one for that one yet. The three silver necklaces you wore clinked together as you crawled to Jeon Jungkook, mind full of thoughts that fell away one by one, replaced by the sight, sound, smell of Jungkook, tongue remembering his taste, skin prickling, remembering his touch.

“I could have distracted you,” he whispered, leaning forward.

“I wasn’t the best version of myself,” you whispered back, the dull ache of intangible weight pressing down on your ribcage. “I couldn’t see you like that.”

He lifted his right hand from his knee and reached around your head, burying his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer to that face and those eyes, sharp and defined with an endearing softness, lashes lowering, inhaling your scent, lustful satisfaction clouding his gaze as he once again recognized that you had changed it from that spiced, warm chestnut to a heady matcha marshmallow.

“You know,” Jungkook breathed, tugging you to him, his lips brushing against yours. “I am here for all versions of you, good or bad, sad or mad, fallen apart or all in one piece.”

His teeth nipped your lips and your breath caught your throat, knowing he was making you wait, curling his fingers in your hair to hold your head in place.

In this space, with him.

“If your head is full of me, there’s no space for the other thoughts.”

“That’s not how it works, Jungkook.”

“That’s how I want it to work.”

His lips captured yours, firm, intense, hand pulling you to him and his hard body, surrounding you in his embrace, your gasp in his mouth as he pressed you to his chest, pinning you down, forearms flexing against the small of your back, your hands coming up to steady yourself on his shoulders, digging your nails into the thin fabric of the t-shirt. You shivered in his hold, eyes opening slightly, not realizing they had closed, and his were open too, filtered by his lashes.

“I don’t want to go back out there,” you said, so softly that the words didn’t seem real.

“Then don’t,” Jungkook whispered. “Stay with me.”

“You’re not good for me.”

“They’re worse.”

He spread his legs and put you in his lap. You could feel the texture of his jeans through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts, thighs on top of his, softness to hardness. His fingers traced the lapel of your pajama shirt and the red piping, smiling at the print, little red devil heads making various faces against the black jersey fabric.

“You’re insufferable.”

The small smile lifted and now it was yours, turning into a smirk. “Yeah, but you love me.”

You stared into those eyes, that face, trapped in his arms, his body, his voice, his sound, everything just Jeon Jungkook, and the hesitation remained. You felt his hand shift, raising, fingertips brushing your cheek, sending shivers up your neck and to his electric touch.

“I couldn’t come back because it didn’t feel right.”

His hand lowered, cradling the side of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw.

“What about now?” Jungkook asked, silvery and sweet.

You told the truth, because the truth was eating away at you.

“I don’t know.”

He turned his head and leaned in, inhaling your exhale, eyes closing.

“I’ll help you know.”

His kiss.

I want to be your everything.

He made you memorize the shape of his lips, made you memorize the weight of his hands, made you memorize the curve of his shoulders and chest, pushing you down on the bed, your hands sliding down and pressed to his chest, palm to his heavy heartbeat, hungry kisses and fleeting tongue teasing you, the lower half of his body pinning yours down. Heavy. Inescapable. You tried to move away to speak but he caught your lips, pulling your back, his left hand peeling your right off his heart and interlocking his fingers with yours, slamming it down on the sheets, his right snaking in between your bodies, undoing the buttons one by one. You cried out into his mouth and he lifted his head, black hair messy, breathing hard.

“J-Jungkook…”

His lips were dark, swollen from kissing you so fiercely, irises shadowed and pupils expanded.

“This is how it should be, with you saying my name like that.”

You glared at him, but he simply chuckled, diving back down again, lips attacking your neck, kisses and bites that made your breath hitch, clutching fistfuls of his shirt, and it didn’t matter, it simply didn’t matter anymore, too many outside thoughts when you could just have Jungkook invading your head, clawing the hem of his shirt upward, digging your nails into his back and his soft skin, his moans on yours, tongue dancing up your trembling throat, biting that space right behind your right ear, your pulse roaring under his lips and your name in his throat, no distractions., only Jungkook.

“My mark belongs all over you,” he growled possessively.

Your nails dragged down his broad back and his hips bucked into yours, his oppressive force and weight a welcome one. You didn’t respond. A single dark brown orb watched your face, smirk against your earlobe. No response needed because Jungkook could see it in your expression and the way you held him, violent but desperate, needing him more than anyone or anything else in this world right now.

“Someday,” he murmured teasingly.

“In your dreams,” you shot back, finding your voice.

“They’re all about you.”

He sat up, thighs straddling you, crossing his arms and pulling up his white t-shirt in one swift stroke, tossing it aside. His lips curved into a sly smile, seeing you bite your lip and narrow your eyes to hide your breathlessness at his muscular and toned torso, the black tattoos of his right arm rippling as he leaned down again, his large hands next to your head, smirk dancing above your face.

“Just like how yours are all about me.”

You didn’t look away. “They’re not.”

Neither did he. “They will be.”

You clicked your tongue.

Unfazed, unbothered, unwise, you pulled Jungkook down to you, closing your eyes, his fresh scent filling your nose, lips on your skin, murmuring, so sweet, so delicious, kissing your collarbones, pushing your shirt off and reaching around you, forcing you to yank your pajama shirt off to avoid getting tangled in it and your unhooked bra, already moving on, lips wrapping around your hard nipple and you felt his eyes on you, opening yours to see his smirk and his tongue flicker, pulses of desire clawing through you, all because of Jungkook.

“What?” you managed to get out, sucking in a breath as his hand came up, fingertips pushing the other hard nub, watching your expression with his tongue extended.

“You belong under me, like this, enjoying everything I do to you,” he murmured, lapping slowly, not enough but still too much with the visual included.

“S… Stop looking at me like that.”

He shook his head slowly, your name falling from his lips, black hair brushing over his brows. You stiffened as his hand slid under the waistband of your shorts, under the thin fabric of your panties, long fingers dancing closer and closer to your heated, dripping core.

“If I look away, you might disappear from me again.”

You were lost, lost in the feeling of Jeon Jungkook.

Brown eyes ensnaring you, drowning your senses with his sensations.

“I can’t have that.”

His lips wrapping around your nipple again, deft fingers slipping inside your pussy, moan drifting from your lips as you raised your hips, shorts and panties sliding down, but Jungkook was already moving, plunging his fingers in fast and rough, sucking hard, tongue teasing the hard tip, other arm wrapped around you and free hand splayed in the small of your back, locking you in his space.

“Fuck, Jungkook, fuck…”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, his chuckle vibrating through your nipple, faster, harder, so easy because you were so wet and he was so close, one hand in his hair and the other clutching the sheets, back arching, muscles pulled taut in his touch, thighs unable to close because his own were holding them open, fingers tightening in his short black hair, nails digging into his scalp, breathing hard, not letting him have his favorite sounds, so Jungkook increased the pace, his own fingernails clawing at your back, and your eyelids fluttered, jaw clenching, moan torn from your throat.

“A-ah, Jungkook…”

And it all crashed down, fierce blossoming pleasure overtaking your veins, pitch hiking as his fingers stilled and his thumb pressed to your clit, fuck, don’t, but he did, he did because you pulled him even closer, chest to chest, his triumphant pants against your neck, hand sliding up your back, pushing your head down, taking your lips and your scream as you came again, all over his hand, tight pulsating walls clenching around his fingers, the scent of sex painting the air and his palm, covering him with you.

“Fuck…!”

You broke the kiss, hand wrapping around his forearm, squeezing hard, taut muscle pushing you back, tattoos peeking out from beneath your fingertips, staring into his eyes, time stopping, slow circles on your most sensitive spot, his blown-out pupils reflecting yours, skin to skin, heart racing against his.

“What?” Jungkook panted. “Tell me.”

His brown orbs searching your face, shrouded by lashes, desire so obvious that it was tangible and palpable.

“Want you.”

His lips curved into a smug smile.

“Yeah? Say it again.”

Your hands left his hair and his arm, reaching between your bodies, still gazing into his eyes.

“Want you, Jungkook. Want you to fuck me.”

His forehead touched yours as the button came undone, his hair sticking to your face, both sweaty from the intensity.

“I really missed you more than the words,” he mumbled against your cheek, helping you push his pants down, skin to hot skin, kicking them off the bed.

“Mhm.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I’m not an idiot, Jungkook.”

“You are if you don’t believe me.”

You stilled, holding the condom out and Jungkook took it from you, ripping it open, cocking an eyebrow defiantly as he rolled it down his hard length, nudging your thighs.

“You… You’re just here to annoy me.”

Your eyes shifted away and you felt him pick up your legs, pushing them up, hooking them over his shoulders. One of his hands cupped your chin and tugged you back to face him, not letting you avoid his gaze.

“We both know that’s not true,” he said softly.

You gasped sharply as he gripped your chin, holding you in place as he slid in, setting his jaw at your tightness, both of you shuddering at the feeling of your pussy surrounding his cock, feeling it swell inside you and get harder, stretching you out, his determination nearing as he leaned down, bending you in half, hand leaving your chin and pressing his palms flat against your sheets, breathing hard as he shoved himself the rest of the way in, a little pain but so much pleasure, soft thighs against his hard torso, your breath mixing with his, hot and heavy and sweet despite how firmly he had you pinned down.

“I want your head full of me,” Jungkook sighed, slowly rolling his hips into you, making you gasp. “You’ll never have a bad thought if I’m occupying that space.”

“Fuck, you can’t… ah, that’s not how it w-works, Jungkook…”

He was using his weight to drive his thrust, powerful and intense, ramming his hips into you, your juices leaking out and sticking to his crotch, the inside of your joined thighs slick and wet, loud slaps echoing throughout the bedroom, stiff length so hard you could feel it twitch inside your pussy, hitting you as deep and as rough as you liked, probably too much for the normal person, but not you, because you wanted to feel it all, wanted Jungkook to really fuck you and not be gentle about it, grabbing his hair and smacking your hips up to meet his, making you both moan loudly, names mixing with the visceral sounds of sex.

“I’ll just keep fucking you then,” Jungkook hissed. “Keep fucking you and make you feel so good that nothing else matters, nothing except how good I can make you feel.”

You looked up, your silver rings glinting in his black hair, your silver necklaces cutting into your neck and the three coin-shaped pendants jingling and clinking in rhythm with the mattress bouncing under your bodies, pressure and pleasure building inside your core, struggling to breathe as you glanced down and watched him enter and reenter, thick cock slick and hard before disappearing inside you.

“A-Ah…”

Back to his eyes, nearly black from arousal, groaning as you came around him, throbbing walls squeezing his entire length, feeling it all with every pulse.

“You’re gonna have to f-fuck me harder… than t-this…”

He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You got it.”

You threw your head back at the first smack, clutching his head, feeling it all over, pleasure like rushing fire, eating up all your nerves and replacing it with sound and touch, the swift squelch of his length plunging into you, the feeling of him filling you up and taking your breath away, so good you could barely breathe, so good you could barely think, nothing but the feel of Jungkook towering over you and slamming down into you so you could thrust your hips up to meet him, so close, so close, heavy exhales blending together, skin and nerves prickling, humming with ecstasy, feeling so good you could only moan his name, and he groaned yours, right in your face, edge of desperation in his normally controlled, deep voice..

“Cum, yes, cum for me – fuck!”

And it all crashed down, fierce fire rocketing through you and hitting its peak, gasping as you smacked your hips up and clenched all around his cock in rapid throbs, his moan washing over you, jerking and flinching as he came in strong jolts, rutting his hips into yours to feel it all, shifting the head inside you so your muscles massaged him all over and drained his orgasm out.

“Jungkook… fuck…”

He lifted his arms and lowered your legs, hands coming up to hold your face, tipping your lips up to him, kissing them deeply.

“You don’t understand,” he mumbled, staring at you through his lashes. “It hurts when you don’t come to me.”

He kissed you again and again, your words wisping out between them.

“I…”

Feeling sorry there wasn’t another way.

“I have to get through it myself… It wasn’t you… You didn’t do anything…”

Jungkook collected you in his embrace, breath becoming one with yours.

“Yeah, but I can do something, so I need you to give me the chance.”

His eyes were telling you, you don’t have to go back out there. Stay. Stay with me, in this bedroom, in this space, just you and me. Your hand was against his temple, silver rings against his silver brow piercing, tracing his sharp features, feeling airless as you looked into those dark brown orbs and listened to his voice that seemed to be a permanent resident of your thoughts.

“Keep me with you, always.”

--

masterpost

[detransition]

from permutational

“I never knew a woman like you could exist, so how could I even dream of you before I knew you?”

My wonderful girlfriend wrote this to me in her most recent love letter. She was writing about the concept of a “dream woman”, and how she wasn’t sure what hers would look like or be like until she met me. But, I can’t stop thinking about it, because this one little phrase captures something big about the butch lesbian experience, something I’ve had a hard time putting words to. It also captures realizations I’ve gone through after detransitioning.

It’s almost a “ring of keys” kind of thought. But I love how it highlights the relationship between knowing and dreaming. What you’re aware of influences what you can dream about, what you can aspire to. What you know informs the possibilities of who you can be and love at your core.

Back a few years ago, when my crisis was was coming to a head and I decided to detransition, I felt lost. I craved an “undo” button that didn’t exist. All I knew was where I’d already been, only there was no going back. I couldn’t envision what my future might look like, especially with how far I’d gone in transitioning. I couldn’t imagine that I’d ever “live as a woman” again; I felt “too far gone”. It didn’t seem like the concept of “womanhood” could encircle me as I was. When was the last time I saw a woman that looked like me? Oh yeah, never – that was the original goal, after all.

In that moment, when I didn’t know what to do, I went with my gut: the very first thing I did was make a beeline straight to YouTube. Probably sounds a little strange, but looking back, it makes sense to me. I was searching for possibilities, for people, for stories. I wanted direct evidence that someone like me can exist, because I felt very unreal.

I looked up ‘detransition’, and there they were. Not many at the time, but enough. There were people with deepened voices, facial hair, mastectomies, bodies and histories like mine, unmistakable. And yet, they called themselves women, some even called themselves lesbians.

I watched and listened, and it didn’t matter what they were talking about; I didn’t even agree with everything they said. What mattered was that they existed. They were real.  Some of these women passed as male, but didn’t seem pressed to change themselves any further or in any way, and still emphatically called themselves women. It was mind blowing to me, and comforting. Knowing that I wouldn’t be the first or only one like this was a relief. It gave me courage, made me feel a little less crazy. It felt like I could move forward knowing that I’m not utterly alone in this experience.

And later on, I actually met these women, and others like them. Women with different ideas and opinions, not all of whom agreed with one another, or used the same words, or understood themselves in the same way. Regardless of differences, they had experiences in common with each other, and with me.

Each strange woman I’ve met has broadened the possibilities of what a woman can be, and what kind of woman I can be. Spending time with other uncommon women has fundamentally changed me at my core. There is something they gifted me that I don’t have words for. Something that came from seeing, hearing, and sharing space. Knowing by witnessing.

My beard carries memories of the bearded women I’ve met and loved; when I look in the mirror, I see part of them in me. My head is bald because I met other women who were bald first, and through them got the courage to take the plunge and buzz it all off and never look back. My voice is stronger from singing with others who embraced their changed voices. I don’t have the shame and embarrassment about my voice that I did before.

Every single part of my body carries the memories of other women like me. Detransitioned women, butch dykes young and old, friends, lovers… My opinion of myself and what I can be has fundamentally changed because of the possibilities I’ve seen in other women.

I never knew women like us could exist. But I know now, and I dream of us often.

thinking of detransition? you are not alone

[shig-a-shig-ah]

Please I'm on my hands and knees begging for some kind of angst/comfort or whatever sequel to Solace what do I have to pay to see it at last

You know what, anon? Fuck it—ask and you shall receive. 

DISCOMFIT ━ PART 2 OF SOLACE

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader, previous shigaraki tomura x reader

» cw: noncon, free use (mostly implied/referenced), implied anal, mentions of cheating, little bit of comfort, whole lot of angst. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: This picks up exactly where Solace left off, and isn’t exactly canon-compliant because the war arc hadn’t ended when I first posted Solace. It’s also more angsty than smutty, but def still NSFW. As always, reblogs, replies, etc. are welcome <3

» wc: 5.3k

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There's lead in Dabi's stomach as Shigaraki drags you towards the door, and he's already scrambling to tug on his sweats, staggering to his feet as though he could effectively intervene. He'd heard the threats hissed in your ear, the ones scattered among the taunts Dabi had tried so hard to counter with his own exaltations, but he hadn't been prepared for them to be genuine, had thought that in the end Shigaraki would view your shame as his own. That he wouldn't want to make this betrayal public, not really.

Apparently, Dabi was wrong.

When you're hauled across the threshold, he falters. The thought of your imminent defilement is enough to make him feel sick, bile rising at the back of his throat as his gut twists; he doesn't think he could bear to witness such a desecration. But in the end he also doesn't have a choice—Shigaraki pauses in the doorway, his vicious gaze fixing on Dabi as he gives the order. "You're coming too."

Dabi's throat tightens, because he knows there's no use trying to oppose Shigaraki's will, not with his newfound power. And there's no clemency in the man's burning red eyes, no hints that Tomura has doubts about his chosen retribution, nothing at all to give Dabi hope that perhaps the pale-haired man can be dissuaded from this corrective action.

So Dabi swallows back that bitter taste in his mouth, and he follows.

***

Your heart is in your throat as you're dragged into the hall for the second time, only vaguely aware of Dabi trailing behind, failing to interfere though you don't blame him for that, could never condemn him when this is so much more your fault than his. Had you ever really thought you could gladden yourself with Dabi's comfort and then return unscathed to Shigaraki's arms?

You're loud at first, and desperate. You rake at Tomura's forearm as you try to free yourself from his bruising grip, clawing until red droplets are blooming from the scratches on his skin and his flesh collects beneath your nails, but those marks knit themselves back together almost as quickly as you carve them in. Your feet scrabble ineffectually against the carpet too, trying to slow Tomura's movements, but all that accomplishes is friction burns when you stumble, collapsing to your knees even as Shigaraki continues his unyielding march, dragging you along without so much as a backwards glance.

You beg shamelessly again too, pleading with him to stop, to not, to simply let you go. You swear that you'll leave, that he'll never have to see you again, but he ignores those cries just as he does your pathetic attempts to grapple yourself free. It isn't until your implorations grow quieter, more disheartened, that he pauses—you're weeping, not even thinking about what you're saying, rash words falling from your lips. "Tomu, please, I'm sorry, it was a mistake. Please, if you ever cared about me, just let me go."

It's then that he freezes in place, every muscle in his body going rigid, the cords in his neck standing out as he whirls around to face you. His eyes are impossibly wide, his mouth twisted in disgust, and something dark flashes behind his expression, something that, but for a moment, makes him look wounded rather than filled with rage. It's gone almost as soon as it comes, replaced by an expression stonier than any he's fixed you with thus far. He spits his retort through gritted teeth, his tone so tight and glacial that it sends a shiver down your exposed spine.

"Who could ever care about a whore like you?"

***

Dabi can see you struggling, tears streaming down your reddened cheeks as you beg, but he hears none of those supplications, hears nothing but blood rushing in his ears and the wet glug of his throat every time he tries to swallow down the lump that has lodged itself there. Just moving forward consumes all his focus; this sprawling mansion may as well extend for miles for all the effort it takes him to continue putting one foot in front of the other as Shigaraki tows you down the hall.

Your grotesque procession ends in the cavernous ballroom on the ground floor. It's ornate even in its empty glory, sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows and glinting off the crystal of the chandelier that hangs unlit from the ceiling. Dozens of observers trail behind, every inquiring mind that had peered out to investigate the commotion now obeying Shigaraki's commands for them to follow. They're watching warily, whispering behind their hands as their eyes flick curiously from Dabi, shirtless and shaking, to Shigaraki and you.

Dabi comes back into himself when Shigaraki hurls you unceremoniously to the floor, the sharp crack of your head against the hardwood echoing loudly enough to breach the disassociated haze in which he's been trapped. The sight of your face, dazed by the blow, has him instinctually moving forward, but he's stopped at once when a chiseled arm casts itself across his chest, halting his movements. A low growl issues from the back of Shigaraki's throat. "Don't."

It was easier not to protest Shigaraki's rough treatment of you when the three of you were alone in Dabi's bedroom. He'd been able to convince himself then that Shigaraki had some claim on you, some right to do what he was doing, a sense that had been given all the more weight by your own equivocal response to those harsh touches. But the sight of you now, curled on the floor clutching your head, your legs tucked to your chest as though that could somehow preserve your modesty, is harder to abide. It has heat roiling under Dabi's skin, his insides near-roasting as he does his best to restrain himself, to keep emotions too tumultuous to define from bubbling up and setting him alight.

So Dabi looks away. He does his best to tamp down on that growing heat and to endure, to think about the importance of being there for you. After.

Even after Tomura extends his sadistic invitation to the assembled remnants of the Paranormal Liberation Front, Dabi is naive enough at first to hope that no one will take the bait, that even a crowd of villains won't be depraved enough to indulge in what Shigaraki is offering. Except, Dabi had, hadn't he? Had found his own satisfaction in the first part of Shigaraki's punishment, even as you'd wept. He tries to tell himself that was different—he'd already had you, more than once and voluntarily, and you'd asked for him, implored him so desperately that he couldn't have refused, especially not when it was something Shigaraki had been so intent on enacting.

A darker thought flits across the back of Dabi's mind when he remembers the way you'd writhed under Tomura's domineering touch: if Shigaraki insists on it, will you beg here too?

It's a question that goes unanswered. You spend less than a minute sniffling on the floor surrounded by that mob of villains, and then Dabi's glancing up against his better judgement to see Re-Destro stepping forward, dark eyes glinting with curiosity as he shrugs off his suit jacket and loosens his tie, the balding sycophant unabashedly eager to avail himself of Shigaraki's sloppy seconds.

All your struggling has ceased; you're not trying to leave or asking for help, or mercy. Dabi's not sure if you're still trying to please Shigaraki or are only clinging to some last shred of dignity, if he should be disgusted or proud. Still, you flinch when the redhead crouches to trace one large hand up the outside of your thigh, and that small sign of discomfort is enough to have Dabi moving without thinking, every fiber of his body screaming out to defend you from that unwanted touch. But he only manages one feeble step forward before Shigaraki's hand is curling in his hair, yanking him back so hard that Dabi's scalp throbs. Shigaraki maintains that tight hold, leaving Dabi immobilized and with no choice left but to keep staring forward.

"You're going to watch every second," Shigaraki hisses.

Dabi nods. Grinds his teeth. Watches.

***

He thinks nothing could be worse than the powerlessness he feels as Re-Destro takes you. It's a sense of impotence that settles in his bones, that unearths and amplifies every inadequacy he endured in his youth until his knees are weak and there's blood leaking from the corners of his eyes. Just like back then, he's too weak to do what is needed. He can only watch in dismay as someone slots themselves into a role that should be his.

He's wrong, of course, that nothing could be more horrible than witnessing that first act. It's worse when he starts to notice the familiar tensing in your body, and hears your high-keyed whines reverberating off of walls designed to carry just such a pitch. It's worse when he spies Skeptic with that camera trained on you, documenting your disgrace as he palms himself through his pants, and even worse when Spinner comes forward, casting a long, uncertain glance towards Shigaraki before burying himself in both your holes. It's worse when they stop taking orderly turns coupling with your pliant form and start to share instead, and it's worse still when Dabi realizes that somewhere along the way he's grown shamefully, achingly hard.

But the worst? The absolute worst?

That comes at the end.

You're nothing but a crumpled heap on the floor, one cheek squashed against the stained hardwood, your expression glassy and far away. People have stopped coming forward, all those who wanted a turn having taken one, or more. Their faces are uneasy now that they're spent, murmuring again and shooting furtive looks towards the door, obviously unsure if their continued presence is required but too wary of Shigaraki to ask. So it's Dabi who finally works up the nerve to speak, his voice tight through his clenched jaw.

"You did what you wanted. Now can we go?"

A sense of relief washes over him when Shigaraki releases him, but it's short-lived as the other man fixes that red-eyed stare on Dabi.

"Huh," he muses thickly, his expression unreadable as he cocks his head. "You still want her."

Dabi hesitates. Because he knows Shigaraki doesn't want that to be true, is intent on ripping apart whatever tenuous connection you and Dabi have forged over the past weeks, but Dabi's not sure that such a thing is possible. Right now he can't imagine the future any further than getting you both far, far away from here, but even after watching you submit to Shigaraki so readily, after seeing you clench and moan while being offered up like so much meat, Dabi doesn't think he could ever turn you away, not so long as you want him. So he nods.

Shigaraki's unreadable expression morphs, his lips splitting into a wide, depraved grin. "Fine." There's something in his tone that has Dabi's chest tightening with dread already, a sense that only intensifies when Shigaraki continues. "Finish her off, and you can have her. After all, what the fuck do I care if you want to keep the toy you damaged?"

Dabi swallows hard, looking around again. The crowd is watching intently, exchanging hushed whispers, and he knows they can hear every word, have no doubt anymore about just what has happened here, if they had any doubts before.

"Better get on with it," Tomura jeers, followed by a quiet, callous chuckle. "Take the last turn, and the two of you can go. Or don't, and I'll keep her here for days."

Fuck, Dabi can feel the weight of all those eyes on him, of dozens of gazes flicking between his torn expression and your used up form. He wants to say he can't, that he could never, but it's not the truth. The thought alone might have him fighting back a wave of nausea but that doesn't mean he isn't still erect, tenting his pants in a way that's painfully obvious to himself and to everyone else. Physically, at least, Dabi absolutely could.

He takes a step closer to you. Grimaces. He wants to reach out to you, to give you the reassurance of a soothing touch, but there's nowhere your skin isn't reddened or contused, the evidence of that damage exaggerated by the sheen of sweat and worse coating your skin. Your eyes roll up just enough to meet his hesitant stare, and Dabi gives you what he hopes is an apologetic look.

Dabi does what he has to do.

***

The moment it's over Dabi is scooping you up, hooking his arms around your shoulders and behind your bruised knees and lifting you gingerly from the floor, taking you in his arms as gently as he can manage. Your eyes drift to him again, the corners of your lips twitching and a tiny whimper issuing from the back of your throat, a sound so small and feeble that Dabi has to bite hard at the inside of his cheek to maintain some semblance of composure.

He avoids making eye contact with anyone as he leaves, not even sparing a glance towards Shigaraki to confirm this is really over; if the other man decides to change his mind, Dabi's sure it will be painfully obvious. But no one tries to stop him from taking you—he flees the scene of your discrediting successfully, with his heart pounding and his eyes fixed firmly on the floor ahead of him. Just as when he'd followed Shigaraki's march before, he puts one foot in front of the other and wills himself to think of nothing else.

It's difficult. Your skin is slick against his unclothed chest, and feels feverish. Every time he shifts you, he can feel wetness dribbling down your thighs as he tries to lie to himself it's nothing. Tries not to give it any attention at all.

Dabi's never been very good at deceiving himself, and it's all the harder now with the images of your defilement burned into his retinas—Shigaraki knew just what would make him suffer, Dabi has to admit that much.

When he reaches his room, he sets you gently to the floor, whispers that he'll be right back and then disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. He cranks on the bathtub—it will be necessary to clean you up since he's certain you couldn't stand if you tried. It also serves to drown out the sounds to come, because the moment the water starts pouring he's lunging for the toilet and heaving his guts into the bowl, coughing and sputtering as he retches.

By the time he's finished being sick, the tub is nearly full.

He checks the temperature of the water. Once, twice. Three times. It's hard for him to gauge it adequately when he runs so hot, and the last thing he wants is to scald your abused skin or any of those tender, overworked parts. When he's finally wrangling you into the tub, he dips your hand in first, one final test to ease his anxious mind.

"That feel all right, baby girl?" He's not sure if you really nod, or if you're simply shifting a little, but either way he takes it as a yes.

In the end, it doesn't matter so much. The water turns disgusting almost the moment you're submerged, an oily sheen rising to the surface that Dabi doesn't want to think too hard about it. He drains it and doesn't repeat that mistake, only fills it a few inches full the second time and then scoops water over your irritated skin to rinse away the worst of the mess, a painstakingly slow but necessary measure. He repeats it twice and only after that muck stops rising to the top does he let the water creep higher so that he can wash you properly.

He starts with your hair. It's another slow process, trying to keep from snagging your damp tresses on the staples that line his palms as he massages shampoo into your scalp, and moving carefully to avoid the lump that's formed at the back of your head, where it cracked against the hardwood floor. He does his best not to grimace visibly at that swelling, does the same as he's working sweat and sticky clumps out of your matted locks—your eyes are still bleary but he knows you're watching him, and he couldn't bear for you to see how much it affects him to witness you like this.

Conditioner is probably an unnecessary touch, but he works it in anyway once the last of the suds have been rinsed away, thinks it might help you to feel some sense of normalcy, if that's even still a possibility for you. He lets it soak in while he tends to the rest of your inflamed skin, trying best as he can to be gentle, though that doesn't stop you from wincing every time he brushes over some raw, tender spot. When he finally works the washcloth between your thighs, the last horribly necessary task left, you let out a choked sob, your face contorting in distress in a way that has his throat tightening again.

"Shh, baby girl," Dabi soothes, his voice raw even to his own ears as he lifts a hand to stroke at your hair. "It's okay. I've got you."

You can't help but wonder if that's entirely true as you bite back more complaints and let him tend to your ravaged sex. You can see the tightness in his face, the way he can't seem to look at you for long, and Shigaraki's words keep running through your mind, a grim mantra that sticks in your head even more than the memories of the past few hours.

You'll be ruined for him, just like you're ruined for me.

The thought is enough to have panic brewing in your chest, a near-hysteria clawing its way through you. Because what would you do without Dabi? Who else would ever want you now? It would be too much to lose them both.

You don't realize tears are streaming down your cheeks until hot thumbs are brushing them away, cerulean eyes fixed worriedly on your own. "It's okay," Dabi murmurs again. "You're okay."

But it's not, you're not, probably won't ever be again, and you need more than those thin reassurances. Your arm aches when you lift one hand to catch his wrist, your feeble grip a reminder of just how worn you really are. "Am I—" your voice is hoarse, your words interrupted by a painful cough as you struggle to speak through your wrecked throat "—am I ruined for you?"

The way his face falls at your question is reassurance enough, that tight expression going slack and defeated, the corners of his brows lifting in grief. Then Dabi's pulling you to his chest, water sloshing over the side of the tub and cool porcelain digging into your side as he wraps both arms around you, his face burying itself in your damp strands as he cradles you close.

"No. No, of course not, baby girl. Never."

***

When Dabi finally releases you, he leaves you soaking in the tub long enough to take a shower. He's loath to abandon you for even one second, but he needs that cleansing and, more than that, needs a moment to breath. Because you'd never clung to him so eagerly before, never needed him the same way he needed you, not when you had someone else to hold tightly to.

So just now, when you'd burrowed against his chest and made clear that he was the one you were counting on? Well, he'd be lying if he said it hadn't felt good.

Shigaraki might have succeeded in cracking the pedestal Dabi had placed you on, but all that's truly accomplished is to bring you down to Dabi's level, to a place where he can actually hope to make you his. And Dabi doesn't want to find that thought reassuring, doesn't want to dwell on the realization that this whole fucked up situation might be the only way he'll get the one thing he still wants in life. But he does.

He cranks the heat in the shower as high as it will go as he tries to wash away that guilt, but the scalding water isn't enough. It can't rinse out the shame of finding personal satisfaction in your suffering, just like it can't scour away the memories of obeying Shigaraki's final order, of burying his length in the slick sensation of a dozen other men's seed, of squeezing your thighs together in a desperate bid to create some sort of friction, or of sinking himself into your tighter hole when it seemed like the only way to end that agony.

The list of things that require Dabi's contrition is endless, it seems.

Perhaps it's some kind of fucked up penance, then, that once you're both clean Dabi finds himself offering to go collect your things from the room you'd shared with Shigaraki.

It's an offer born of necessity; you have nothing to wear and while Dabi would love to dress you in his clothes, would relish the sight of you parading around in some oversized shirt that belongs to him, the way you had with Shigaraki's clothes back in the old hideout, he has nothing to offer on that front. An extensive wardrobe isn't among his precious few possessions—the options are his filthy tee shirt and jeans, the ones that reek of booze and ash, or his sweats, amply stained from your walk of shame. None of that seems anywhere near adequate.

So Dabi grits his teeth yet again, tugs on those dirty clothes himself and leaves you tucked safely in his bed, bundled in his only towel. There's an anxious look in your eyes as he departs, one that has a strange thrill coursing through him as he murmurs a promise to return quickly.

He tells himself as he journeys down the hall—pointedly ignoring every person he passes—that Shigaraki won't be there. Dabi's seen the boss angry before, knows he's one to wander and destroy rather than to sulk, and if Dabi were a betting man he would wager that Shigaraki won't be setting foot in the room he'd shared with you any time soon.

Unfortunately, Dabi is wrong once again. There's no answer when he knocks, but when he slips inside it becomes painfully obvious that lack of response wasn't because the quarters were unoccupied. He pauses inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, and is almost immediately assaulted by the sounds issuing from around the corner, just out of sight: sheets rustling and heavy breathing, the faint slap of skin on skin, a quiet moan.

Fuck. Fuck no. This is the last thing that Dabi wants or needs to witness, even if the stab of incredulity and anger he feels about it is undeserved. It's how he himself would have coped, he knows, had Shigaraki's return to the Liberation Front and your return to him gone according plan, but the thought that he could avail himself of this ever after today's display has Dabi's stomach twisting.

He holds his breath as he immediately retreats, the carpet muffling his slow, quiet steps. Dabi will try something else, ask Toga to loan you some things, or rifle through the remnants of Jin's possessions if he has to. All he has do is get out of here without—

"What do you think you're doing?"

The sound of Shigaraki's low voice has Dabi freezing in place. He sounds different than when they last spoke, some faint trace of amusement there in place of that calculated callousness. Dabi keeps still, tries to convince himself that it's not him Shigaraki is addressing, but that hope proves unfounded.

"I can smell you, you know. You reek of smoke. So why don't you stop hiding and tell me why the fuck you're here?"

Dabi's first instinct is to simply turn and leave, to avoid this unpleasant encounter all together and pray Tomura will simply return his attentions to whoever had the poor judgement to leap into his bed. But in the end he steps forward, not willing to test the other man further than he has with his mere presence, not when there's still a sinister edge to his tone and the damage Dabi's wrought is already likely to haunt him to his dying day.

A light clicks on when Dabi steps into sight, the sudden assault on his pupils making him blink rapidly, and when the room finally swims back into focus, Dabi freezes. Tomura has some woman tucked neatly in his lap, her back nestled to his chest as he peers at Dabi from over her shoulder, the sheets barely covering where Dabi is positive they're joined together.

"I just came to get some of her shit—I didn't think you'd be here," Dabi says flatly, trying to not to let his eyes drift from Tomura's face as deadly hands grope at exposed breasts, dark bite marks and hickeys starkly visible even from the bottom of Dabi's field of vision. "I'll come back later. Or just find her new shit."

"Why bother when you're already here? Just get on with it." Dabi can sense something forced in that casual dismissal of his presence even as Shigaraki lets out a low laugh, and that impression is only strengthened when the woman—some MLA holdover Dabi recognizes but couldn't name—tugs at the edge of the blankets, obviously intent on providing herself with some sort of cover. Shigaraki growls immediately, pale fingers clamping around her wrist so tightly that she whimpers in protest. The first syllable of Tomura's name falls quietly from her lips, a paltry whine that's quashed as soon as it begins, Shigaraki's wide palm slapping harshly over her mouth. His eyes narrow in displeasure as scowling lips ghost over her ear.

"You're the one who wanted to fuck," Dabi hears Shigaraki hiss, "so don't you dare stop."

Dabi might have felt some sympathy for her in another life, some pang of unease at the way her eyes widen and she fidgets nervously before hesitantly rocking her hips, but in this moment he can muster no sympathy, not when her apparently voluntary presence far exceeds even Dabi's expectations for the shamelessness of these meta liberation freaks.

He does, however, feel a twinge of disquiet when he realizes, after a moment of staring, that she looks like you. Not exactly, of course—the nose is wrong, the hairstyle different—but enough. Her hair color, her eyes, her build: they're all reminiscent of your own.

Dabi tries not to think about what that means.

"Well, aren't you going to do what you came for?" Shigaraki taunts. That malicious glint is back in his eyes, the corner of his thin mouth curving up into a smirk that makes it clear he's enjoying Dabi's discomfort at the scene playing out before him. His hands start to wander again as though to emphasize it, pinching and tugging at puffy, exposed nipples while the woman continues to issue muffled mewls from behind his hand. "I'm busy, if you couldn't tell."

Dabi grits his teeth and looks away. "Where is it?"

Shigaraki only shrugs, that sneer widening, and Dabi turns stiffly towards the dresser, doing his best to tune out the soft cries as he rummages through the drawers. After a moment it's clear that nothing within belongs to you, and reluctantly Dabi steps further into the room to search the closet. He finds what he's looking for there, thank god; neatly folded stacks of pants and shirts line the shelves, blouses and those fancy nightgowns you're so fond of arranged neatly on hangars beside them. There's a duffel bag on the floor too, and Dabi quickly busies himself shoving as many of your belongings into it as he can, working with unceremonious haste and chewing at his cheek, still trying to ignore the way the sounds behind him are escalating, the moans and lewd wet smacks growing louder, more rapid.

He only stops when the duffel is overflowing, too stuffed full to even zip shut. It's certainly more than enough for now, but he wonders briefly about the rest of your possessions, if there's some other source of comfort he could and should bring you before Shigaraki decides to dispose of anything you've left behind. But Dabi has no way of knowing, has never been permitted to so much as step foot in this space before.

When the unmistakable sound of a slap emanates from behind him, followed by a throaty groan, Dabi decides it doesn't matter.

It takes him a moment to steel himself, to work up the nerve to turn back towards the room and the vulgar performance occurring mere feet away, but he once he does he strides purposefully towards the door without so much as a glance towards Shigaraki and his new—and very temporary, Dabi suspects—lover. He's almost out the door, seconds from feeling as though he can breath again, when that mocking voice is once again demanding his attention.

"Dabi," Shigaraki calls out liltingly, and Dabi pauses.

"What now?"

His obvious impatience draws a cold chuckle from Tomura. "Don't try to leave. Either of you," Shigaraki says. "The Violet Regiment still needs its lieutenant, and I need you motivated."

For a long moment, Dabi simply stands there, his hand still resting on the knob as he considers those instructions. Shigaraki isn't wrong to think he would consider it; Dabi's mostly accomplished what he hoped to with the League, and his more protective instincts have been screaming at him to get you out of here since the second it was clear Tomura intended to honor his threats. But he'd already had doubts that the jilted man would let that happen, not when the punishment he'd devised is most effective if you're both forced to stay, forced to face everyone who witnessed your downfalls and shared shame.

And also, well...Dabi's more protective instincts might tempt him to flee—he's disappeared before, after all, thinks he could do it again even if it would be harder to evade Shigaraki's reach—but his possessive instincts? Those have more self-serving thoughts brewing in the back of his mind. Because if the castigation you endured is most effective if you stay, it also means that Dabi has no advantage anywhere else. Would you cling to him so sweetly, so fiercely if you weren't surrounded by those who had seen you so thoroughly humbled? Or would such an escape only taint Dabi's presence in your mind, single him out as the last reminder of your humiliation and debasement?

It would, he thinks. So Dabi nods even though Shigaraki can't see him, noting the opportunity present in what was surely intended as a threat. The sadistic leader might be intent on dangling this over both your and Dabi's heads until at least one of you is dead, but Dabi's made the best of bad situations before, ones worse than this.

"Sure thing, boss," he says, working to keep his tone level and mild. He steps out into the hall, lets the door click closed behind him.

For the first time all day, Dabi smiles.

[debbiebeary]

Disgust and Ecstasy

1

“God, Dillon, your butt is so damn perfect!” crooned Brian between mouthfuls of his sweet, young starfish. Dillon whipped his legs around in ecstasy on the bed where, occasionally, Brian and his husband (presently at work) would sleep in together. The room was tight, but cozy inside the charming 1920’s-era character home. The last shimmers of dusk shone blue through the window and the amber glow of a lamp on the other side of the room bounced off a far wall, flooding the two writhing men in its honeyed light. “Thanks big daddy!” the handsome young cub replied, his tongue flopped out of his mouth in bliss as his heavy set daddy friend slurped between his fit little asscheeks.

Dillon was attending university in the Pacific Northwest in the Willamette valley, just over the cascades was the town of Alder Glade, where Brian worked on the school district board and was also a producer at the local theatre.

The two were drawn to one another initially through mutual attraction. Dillon was a chubby chaser. Always had been, always would be, and from the moment he set his eyes on the Nordic beefcake he was sold. Eyes sparkling blue like a glacial lake, a full greying beard unsuccessfully covering a thick neck, double chin and perky chubby cheeks. Down lower Brian had a healthy portion of fur covering his meaty chest and round pot belly.

A belly that was almost always sucked in, much to Dillon’s lament.

Brian may have been a chubby daddy, but he was what some people may call a ‘sad chub’, an ‘accidental bear’ (as opposed to an on purpose bear), a ‘reluctant fat boy’. He may have enjoyed the attention from younger men his status gave him, but if things were up to him he would have been a lean muscle bear with not an ounce of fat on him.

Dillon, though enjoying the romps with the larger daddy, (as presently he was twisted around with his back against the sheets, the big daddy bear lunging towards his erect, throbbing member, sinking down all the way to his brown bush), he couldn’t help but feel like there was something missing.

In the last year since university he had put on thirty pounds, going from roughly one hundred and thirty pounds to one hundred and sixty, if he had it his way he'd add at least another hundred pounds on top of where he was, too. He felt sexier than ever, yet as he guided his daddies hand to his softening stomach, he felt Brian scoff through his fellatio, reluctantly giving his cubby a rather passionless belly rub. He couldnt help but feel a little bit deflated in response, but he tried hard to stay hard. Turns out it was hard work.

Dillon rolled his eyes and tried his best to enjoy the blowjob. Imagining his friend stating ‘oh my, look at this belly you’re growing, fattening up nicely aren’t we, boy?’ or ‘looks like my little butterball is going to be a bear soon’ while giving his growing tummy a healthy slap. He could tell, however, this would never be the case. Brian liked him because he had just enough meat on his bones he wasn’t skinny anymore, but too much more meat would be more than the older bear could stomach. He loved his fur, his skin, his hazel eyes and mischievous smirk. He did not like his gaining fetish.

“C’mon big daddy. Rub my big belly!” said Dillon in a husky voice.

“You’re still just an otter, boy.” The daddy growled as his face was buried in his crotch between his budding fupa and thickening thigh. Dillon hated it when his daddy friend downplayed his weight gain. Total boner killer.

Dillon sighed.

“Alright Brian, time for me to fuck that fat ass.” Dillon chirped excitedly, trying to keep things interesting, especially after that intentionally disruptive comment of Brians.

Which brings us to the second issue between the two, Brian was a reluctant bottom, only taking the position so he could get his hands on Dillon’s 'still perfect' body. He wasn’t, however, particularly enthusiastic about the whole setup and sighed deeply before taking the position.

“Alright boy,” he said, sticking his chubby ass up into the air, at two hundred eighty pounds and a height of six foot three, it gave Dillon quite the mountain to climb for his prize. But as usual, that wasn’t the position Dillon wanted to take Brian. He stared and smirked in response,

"C'mon boy, I don't have all night, Ken will be home at 11."

“Naw big bear, not like that. On your back. I wanna see your big sexy belly!” Brian failed to fully hide a grimace as he flipped onto his back, his tummy wobbling slightly as he did so, only slightly, however because Brian’s abdomen was still tensed in vain, always to Dillon’s chagrin.

“Oooh fuck that’s so hot Brian!”

“Well at least someone likes it!”

“Oh god yeah I do,” Dillon said, guiding his lubed up dick towards Brian’s hole between his fluffy buns, “fuck yes I dooo!” he moaned as his cock sunk into Brian’s hole.

“fuck…” Dillon moaned as he began to rock on his knees against Brian’s chubby rear. Brian’s cheeks were red and sweat began seeping out onto his bald forehead as he was beginning to get pounded, Dillon often started slow but often reached a fever pitch. Brian's cheeks and chin began to wobble with every thrust, but those weren't the only features jiggling.

As Dillon found his rhythm he looked down at Brian’s gut, when he was being pounded in missionary there was no attempt to suck in, showing, at last, the tubby extent of Brian’s grey furred belly. The faster and harder Dillon pumped his dick into Brian the more Brian’s chunky belly began to ripple, his shallow but wide belly button beckoned him and Dillon began to finger and massage it,

“Such a sexy belly, daddy.”

“Thanks…” Brian croaked dubiously.

Dillon leaned forward and clamped his mouth around Brian’s fat moob, sucking hard on his nipple.

“Ohhhh, boy, that feels so good!” moaned Brian despite himself.

“Fuck I love nursing your fat tiddies daddy!”

As Dillon got closer and closer to his climax he released Brian’s legs and grabbed his soft, wobbling gut with both his hands, shaking it with all his might, rippling his fat as he began to pound Brian’s rear as hard as he could,

“So. Fucking. Fat!” Dillon cried out as he flooded Brian’s guts with cum.

Dillon rolled off Brian panting and Brian finished himself off quickly with his right hand and a few flicks of his wrist, snuggling up to Dillon after getting off.

Dillon had news but he wasn’t even sure he wanted to say it out loud.

“In a few weeks I’m going to Vancouver to see a feeder.” He said simply

“Dillon,” Brian responded in a concerned tone, “I’m getting worried about this fetish of yours.”

2

Dillon sighed and rolled his eyes reading Brian’s text after sending him a dick pic.

Brian: you better watch that belly, son, I don’t want it to get too big and cover your cock and your bush.

Dillon wanted more than anything for it to cover his cock and his bush. Comments like this weren’t rare either, they were getting more common, especially after his lecture about abdominal weight being bad for the heart the last time they were both together before his trip up to Vancouver.

‘Yadda yadda. Like I haven’t had that catastrophizing, clean eating, healthy heart shit crammed down my throat all my life,’ Dillon would always think when confronted with such obtuse sermonizing.

Sermonizing that was becoming more and more common in recent times and not without a cause either.

It had been three months since the feeding in Vancouver B.C., which occurred late November. The trip was a hedonistic foray with a handsome blonde bear named Hayden, who sat at a rotund two hundred eighty five pounds and had a thick slab of an overhang tantalizing Dillon between every mouthful of sea-salted chocolate caramel ice cream (lactose free). His deep, mostly smooth but only very lightly blonde-furred belly and golden skin, only interrupted by the odd mole (which Dillon thought was sexy anyhow) and dopey, thick bearded face drove Dillon to the heights of ecstasy.

Since that meeting something clicked in Dillon’s brain. Mainly his appetite. The consequence? A lot had changed. Particularly Dillon’s waistline. Brian was right to cringe. Dillon had blossomed from one hundred and sixty pounds to one hundred eighty five. The twenty five pound gain hardly went unnoticed. Classmates made fun of his double chin. He bought an entire new wardrobe. His parents were concerned. His sister across in Baltimore laughed at his chubby face over Zoom. All in all he was feeling rather pleased with himself.

He looked in the mirror and stretched his arms above his head until the shirt he was wearing rode up all the way past his bellybutton.

“Finally outgrown mediums!” He exclaimed to himself cheerfully. Cupping the belly with both hands, he lifted it from underneath, pooching it up, making the bellybutton appear deeper. He stuck his finger in. With the belly smooshed up the way it was his finger was already as far in as it would go as it did when he put it in Brian’s. He imagined himself fatter.

Brian: it’s going to be fun playing with that dick this weekend, boy.

Dillon paused. Fiendishly, he propped his phone against a cup and a shampoo bottle in front of his dorm mirror and angled his phone until it framed his belly perfectly. He took a video of himself jiggling his new soft belly, fur abound, some of it getting sucked into the black hole of his belly button. After a few jiggles get gave his little growing gut a few meaty slaps and ended the recording. He then sent it to Brian.

Brian: that’s an unfortunate look.

Dillon: how come?

Three dots scintillating in that monochromatic frosted blue inside the mellow primary blue bubble. Then they stopped. Dillon face twisted with mischief.

Dillon: is it because my belly is getting big?

Three dots. This time a response followed.

Brian: Dillon. You’re getting too fat.

Dillon’s dick sprang to attention.

Brian: You need to start hitting the gym before you get any bigger.

Dillon’s dick throbbed so hard he felt like he would faint. Through his wicked, lust-fuelled haze a seed of a scheme germinated and burst through the damp soil of his mind, a season full of conniving growth passed in an instant.

‘I wonder how much fatter I can get before I see him again?’

Dillon: how fat is too fat?

Brian: when you have the same BMI as I do.

Dillon quickly added things up, Brian’s BMI had recently gone up due to him gaining back a bunch of weight, now sitting at three hundred twenty pounds. To which he couldn’t even coax a belly pic from Brian (well, he managed to get one, but Brian was standing with ‘good posture’ and sucking in his gut so hard it made his face look constipated).

‘6’3, 320 lbs.’

‘5’11, 185…’

He played with the numbers on the BMI converter on his phone until they showed him what he needed to know.

He needed to gain one hundred pounds.

‘So be it then’

Quickly, he thought up a lie, a delicious one, and concocted a plan in his head immediately.

Dillon: oh man! I’m sorry daddy! My sister is coming over from Baltimore, haven’t seen her in a while. We’ll have to reschedule!

Brian: aww, that’s too bad cub. Have fun with your family though!

Dillon: sure thing!

Three more months of classes. He’d been sitting on his lazy ass eating cafeteria food, fast food and tonnes of soda, milk everything. It’s what caused his weight to go up so drastically in just three months. He calculated at least another twenty pounds.

‘185 + 20….’

Unable to contain himself, be brushed his growing pink nipples amongst a sea of fur after ripping his shirt off over his head in a swift motion.

‘…= 205lbs’

He had to take his hand off his dick so he didn’t cum.

He never thought he’d be over two hundred, and just in time for swimsuit season he calculated - a conservative estimate -that he would be at least five pounds over.

His next thoughts made his body operate as if on autopilot.

Dillon: hey Hayden, does your work still need an extra guy… uh, bearista? And are you still looking for a room mate? Maybe I could come up and fill both those positions. That is if they’re willing to pay an illegal American under the table.

The very thought of his plan working filled Dillon with such lust he looked in the mirror and thought about what he would look like at two-o-five.

Then he thought what it would look like at two eighty five.

He plunged his thumb into his belly button and wrapped his fingers down under his belly, he stood hunched so he gave himself an overhang to grab onto. Dropping his phone into the empty sink, he twisted his nipple with his other hand.

“Yeah, fuckin piggy. We,” he jiggled his belly to let it know he was addressing it, “we got a lot of growing to do in Canada, don’t we piggy? Yeah, I’m gonna get so fuckin fat, I’m gonna get so big it’ll give Brian a fuckin stroke!” He said, his voice getting whiny and lustful “Brian? Uh, fuck. Brian, why are you looking at me like that?”

And he mimicked Brian’s voice,

“Good-god boy! What the fuck have you done to yourself!?” a vividly imagined expression popped into Dillon’s head of a dismayed Brian looking down at an obese Dillon splayed out on his bed, fat rolls cascading down his furry body.

At that, wheezing and panting, clearly on his way to becoming out of shape, he threw his head back, stumbling backwards against the wall, and sprayed his load all over his chunky reflection in front of him.

“Oh fuck yea!”

After he cleaned up he remembered the text that sent him on his horned out fantasy. Grabbing his phone, he noticed two texts that made him want to do it all over again.

Brian: don’t eat too much with your family! You’re getting too chubby! Maybe hit the gym instead.

He’d lay into that last comment for sure. As a lie. Then he read the next one.

Hayden: yeah bud! We’d love to have you up here! I’m over 330 now and only getting bigger, maybe I’ll rub off on you a bit!

“Rub off on me? That’s the idea baby!”

[fatefulfaerie]

congrats on 600 followers <3 may i request a little roleswap fic with prince link and hero zelda?

So I asked you if you wanted angst or fluff and you said fluff but apparently the question was do you want a lot of angst or a little angst. I don't think I know anything else. Oops...

Also a big thank you to @aurathian I could not for the life of me remember the word "smitten" but it was in your recent oneshot and I was like THANK YOU BIG BRAIN. Also read her role swap fic it's so much better than mine: https://aurathian.tumblr.com/post/654926454174416896/a-thousand-words

At First Sight

“How did it go?”

Prince Link nearly jumped out of his skin, but hid it well enough. He completely forgot that his royal advisor said he would meet him in his chambers before the banquet. Robbie was a sheikah, but he wasn’t exactly subtle in his appearance, which made Link wonder at how he didn’t notice him when he come in. He replied to the inquiry nonetheless as he looked into the mirror, straightening the crown atop his head and making sure his face was clean, tiny things that showed his newfound vanity crystal clear.

“How did what go?” Link asked.

“Meeting your knight attendant?” Robbie said, standing up. How could this boy forget? “I heard she’s the best sword wielder in the land."

“Oh,” Link said. “F-fine yeah, fine.”

Robbie’s forehead creased. He could only see the back of the young man’s head, the dirty blonde hair cut to proper length and trimmed every few weeks at the Queen’s behest. Link had never voiced an objection, not caring a lick about his looks. Robbie paced forward with crossed arms.

“I’m gonna be late for the banquet,” Link said, finally stopping his obsession with the mirror and heading back towards the doors, but Robbie grabbed his elbow and yanked him back. He got a good look at his face and…

“Are you smitten?” Robbie asked, almost not believing the color in his cheeks, the frenzy in his blue eyes.

“No.”

It was a bald-faced lie. Robbie could tell even without Link chuckling through it.

“O-of course not.”

Link ripped his arm from Robbie’s hold and the poor prince had to keep his heart from stinging. Of all the swordsmen and women in the land, why her? Why those green eyes? Why that golden hair? Why that outfit of brown leather that accentuated-

Link clutched his eyes closed with a sigh.

He was in trouble.

“You and I both know you can’t run from me,” Link heard Robbie call after him. Couldn’t he just drop this? “Who is it, the general’s daughter with the brown hair? That red-haired girl who follows you around with love poems? Oh Hylia, it’s not a commoner is it? Tell me it’s not a commoner.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Link said, his fists balled. He was practically storming away. If he walked any faster, his white pants and royal blue tunic may have caught fire.

“Is she going to be at the banquet?” Robbie continued. “Is that why you suddenly care about how you loo—”

“Why does it matter to you?!” Link barked as he turned on his heel to face Robbie, who was taken aback by the lash of anger. Link absolutely seethed, his chest heaving heavy breaths.

“Why?!” Link repeated, obviously expecting an answer, but apparently he changed his mind. “Why do you have to know everything about me? Why do you have to know that within ten minutes of meeting my knight attendant, my lips were on hers? Why do you have to know that I, Prince Lincoln of Hyrule, fell in love at first sight with the daughter of a farmer in Hateno? Why do you have to know how distraught I am that my mother would never accept our courtship?!”

Robbie let Link storm away, feeling terribly guilty for how had pushed the young man, who was only eighteen and yet preparing to rule a broken kingdom.

But Link stopped in his tracks when he noticed that Robbie wasn’t following him. The prince hugged his arms close, seeking the comfort he was never readily given.

If Link wanted to say something, he never did.

“I’m sorry,” Robbie said, after heave Link sufficient time to put his words together. “I didn’t know. I guess…I guess I’m used to the little boy who told me everything about his day. Sometimes I forget you are all grown up now, that what is on your plate is far heavier than what you had for breakfast.”

Link stewed in silence but Robbie could hear him sigh, could see his head tilt to the ceiling.

“I’m not going to the banquet,” Link said. Robbie could hear his honesty. “I’m going to see her. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Link finally turned his head.

“Will you cover for me?” Link asked. Robbie graced a smirk.

“Anytime.”

[insaneasgardian]

Haircut Of Love - Sambucky

Summary: Confessions are made, and lives are changed the day Sam gives Bucky a haircut.

Genre: FLUFF

Warnings: Bucky being slightly sad while thinking of Steve, Bucky thinking that his feelings for Sam are unrequited (they're not), Idiots in love.

A/N: I have actually worked on this for longer than I should've XD A big thank you to @cassiecasyl and @aixabi for being such great friends and helping me out by proofreading, and making suggestions!

He knew he should've stopped Bucky tagging along, but the moment that infamous, "I'm coming with you!" so eagerly left the super soldier's lips, Sam knew it was pointless to persuade him to stay behind.

Not that he really minded, the mission he'd been assigned with was a tough one, and it would've been lonely if Bucky hadn't been so adamant about accompanying him.

Sam stared into the fireplace and focused on the embers as he let his thoughts wander. There were some terrible people to be stuck with in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere, but Bucky certainly wasn't one of them. He was an interesting character for sure, and Sam was sure he still didn't know a whole lot about him, but their relationship had developed all the way from 'a couple of guys' to 'almost best friends'.

"Hey", came the voice of the man Sam had so deeply been thinking of. He turned around with that signature smirk he reserved especially for Bucky, and watched with delight as the White Wolf turned a light pink color, and it wasn't because of the cold.

"I thought you might want to catch a shower, the water's nice and warm" the brunette said, and Sam nodded as he noticed his friend's damp hair from his own shower.

"Man, you need a haircut" Sam remarked, and much to his pleasure elicited a chuckle from Bucky.

"Do I?"

"It has gotten kind of longer..."

"Well, it's not easy to find a hairdresser in the forest"

"I could cut it for you"

The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself, and he didn't miss the way Bucky's widened ever so slightly. Sam internally scolded himself, feeling that he'd made things awkward somehow.

There was a slight pause in the atmosphere, but the ex Winter-Soldier eventually smiled. It was a weak smile, but genuine nonetheless.

"I'd like that," he told his friend, "would you mind?".

Sam shook his head, a bit too enthusiastically, and that made Bucky raise his eyebrows

“I can do it now if you want, so I don’t get your greasy ass hair all over me after I’ve gotten out of the shower”, Sam casually slipped in to look less ecstatic than he really was.

Bucky scoffed and crossed his arms at the statement, but his grin only grew wider.

“So… are you gonna give me something to cut your hair with?” his friend asked him, making a scissor snipping motion with his fingers.

The brunette’s lips tugged downwards into a frown and bit his lip as he often did when pondering. Sam couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to the bottom lip in between those pearly white teeth, but he forced himself to snap out of it.

After a brief moment, Bucky snapped the fingers on his vibranium arm and turned to walk towards the room he was staying in. “Wait there!”, he had instructed Sam, who had no intention of getting up from the comfortable position he was in anyway.

Promptly, Bucky had returned, clutching a pair of scissors that Sam immediately identified as a pair of Captain America themed kiddie scissors he had recently bought for his nephew, AJ. He burst out cackling.

“What’s so funny Samuel?” the White Wolf pouted, plopping next to his friend who was dying of laughter.

“You stole that from AJ didn’t you?” Sam pried, inwardly dancing at the thought that his secret crush would want something with his face on it.

“Psh, no… I permanently borrowed it, that’s all”, Bucky insisted, moving from the couch to sit on the floor in front of Sam’s legs so that the other man would be able to cut his hair with more ease.

“Mhm”, Sam hummed, already weaving a piece of Bucky’s hair between his fingers, and snipping it off, just like that. It seemed easy enough, so he kept on going, chopping bits of hair here and there, trimming the areas which really needed it, and taking care not to overdo the cut and end up making Bucky look bald in certain places. He was doing quite well considering that he was equipped with nothing but a pair of small, blunt kiddie scissors, which Sam was certain professional hairdressers did not use

A lovely period of pure silence fell in between the two men. The only sounds were the scissors delicately doing their job of cutting the brown locks, accompanied by the gentle crackle of the fireplace, creating a relaxing atmosphere.

“Steve used to cut my hair, you know… Used to do it all the time in the 40’s” Bucky said, breaking the silence. Sam froze in his movements, but only for a second. It was rare for this man, who had been through so much to talk about his past like this.

“We’d sit outside on the street in the summer, he’d be on a chair with his scissors and I’d sit down in front of him, punk gave a damn good haircut to be honest”, he continued, and Sam chuckled.

“People would give us dirty looks as they walked by, it wasn’t uncommon for people to think Steve and I were a couple, but it was frowned upon to be in a same-sex relationship back then… sometimes still is of course”, his tone was now sad, as if he wanted to admit something, but was refraining from doing so. Sam stopped what he was doing, and set down the scissors, obviously sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

“Still, Steve and I were just friends, that’s all he’d ever wanted to be anyway”, Bucky finally finished.

Sam got off the couch, and slipped down onto the floor next to the 107 year old. “And what about you? Did you ever want to be more than friends?”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, which donned a neutral expression, “It’s complicated Sam… I’d be into a girl one second and thinking about Steve the next”.

Sam gently nudged Bucky’s shoulder with his own, and gave him a small smile, “Bisexual then?”, he questioned.

The other man nodded, and looked at Sam with a grin now gracing his features, “Yea, but you know what? I forgot all about Steve…” he paused to dart his tongue out his mouth and wet his lips, “The day I met another guy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about”.

Sam’s world shattered the moment those words left Bucky’s lips. The thought that the man he had pined after for so long was yearning for another made him want to burst into tears right there. However, Sam Wilson was not the kind of man to be salty over the choices of others. So he kept on the smile he had been wearing the entire time his heart broke over and over again. Yet, he had been so absorbed in his own mind that he failed to notice the longing glances Bucky was shooting at him, the ones he had been giving Sam ever since he first met him.

“Happy you could get that sorted out for you man!” He said brightly, patting Bucky’s back and climbing back onto the couch to resume the haircut.

The ex winter soldier was dumbfounded. Had Sam not noticed how he felt? What if he had? What if he didn’t appreciate the advances?

There was stillness once more, but this time it was incredibly awkward. The two sat absorbed in the silence, no longer so focused on their own thoughts, but on every movement and action the other did.

“All done,” Sam finally said, and gestured towards the large wall mirror in the living room. Bucky looked into it, and nodded.

“You’ve done a nice job, thanks”, he mumbled.

“No problem” Sam told him, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to go take a shower now”, and with that, he rose and climbed the stairs to get to the bathroom. The footsteps faded away and when Bucky heard the bathroom lock click shut, he leaned his back against the couch with a sigh. He ran a tired hand over his face.

What had he done wrong? He’d watched all the movies, read all the books and listened to all the music Sam had suggested. He’d come to see Sam’s family as his own, he cherished Sarah, AJ and Cas with all his heart.

Hell, he’d even taken dating advice from Zemo…. Maybe that’s where he’d gone wrong.

Bucky wasn’t sure. He may have lost the charm he had back in the 40’s, but Sam had always accepted him for who he was. He never questioned Bucky’s past, or forced him to be more social and open. That’s the reason Bucky developed more than platonic feelings towards him. He was so easy to be around.

However, the white wolf figured that if Sam didn’t want anything to do with him romantically, the least he could do was to maintain the relationship status they had now. Not to mention, he had the perfect way to do that.

Mac and cheese. Sam’s favorite food.

A grin grew on his face as he scrambled to the kitchen. It was a tasty and easy thing to cook and would be done before Sam even got out of the shower. Bucky proceeded to locate all the necessary ingredients they had brought to the cabin, and got straight to work.

It wasn’t a difficult job at all. With his swift speed, and his mind set only on the task before him, he was done within minutes. He even managed to get two servings plated beautifully, and just in time too, because as he finished setting the table, Sam descended the stairs and made his way into the kitchen. A smile was drawn on his face at the smell of the meal, and all the previous tension seemed to have dissipated.

“Smells good in here!” he exclaimed, his eyes then landed on the beautifully presented plates of mac and cheese. He gasped and clapped his hands like an excited child, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. He thought it was adorable.

“Alright, alright, take a seat Sammy,” Bucky said, gesturing to the bar stools next to the kitchen island which the food rested on.

Both of them rushed to sit down and dig into their dinner. Bucky watched his friends expression as he took the first bite of his food.

Sam’s eyes closed in pure bliss, as his taste buds thanked him. “Buck, this is heaven in my mouth, tastes even better than what Sarah makes”.

Bucky blushed, but quickly tried to hide it with a chuckle, “Sarah’s my teacher, I owe it to her”.

Sam nodded at the statement, but commented no more on the topic. Instead, he took another bite and made eye contact with Bucky. “So… who’s this guy you’ve been crushing on?” he inquired.

Bucky was taken aback by the question, he blinked rapidly, “huh?” he mumbled, earning an eye roll from Sam.

“Listen man, I’ve never pressured you to tell me anything before, but we can’t pretend like that conversation didn’t happen” Sam said gently, setting his cutlery down, and reaching a hand over to place it on Bucky’s vibranium one.

The brunette gulped, closed his eyes, and took two deep breaths. He’d have to get it out. Or else it would slowly kill him to watch Sam find someone else. Even if his feelings were unrequited, the man had a right to know.

“It’s you” he said quietly before he could chicken out.

Sam slowly blinked, and shook his head, “Sorry, repeat that?”.

Bucky groaned and looked up from his plate which he’d been staring at the entire time. He gazed into Sam’s doe brown eyes with his own piercing blue ones, “It’s you! You’re the guy I’ve been crushing on!” he agitatedly replied.

Once more, there was that silence that seemed to be consuming the two of them so much lately. Bucky wanted to cry, to hide the humiliation. He was certain that Sam’s lack of words meant he didn’t feel the same, because Sam always had something to say.

“Forget it,” Bucky choked out, getting up from his seat, but Sam’s hand tightened its grip on his wrist, stopping him from getting away. The super soldier turned around slowly, trying not to make eye contact with Sam so that he wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

Then, all of a sudden, Sam rose from his seat and his lips met Bucky’s in what was a tender, loving kiss which shocked the latter, but he readily returned it. They stayed like that for a while, embracing each other as their arms snaked their way around each other's torsos. It was a moment neither of them wanted to break, but were forced to. Eventually, when they pulled apart gasping for air, they looked at each other in surprise, but merriment. Wide beams adorned both of their gorgeous faces, and their eyes glinted with excitement.

“So…” Bucky began, “you were desperate to get a piece of me, why, is it the new hair?” he said teasingly.

“The next time I give you a haircut, it’s gonna be turned into a mullet”, Sam threatened, making the other man raise his hands in surrender.

The mac and cheese was long forgotten as they clutched each other once again. Their hearts were bubbling and overflowing with love for one another, and it was not a love that was going to fizzle and die out. They fit perfectly in each other’s arms, like it’s where they belonged.

Two men, who had their own individual problems denying them a place to be truly content in the world, had finally found their refuge in each other.

Finit

[jynrso]

and it really does hurt when you love someone

Bodhi and Jyn have a conversation about her relationship with Cassian.

read it on ao3!

“You look sad when –– when you think he can’t see you.” 

Jyn looks up, startled. She’s been so engrossed in cleaning her blaster that she hasn’t even noticed Bodhi sitting down next to her. She blinks once, twice, not even having heard what he’d said. “Huh?” 

He jerks his chin over at Cassian, who’s talking to Leia about some sort of Alliance-related business. 

She scoffs, shaking her head. As if that extremely vague gesture explains anything . “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Stop it,” he replies, bumping her shoulder with his own. Despite his words, there’s a small grin tugging at his lips. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” 

“If you think I’m sad, then you’re wrong. I’m having the time of my kriffing life here.” 

Bodhi ignores her snark, which he usually does these days. He’s come a long way from the scared, Imperial pilot fresh out of the Bor Gullet’s lair, and she couldn’t be more proud of him. She’s glad he’d stuck around; so far, the rebellion has proved to be good for him. 

She, on the other hand? She’s surrounded by more people than she’s ever been in her life, and yet she can’t remember a time in which she’s felt so damn lonely.

It may or may not have to do with a certain Captain, who, despite Jyn’s heavy gaze, doesn’t seem to notice her staring. (Or –– really anything she does these days.)

Bodhi nudges her once more. His feet hover, not touching the ground, and he swings them slightly in the air. He looks innocent –– he looks happy. Force, she knows she doesn’t look like that; the face she sees in the mirror every morning is far from happy. “See? You’re doing it again. Looking at him and being –– being sad.” 

“I’m not being sad,” she snaps. 

He looks at her, his face so open and sympathetic that she breaks in seconds. 

“Fine! Fine, okay!” 

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he says as if his words aren’t a bald-faced lie. Pulling emotions out of Jyn is comparable to yanking teeth. “What’s going on between you two?” 

Bodhi doesn’t like when any of their little ragtag group is upset with each other, so she’s quick to reassure him. “We’re not fighting or anything.” 

“Then why are you sad?” 

Excuses bubble up in her throat, mouth opening to deny his statement, but she can’t. She is sad, and yeah, the reason for it is Cassian. Leave it to Bodhi to get this information out of her; there’s no one else who can manage to slip through her walls and make her spill feelings she hadn’t even known she’d felt. 

“After Scarif, we were close,” she sighs finally. It doesn't need to be said –– Bodhi had been there for most of it –– but it's worth stating anyway. “Like –– really close.”

“Attached at the hip,” Bodhi supplies, and she nods. 

She continues. “But after that last mission on Sullust, it’s like…I don’t know. That I don’t exist in his eyes anymore. He won’t –– he barely looks at me anymore, Bodhi. I don’t know what I did wrong.” 

Her voice cracks when she adds (and oh, how she hates that), “I miss him.”

“Oh, Jyn, ” he murmurs. “Can I –– can I touch you?” He holds out his arm, presumably to wrap it around her shoulders. She’s grateful that he asked, grateful that he noticed her aversion to being touched.

She huffs out a wet breath, then tries to laugh it off. “Sure, yeah.” She’s feeling selfish, craving the comfort that only physical touch can bring. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

When he reaches around her and tugs her closer to him, she leans against his chest, closing her eyes. His hand, never staying still for too long, begins to run his fingers through her hair. Jyn slowly feels herself calming down. 

She’s an only child, had grown up on her own with only her parents and a droid for company. She’s never really even had a family before Rogue One. But Bodhi’s always felt like a brother to her, and she finds comfort in his presence. 

It’s almost scary, how much she cares for him. For all of them. It’s something she hasn’t run into before, having never gotten close enough to anyone for her to start worrying about their safety. 

If anything ever were to happen to any of them, she knows she’ll never be the same.

“He asked me,” he says suddenly. “Cassian. He asked me to talk to you.” 

Jyn picks her head up, looking at his face, trying to figure out –– something in his expression. “About what?” she asks warily, even though she thinks she already knows. 

“About you,” he replies as if that’s obvious (because it is). “He’s –– he’s a spy, Jyn. He notices how you look at him and…and brood .” 

“I don’t ‘brood, ’” she interrupts, frowning, but he waves her off as if to say semantics .

“He’s worried about you. I am, too. That’s why I agreed to talk to you,” he tells her, tugging her gently back into his embrace. “It’s, um. The Alliance –– it’s hard for you. And that’s –– that’s okay. It doesn’t have to be easy. We’re all trying to give you some space, so you can find your place here. That’s why Cassian’s been staying away –– um, he said he didn’t want you to feel pressured by him or anything.” 

As if she hadn’t joined up for him . When he’d told her “welcome home,” she knew at that moment that she’d do anything for him, would follow him anywhere –– even to the Alliance .

“And after what happened on Sullust, you’ve been…” he struggles to find the correct words, and she lets him take the time he needs to do so, all the while cursing Saw in her head for what he did to him. “You’ve been distant. Withdrawn. We thought –– he thought –– that you needed time away from us to think. To decide.” 

“Decide what?” 

“If you’re were going to stay, or if you were, um, going to leave. He didn’t want to crowd you or…or make you stay if you didn’t want to.” 

“I don’t…” she sighs, scrubbing at her face. “I don’t fit in here,” she settles on, finally. “I never will, either. I’m not like the rest of you, I’m just –– “ she shrugs, self-depreciatingly. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m too broken.” 

“You’re not broken,” Bodhi says, exploding with a fierceness she hadn’t expected. She has to fight the tears that begin to form in her eyes –– when’s the last time someone’s cared enough to tell her that? “You’re not , Jyn.”

Still, it’s hard to believe him after years of conditioning herself to this fact. “Thanks, Bodhi,” she mutters. 

He hops off the shuttle they’re sitting on, propping his hands on his hip. This conversation is over, it seems. “Come on,” he urges. “We’re going to talk to Cassian and fix this mess. Neither of you are talking to each other because –– because you each think the other doesn’t want to talk.” 

Jyn groans, letting her head fall back against the durasteel of the shuttle. “I don’t want to,” she whines because she knows she’ll have to admit she’s been in the wrong. Her pride really can’t afford to take any more hits, not these days. 

Bodhi raises an eyebrow. “You’ll feel better once you do,” he soothes, reaching out to tug her down. She lets him pull her to the ground, reluctantly following him (though dragging her feet) in the direction of Cassian. “And the sooner you make up, the sooner you can start –– start making out .” 

It takes her a while to process what he’s just said.

“I don’t want to –– wait, what? ” 

He laughs, tugging her forward. “You heard me, Erso. Let’s go get your man back.” 

“He’s not my man!”  

(He definitely is.)