#also why do they just. miss out on punctuation at the ends of lines sometimes. like what

[chisungie]

.

[clover-46]

David as a professor (ignoring the complications of this)

David who is a strict teacher, but everyone adores his class. (I could see him being a history professor) David leaning against his desk as he talks through the early periods of South Asian culture. Him knowing a headache is coming every time his best friend and teacher aide interrupts his lecture to slide in a joke.

David who believes that he should dress seriously if he wants people to listen, so he walks in each day with a freshly iron black dress shirt with matching dress pants. The sleeves get rolled up somewhere in the middle of the day and by the end a couple buttons are undone because he's really not a fan of formal attire. But if his students are really lucky, he might pair it with a form hugging vest. 🤤

David who fidgets with a ruler when he talks and he doesn't really notice what it does to his students as he taps it against his palm.

David wearing a simple string bracelet that a long forgotten friend made for him when he was a kid. Sometimes he wonders what happened to Caleb... Cal... Something along those lines.

David who looks sternly at anyone who starts to speak over him and gives a curt nod when they shut the fuck up.

Except this one student. They only grin at him before continuing their conversation.

Angel who doesn't even need to take the class to get their degree this year, they just heard the professor was hot and wanted to see if the rumors were true. And wowza they definitely were! They can already feel their nerves firing on all cylinders as David enters and puts his stuff down on the desk at the front and calls out a "Alright can we get this over with?" to get everyone's attention.

They love his fuck around and find out energy. And they've always been one to push the limits.

At first it's purposefully getting on his nerves, enjoying the way he clenches his jaw and forces himself to calm down. Then they start asking him for help on their essays (which is also because they actually do need help. Who knew history was so complicated. The American public schooling system didn't prepare them for this. This isn't just learning about the revolutionary war every year.)

David who is actually patient when Angel doesn't understand something. But Angel doesn't know how to handle that so they keep trying to flirt.

"No wedding band, huh Mr Shaw?"

"Don't forget to add commas. Punctuation saves lives and all."

"I don't have a wedding band either. Want to fix that?"

"wikipedia isn't a reliable source and you need to cite what reputable source you do have in the proper format."

Yeah... It's not working so well. But at least their grades are improving. It'd be nicer if their grades improved the way that the spicy films always showed though. They were pretty sure his desk was the perfect height to be on top or under. Or ben-

David who is proud of Angel and how far theyve come, although their pickup lines are getting any better.

"Professor Shaw, my phone is broken or something. I think it's missing a critical component..."

"if you say what I think you're about to say...

"it needs your number."

"oh God."

But the cheesy lines are beginning to grow on him. He finds himself looking forward to the conversations at the end of his class, or in the hallways, or his office, or those couple of times they both ended up at the same restaurant, store, and park. He wondering if it's an accident as much as Angel claims it is

And he thinks he would call Angel a friend.

Angel who finally graduated with their degree and immediately runs to find David to show it off. David who is proud of them because he knows how hard they tried. But hes also curious.

"why did you take my class? Was it for the credit?" He asks as Angel shoved a shot into his hand before downing their own.

"nope. I heard you were hot"

- 🙊

hello, 🙊 anon i see we’re back to our regular scheduled ficlets!!

“ignoring the complications with this” HAHAHAHHA

THIS certainly makes for nice imagery 🤤🤤

…. ☹️☹️☹️☹️

ANGEL IS SO SMOOOTH i aspire to be like them someday

i’m certainly not one to like student/professor tropes but it���s david thicc ass shaw and your writing is one of my favorites so i did enjoy this 🥰🥰

@messenger-of-stupidity

[archivedjuice]

𝐢𝐢. daredevil headcanons!

a giant list of comic, live action, etc. daredevil headcanons i've been growing in a twitter thread since late august. > part 𝐢. | masterlist

COMIC/LIVE ACTION AMBIGUOUS

matt's the kind of person that speaks through their yawns; like he’d be mid-sentence and yawn, he doesn't wait for it to be over till he starts talking again.

matt has auditory hallucinations of his dad's voice when he's sleep deprived and his dad's is the only face he dreams about.

matt texts with full punctuation proper caps and everything, foggy texts with full punctuation but uses a lot of shortenings and emojis, karen doesn't have auto capitalization on but uses full punctuations and cute emojis; she’s a white heart user.

matt soothes a hand over his beard (or chin if he’s going clean shaven) when he's thinking (the way charlie cox does in interviews).

foggy played the acoustic guitar in college (to get girls of course).

foggy has one those dad phone cases with the flap that goes over the screen. matt would've gotten one but it's annoying to handle as a blind person.

matt talks in his sleep; sometimes it's cases he's working on, sometimes it's random phrases like, “gotta keep you safe”, “he's behind there” and other times it's just stupid stuff related to whatever dream he’s having.

every time matt's ‘dead’ or missing, foggy quotes thurgood marshall to himself whenever he misses him, is in a situation where he would usually ask matt for advice or just needs a little support.

matt picks up a lot of foggy's speech patterns and doesn't even notice it (autism).

even though matt wears his glasses a lot, if you've known him long enough you can tell he'd been crying because his nose goes temporarily red for a day after he has a really good cry.

foggy has an extensive dad joke notebook. matt actually learned to read ink with his fingers by stealing jokes from the book.

matt used to hang out with an older stray cat when he was younger, before he was blinded and after he was blinded, for every cat he met, he pictured them as that childhood cat.

matt takes whatever foggy hands him almost on instinct and it’s lead to some really funny scenarios like matt holding all of foggy's belonging in his arms in the middle of a colombia courtyard because foggy can't find something in his bag. he also gets this ultra serious look on his face whenever he takes the items like foggy's trusting him with the world.

COMIC

matt's definitely the type of guy to stand in the living room listening to news on the television for 40 mins — dad style.

matt, foggy and kirsten listen to abba; they’re huge fans.

matt is a certified dark chocolate guy, karen is a milk chocolate gal, foggy will have any kind.

you tell mike and matt apart by which one has smile lines around his eyes.

the reason matt keeps changing the shape of his glasses is because he keeps losing them. whether it be around the city or just random shenanigans of putting it down and forgetting about it.

mike says, “matt jumpscare” whenever matt enters a room he's in.

before stick found matt, mike taught him how to do spinning tricks with his cane. after stick found him, matt became super good at it and taught mike some new tricks. mike noticed the sudden uptake in skill but didn't comment on it cause matt was already good at everything plus at least he was learning cool new stuff out of it.

matt hates lollipops; it's just sucking on your own saliva to him and he doesn't want to be tasting himself (in this context).

both matt and mike have really distinct laughs; matt's is very sudden, enunciated and his head gets thrown back while mike's is like a snort-giggle before he full of laughs and he bites his lip on a smile at the end of it.

sam's workplace once handed out father's day mugs but he doesn't... y’know so he passed it onto matt. matt didn't know it said ‘happy father's day! best dad ever!’ until mike used it. matt had gotten upset because it's his favourite mug and mike was like, “matt, what the fuck, why's your favourite mug the father's day mug?” and matt goes, “the what mug?”

definitely unrelated but after that, matt started buying things for sam which sam thought was really random but it was usually just items matt came across in stores that reminded him of sam.

both matt and mike mimic/mock people with a whiny voice to make fun of them. foggy hates it ‘cause they do it to him (affectionately) the most.

matt uses mike and (or) foggy as sensory anchors.

mike used to be so annoyed at having to 'drag his brother around' after matt was blinded but soon, he got used to it and was really jealous when matt started gravitating towards foggy and trusting foggy to lead him.

matt dreams about mike sometimes which can get really funny because even as adults, mike still has the same 9 year old face in his dreams.

mike got pretty good as acting for matt early on because they'd switch places a lot; it only got more complicated when matt was blinded and suddenly they had to worry about a lot of things only matt could or would need to do. in soule's run mike (spawns) begins existing with an identical pair of matt's glasses — i like to think it's a product of that. matt buys two lots of pairs of the same glasses for a multitude of reasons but one of them's always set apart for mike, not just only in case he needs to act as him but also because they actually take a weird sort of pride in being twins.

LIVE ACTION

matt and foggy would go to ihop in their pjs after doing unintentional all nighters in college.

foggy’s tackled matt into a hug while he had an injury multiple times before and it hurt but matt dare not say it did ‘cause foggy’ll feel bad then order him to stay home.

matt has a slight lisp.

matt and karen like dark chocolate, foggy likes milk and dark (in that order) but will eat whatever's there.

foggy used to say 'dude' a lot when he was younger; brett and matt still make fun of him for it.

karen goes as rapunzel for halloween every year.

matt obviously didn't know they were getting the nelson and murdock sign in 1.09 so: foggy and karen would whisper in foggy's office about ordering it and where to hide it once it gets here etc., matt knew of course he just couldn't let them know he knew because it would ruin the surprise for them.

emergency ice packs (& other medical supplies, lollipops included) in the office.

foggy mimic/mocks people with a whiny voice to make fun of them.

buying silk sheets was one of those 'when i get my first paycheck!' type promises for matt until he met stick who drilled it into his head that he didn't need nor deserve that kind of comfort and he went for a futon (canon). after elektra, when he started forcibly growing older because of the trauma their relationship left behind and the corrupted closure of his father's death he started dreaming like that again and did indeed buy silk sheets with his first paycheck from landman and zack; granted, it was most of his paycheck.

[st0nesnglitter]

The boss

This man, this fucking man, will be the death of me

Also it’s the gifs fault this has taken so long cause I’ve just been staring at him

Also thanks to @quindolyn who helped me write a part of this so I could get it out

Disclaimer: This is just a piece of fiction and the abuse of this power balance isn’t acceptable.

Smut lol

The constant tapping of keys could make you mad sometimes, a pattering melody that indicated that time was passing during your work days. The job was simple. Check emails, answer the phone and keep track of his schedule. During the months of working for Mr. Black you had also developed a habit of ordering his lunch. In his top drawer he always had some crappy candy to keep him going, sometimes walking down to the floor below to get himself a coffee, and nothing more. So you asked him if he wanted a sandwich when you got back from your lunch break and kept doing it ever since.

The sound of buzzing pulled you from your thoughts and you looked down to press the intercom button.

“What do you need, sir?” You asked politely and looked over at the calendar to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.

“Will you please get in here?” Sirius responded before dropping the conversation, keeping pleasantries short.

You stood up and straightened out your skirt before walking around your desk. Even though didn’t need to you gave the door a small knock before opening the door to his office.

“What can I help you with?” You asked sweetly and closed the door behind you.

Sirius sat behind his pitch black desk wearing just a dress shirt and slacks, his jacket descarded over the stiff sofa by the window. His hair was pulled into a bun that sat at the bottom of his neck, a couple curls had sprung free and framed his face.

“Can you look over these forms for me and then get them down to HR?” He asked holding a folder up toward you and you stepped forward to take it.

“Sure, should I make copies and get them back here or are HR filing them?” You asked as you flipped through the papers to get an understanding of what they were about.

“Tell them to file them, don’t want to put any more work load on you, love” he said and looked up with a smile, before turning back to his screen, “that’s all”.

You took the folder and walked out to your desk again, a little more flushed in the face than when you walked in. Before you took the job you had heard how the boss was harsh and pretty mean when he wanted to, but Sirius seemed to have taken a liking to you. He had only spoken kind words to you and had never made you worked overtime. In the mornings he always greeted you, sometimes staying to have a chat about the day ahead, and if he didn’t stay to work late into the night he always bid you goodbye.

Your thoughts started to wander into a daydream as you tried to read the forms he had given you, slowly drifting to some rather inappropriate thoughts to have about your boss. But how could you not when he looked like that? Eyes shining like the moon with such a depth that could make anyone lose their breath, hair silky and shiny that fell over his shoulders perfectly and the most blinding smile. How you got to see him so dressed everyday always made your mind wander to how he looked under his clothes. And his hands, oh his hands, were the most glorious things you’ve seen. The rings he wears, the way the veins pop out when he grips a pen and how he gestures to make his point clear always made you drool and your knees buckle. It always ended up with you thinking about how his hands would feel on you.

You shook your head to rid the thoughts and took a deep breath. After lazily reading through you walked three offices over to give them over to HR. The secretary behind the desk was unfamiliar to you and you greeted him with a smile, making some small talk before walking back to your desk.

The rest of your work day was uneventful. Talking with other companies over the phone, planning meetings and updating Sirius’ schedule over the next month.

Two men walked in for an afternoon meeting and you decided to take a little break, going down to the nearest cafe.

When the two men came back out you met them with a smile and the blonde one walked up to your desk.

”He wants you to in there” he said before giving you a quick nod.

You finished up the email you were writing and went into the office. Sirius sat behind his desk with his jaw clenched, fingers tapping against the wood of the table.

“What’s wrong Sir?” It was clear that something was wrong with Sirius, tension radiated off of him, if the physical signs weren’t clear enough.

“Close the door please,” he commanded with a stern tone and a slight unpleasant feeling washed over you as his irritation was now directed toward you. For the whole time you had worked for him he had never been harsh against you.

Closing the door behind you, making sure it latched, you walked further into his office and thoughts were flashing in your head. Is he going go fire you? Did something happen to the deal? Was it your fault?

“Did those men bother you?” He asked, his eyes holding yours with what seemed like a kindness hidden behind layers of despise and

You furrowed your brow in confusion, had you missed something? The only words they had uttered to you was about him wanting you in his office.

“No sir, is something the matter?” He was silent, “Did they agree to your proposal? Should I begin the paperwork?”

He scoffed, leaning back further in his chair, “I won’t be doing business with them. I’m sorry if you wasted your time with beginning the paperwork.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t start it but may I ask why not? It seemed like a promising partnership.”

Sirius sighed as he massaged the bridge of his nose, seemingly very upset over something. When he didn’t answer right away you opened your mouth to say some rushed apology if you overstepped some boundaries, but then his cool grey eyes shot up at you.

“They said some very unprofessional things about you and I don’t wanna validate their statements by going into a partnership with them”.

You were slightly taken aback by his statement: both relieved that you were not the one who explicitly did something but also even more stressed since he blew off a big deal because of you.

“Mr. Black, if I’m in some way am standing in the way of this deal I can stand back, work behind the scen-“ you started but got cut off by him standing up abruptly.

“You did not do anything wrong. They’re just sexist pigs who obviously never been in the presence of a gorgeous woman” he muttered out, dropping the professionalism and the proper words, shifting the energy in the room.

He turned around to look at you, the line in between his eyebrows softening and he slowly tilted his head.

“M’ sorry, didn’t mean to put this in you” Sirius put his hands in his back pockets and pulled his lips into a thin line.

“I’m just confused why you aren’t more upset about the deal” you said honestly, feeling comfortable to share your thoughts in the more casual conversation you had, “I’ve been planning sub-meetings for weeks”.

“They disrespected you! Said some shit about you being a trophy” he sighed and leaned against the front of his desk, “can’t stand stuff like that”.

Your eyebrows knitted together tighter and let your head fall into a shake as you huffed slightly.

“Don’t understand why I go higher than a multi million dollar deal”.

Sirius looked back up to you again and sighed, but not as frustrated anymore.

“You really don’t get it, huh?” He asked, mostly rhetorically, but was encouraged to continue when he saw your little shake, “you are ethereal. You have this magnetism to you and I’ve tried to stay away but it’s so fucking hard!”

You gasped slightly at his word and in a haze from his compliments you took two small steps forward, getting closer to him.

“Why don’t you try not staying away from me?” You asked in a quiet voice, almost like you didn’t want him to hear.

But, oh, did he hear you and he closed the gap in between you, soft lips grazing yours. He stopped his movements right before it became an actual kiss, savoring the moment before crashing into you.

The kiss went from slow and reassuringly to heated in a matter of minutes and you started to grip onto him harder, pulling him as close as possible. But as his kiss went down your neck you realized where you were and who you were doing this with.

“We.. we maybe shouldn’t do it here, in your office” you whimpered out, but your grip on him to get him closer, “you’re my boss”.

His lips kept attacking your neck, sucking and biting, and he huffed at your comment.

”We can stop if you want, just say the words” he challenged and nipped extra hard at your neck.

You shook your head violently and let out a gasp at the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin, right by your pulsepoint.

“You’re a teenage wet dream” he pulled away to look at you, his lips a little swollen, “the sexy secretary”. He punctuated his words by grabbing a handful of your ass.

Sirius’ lips went back to your neck but slower this time. The passion was still their but it felt like he made an attempt to savor it, to take his time. His hands gripped onto your hips to push you closer to him.

“Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to bend you over my desk?” He growled as he pulled off his tie, snapping you out of your shock and your hand went to help him with the buttons of his white shirt.

His movements were harsh but you were always comfortable, he kept pulling away for eye-contact to make sure you weren’t regretting anything. And in your frenzy of pulling at the fabrics around his body your brushed against the package in his pants and his whole self tensed up. At first the placement of your movements and his reaction didn’t connect, but when it clicked you laughed breathlessly and started to palm his softly.

“Did that feel good, Mr. Black?” You asked as innocently as you could when you stood there with your skirt hiked up, red marks all over your neck and with your hand on your boss’ bulge.

“Oh you little minx” he growled before reaching for the buttons of your blouse.

Slowly the black fabric of your bra started showing and he let his forehead fall onto your shoulder, letting out a low groan, before taking in the view that was your chest. His eyes raked over your figure and a mix between a giddy smile and a mischievous smirk found its way onto his lips.

“You’re gorgeous, and all for me, huh?” He asked as his bottom lip got caught under his teeth.

You backed up so you could rest your butt against his desk, pushing his shirt off of his shoulders. Sirius’ hands found their way to the back of your skirt, fiddling with the zipper until he felt the nod of your head, pulling it down so you could step out of the garment.

When he got a glance of the black fabric of your panties that matched the bra he let his head fall back. You weren’t ashamed to admit that a chunk if your paycheck went to pretty underwear, one of your favorite ways of self-care.

He started undoing his pants as he watched you, eyes slightly glazed, and with his full attention on your body you felt a surge of confidence and your hands went behind your back to unclasp your bra. You let it fall to the ground, next to the rest of your clothes, and you smiled proudly at him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me” he muttered as he grabbed onto you again, kicking his pants of off him, “gotta be quick, love, and I promise to make it up to you”.

Sirius hooked two fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs, kissing his way back up. Somehow he had pulled down his boxers too and your eyes went down to see the most glorious dick you’ve ever seen. Instinctively you went down to grab it but he caught you.

“Can’t right now darling, gotta be inside you right now or I might combust” he grabbed onto your hips and placed you firmly on the desk.

With your legs spread he had easy access to slowly push into you, eyes trained on yours to detect any discomfort. Your breath hitched as you felt him stretch you out, dragging a hand through his raven hair.

“Fuckin’ hell, you feel so good” he let his head once again fall against your shoulder as he slowly brought his hips away from you, feeling every intricate detail of your inner walls.

The lazy pace didn’t last long though as his hips started to snap into yours, a rush flowing through his veins to make you feel as good as possible. You wrapped your legs around him and hooked your feet at small of your back.

“Harder Sirius, please” you whined, slightly embarrassed that he had made you so desperate so quickly, but the pleasure that resulted in your command let those thoughts fall out of your head quickly.

The sound in his office was downright filthy as you both moaned out loud, skin slapping against each other. Even though you were at a considerably public place that didn’t stop the noises that he pulled out of you.

“Fuck you’re so big, sir” you didn’t mean to utter the title in that moment, your need to be professional hardwired into you, and you felt Sirius slow down slightly.

“Say that again” he demanded.

“Yo-you’re so big... sir” you mewled out and his eyes scrunched together.

The speed that his hips were moving most have been close to speed of light, your body moving around like a ragdoll on the furniture. A pressure was forming in your lower stomach and an urgent need for release filled you. Your hand went down to rub at your clit but he swatted it away to do it himself.

“Are you getting close?” He breathed out, his thumb moving deliciously over your bundle of nerves.

The combination of stimulation got you so close that you couldn’t even utter the words before crashing over the edge. The way you squeezed him got him there too, filling you up with warm ropes of cum.

The two of you stood there for a while, foreheads pressed together, and basked in this new form of intimacy. Sirius slowly moved to pull out of you and let out a puff of laugh as he looked down at his clock.

“Seems like I might have kept you in the office after hours” Sirius smiled brightly at you and you shook your head with a giggle.

“Fine by me if that’s the work I do after hours.”

[henryobsessed]

The Veterinarian and the Werewolf - Chapter 8

Word Count: 1879

Warning: trigger - hunting, and demeaning verbal abuse.

A/N thanks again to my beautiful @sillyrabbit81 for your editing and @amberangel112 for your encouragement.

Chapter 8

Henry could not understand why Jessie was still considering going out with this jerk. He huffed at Joe’s words and was pleasantly surprised at Tom’s reaction. Pleased to have someone in his corner, he nuzzled into the young man’s arms. It felt nice, an odd feeling of loss and regret pulled at his soul. He hadn’t seen his nephew in five years, he would be fifteen years old now four years younger than Tom. Memories of their last time together flooded his mind, the feel of his hands running through his fur. Even then he had refused to change, sadly his nephew had never known him in Human form.

The packhouse was large, made of local stone it would be considered menacing to outsiders. But for those invited in, it was a house filled with love. They had found Henry and his nephew Adam just outside their forest line, half-starved, dehydrated and desperate for care. The pack doctor had tended to Henry whilst one of the pack's mothers had shared her milk with the little pup. Adam had captured the mother’s heart and at Henry’s approval had adopted him into the pack. Henry had grieved the loss of his only kin but been so grateful to them. He knew he could not look after the little one, not with his heartbroken in pieces.

Over the next ten years, he had come and gone from the house checking up on Adam, watched as he grew strong, not only physically, but emotionally he had developed into a beautiful soul. Their last time together they had sat just like he was now with Tom. He had curled up next to Adam, his head in his lap, Adams fingers running through his fur. “I wish you could change for me Uncle, I see all the other dads and sons playing together and I love the idea that when I change next year we can run together. Then I can finally talk to you and hear your voice back. But I want to know what you look like, to be able to hug you like I see that others hug their dads.” His face had added to Henry’s grief looking so heartbroken and longingly at him. He had tried at that moment, had attempted to honour his request but his human side was so lost, hidden in pain. He had left the house that day, knowing even if it broke his heart, he needed to let his nephew grow with his new pack and not be held back by him.

Now nestled against Tom he regretted that decision. He heard a chuckle soft and happy. “Well look at you two. I would never have guessed Wolfy could be so comfortable with another human. I haven’t seen him like that with anyone except with me. What’s your secret Tom?” Her bright eyes landed on Tom who had continued to scratch behind Henry’s ears.

“I don’t know Miss Jessie, but I have always loved wolves, well any kind of animal really but especially wolves.”

She seemed thoughtful as she eyed them both making Henry wonder what she had planned. “Tom, are you free tonight? I have a date and I really don’t want to leave Wolfy alone again.” Henry felt Tom stiffen. Wondering what was wrong with the request, he moved his head to look up at the boy.

A brief look of disapproval flashed in his eyes before they softened as he looked down and saw Henry watching him. “Yes, Miss Jessie. I would love to spend more time with this beautiful boy.” Internally he chuckled at Tom’s words, if only he knew he was twelve years older than him.

That afternoon Henry, Jessie and Tom spent out in the garden. Tom seemed to fit beautifully into their friendship group kneeling beside Jessie as they planted new flowers and shrubs where they had pulled up the weeds. Together, Henry dug the holes, Tom placed the plants and held them in place whilst Jessie filled the soil around them. Henry enjoyed hearing the light conversation between his Mate and his new friend until it became heavier. “So, Tom, when did you begin to love wolves? I know your father traps them, so I’m interested as to why you don’t follow his belief.”

Tom continued to work, as a gentle hum was heard working up from his throat. “I know why Dad does it, although I don’t think he is correct. He blames the wolves for his loss of cattle, but I haven’t seen that many around. The wild dogs are more to blame but he won't listen. They have a group that meet purely to discuss the wolf problem, but in my whole life, the only large group I have seen was back when I was four. It’s the first and last time Dad allowed me to come to a hunting party. Mom was horrified that he was taking me, but I wanted so much to be with Dad, and he wanted me to be just like him.”

Henry shuddered as the boy spoke as if by some force of nature, he knew that he was about to hear what had happened that day. He also sensed the grief radiating off the boy, wanting to calm him he pushed his body into Tom’s side. Nuzzling his head as if to say, “It's ok, I’m here for you.” Tom let out a heavy chuckle as if he had heard Henry’s voice.

He sat back looking down at Henry as he spoke, “Thanks Wolfy, you would think that I would not remember something that happened that long ago, but it's imprinted in my mind. They had been tracking a pack that had only just entered the area, convinced the rest of the ranchers that they were a risk to our lively hood, that we couldn’t let them nest here. So, the best of their marksman left, when we found them all, sitting around a tree, curled up sleeping, all I wanted to do was go play with the cuddly animals. Dad kept pulling me back holding me still and quiet. I didn’t understand until the loud bangs began.”

Tom’s voice wobbled at this point and Jessie who had been silent up till this time also came closer. She pulled him into her side, her arm encasing his thin body as his shoulders began to shake. “I started screaming as I saw a single wolf with a baby on its back running away, Dad aimed for it but I managed to push the barrel up making him miss. I got the thrashing of my life that night. I couldn’t sit for a week, but it was worth it. I was never allowed to come again after that, not that I wanted to. It took a while, but Dad eventually began to trust me enough to check the traps. I am glad too because it meant I could help this fella.”

Jessie held the boy as his sobs subsided. Henry was trying to hold his anger in, these were the people who had destroyed his family. And yet this one boy had not only saved him once but twice, his gratitude was the only thing stopping him from wanting to go rip the throats out of the group. Ignorance and fear were the driving forces that ended his family, if only they knew the wolves would only ever take a sick animal, and sometimes the young, never the strength of the herd. They would never kill without need. But the wild dogs he had seen were giving us a bad name.

Jessie's voice interrupted his thoughts, the softness not hiding the grief in her own. “Was that near here Tom?” How did Jessie know?

“Yes, Miss Jessie, by the tall tree in the middle of the forest.”

She silently picked up the tools, both animal and human watching her, wondering what she was thinking. Sighing she stood up, “Come, it’s getting dark and I need to get ready for this date.” She walked silently back into the house. The boy and the wolf looked at each other before both followed.

Jessie fixed dinner for Tom and Henry then left to dress, leaving the pair to their own devices. Tom seemed quiet after revealing his early childhood trauma and Henry was eager to help calm the boy. After eating, he plodded into the living room, jumped up on the couch and yipped in Tom’s direction. Chuckling, Tom responded, “You want to watch some TV boy?” Nuzzling the remote, he yipped eagerly hoping to distract the boy from his thoughts.

Tom settled next to him and picked up the remote, they settled on watching a rerun of M.A.S.H before they both heard the clicking of heels and the rapping of knuckles on the front door. Open-mouthed both Henry and Tom sat dumbstruck as Jessie walked down the stairs in a light yellow sundress her dark hair flowing softly twisted into waves. “Wow Miss Jessie, you look amazing” got in first before Henry followed with his eager Yip. Giggling Jessie smiled softly at them both, “Ok I won't be out late, but even so, don’t get up to any mischief”

This caused both Henry and Tom to laugh, one sounding more like a series of yips. The door opened and closed and Jessie was gone. Together the two sat, watched movies and shared some popcorn that Tom had found in the pantry. Just as the end of a Witcher episode finished they heard yelling coming from outside. “I don’t give a dam Boyd, you had no right to hit that poor man, It was an accident.” The front door opened as Jessie stormed inside, the front of her dress had a brown stain down the side of her skirt.

Next Boyd came crashing into the room his face red as he reached out to grab Jessie's arm, this caused Henry to jump into action his snarl reaching the ears of the big man before he saw the wolf racing towards him. Jumping back almost stumbling over the kitchen chair Boyd’s face grew hotter, “Keep that mutt controlled Jessie otherwise I’ll control him for you with my shot Gun.”

The air went still as Henry felt Jessies and Tom's hands on him, “That is enough Boyd Hatfield, you are no longer welcome in this home. Get. Out!” Surprise filled Boyd’s face as he not only recognised Tom but registered his marching orders. Menace replaced the look of surprise, “Listen here little girl, you better watch that attitude of yours. I’ll allow you to cool off but we are not finished talking, and if you value the life of that mutt you will do as your told.” Punctuating the statement with a nod of his head he turned and strolled out the door.

Heart pounding he turned looking up at Jessie who seemed to have lost her speech, her face pale and her hands shaking. Tom moved swiftly pulling her into his arms as she began to cry, frustrated that it wasn’t his arms holding her, Henry pushed his body against her to show he was there, but inside he was furious. That man had threatened not just himself but Jessie, but he had to focus on her right now, she was more important no matter how much he wanted to go after him.

Chapter 9

[haikyuuuuuhypeeeee]

Ch. Fourteen

⚠WARNING: Swearing

• ────── ✾ ────── •

Waking up is painful. Physically painful, at least. You’re not ready to deal with the emotional pain from yesterday, no thank you.

You finally peel your eyes open, a true struggle considering how they were crusted together. You take in your surroundings and form the first coherent thought of the day.

This isn’t my bedroom.

Your eyes seem to be crusted shut. You sit up and realize that no, this is not your apartment, this is Osamu’s apartment. This is his bed you’re currently sitting up from, his blankets wrapped around you.

You then form your second coherent thought of the day.

His detergent smells really nice.

That thought finishes in your head before it’s slammed aside by the rush of yesterday’s memories - group therapy with your friends and Osamu, Oikawa being a complete dick to Osamu, your argument with Oikawa which resulted in Oikawa blabbing of your love for Hajime, leaving the restaurant crying, realizing you lost your keys but they’re at Osamu’s apartment, walking to Osamu’s crying…

From there it’s a bit murkier as your memories intertwined with self-deprecating thoughts and a line of thinking you rarely walk down anymore.

Last night was a night.

You do somewhat remember Osamu comforting you. Letting you know that it was okay and he was there for you.

You glance around the studio apartment, wondering where he was. Oh god, did you force him out good lord you are -

Oh, no he’s sitting on his couch with a cup of coffee.

You’re filled with guilt when you realize you monopolized his bed and completely took over his apartment. Yeah, he maybe didn’t need to sleep last night (a concept you still don’t fully understand nor approve of) but you have fully overstayed your welcome.

Grabbing your phone from the side table you tap the screen, taking in the notifications on your screen.

Shit, I never messaged Makki or Mattsun.

Your gut feels like lead as you open the group chat with the two. That was a big fuck up on your end.

Fuck, I’m such a shitty friend.

You don’t waste anytime typing out a message.

“Tea?”

You look up from your phone and are greeted with Osamu’s sleepy gaze, a mug of tea held in his hand for you. You reach for the mug, nodding slowly.

“How’re yer feel in’ this morning?” He asks as you take a sip. You shrug in response

“I’m okay. I’m sorry I just fell apart like that on you.” You say. “I wasn’t having a great night, and my emotions just kind of bled all over the place. And I’m sorry that I fell asleep.”

“Yeah, that was actually pretty funny.” Osamu smiles. “Ya just kinda passed out on my shoulder. I had to lift ya to get ya onto the bed.”

You blink, absolutely mortified. “Oh wow, I am so sorry. That’s so embarrassing.”

“Nah, it was cute.” Osamu takes a casual sip from his mug, seemingly oblivious to the flirty line he just dropped. “But ya seemed pretty upset last night, and i wasn’t gonna let ya walk home like that.” The smile drops from his face and he looks at you with concern. “If ya wanna talk about it ya can, although I don’t want to push ya. It’d be pretty dumb of me to.

“I know I’ve been pretty skeptical about openin’ up and talkin’ ‘bout my feelings, but since meetin’ ya I’ve felt better. Lighter, I guess.” He shrugs. “Ya’ve made me realize how important it is to open up.”

You look down at your tea, a small smile tugging at your lips. Your heart warms at Osamu’s words, part of you preening that you were the one who has helped Osamu, but also you feel genuine relief that Osamu wants to open up more.

“Well, let me treat you to breakfast this morning - it’s the least I can do.” You finish your tea and give Osamu a small smile. “I can tell you about yesterday if you don’t mind listening.”

Osamu smiles in return. “Sure, let me grab my stuff.” He takes the mug from your hand and shuffles into the kitchen. You sit up, stretching your arms and grabbing your phone. A few more messages have come through from Mattsun and Makki.

Uhhhhh…….

You open up your chat with Oikawa, finding hundreds of messages from him. He hasn’t sent you anything since 5am. You quickly navigate back to the chat with your other friends.

Frantic knocks, one after another, beat against Osamu’s door.

No way.

Osamu gives you a look before walking to the front door. He checks the paper hole, then turns back and looks at you with faint amusement.

“It’s for ya.”

You stand from the bed, moving into the kitchen. Regretfully, you open the door.

A distressed-looking Oikawa is the surprise visitor. He looks absolutely beside himself - his eyes are bloodshot and swollen, snot is dripping out of his nose, and his hair is messy and lackluster.

Oh dear god.

He bursts into tears when he sees you, but surprisingly doesn’t throw himself at you. He must be learning some boundaries. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Y/N-chan! I was being stupid and petty and I didn’t mean to-”

“Ok, ok c’mon. You’re going to wake up Osamu’s neighbors.” You bring the snivelling, pathetic Oikawa inside, quickly closing the door behind him. You help him get his shoes off, glancing around the Osamu. You spot him at the sink, filling a glass with water. He brings it over, giving Oikawa a nod and silently passing the water to him.

“Thank you Osamu-kun.” Oikawa gratefully takes the water and downs it before handing the empty glass back to an amused Osamu. “I plan on giving you a full apology soon, I promise.”

Osamu huffs a laugh and goes back into the kitchen. He sets the glass in the sink as you lead Oikawa through and into the living room.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper to Osamu. “Do you want me to go?”

“Nah,” Osamu waves his hand. “I’ll get ready for breakfast in the bathroom, and give you guys some space.”

“Thank you, I’ll try to make this quick.”

“Take yer time.” Osamu smiles at you and moves to the bathroom. You turn back to Oikawa, who is watching you with regret painting all over his face.

“I’m sorry I told Makki and Mattsun that you love Hajime.” Oikawa blurts without any bite.

You think you see Osamu flinch out of the corner of your eye but when you look his way you see the bathroom door closing. You look back to Oikawa and sigh.

“Why did you say it then?”

Oikawa heaves a sigh and hangs his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say to make you not hate me.”

“Oikawa, I don’t hate you.” You join him on the couch, leaning into his side. “Talk to me.”

Oikawa presses back to you and you feel his shoulders move up and down as he takes another deep breath. “I knew that uni classes and volleyball would be really really hard - but as long as we all had each other we would be fine. We smashed through high school together, so this was just another challenge.

“But when Iwa-chan died it changed everything. Obviously.” Oikawa takes a shaky breath. “But I still had you, Mattsun and Makki. I knew that we wouldn’t be the same without Iwa-chan, and classes and volleyball would be hard, but we would be friends.

“I don’t think I knew how hard everything would be. My classes suck, volleyball is a chore, and I miss Iwa-chan.” He sniffles. “I miss him so much. I feel like I don’t know who I am without him. But I had you guys, I always had my friends.

“But Mattsun and Makki are in their own world sometimes, and then you started hanging out with Osamu.” He looks at you, tears shining in his brown eyes. “I know it makes me sound like you can’t have other friends beside me, and I really don’t want to be selfish. But you were spending more time with Osamu and it hit me that you were all growing up and becoming different people.” A few tears track down his face and he sniffs. “I don’t want anything to change, I don’t want Iwa-chan to be dead, I don’t want to be a terrible person.”

Oikawa starts to cry and you don’t hesitate in pulling him into a side hug. He’s not really sobbing but you feel his pain deep in your heart. One of your hands comes up to card gently through his hair.

“I know I’ve been a piece of shit the last few months. And I can tell that you really like Osamu, even though you’ve always loved Iwa-chan. Whenever you talked about him you had this happy and bright look on your face. He makes you feel good, but you love Iwa-chan. You moving on meant change, and I hated that.” Oikawa sniffs. “But bringing Osamu to the group therapy session, which I always thought was our group’s thing, made me realize that you were changing. I was so angry, and your secret just slipped out.”

He takes a watery breath. “Isn’t it awful? I’ve been trying to drag you back down to my level, bring you back down to feel the pain that I feel, all because I’m scared. I’m a terrible, awful friend.”

“Oikawa, have you had time to go to your therapy appointments?” You ask gently.

He doesn’t answer right away, and when he gives the tiniest shake of his head you sigh.

“Honey,” you scold gently. “Why are you not going?”

“School and volleyball have taken up a lot of my time.” Oikawa mumbles, his sentence punctuated with another sniffle. “I’ve skipped so many appointments, and I’m too embarrassed to call.”

You sigh, inwardly shaking your head at your friend’s weak excuse. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, but maybe re-prioritize your responsibilities. Getting back on track with your therapy appointments should take top priority. You can talk through these feelings instead of letting them fester.”

Oikawa doesn’t answer right away, but when he does his voice is small. “But I’d probably have to quit volleyball, and that’s all I have left of Iwa-chan.” You see his hands ball into fists. “I don’t want to lose that.” His breath hitches. “I don’t know what to do.”

You let him cry on your shoulder, giving him the time to get all the tears out. You figure this is the most civil conversation you’ve had since Hajime died. The thought brings you relief but also makes you quite sad.

“You know you’re one of my best friends, right Oikawa?” You ask once he’s calmed down a bit. “You’re a diva and a trainwreck, but you’re my diva and my trainwreck.” He exhales lightly but you’re almost certain it’s in amusement. “No matter what, I’m always going to want the best for you, and I’m always gonna try my best to help you.

“But,” you feel him tense up when you continue. “You have to realize that your behavior the past few months has been really shitty. You’ve treated us all like punching bags - we get it, probably more than a lot of people could. But I’m not gonna let you treat me, or any of our friends, like it anymore.”

“I’ll be good.” Oikawa promises immediately. “I promise, I’ll do better for you and Makki and Mattsun. And me.”

“Good.” You give him a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for yelling at you last night in the restaurant.”

“You don’t have to apologize at all.” He replies immediately. He yawns before speaking again. “Honestly, I’ve been a piece of shit for months now. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You murur. You both sit on the couch for a while longer as you try to come down from the conversation you just had. You feel like a heavy cloud that’s been floating around your head for months has cleared, and although you know Oikawa won’t magically change overnight you feel better knowing that you’ve had this hard conversation with him. Change starts with communication, and hopefully Oikawa understands now that he has the support to change.

You feel Oikawa leaning against you even further and you look at his face to see his eyes closed and mouth parted open.

“Oikawa, c’mon I don’t want you falling asleep.” You gently push him off you so you can stand and get Oikawa to stand also. His eyes are still closed and he puts nearly all of his body weight onto you.

He must not have slept all night, you think. It’s not uncommon for him to pull all nighters, a habit he picked up in high school watching game tape over and over until the sun came up. But he handles the lack of sleep gracelessly - you could prop him against a door jamb and he’d pass out no problem.

Together you move towards the front door. You’re not going to let him fall asleep here and inconvenience Osamu even more - you’ll take him back to your apartment and maybe try to catch lunch with Osamu. Now you owe him a few meals and unlimited coffee.

“Gotta apologize to Osamu-kun,” Oikawa mumbles when you lean him against the wall.

“Maybe when you’re going to fall asleep standing up, yeah?” You reply, bending down to shove his feet back in his shoes. You hear more mumblings in return but can’t make anything out of them.

As you’re getting your shoes on you hear the bathroom door open and out walks Osamu. He’s dressed and his face is composed into it’s usual blankness. Trusting that Oikawa won’t keel over, you walk over to where Osamu is reaching into his dresser for socks.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “I have to reschedule breakfast, I have to make sure this idiot won’t sleepwalk into traffic.”

“S’alright. Didja work everything out?” Osamu asks in a measured tone.

“I think so.” Osamu’s not looking at you as he puts on his socks. Your gut twinges with guilt, realizing that he must be upset that you have to cancel breakfast. “But I think I’m gonna take him to my apartment and make sure he sleeps. Do you want to meet up for lunch or something?”

“Can’t.” His short answer makes you blink. “Meetin’ a group on campus for a class project.”

“Oh.” He’s still not meeting your gaze, and you detect a hint of gruffness in his tone. Maybe he’s upset that he has to meet with his group last minute? Or because you basically shoved him into his bathroom while you and Oikawa worked out your issues. “Dinner then? I owe you double now.”

“Probably not.” Osamu stands and gathers a few books and a notebook before shoving them into his backpack. His inability to look at you or hold a full conversation is confusing, but you don’t want to push him.

“Well let’s meet at the coffee shop tomorrow, usual time after morning classes. Sounds good?”

He hums distractedly. Your gut feels heavier and you swallow hard.

“Okay, well I’ll be off now.”

Osamu turns towards you but still doesn’t meet your eyes. “I’ll walk ya out.”

You both make the short walk to the front door. The tension in the room is heavy, unable to lighten even at the sight of Oikawa sleeping standing up. You maneuver your friend while Osamu opens the door for you. It’s a slight struggle walking out of the front door but you manage.

You look back before Osamu can close the door behind you. He’s holding the door knob and staring at the ground. “Let me know if you can do dinner tonight - if not I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You force as much cheeriness into your voice, despite the heavy weight in your chest. Finally Osamu looks at you, giving you a disinterested nod.

He closes the door as you turn to walk away. You look back quickly, catching a crestfallen look on Osamu’s face before the door fully closes.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: So when I originally thought about this story, I wanted to think about how different people deal with grief. And what I wanted to explore was 1.) is there a limit to how people will grieve? And 2.) can someone grieving push that limit? From the get-go Oikawa has seemingly pushed the limit of what some of you believed, and yet Y/N was still hesitant to call him out. And I loved hearing what everyone had to say about Oikawa - some were willing to give him a pass, and some were NOT happy with him. Now, just because someone is grieving, it does NOT give them a free pass to behave inappropriately or do serious harm to those around them. But I think it’s important to note that what may seem absolutely insane to one person is tolerable to another. And what it comes down to is how the person who is directly affected by another’s actions wants to address those actions (sorry if this is confusing.) Oikawa was treating Y/N and their friends like shit. In the story it was because Oikawa was not taking the necessary actions to keep himself mentally healthy. In Y/N’s eyes, if there is a desire to be better, and appropriate actions are taken to be better, then Oikawa deserves to be forgiven. I have absolutely LOVED reading everyone’s reactions and hearing their opinions on Oikawa’s slowly deteriorating behavior, thank you for sending them in! And just because how Y/N has reacted to Oikawa’s behavior it does not mean there is a right/wrong way! Everyone has different life experiences and different relationships that guide their decision-making! And that’s totally okay! (This obviously applies to non-threatening and morally & ethically right behavior.) And WOOF thank you for getting this far in the A/N’s, this was a LOT! Gold stars for everyone!! 🌟🌟🌟

Taglist Open! Please send an Ask with the request to be added to It’s [Not] Okay Fic & SMAU: @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @roro-707 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @cerealfrdinner797 @ara-mitsue @gray-444 @tanakasimpcorner @rintarovibes @jellien @everytimeswift @bongofrito @babucrow @beidouluvr @kozuken-ma @imarriedachef

[otonymous]

Fever Dreams (MLQC Gavin - NSFW)

Description: Gavin lets you in on the contents of his wet dreams… Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: mentions of IV lines, hospitals, minor injuries, brief mentions of trauma, Eli’s sense of impending doom, vaginal intercourse, profanity, masturbation Word Count: ~3K words (~15 mins of sweet, sweet hospital lovemaking 🤣) Author’s Notes: Close your eyes.  Imagine that Gavin is by your side — muscles flexed and lips so close they practically brush against the shell of your ear when he whispers the following:

“I hope you enjoy this fic, which was based on and inspired by Gavin’s Whispers/Biting The Ear (咬耳) ASMR from the CN server, beautifully translated by the incredibly talented and gracious @cheri-translates​.” 🤣

In all seriousness, I’m extending a massive THANK YOU to the sweet @cheri-translates​ for providing me with the awesome goods that literally left me breathless!  This fic would not have been possible without you! 💕 With that being said, hope you all enjoy it and happy reading! 🥰

👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼

It was easy to forget at times; that Gavin was made of flesh and bone like everyone else.

That lionhearted though he was, the man wasn’t invincible, no matter what he would have you believe: hiding winces behind smiles and brushing off bruises blooming blue like they were nothing at all.

It was little wonder then that when the phone rang that night, it was Eli’s voice on the other line.  And as you stood before the bathroom mirror, wrapped in nothing but a towel and watching the colour drain from your face, the stilted manner of his speech made it increasingly clear he was unused to delivering bad news.

“I’m gonna kill him when I see him,” Gavin swears under his breath, the hand with the IV drip attached pulling into a tight fist by his side.

Now you understood why.

“They’re making a fuss over nothing, keeping me in hospital for observation.  It’s just a few scratches.”

Amber eyes train in your direction, the earnestness in their tender depths melting the edge of the anger you felt at always being the last to know anytime your lover got hurt.  And when he tries to smile despite the bulky bandage plastered on his left cheek, your resistance falters.

“ ‘They’re making a fuss over nothing.’  I bet you’d say that even if you were missing a limb, Gavin Bai.”  

Suddenly exhausted by the anxiety that made you rush to the Special Task Force hospital upon receiving Eli’s call, you slump into the chair at his bedside, still annoyed but relived to find that he was well enough to laugh at your sarcasm.

“Hmm, I must be in a lot of trouble if you’re calling me by name like that.”  

Smirk spreading on that handsome face, his eyes take on a mischievous twinkle that makes him altogether impossible to resist.  You couldn’t help but think of that rough and tumble high school senior who threw furtive glances in your direction every time he walked past in the halls, lip cut and face bruised.  

“Come.  It’s too late to go home now and you can’t sleep on the chair like that.  Join me on the bed.”

Voice breaking through your reverie, Gavin holds out the hand that wasn’t hooked to the drip — large, strong and inviting.  You hesitate, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you look towards the door.  

“I-I really shouldn’t.  We’re in a hospital and there won’t be enough room for the two of us.  You, especially, need a good night’s sleep, being injured—”

Three dull pats sound in quick succession to interrupt you.  Turning your head, you see Gavin scooting to one side of the bed, hand beckoning towards the newly vacated space.  “The beds here are larger than the ones in your average hospital.  STF perk, I guess.  But if you insist on refusing then…I guess I’ll just have to accompany you in sleeping sitting up—”

Relenting with a click of the tongue, you snatch the pillow from his grasp just as he begins propping it up behind his back, sliding it beneath his head as you gingerly crawl in next to him.

“That’s my girl.”

Gavin’s whisper is electric in your ear, low and seductive in a way that made you question the innocence of his motives, wondering if he was already aware of the sensations his body pressed to the side of yours was eliciting.  His lips curve in a smile on your forehead, breath dancing hot across skin.  And when he reaches for you, the sight mesmerizes: long, tapered fingers smoothing slow along the strands of your hair.

“Eli must’ve called while you were still in the shower.  You didn’t even have time to dry your hair, did you?  Look at how wet it is.”

And though you were on the verge of telling him that it wasn’t only your hair that was wet, you thought better of it.  There was a heaviness in his tone, weighed down by the concern that inevitably arose every time Gavin thought you weren’t taking care of yourself: encouraging you with bites of the BBQ pork rice he brought in takeout containers whenever you skipped meals during late nights at the office, draping his jacket over your shoulders when you shook from the cold — having decided on form over function in a lightweight but pretty new dress worn especially to impress on date nights.

“Don’t worry, it’s almost dry anyway.”

“Hmm.”  Faint displeasure taints his acknowledgment, but you close your eyes to the furrow in his brows, unable to focus on anything other than the touch of his fingers on your skin — calloused tips tracing the line of your jaw to traipse over the chin until finally coming to rest on your lower lip.  He is so close you can feel the tail end of your exhalation being drawn into Gavin’s next breath when he says:

“I know I really scared you this time.  I’m sorry.  I was careless, but it won’t happen again.  Please don’t be mad, okay?”

Eyes opening to the sight of his, you study the specks of gold embossed in amber, beautifully familiar.  See your reflection in the dark pupils holding your face in loving regard.  Felt your heart chill at the thought of Gavin one day not returning home.  And when the sting of tears arrives to redden the tip of your nose, you turn away, unwilling to add to his burdens with your own.

“All I ask…is that you be open with me.  I know you want to protect me, Gavin.  You don’t want me to worry.  But it’s much worse to have to guess about whether or not you’re lying just to be kind.  I’m a grown woman and your partner, so please don’t handle me with kid gloves.  Let me take care of you too, sometimes.”

Staring at the patterns on the curtain drawn around the bed, you listen for the rhythm of his breath — slow and even in the ensuing silence and punctuated only by the intermittent beeps of machinery, the weight of your concerns slowly sinking in before he finally relents.

“Okay.  I won’t keep anything from you anymore.  I promise.  So please…could you let me just…”  

A hand wraps around your waist, grip firm yet gentle as he pulls you close beneath the thin sheet.  You feel his mouth on the nape of your neck, Gavin’s kisses falling hot and insistent between muffled words.

“…hold you, like this?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, barely suppressing a moan to feel his fingers crawl beneath your shirt; warming themselves on the soft skin of your belly, tracing circles about the navel.

“Seven days.  It’s been…hmm…seven days since I’ve last held you.  It’s too long.”

The last statement is breathed into the curve of your neck and shoulder, your boyfriend inhaling deeply as he buries his face into the space, the embrace around you tightening as if touch alone could communicate all the longing he wasn’t quite able to put into words.

“It was a difficult mission.  I couldn’t sleep.  And anytime I did, I would dream of you.  Always of you.  Want to know what we did?”

Cotton-mouthed, you resort to nodding again.

“Then be a good girl and turn around first.  I want…need to see you…that’s good.  In my dreams, we’d be together, just like this.  I’d have you in my arms, so close I could feel every inch of your body…how hot it is…just like now.  No, don’t move away.  I like it. I’ve got a fever, but I’m also feeling chilled.  I want your heat.”

Those amber eyes are dark now, half-lidded and veiled with lust — proof that Gavin’s increasingly shallow breathing was not an exaggeration.  It was a look you recognized; the expression his handsome face wore the moment he saw you again after a mission had kept him away for too long.  It typically resulted in entire weekends spent in bed, limbs entwined as Gavin made love to you over and over again.

Until you were boneless and spent.  

Until your lover was satisfied that he was thoroughly reacquainted with every curve of your body.

You reach for him: trembling fingers tracing the line of his brow, thumb circling the apple of his cheek.  Gavin closes his eyes, exhalation shaky as he nuzzles into your palm to lay a kiss on that, too.

“Your touch feels cool on my skin.”

“Oh!  I’m sorry—”

“No.  Don’t be.”  Fingers curling about the wrist that pulled back, Gavin gently guides your hand towards his forehead.  “It’s nice.  I like it.  But…my back is warm too.  Do you think you could help me lower the temperature there?”

Swallowing, you start to inch your hands towards the open back of his hospital gown.  Gavin softly groans to feel your fingers running along the ridge of his shoulder blades, caressing defined muscles and faded scars you had committed to memory long ago.

“Is this all right?”

Now his turn to nod, Gavin’s head drops back, accentuating the bob of his prominent Adam’s apple in that strong, thick neck.

“I’m...ah…also feeling hot here.”

Large palms fall over the back of your hands, guiding them over his rib cage until they find themselves on the hard muscles of Gavin’s abdomen.  Thighs pressing together beneath your skirt, you trace that defined V-line — touch featherlight in a way that draws out a shudder, goosebumps blooming across the expanse of Gavin’s skin.

Suddenly, you freeze to hear footsteps approaching in the hallway beyond the door.  And just when you start to pull away, Gavin stops you with a whisper:

“Don’t worry.  The nurse has already been in to check on me tonight.  They won’t be back again, unless…unless they see that my heart rate has become unusually high.”

He winks.

“Besides, if they find you here, I’ll just say that, um…I’m afraid of sleeping by myself in the dark.”

That smirk again.  You wonder at what point your boyfriend had become so cheeky, knowing just the right things to say to get his way.

“Could you help me?  I’m burning up…right here.”

Lower and lower, he guides your hands, leaving them to their own devices when they reach the waistband of his boxers.  Barely breathing, you watch as the expression on his face transforms from anticipation to euphoria the moment you slip past the elastic, fingers circling his hardened length with a loose grip.

“Officer, you weren’t lying!”

Gaze already heavy with want, the chuckle Gavin lets out in response has never sounded so sexy.  “It’s because I’m running a fever.  Or perhaps…it’s because I’m thinking of you.  Do you think we should…make it even hotter?”

You wet your lips, feeling Gavin twitch in your hand at the sight; feel the vein pulsing on the underside of that thick shaft as he continues to swell in size.  Firming up your grip, you begin to stroke in earnest, trying to maintain your rhythm despite the distraction of your own throbbing pussy, despite the way you grew increasingly wet to envision him sliding into your depths, satin panties clinging to the lines of your folds.

Smoothing your thumb over the liquid arousal beading at the tip of his cock, you draw wide, slick circles over velvet skin — paying especial attention to the ridge just below the swollen head because you loved how Gavin sounded when caught in the throes of ecstasy.  It pleased you to pleasure him — the man who never thought twice about putting you before himself.

Always so strong, always fearless, you loved to watch him fall apart.  Over you.  Beneath you.  In you.  Held in the palm of your hand or folded to your embrace.  You could feel the tension leaving his body — worn out and battered — each time he returned to your side from a mission, the trauma of all the things he couldn’t talk about seeping from every pore as you sought to show him love with the swing of your hips, the kisses you showered upon his sweat-soaked face.  With the normalcy only the simplicity of a home-cooked meal could restore.  “I love you,” he’d smile and say, amber eyes blinking once, twice…as if Gavin couldn’t quite believe you were real.  “I really do.”

“This is the first time someone has stayed with me in the hospital, let alone shared my hospital bed.” Gavin’s voice is low, thick with emotion in between shuddering gasps elicited by each tug along his length.  “Who would’ve thought that...even at a time like this…I’d be lucky enough not to be alone.”

“I’d never let you be lonely,” you say with a sudden vehemence that surprises even you.  “Never again.”

He smiles, gentle eyes glistening when his large hand approaches to cup your face.  Gavin touches you as if holding something of infinite importance, “Angel” falling from his lips in a soft utterance.

“I don’t think I can sleep tonight.  I don’t want to.  What about you?  Will you…stay up with me?…Help my fever break—”

You kiss him deeply, swallowing his words even as your tongue pushes past teeth to meet Gavin’s in reunion.  You had missed him; missed the way he tasted, the hint of mint that lingered in the breath you shared, as if your very lives were as entwined as your bodies in embrace.

To lose him was to lose yourself.  

And so, you give yourself over to the man who gave so much and asked for so little in return.

“Then I won’t sleep either.  I want to stay with you.”

Throwing one last glance at the door, you rise to your knees, skirt bunching at the waist as you straddle his hips.  Eyes wide, Gavin starts to move before you stop him, saying “Let me” as you push him back onto the bed before the IV line could pull taut.

You loved how Gavin looked at you, the artless way he wore his heart on his sleeve — showing in the pink of his cheeks, the blush creeping all the way to the tips of pierced ears.  It was a side of him only you were privy to; unguarded and unfiltered.  He watched you now, those amber eyes lit with a dark hunger to follow the motions of your hands: one pulling dampened panties aside as the other spreads glistening lips, guiding his cock along the length of your slit before you ease yourself onto his hard heat.  

Unable to stop the moan that escapes, you slide…lower and lower…until the flesh of your buttocks meets the muscular plane of his pelvis.  But the sensation continues — electricity spreading towards the very pit of the stomach to curl your spine, chest opening to receive all of his love.

Breathing barely controlled, Gavin bites hard on his lip in a bid to stay quiet, unwilling to attract the attention of curious staff.  “God, you feel so good.  I just…just want to move.”

“No, let me…let me be the one to take care of you this time.  Please.”

For the second time that night, Gavin relents, yielding to your exquisite torture even as he fought to leash the animal impulse that spurred him to rip free of the machinery and fuck you until the bed collapsed.  Hands clenching tight around the bedsheet, his knuckles grow white, as if the flimsy fabric were a lifeline keeping him from being swept away each time you lifted and lowered yourself onto him.

For everything about you drove him mad, from the tight, grinding circles you drew with your hips whenever he was fully sheathed, to the clenching embrace of your arousal-slicked walls that held him like no other, as if the entirety of you were created with him in mind.  Or, at least, it was a fantasy he harboured; to think that fate had a hand in ordaining you his sole queen, and him, forever your humble servant.

“Ahh, Gavin!…I…you’re so deep, I’m com—”

You don’t get to finish before your mind blanks.  All you could focus on was the sudden grip of Gavin’s hands on your hips and the shift of your weight forwards when his knees draw up, giving your lover the proper leverage to pound hard and fast into you from below until your arousal pools to drench those six-pack abs.

It nearly overwhelms you; the orgasm that makes you collapse onto Gavin’s chest, the contractions that hit like tidal waves moving through your body.  They spur him on, continuing to fuck you so hard the bed shook, each and every thrust hitting just the right, swollen spot to keep you elevated on that high.  And when you whisper

“I love you”

before your tongue extends to suck the lobe of his ear into your mouth, the tension building in the taut muscles of that perfect body breaks.  

You hear your name leave his lips in a deep moan, feel him leave a part of himself in the secret space between your legs.  Taste the salt of his sweat on kisses laid upon the pulse of his neck.  Waited for his racing heart to slow before telling yours it was okay to do the same.

And when his arms wrap tightly around your body, “I love you, too” returned with palpable affection, you let yourself fall into slumber…knowing that even in dreams, Gavin would meet you there.

👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[alpacaparkaseok]

Book of Soulmates

pairing: Hobi x reader

premise: 1071 5th Ave, New York, NY 10128 is all you need to know.

Fire Starter

Endless circles carry me ever upward. I’ve begun to notice the slight burn in my calves as I continue to climb up the endless circular ramp, a famous aspect of the Guggenheim. 

Famous or not, it still has me contemplating just slipping my heels off and making the rest of the trek up to the top of the building barefoot.

Of course I refuse to take the elevator despite the rest of my group having done so. I mean, this is the Guggenheim. Who takes the elevator and misses all of the beautiful artwork and displays along the way? Not me. 

I pause for a moment before a massive painting that takes up most of the wall, pretending that I’m entranced by it rather than in desperate need of a break. In my defense, I wasn’t planning on having to leave the bottom floor so soon. However, when it was cleared for some exclusive party to come through, I wasn’t left with much of a choice. 

Echoes of the party going on downstairs remind me that I need to keep moving upward. No doubt my group has already made it to the top floor and are impatiently waiting for me. Maybe if I’m lucky they’ll just go on without me, leaving me to enjoy the famous art museum on my own. 

Peeking down a hallway as I pass by it I’m drawn in by the display I see on the floor. Deciding to spare another moment, I sneak inside, eyes wide as I take in the display taking up on side of the floor. Glancing at the plaque beside it, I marvel at Abbas Akhavan’s artwork. The bronze casts made to represent damaged and changed plants as the affects of war are spread out along the way, making me take my time as I walk from one end to another. 

“I don’t know, he just said something about wanting to find Van Gogh and ran up here,” a voice says from the ramp just outside the room where I find myself currently. It’s silent for a moment, and I realize that he must be on the phone. 

“Yeah, I’ll bring him back down. Just give me a few minutes to find him. Ok. Bye.” The end of the phone conversation is punctuated by a long sigh, accompanied by a disbelieving chuckle. “That boy...oh. Hi.”

I turn to find a man - no. Not just some man. Jung Hoseok peers into the exhibit room, glancing around as though looking for someone. 

So that’s why the bottom floor has been reserved. BTS is here. 

“Hi.” I reply rather dumbly. Shaking my head, I fight to not stare too hard at him. He’s wearing a red jacket that looks like it was crafted just for him, flowers and other plants embroidered into the fabric with loving care. Paired with his ripped black jeans, Hoseok looks like he just stepped out of a photoshoot.

“Are you looking for someone?” I ask, trying to get him to move on before I make a complete fool of myself. 

“Oh,” Hoseok repeats for the second time, eyes finally landing on me for longer than a couple of seconds. “You speak Korean?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

I can’t help but laugh a little. “You’re looking for someone? I haven’t seen anyone come up this way.”

“Oh,” Hoseok, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s just repeated the same word four times, steps into the exhibit with a soft smile. “My friend - Kim Taehyung, do you know who that is?” 

I nod. “Yeah, I do.”

“Right. We’re supposed to be doing some stuff downstairs but he took off saying that he wanted to go see Van Gogh, and now we can’t find him.”

Chewing on my lip, I frown a little. “But Van Gogh is downstairs...?”

At that precise moment Hoseok’s phone lights up, and he gives me an apologetic smile and half bow before turning and answering it. The call doesn’t last long - he’s only taken two steps before he’s turning right back around with a perfect smile on his face. 

“Well,” he sighs out, wandering closer, “He was downstairs. He just showed up again, I guess. Thanks for the help.”

“Of course.” Giving him a small smile, I turn back to the artwork before me, expecting him to step out. 

From my peripheral I can tell that he’s thinking about it, but he hesitates for a moment. Glancing my way, Hoseok takes another step in my direction. My heart clenches in my chest, but I refuse to look at him.

Sometimes, being painfully awkward is a bit of a crutch. 

“Excuse me,” he says softly, almost as though we were in a crowded room and he was trying not to startle me. “But have we met before?”

Now I do look at him, incredulity lining my features. “...don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I’d remember meeting you.”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, you’re right. That was kind of strange for me to ask that, wasn’t it? It’s just...” he pauses, then extends his hand out toward me. “I think that was my stupid way of trying to stall and get to know you before I have to leave.”

My jaw is probably on the ground now, and I continue to stare at the man with disbelief until I realize that his hand is still outstretched. 

“Oh!” I almost shout. “Sorry. Yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” 

I go to shake his hand, smiling a little at how he’s trying to respect my culture despite the obvious differences. Daring to glance up at his eyes, my breath gets caught in my throat as I see him doing the same. 

What I identify as warmth in his eyes may also be due to the sparks flying from our joined hands.

“Oh!” Hoseok shouts, jumping back as sparks fly and singe our hands. “I - ah! Fire!”

I jump out of my shocked state just in time to see what Hoseok - my soulmate - is referring to. A few loose sparks that didn’t succeed in burning and marking our hands have floated down to the ground and also the white tarp where Abbas Arkhavan’s artwork is set up.

It’s also in the process of catching fire. 

“Ah!” I shout now with Hoseok, and I rush about the room. “Fire extinguisher!” I shout, only making my soulmate more distressed when he realizes that I’m shouting in English.

“What?” He shouts unnecessarily. “What are you saying?!”

“Fire!” I shout again, heart pounding as adrenaline pumps through my veins. “Where’s the extinguisher?!” Tearing around the corner, I gasp in relief as the tell-tale red fire extinguisher hangs on the wall. Running as quickly as I can in my heels, I mentally curse my past self of fifteen minutes ago for not taking off my heels when I had the chance. 

Hoseok notices my predicament, rushing over to me and letting me hand the extinguisher off to him. I hobble after him, finally managing to slip my heels off. 

I watch with horror as the priceless artwork is covered with the white foamy substance of the extinguisher, offering up a pleading prayer that only the tarp was damaged. 

Hoseok sprays every last inch of the tarp, panting when he finally relents. For a moment, all is silent in the aftermath of our soulmate bond. Glancing around the room I search for any other fires that our sparks may have caused, and let out a long sigh when it appears that the damage was at least kept to one small space. 

Still standing before the display with the extinguisher in hand, I slowly make my way over to Hoseok and come to stand beside him. 

His eyes are a bit glazed over as he stares at the wall that’s blank except for Abbas’s plaque. His chest rises and falls with his deep breaths, his face a little flushed. 

Slowly, so slowly, Hoseok turns to look at me, disbelief obvious in his expression. “Did we just-”

“Start a fire?”

“Yeah.”

Looking down at the receding foam, a dry laugh escapes my throat. “I think we did.”

“Because we...we’re...”

“Yep.” My gaze is a little unfocused as I ease the extinguisher out of Hoseok’s grasp, the two of us wincing as our fingers graze each other and a few spare sparks shoot out, falling onto the foam and sizzling as they’re extinguished. 

Turning on my heel, I go to put the extinguisher back and attempt to find the curator to explain this entire mess. 

Hoseok trails after me, looking a little lost as he furrows his brow, still trying to understand what just occurred. My heart aches as he passes by my discarded heels, leaning down to pick them up and carry them along. Without a single word, he already has me swooning at his sweetness. 

I pause at the sight of my right hand as I raise it to put the extinguisher back. My hand is littered with angry red welts from the sparks of our encounter. It’s a sight that I thought I’d never see. 

Soon enough those red welts will fade into darker, lasting little scars. I’ve seen them a million times on other people. 

The soulmate scars. As telling as any wedding ring, and even more permanent. 

Hoseok appears by my side, seeing what I’m staring at. With heartbreaking tenderness, he raises his burned hand to mine, laying it on top. There’s a bit of residual warmth that kicks up at the contact, but no more sparks fly. 

The sentimental moment is quite literally burned into my memory as I stare at our hands, hardly daring to believe that this is real. The moment is ruined as my guilty conscience takes over. 

“We need to find the curator,” I mumble out. “Tell him what happened.”

Hoseok grunts in agreement, intertwining our hands before pulling me along with him, heading down the ramp. I frown up at him.

“What?” He asks, his eyes still a bit glazed over but the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Where are we going? The office is the other way.”

“Oh,” Hoseok says for the umpteenth time. “He’s downstairs...I’m supposed to be down there having a meeting with him.”

Eyes going wide and a groan leaving my mouth, Hoseok laughs at our predicament. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whine. He shakes his head, eyes cleaning up a bit.

“I wish I was, darling.” My ears perk up at the pet name. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t kick you out, though. You’re with me.”

Squeezing his hand a little tighter, I allow a smile to break through.

masterlist

[porcelaintoybox23]

Solitaire pt. 2

Part one

I normally like to avoid long chunks of dialogue but it felt needed. Went more for how the dialogue is paced than correct punctuation. Kaeya could be a traitor or not, so I left it vague. Tumblr also gave me formatting issues, so…sorry

Kaeya x Gn!Reader (electro) can be read as platonic or romantic

***

You reach Starsnatch Cliff at precisely 19:00. The setting sun is barely a speck in the horizon allowing the beautiful astral bodies that give the location its name their chance to shine.

You hadn’t seen Kaeya since the previous night and made no mention of his absence when Jean came calling. You had been wracked with nerves all day, but the time has finally arrived: what will you find at the top?

Your vision wasn’t at the bottom, but Kaeya was not one to follow conventions or rules.

As you climb, you think back to when Kaeya had first brought you here. Admittedly, it was as an unspoken apology, but that didn’t take away from the beauty of the sky.

You sit down to wait. When the sun has completely set, and you can see the lights of Springvale, you feel someone sit next to you.

It’s a little further than normal but…

“Why?” is all he says.

More open ended than his usual interrogation methods, but this was an unusual situation.

“I'm 98% sure that you are a sociopath.”

If Kaeya is surprised about the opening, you can’t tell.

“I'm 99% sure you're using that word incorrectly.” He replies back smoothly.

A straightforward conversation is a foreign concept to people who obfuscate as easily as they breathe. Truth hidden under witticisms and banter.

“You're still mad about the ruin guard thing?” Kaeya almost sounds shocked.

You let annoyance seep into your voice. “Kaeya, that was too far, even for you. It crosses a line to endanger your allies without their consent.”

“Well the ends do justify the means. We did catch those thieves after all.”

“You’re lucky that no one was killed-we’re getting off topic.”

He laughs. You didn’t realize how much you had missed-

“I am one of Mondstat’s most prolific ‘anti-heroes’ after all.”

Nevermind.

“Sometimes the ends justify the means and you're an ass, you dramatic shit head.”

“Yet here you are.”

You sigh. “Yet here I am.”

Silence falls between you.

“You're a hypocrite, you know?” Kaeya’s voice comes out in a whisper.

You go still, holding your breath.

I did ask for this.

“You only hate my schemes if you don't know about them. You have no qualms about going off with your own plans and endangering our fellow knights. Yelling 'landslide' isn't a great warning.”

You hum, remembering how you convinced Noelle to use her geo on a cliff. Caught the treasure hoarders off guard. You hide a laugh under a cough when the image of a dust covered Kaeya appears.

He ignores you and continues on.

“You're petty as hell. You still haven't let the Collei thing go-“

“I'll let it go when you apologize to her in person-”

“You were mad that my scheme to reveal that Snezhnayan spy embarrassed you and didn't care about the overall benefit.”

“You completely humiliated me.” You whisper.

Kaeya goes silent.

“That was the first and the only time you've ever apologized to me, with the words. Up until then, I just considered you a sadistic drunk who abused his power.”

You look up at the stars. "You were the kind of person I avoided back home. The ones that would make me look stupid, and you did. In front of the knights, the fatui, and the entire town."

Kaeya inches closer and you put your head on his shoulder.

“I did find you interesting before then.” He started after a few moments. “A mysterious stranger who never fell for my charms or let any info slip through. I still haven’t seen you drunk.”

“You never will.”

You both fall silent again, but this one is different. The time for smoke and mirrors has passed.

“Unlike the traveler, I have no interest in finding my family or returning home.” Your voice is surprisingly steady as you recount memories you had long buried.

“I hated my life. I was trapped taking care of my parents. No friends, no standing, not a fucking cent to my name. I wasn’t interesting, no one understood me or cared to try. I was meek and my attempts at reaching out were met with looks of confusion or pity.”

You poke his chest. “That’s why I was so angry. Somehow, I ended up here. I got these powers that I can change on a whim. A world with magic and adventure, a place where I can be free and be a hero. To not be myself. I didn’t want to be that person again, the loser that no one hated but no one liked either.”

You laugh. “I don't know what's worse, abandoning my family or that I don't feel that bad about it.”

“Despite your sadistic streak,” he elbows you, “you care for Klee. You protect Mond and, occasionally, think of other people. Even with Collei, you at least let Diluc take the fall. I really don't have a leg to stand on regardless.”

“Even with this second chance, I’m still a fake. I've always pushed people away. Hid before anyone could get close, but how can I expect to breach that gap if I can't extend a hand out myself?”

You look at grass beneath you, too afraid to see the look on Kaeya’s face.

“Our overall values are a little mismatched, but isn't loving someone about accepting all of them? Warts and all? I want to know why you do what you do. Why you do a job you clearly hate. Why you take joy in others' suffering. Why you're friends with me of all people.”

You start messing with a strand of his hair.

“At least, I think we're friends.”

You pause but add in a whisper,

“Maybe, I'm being a little too trusting again.”

You fall silent and you two stay like that for some time. You gag internally at your mushy honesty.

“I think we’re friends, but don’t let Diluc hear or he’ll get jealous.”

You poke him again.

“What convinced you?”

“Hmm?”

“If there's one thing I can't critique, it's your intellect- Kaeya shut it-You’ve lived in Mondstat for half of your life. You’ve met the people, gotten to know them, saved them. You uphold justice, even if your methods lack kindness, so it must be for a reason. I’ve seen the mess that is Teyvat, the archons that neglect and misuse their authority, the people are evil and cruel. I’m still not totally okay with killing hilichurls. I want the world to be a better place, I’m sure deep down, you do too.”

Now you look up. You’re surprised to see Kaeya looking down at you, with both eyes. Fear, trepidation, and hope flash through them, and it's the most open you've ever seen him.

He lowers his head onto yours and heaves a sigh.

“When I was around 10 years old, my father took me to place called Dawn Winery…”

***

…

“First off, I have no flaws.”

You startle a bit, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. You and Kaeya had talked all night and you had started to doze as the sky turned a light peach.

“Two, you love me? Here I thought my charms were useless against you.”

Now fully awake, you leap up and make a move to leave.

Kaeya grabs you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Kaeya if you touch me, I swear to the archons I will electrocute you.”

“You know as well as I do, that you won't.”

Your eye twitches as you (sadly) reflexively relax in his hold.

“True, I'll just make Diluc serve you grape juice from now on. Better yet, I'll ask cloud retainer to give me a potion that makes everything you drink taste like grape juice.”

“Okay, let’s not do anything rash now! We are friends after all, one might even say besties.”

“I hate you.”

You elbow him, hard.

“but, thanks…for trusting me. No matter what you decide, I’ll be here for you.”

Kaeya’s face seems to fall but his jovial facade comes back in record time.

“Such a sap, y/n,” he deflects.

You smile, seeing that he’s happy to have someone on his side.

“ I guess I am.”

***

Events that happened but were not mentioned for brevity:

Didn't tell Kaeya about the sword location to take the sword out from under him.

Tricked some knights into doing their work a few times.

Would have attacked Collei or let Kaeya slide if she proved to be actually evil.

Encourages Klee to blow things up and sneaks her out of solitary/reads to her.

Used a bomb once for a plan that failed and let Klee be blamed since she'd get in less trouble

Also lies to children

Picks fights for no reason

Becomes purposefully obtuse to annoy people

***

Thanks for reading! I do have some ideas for how the spy plan made these two became friends, if anyone is interested.

[angelguk]

→ sorry (not sorry) — a jeongguk scenario

member: jeon jeongguk

word count: 8.1k

genre: smut + umm everyone is pining on each other + jeongguk has a secret crush on oc hehe + college!au + fluff (kind of) + enemies to let’s fuck cause i like you lmaoo

warnings: oral sex (f receiving) / mutual orgasms / face sitting / fingering / jeongguk has a big dick / plot is there somewhere / this is continuation of the drabble where jeongguk broke oc’s vibrator (go read it in my masterlist if you would like but this can be read separately!) / protected sex / use of the pet name baby / a little bit of biting hehe

soundtracks: crush, cigarettes after sex + manic pixie dream, chloe lilac  

Jeongguk knows there’s something wrong the moment you step through the door. There’s a palpable tension in the air as you strut past the living room, where he’s sitting lax on the couch bundled up in the soft grey blankets Seokjin had bought for the apartment. You don’t spare him a glance but Jeongguk’s eyes move without his permission, gaze greedily trailing after your figure. The dress clinging to your frame shimmers in the soft glow of the apartment lights, a deep claret that looks stunning against your skin tone. His throat goes dry the moment your strides bring the high slit cut along the side into existence. The sudden span of skin makes his mind go blank, tongue heavy in his mouth as he stares at you. The greeting he was about to mutter stays lost in his throat, a strange throbbing in the back of his head matching the rhythm of your heels clacking sharply against the tiles.

It wasn’t like you were going to say anything back to him, he reasons, the thud of your door slamming resounding through the quiet building. Seokjin wasn’t home for once, leaving the two of you to wallow in your mutual relationship of abhorrence - except it wasn’t a mutual relationship at all. While Jeongguk knew you hated him, he never disliked you. Yes, sometimes you irked him with your obstinacy and sharp words but you were also hilarious and unabashedly spoke your mind; traits he greatly admired. He enjoyed being your roommate for the most part. The jabs you threw at him were always handed back with a mellow grin and a muffled laugh on his side but that was shattered by the incident. Which Jeongguk has been painfully trying to forget.

He’ll admit, he was wrong for that. Digging through other people’s stuff was out of character for him but Seokjin had sworn he’d seen you using a massaging machine when Jeongguk had voiced his extreme back pain to him one afternoon. He’d waited patiently for you to come home so that he could ask to borrow it, but it was growing late and his back was aching so he decided to borrow it first and ask later. He hadn’t intended on breaking the thing. It had just given up after a few hard presses into the thick knots in his shoulders. Jeongguk had neatly tucked it back exactly where he found it, completely unaware that he had ruined the mechanics of it. He didn’t even think you would notice, but of course, you did - it was your vibrator after all.

He cringes even at that minute realization, tugging the blankets tighter around him as his eyes stare blankly at the show flashing on the television screen. There’s an essay demanding to be written on his laptop but every fibre in his being is refusing to do it, the tension in the household making his stress one thousand times worse. He didn’t even like coming home nowadays - too many awkward silences and hate-filled glares in this confining space. But he’d abused his right to sleep on Jimin’s couch and had been promptly kicked out by his best friend due to that. Being in the apartment still sucked. Massively. Because you’ve barely spoken to him. It’s been two weeks since the incident and not a peep had come out of your mouth. Seokjin had reached a point where he’d began demanding that dinner had to be eaten together, once he’d picked up on the rage radiating off you whenever you were around Jeongguk. But that just ended in you shovelling your food down your throat and leaving the table early while Seokjin just stared at the both of you and Jeongguk just stared at his food. It was beginning to become inconvenient for everyone around you - especially your joint group of friends.

But he didn’t know how to approach you anymore, the apology Namjoon and Hoseok made him rehearse sticking to the back of his throat whenever you were around. You made everything seem cold, with your clamped lips and harsh eyes. If he’s being honest with himself, he misses the small smiles he would rise out of you whenever the two of you argued. And the sound of your giggles colouring the room. And having you look at him with a gaze that didn’t scream hatred. In general, he just misses you.

But it’s not like you’re going to let him in. He must have crossed a line, broken something in the precarious relationship you had. And it makes him mad at himself.

“Jeongguk?” It’s quiet, breaking through the drone of the television and hitting his ears hard. For a split-second he thinks he’s imagined it, the sound of his name leaving your lips. But then you say it again, firmer this time. A demand for attention. “Jeongguk?”

“Huh, yeah?” He’s scrambling off the seat, nearly tumbling onto the floor due to the tight bundle he’d wrapped himself in. “Yes?”

“Could you come here for a minute?” The door is cracked open, your face peeking through the tiny opening. Even from this distance, he can tell that your mascara is smudged, dark shadows streaking down your cheeks. He moves without a compliant, tossing the blanket onto the couch as he shuffles towards your room. There’s a tight feeling in his chest, and suddenly the television seems nonexistent, a silence in his head that’s punctuated by the thumping of his heart.

You stay quiet, falling back into the room with your back turned to him. Jeongguk follows, hesitant as he steps inside your space. A stark contrast to his brazen behaviour the last time he was in here, shamelessly digging through your stuff. The heels you were wearing sit idle in the corner of your room, little black strappy things that make his skin heat up. But then his gaze travels to you, standing expectant by your bed, and suddenly the air seems like it’s stifling, closing in on him with every passing second.

The glimpse he got of your walking past when you’d stormed into the apartment is nothing compared to this. The dress is fitted, shimmery fabric flitting perfectly along every curve and line of your body. It dips dangerously in the front, soft fabric draping over your chest. He keeps his eyes on your face though, afraid to stray further down because there’s a situation rapidly forming in his pants. But the frustrated look you’re giving him puts an end to that rather quickly, his apprehension settling firmly on his shoulders.

“Yeah?” He says because you’re not saying anything, eyes distant as your stare at the wall behind him. You shake your head the moment he speaks, the little gold chain dangling around your neck swaying with the movement.

“Sorry, I’m a little bit out of it. Could you help me unzip my dress?”

Jeongguk blanches. It’s a natural response, the blood in his system already roaring. He doesn’t know what to say, mouth agape, like a fish as you look at him, gaze unwavering.

“Y-yeah, sure,” He splutters, feet moving closer. But his palms are clammy and when you turn around, displaying the zip that runs along the back of your dress, his breath hitches. Everything in him hopes you didn’t hear that.

“Thank you,” You mumble, somewhat embarrassed by your request. You have been valiantly ignoring Jeongguk for the past few weeks now, so asking him for this favour was completely out of place. But you desperately need to get out of this dress, already irritated by the audacity and rudeness of the stupid boy you’d agreed to go out on a date with. He’d said so many infuriating things that you can’t even begin to think about them or your blood pressure spikes. And with the absence of your preferred toy due to Jeongguk’s annoying curiosity, you’d also lost one of your favourite forms of stress relief that you enjoyed. The sexual frustration coupled with the horrible date you’ve just experienced had you on edge and the last thing you wanted was this dress clinging to your skin. You don’t even know why you wore it - that guy didn’t deserve to see you in it anyway.

“Were you on a date?” You nearly jump, Jeongguk’s silk voice slipping around your frame. There’s a warm hand on your back, tugging at the zip keeping this dress fastened to your body. The sudden closeness makes your skin prickle, a tingle in your gut that you chose to ignore.

“Um - yeah.” It’s the only thing you can muster up right now, brain zoning in on the graze of Jeongguk’s hand along your back as he pulls the zipper down. It’s quick, the dress falling away as he does so. You keep the front up with a tight hold against your chest, the thumping of your heart under your palm making your head swim. It doesn’t help that his hand doesn’t move despite the zipper being down, warm palm pressed against the small of your back.

“With who?” It’s not accusatory or demanding, genuine curiosity in his tone, his breath a phantom against your back.

“No one.” You refuse to even think about the guy. Mentioning his name would rekindle the anger you felt throughout the date.

“Was he a dick?” Jeongguk asks, voice gentle. He finally moves away, the absence of the warmth of his palm nearly making you step back into him, searching for that strange comfort.

“Yes,” You retort instead, turning around to find his eyes on you, something swimming in the brown of his eyes. You can’t decipher what he’s thinking.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” He mumbles, rocking on the soles of his feet. “That sucks.”

“It does,” You reply, feeling oddly exposed even though the front of your dress is pressed against your chest. Jeongguk nods, and you suddenly begin to wonder why he’s still in the room. When you open your mouth to tell him to leave, Jeongguk beats you to it, babbling out something that has your body freezing over.

“Were you going to sleep with him?” He asks, eyes glued on the floor. It rushes out his mouth, the words bleeding into each other in his hastiness. 

“How is that any of your business?” You snap back, wanting him away from you immediately. The irritation that you feel against Jeongguk that you’d allowed to subside for a moment comes violently rushing back, sending your blood pounding in your head. A small part of you still lingers on the warm print of his palm against your skin, though, reluctant to give up the emotions you felt when he was touching you just yet. 

“It’s just - you’re wearing that - that matching stuff,” He mumbles. Stuff? He’s talking like he’s twelve.

“You mean my lingerie?” Your cheeks burn when you realise that you’d accidentally given Jeongguk a front-row seat to view your undergarments when you’d asked him to unzip you.

“Yeah.”

“Well...I wasn’t opposed to sleeping with him. And then he turned out to be a dick so I left.” You hope he can dedict the lack of interest to keep this conversation going in your voice. He doesn’t.

“Oh. Bummer.”

“Yep.” You’re starting to get annoyed at him. “You can leave now.”

That does sting, a sharp little dagger settling in his heart, but Jeongguk nods away, hating how hot his face is. He doesn’t look at you as he walks away, hands balled up in a tight fist and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. It’s only at the doorway that he halts, slipper shuffling against the ground. When he glances back, mouth falling open, you can’t help but note the rouge tinge of his ears peeking out from his messy brown curly man. Or the strange determination swimming in his eyes.

“Sorry about your vibrator,” Jeongguk murmurs, tone timider than he intended. He clears his throat, gaze faltering from yours. “I really didn’t mean to break it. I can get you a new one soon. I’ve saved up enough - I think. Just tell me the make and I’ll sort out the rest,”

You nibble at the inside of your cheek, a funny feeling blooming within your chest. But your mood is still too sore to soften up to his apology just yet. There’s still a lot about Jeongguk that irks you, but this was nice of him. His genuineness draws a tiny smile onto your face.

“It’s fine, Jeongguk. You didn’t need to do that. I’ve already ordered a new one. I was just really mad at you for snooping through my stuff-”

“I’m sorry about that too,” He interrupts, slipping back into your room. He must have forgotten that you’re still half-naked. You clutch the front of your dress tightly, ignoring the odd warmth the ebbs from your core. “It was totally out of line and I understand why you were mad. I still want to get you something, though. Food, maybe? Or another toy?” The way his cheeks bloom rose makes your heart slam into your chest. “Ignore me. I’m just blabbering at this point.”

You huff out a laugh, despite being slightly irritated. “Did offer me something better.” There’s a long beat of silence that follows that. You intended it to be a joke, yet the words feel like something else entirely. It came out without a second thought, but you immediately want to snatch back the words, the silence that descends upon you suffocating. You suddenly can’t look at Jeongguk and he’s blatantly not staring at you. When you finally gained the courage to tear your eyes away from the pedicure on your feet (which was a waste really), Jeongguk’s mouth is already parting, a series of words drifting from his mouth that make your heart stop in your chest.

“My offer..still stands if you want it.” There’s instant regret on his face. He doesn’t know why he said that. Perhaps it’s the way you look in that dress that has his head feeling foggy. Or maybe it's how warm your body felt underneath his fingertips. Or maybe it's the tiny (read massive) crush that he’s been harbouring over you for the past five months turning the gears in his head. But he sees the incredulity plastered across your face he wants the press rewind button on his life so bad. So so bad. 

He chokes out a laugh swiftly. “I’m joking, don’t worry.” And then he spins on his heel and wonders how much it would cost to move to Cuba right now. Like right now. He’ll book the plane ticket the second he’s out of your room. But you stop him from leaving with a simple sentence that has his whole body lighting up in a blazing fire that threatens to consume him.

“Are you really joking, Jeongguk?”

His smile is sheepish when he slowly turns back around. “...No?” A lot is running through his head and he stumbles over the words that fall out of his mouth. “If you want to, of course. I mean - your vibrator is broken and I - I don’t know what other toys you have but I presume you’re still sexually frustrated and I don’t mind if you use me - not like that but like I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to - I don’t know how to put this but like I said before a replacement. I could be like a replacement, if you want to I would be down. I wouldn’t mind it if-”

“Jeongguk, relax. I get it.” You’re so calm and it’s making him even more anxious. He despises the loud thumping of his heart that roars in his head. But he’s so caught up in his mind, overanalyzing his actions, that he misses the blush spreading across your skin. 

“I don’t need a dick replacement,” You say. He deflates. Which he didn’t expect to happen but he literally feels how his chest sinks into itself. “I have a dildo.”

“Okay.” He forces it out, ready to leave because this situation is the most embarrassing thing he’s ever thrown himself into. “That’s fine. That’s okay.”

“No wait - I don’t really enjoy using it...So if you want...I wouldn’t be opposed to your offer.” You can feel your blood rushing into your heart, a frenetic thumping inside of your chest that hurts. There’s a warmth in your core that makes you agree to it. It doesn’t help that Jeongguk is naturally attractive; easy grin and contagious laugh that you’d gradually learnt to love during your time with him. And that’s not including the way he’s built. You’re not blind. You live with him for heaven’s sake. Jeongguk also had an affinity for walking around shirtless at ridiculous times. There were moments where you had to hole yourself up in your room because you just couldn’t stand to see his golden bare skin on displayed, firm toned muscles and broad shoulders luring you. There was a reason you avoided Jeongguk during your ovulation. Not like he noticed that anyway.

Even now, with his worn plaid pyjama pants clinging around his tapered waist and the loose sheer white shirt billowing from his body, he still looks good. Your face is warm, palms clammy at the prospect of touching him. Then he cocks his head, soft curls tumbling into his face and the corner of his petal pink lip turning upward. You abhor how your burst, like a star, the heat that erupts through you dangerous. 

“You sure?” He ruffles his head, hesitant, but he’s moving towards you with quick steps. 

“Yes.” You hope it came out firm, not shaky like it sounded in your throat. He’s incredibly close now, and you can’t help but clutch the front of your dress with taut fingers, like you don’t want him to take it off. He notes that with a quick flicker downward of his eyes, halting right in front of you.

“Are you really sure?” There’s apprehension clinging to his question.

“Yes,” You reiterate, fingers itching to slip underneath his chest. His chest is so wide. Why is his chest so wide? “Are we going to do this or not?”

“Yeah, um, yes. We’re doing this.” Jeongguk can’t believe that he’s doing this. That you’re allowing him to do this. He also doesn’t know where to begin, brain blanking with the torrent of fantasies that pour from his mind. But then his gaze slips down to your bright crimson covered lips and he naturally moves in without a second thought. He can start there right. Just a kiss, a simple kiss. If it’s so simple why does his brain feel like it’s going to explode?

You can see the thought settle in his head the moment his brown eyes settle on you. You’re so close that you can see the multitude of tones swimming in his gaze; speckles of honey and gold that hold you captive in this silence, your heart drumming fast in your chest. His tongue sneaks out to swipe at his bottom lip, pink and wet. You can’t deny the shiver that travels across your skin, descending deep inside your gut, kindling a flame that threatens to consume you. When he closes in on you, you freeze, wine coated tongue heavy in your mouth. You forget how to breathe for a moment, frazzled by the sudden enclosure. But then you feel his breath brush against you and your brain snaps back into the moment.

“Don’t kiss me.” It’s harsher than it sounded in your head. He’s wounded, evident by the long look he gives you as he pulls away, the hands that were moulding around your waist drawing back too.

“Okay.” It’s somewhat timid, uncharacteristic for Jeongguk. He seems suddenly unsure like he’s trekking on undiscovered ground and he’s afraid to act on the whims swimming in his head in case he provokes you and ends up getting hurt. You want to tell him that you don’t bite, but you're too on edge tonight to coddle him. But he still gives you that kicked puppy look, doe eyes staring at you bewildered. “No kissing.”

“No kissing,” You affirm, clutching onto your dress rather desperately. “Let’s not do more than we have to.”

“But are you even wet?” Jeongguk questions, standing rather awkwardly. You pretend not to notice the tent in his sweatpants. But he also has a point. Despite the tension in the air, you’re rather dry between your legs. He must know he’s right because there’s a glimmer of a smirk tugging at his pink lips, eyes suddenly glinting deviously. “I knew it. You’re not even wet.”

“Why would I be?” You retort, skin hot from the attention of his gaze. “You’ve barely even touched me.”

“Because you won’t even let me,” He retorts. His hands suddenly settling on your waist, drawing you closer to him. Maybe you let out a little noise that you refuse to acknowledge. Jeongguk eats it up though, firm hands trailing gently along the smooth fabric of your dress. “If you could just,” He tugs at it, rather roughly and something spikes in your belly. “Take this off, we could start.”

“I don’t recall my vibrator being able to talk and make demands,” You bite back, grasp firm on the flimsy material that’s preventing you from being butt naked in front of your least favourite roommate. Jeongguk quirks an eyebrow, his hands resting along your back, the heat of his palm against the silver of exposed skin there making your eyes flutter.

“You want me to be quiet?” The immediate answer is no. You despised it when your partners were silent. Noises were a confirmation that you were doing things right - making them feel the way you were feeling. It was also an ego boost that you desired, something that made you feel completely in control and capable for once. But you’re not sure that you want to share that intimacy with Jeongguk of all people. He was the guy who ate your leftovers without asking, left dirty socks all over the apartment and never did he’s dishes for some reason. He was also the reason you were in this predicament in the first place; because he was the one who’d dug through your stuff and broken your vibrator. You’re both infuriated and turned on, mind struggling to form a response because the pads of his fingers are grazing your skin, gently coaxing you further into his arms, a tremor echoing between your legs. You feel stupid, for being so compliant to his ministrations. But you can’t help it, already a slither of slick pooling inside your underwear from the look he’s given you coupled with the steady graze of his fingers on your back.

“I asked you a question.” There’s a sudden burst of confidence in his voice that you detect right away, most likely a consequence of the way you’re swaying in his arms. “This is about you, you know. What do you want?” That takes you off guard. You look at Jeongguk again, taking in the soft chestnut curls framing his face, brown eyes warm. There’s a funny feeling wrapping itself around your heart. You want to shake it off but it’s got claws and they dig deep until you’re left dazed.

“My neck,” You can give him that. The intimacy of having his lips on yours is not something you can handle right now. “You can kiss my neck.”

Jeongguk sighs, the soft sound floating between you as he pulls you closer. He doesn’t bother to hide the erection in his pants, his cock pressing a hard line against your stomach as he leans in, face dipping into the hollow of your neck. You jolt the moment his mouth meets your scorching skin, pushing yourself further into his sure arms, thighs instinctively pressing against each other. “Of course you’re sensitive here,” He muffles, wet tongue firm along your skin. He licks a slow stripe, coaxing another jolt from your pliant body. Your palms are splayed across his chest, the firm ropes of muscle and the erratic beating of his heart beneath your fingertips making your legs weak. And then he murmurs, tone desperate, “Take this thing off.” He moves so fast that you’re left stunned, the straps of your dress slipping down your side in his hast to get you naked. The fabric hits the floor with a soft thud, piling around your feet. He helps you out of it, gently directed you towards your bed.

The mattress sinks underneath your weight, but you barely have time to think about it because Jeongguk is caving you in, mouth back on your neck where he prints himself there. There’s a heat that surrounds your tangled bodies, sweltering in a way that makes everything heady. You cling onto him naturally, searching for a way to roll your hips into his as his mouth finds new ways to make you sigh underneath him, a steady wetness blossoming in between your legs. But Jeongguk pins you down, drawing away swiftly, his hands on your hips. 

Why the hell is his shirt on? It should be off. Right now. 

You move to yank the fabric over his head, but he halts with a soft shake of his head, pink tongue sneaking out to swipe at his bottom lip. When he sighs, gaze slowly trailing down your exposed body, something in your gut sharply tightens. His fingertips begin to wonder, pausing at the band of your black underwear. He toys with it, not seeing how your gaze is focused on the very obvious tent he’s sporting.

“You’re hard.” You can’t help but say it. The fabric of his pyjama pants is so flimsy and you can see the outline of his dick without any obstruction. You have a sneaky suspicion that he’s currently going commando.

He laughs, a low sound that fills your chest. “Yeah, I am. You’re really fucking hot.” He pulls the band of your underwear. It stings when it snaps back into your skin - but you like it. “But this is not about me,” Jeongguk continues, gaze flickering upward. His eyes lock into yours and your head spins with how intense the brown in his eyes is. His steady stare glazed over with want that you can feel. His fingers drift back to your underwear, tugging at the fabric gingerly. “What do you want?” He asks again.

“I’d like it if you fucked me,” You reply, fighting through nervousness that grips at your heart. Jeongguk blinks at that. And then he smiles, a grin that’s bright and makes your heart beat wildly. 

“You’re not wet enough,” Jeongguk returns, a playfulness in his tone that’s very foreign to you. You like it though, more than you should if you’re being honest with yourself. You don’t expect the firm press of his fingers against your clothed cunt - nor the rush of arousal that gushes out from you. He grins again, grinding his fingertips right where you need him most. There’s a warmth creeping across your face because he’s unabashed with how he touches you, something you never expected from Jeongguk. 

What were you ever expecting from Jeongguk?

“See,” He says, cutting through that weird revelation in your head. “You’re not wet enough.” His trails his fingertips upwards, gingerly flicking at your clit with a smug smile on his face.

You scowl, ignoring the way your heart thumps when he does that. He’s wrong but you refuse to tell him that you’re leaking through your underwear, there would be a damp stain if the fabric wasn’t that dark. And you can feel your sling slipping onto your thighs, walls already clenching. You refuse to give him that satisfaction though. He’d barely touched you and you were dripping. His ego would never deflate.

“Make me wet enough then,” You retort instead, a blaze building in your core when he fixes you with a heated gaze.

“Make you?” He hums, fingers suddenly slipping underneath the band of your underwear. Your breath hitches at the press of his skin against your own. “Okay. Take this off. Would you like it if I ate you out?”

His eyes hold a hope that you can’t help but give into with a shy nod. You raise your hips so he can help you shimmy out of your underwear, the air cool against your bare body. But that’s quickly replaced with a warmth that sinks into your skin when Jeongguk buries his head between your thighs, his body shuffling further down the bed, his hands swinging your legs over his shoulder. You don’t expect the first lick against your folds. Your body reacts before your mind can even register the press of his tongue against you, thighs trembling around his head. Jeongguk feeds off of that, sinking his mouth on you quickly. It’s not tentative or shy, Jeongguk’s assured in his actions, his tongue pressing flat against your cunt with no hesitation. He licks you open with a soft sigh drifting from the back of his throat, deft tongue slipping into your dripping hole when your hands settle on his head. You yank at the curls sprouting from his head, hips squirming underneath the steady assault of his tongue. From the way his tongue sinks deeper into you, you can tell that he likes it, another groan against your cunt when you claw your nails into his scalp.

“J-Jeongguk!” He doesn’t shift away from the desperate grinding of your hips, a determination in the way his mouth moves against you, lips latching around your clit firmly. He swirls his tongue around it, quick little flicks that follow leaving you breathless. You can feel your wetness spreading around his mouth, it’s obscene, how much he coaxes out from you. The heat in your core spikes when he draws away and your eyes take him in. 

His hair is ruined, dark curls tousled form your desperate grabs and tugs. And his mouth glistens with your arousal, pink tongue sneaking out to press a kitten lick along your dripping folds. You chase after it, embarrassed at the knowing look Jeongguk gives you. He doesn’t comment on your neediness though, instead planting a brief kiss against your cunt, leaving you wanting for even more when he draws away. Your mouth is open, demanding for him to slip himself between your lips. But Jeongguk beats you to it.

“Wanna sit on my face?” You don’t miss the nervousness in his eyes. Which is truly confusing to you. This boy just had his tongue deep inside of you and he’s still apprehensive enough to stare at you with those wide doe eyes of his.

“Yeah, sure why not.” You reply, trying to keep your tone casual but you positively buzz when that pretty smile of his spreads across his lips. You both move rather quickly, despite not being able to touch each other. Jeongguk slips between your legs quickly, curls splayed out underneath him like a halo. When he smiles up as you rest your hands against the headboard of your bed, you think, for a split second, that he just might be an angel. Then his hands are resting on your hips and he’s gently drawing you downwards, tongue already slipping out to meet you. You can’t help but tremor when his mouth returns to your cunt, tongue already settling against that bundle of nerves that has you heady. Your trembling is making Jeongguk lose his mind, spurring the urge in his gut that wants to see you unravel on his tongue. It doesn’t help that you sound like that, tiny little whimpers and gasps that makes his tongue drive deeper into your core. There’s an undeniable wet spot forming on his pants, cock twitching every time you grind into his, a mumbled whisper of his name floating from your lips. He thinks he could die happy like this, the taste of you on his tongue and the sound of his name on your lips. He’s so unbelievably hard right now. Harder than he’s ever been in his life, an aching in his stomach to just flip you over and fuck you senseless. But he wants to see you cum on his tongue first, taste you release and then fuck another one out of you. Even the thought of that has another burst of precum leaking from his dick. He’s going to die like this. And he’s not going to mind that at all.

“Am I not wet enough?” You whine, walls fluttering with the need to be filled. Jeongguk looks at you with those stupid glittering eyes of his and you try not to melt. But that doesn’t work because he plants another kiss against your cunt. When he laughs against your thigh, a gentle sound that has your stomach twisting, your chest blooms.

“No, not yet.” He wants to see you cum on his mouth first. Scratch that - needs to see you cum. The heaviness in his balls demands for it. 

There’s intent when his tongue returns to your core, movements fast and nimble tongue gathering your slick only to fuck it back into you with purpose. It consumes you, the fire that spreads from your belly with every lick of his tongue against your folds. Your stomach is already caving dangerously, the lap of Jeongguk’s tongue against you frying your brain. You can feel it already, in the tenseness of your thighs. And when he flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit, you snap, a broken moan tumbling from your lips. Jeongguk doesn’t let up, swallowing your release even when you try and shift away, the hands hold you down firmly.

When he finally lets you break away, your bones are tingling, a strange sensation in your knees when you roll off his face, thighs still tremoring. He watches you collapse onto the mattress with a satisfied smile, tongue licking your arousal off his lips like he’s still chasing after your taste. You observe that with heavy eyes, a warmth ebbing through your system and your nerves still buzzing as your high washes over you. The image is embedded in your memory though. You don’t know how you’re going to look at him again without thinking about his mouth coated in your wetness and a happy little smile gracing his rose tinged lips. 

You’re trying very hard not to think about the consequences of this at all.

Jeongguk doesn’t see the contemplative look in your eyes, hand already rising to fumble with the clasp of your bra. He undoes it rather quickly, something that has your eyebrow-raising. He notes that with a shy smile.

“I’ve had practise,” He shyly mumbles, propping himself onto his elbows. “You okay?” When he sees the way your gaze shifts.

Practise, of course he’s had practise. This is just a one-time thing. Jeongguk is desirable enough to have girls at his beck and call. With that lopsided grin and fluffy hair, you shouldn’t be surprised. This wasn’t a permanent arrangement. Jeongguk wasn’t yours. He was just a replacement. Nothing more. Yet, you can’t help the strange lurch in your heart when he says that. You shrug it off though, hating the questioning gaze he’s giving you.

“Huh? No, I’m okay,” You're pushing yourself upright a moment later, bra strap slipping down your shoulder. You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on that little movement. But you’re aching to see him bare too, fingers itching to feel something solid underneath to distract yourself from the strange hollowness that sits heavy on your chest. “Why am I the only one getting naked?” You comment, quirking an eyebrow at him. Jeongguk complies without a complaint, shifting on his knees so that he put his hands over his head, grab the back of his shirt and swiftly yank it over his head in one fluid moment. Your breath is knocked from your chest in the next one, the display of his toned golden skin reigniting the fire in your gut that he’d briefly doused out. There’s so much skin you yearn to touch, the muscles in his arms flexing as he tugs his shirt off his body. He pants follow next, shucked off fast, leaving his cock exposed to the stifling air in your room. You were right, he was going commando. And you’re glad about it. His dick is incredibly pretty. There’s no other word for it, thick enough that you’ll feel him stretch you out when he fucks you, and length shimmering with his precum. You want to taste him, see his face twist with pleasure when you swallow around him

You move without thinking, mouth already parting to sink around him. But Jeongguk cups for chin before you can have him against your tongue, a gentle pause in your desires.

“I’ll cum if you do that,” He whines, and the twitch his dick gives when you send him a pleading look tells you he’s being honest. There’s already a heat pooling between your legs once again.

“You’re going to have to finger me then,” You comment, sneaking another glance at him. “You’re kind of big.”

He scoffs at that, guiding your back against the mattress once more. “Kind of? Baby, please don’t lie to yourself.” You freeze at the pet name, acutely aware of the way your walls clench, slick gushing out of you. He reads that wrong though, halting with concern colouring his gaze. “Can I call you that?” Jeongguk softly asks. “Is baby okay?” He won’t tell you but he really, really wants to call you baby. You hum a noise of acknowledgement before you can consider the implications of that, legs already drifting apart so he can find his place there. You feel the relief ebb off of him as he settles between your legs. “Baby,” He says it again and you flutter. Literally. A lightness in your system that you’ve never felt before. There’s a finger circling your entrance, teasing you open with gentle swirls. You try and buck down on it, but Jeongguk isn’t having that, the glint in his eyes devious.

“Not yet, baby.” And then he’s reach for your neglected bra. It’s tossed away, a flash of black that you barely register because Jeongguk is latching his mouth onto your nipples, tongue flicking until it pebbles in his mouth. When his teeth softly sink into the sensitive skin there, your body sparks, nerves a livewire for his pleasure. You feel one of his fingers sink in a moment later, a sting around your entrance that has the coil in your stomach tight. He groans against your chest, mouth dropping from your chest as he descends back between your legs. He peppers kisses against your skin throughout his downward journey before his breath is grazing on the apex of your cunt. One finger has turned into two, steadily fucking you open even as he shifts down your body. Jeongguk can’t help but watch how you suck his fingers in, walls desperately clinging onto him. You’re very warm around him, cunt tight and wet, and his cock is already leaking at the prospect of being deep inside of you. There’s no way he’s going to last - he knows it.

“Kind of want to eat you out again,” Jeongguk says. He hopes you’ll say yes, maybe it’ll help him calm himself down before he fucks you. But when you walls flutter around his fingers and his cock jumps dangerously, he realises there’s no use in that.

“No,” You groan, grinding down on his fingers. “I’ll die,” You reason. Which is true. You’ve never had someone fuck you open with their tongue like Jeongguk before. 

He muffles a laugh. “And that’s a bad thing because?” But you can’t answer. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth because Jeongguk is pressing in a third finger. The stretch is new but welcomed, the curl of his fingers inside of you maddening.

“I said because?” Jeongguk asks again, snapping his fingers into you hard. You sneak a glance down to find him watching you carefully, reading the shuddering of your chest well.

“I h-hate you,” You retort, squirming underneath the fast pump on his fingers into your cunt. When he laughs you want to die. Not because it’s mean or because you truly hate him. You don’t, you can’t. You want to die because you like the sound of it - it’s warm and soft and wraps itself around you and you want to hear it again and again. You know it’s bad now. There’s no coming back from this. And yet you can’t bring yourself to stop it.

When Jeongguk draws away his fingers, you chase after them, mortified at yourself but too far deep to care that his point. He just smiles at you, a tender thing that has you covering your face because this is too much and your heart is beating too fast and you don’t know how you’re ever going to look at him in the eyes again. But you pull your hands away hastily because you can’t bear to not look at him either. Your brain is committing everything to memory against your wishes, noting how your stomach twists when Jeongguk uses your arousal to pump himself twice, cock shimmering with your wetness.

“Uh? Do you have condoms?” He asks a beat later, hand still gripping his length. You’re too busy thinking about how much you want him on your tongue to answer until he taps your hip gingerly.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I do. In the drawer - that one.” 

He rises from the bed to get it, returning with the foil in hands which he rips open and slides along his length quickly. It settles in you then, core buzzing, that Jeongguk is going to fuck you. Jeon Jeongguk. The roommate that you hate. The roommate that broke your fucking vibrator. The roommate you’re currently not even meant to be talking to. He’s going to fuck you. And the worst thing is that you want him too.

“You okay?” He’s hovering over your body, the back of your thighs in his warm firm grip, an eyebrow quirked at your sudden silence. You nod because you’re too afraid to speak, but then you swallow your desire and force your mouth open.

“Yeah, I just -” He leans into your space, spreading you open underneath him. Your heart floats. “I just,” You try again, “Want you.” That’s fine. That doesn’t give away the weird emotion that is consuming you whole. But then Jeongguk looks at you hard, like he’s able to peel away the layers behind that to see the intent in your statement. It makes your heartbeat spike dangerously in your chest, blood filling your heart. But then his eyes flutter shut, his nose bumping into yours, a soft sigh wandering from his lips.

“Needy baby,” There’s a smile in his tone but you can’t even spend a moment analyzing it because the tip of Jeongguk’s dick is pressing against you. He sinks into you, a slow drag that you feel throughout your whole body, brain shutting down when his balls settle against the curve of your ass. He burrows his face into the hollow of your neck before you can even lean in for a kiss that you yearn for, still respecting the boundary you’d placed at the start of it. You regret giving that rule instantly, aching to have Jeongguk’s mouth on yours. But for now, you're satisfied with how full you feel, his large cock stretching you out in the best way possible. It’s a sting you revel in, walls fluttering along his length. You give him one shallow buck, a small gasp falling from your parted lips when he sinks in even deeper, cock curve right into a spot that has your nerves tingling. Jeongguk doesn’t move though, impossible still and his thighs tense against your own. You're about to ask why when he nips your neck sharply. You jolt, a small squeak emitting from your mouth.

“Don’t move,” Jeongguk murmurs into your sweat coated skin. He doesn’t mean it in a bad way, but he can tell from the tightness in his balls that he fucks into right away he’s going to cum. There’s a curve in his stomach that makes him nervous, brain overwhelmed by how good you feel around him. It’s insane, the way your pussy flutters around his length, tight and wet and warm around him. He’s trying very, very hard not to blow his load right now.

It takes him a moment, before he forces down his orgasm, hips slowly drawing away to slam down back into you, a lewd squelch echoing in the room when you meet. You can’t help but choke out his name, hands drifting along his back when he finds a rhythm that has you both groaning into the air, your hips rising to meet his deep sure thrusts. 

Jeongguk fucks you like he’s trying to make a permanent home for himself between your legs, alternating between sharp snaps that leave you breathless, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you vision spin and deep grinds that press against your clit with intent. It’s a lot to take in, and your brain is overwhelmed, blissed out from the pleasure of Jeongguk pounding you into the bed. You don’t even realise how loud you’re being, until Jeongguk pulls his head from your neck, eyes locked on your lips with a want you feel deep inside of your gut. There’s a bead of sweat forming along his hairline, long curls loose from the exertion of his body rocking into yours. He looks glorious like this, cock deep inside your cunt, your bodies naturally moulding into each other. You say it before you’re too afraid too.

“Kiss me.” Jeongguk’s hips falter at that, stuttering against you hard.

“What?”

“Kiss me,” You say it again, firmer this time.

His mouth meets yours a heartbeat, tongue slipping against yours like he’s starving. You moan into it, pliant because his hips are still rocking into you. Harder this time, like he needs you to reach your high before he does. He might get what he wants. There’s a heat raging through you, the drag of his cock intoxicating. It doesn’t help that he still tastes of you, tongue mapping your open with desperation. You can’t help but cling onto him, body sparking when he nips at your bottom lip. His back is sturdy underneath your hands, fingertips tracing the curves of the toned muscles in his back as he drills you into the sheets, the steady drag of his cock making you feel delirious. Your brain is mush, every nerve in you focused on where you meet, the slight rocking of the bed underneath you a detail that sits in the backburner of your mind. You can’t even string together a sentence, mumbling his name when he finally parts from your mouth, eyes dark. It hits you then, a hard fast thing that has you squirming underneath him wilding. Jeongguk fucks you through, hips unforgiving and your legs wrapped around his torso. 

“That’s it baby, cum on my cock, there you go. Such a good girl. Oh, fuck-” He burrows his head into your neck a moment later, the falter in his rhythm evidence enough.

When you finally drop your legs from his waist, they barely exist, your chest rising hard as you try to catch your breath. Jeongguk’s pants colour your skin, a sweet little intimate thing that has your heart swelling. And then he rolls off, instinctively sneaking another kiss before he forces himself onto his knees to dispose of the condom.

When he returns, you’re cold. You reach for him immediately, tugging him back into the bed where you latch onto each other, mouths exploring once again because your brain is still fuzzy and kissing Jeongguk seems like the best idea in the world. When he makes a move to get up again, your clutch onto him like he’s your only lifeline.

“Stay,” You whisper. You can’t let Jeongguk go. You really can’t. You’ll die if he leaves this bed. He nods his head, curls bouncing like he doesn’t want to go either. You feel nice in his arms, you taste even better against his tongue.

“Okay, baby. Okay.”

outtakes:

group chat: flat lord jin and the two little piggies

flat lord jin (11:34 pm)

hey guys i left my key could u open the door for me?

flat lord jin (11:39 pm)

are any of you home?

flat lord jin (11:43 pm)

jeongguk?

y/n?

where the fuck are you guys?

flat lord jin (11:55 pm)

lmaoooo never mind

group chat: da boys 😎

idiot #1 (12:09 am)

boys i have an announcement to make

y/n and jk finally fucked

i am proud of them

NO MORE SEXUAL TENSION I AM FREE YERRRR

yoongi hyung (12:35 am)

how the fuck do you know that information?

idiot #1 (12:39 am)

they didn’t close the door

saw them cuddling cause i went to look for y/n

it was kinda gross lol 

idiot #2 (12:44 am)

pics or it didn’t happen

teeny tiny hyung  (12:54 am)

omg taehyung shut up

yoongi hyung  (01:34 am)

y’all are weird

idiot #2  (01:54 am)

yoongi...don’t make me pull screenshots from the other group chat

yoongi hyung  (01:57 am)

i dare u 2

idiot #1 (02:12 am)

WE ARE DIGRESSING!!!!

the point is that they fucked

WHICH IS GOOD FOR ME

i was suffocating in this house

omg but now i have to hear them fuck all the time

f’s in the chat fellas

yoongi hyung (02:24 am)

f

hobi hyung (02:25 am)

f

joonie hyung (02:27 am)

f

jeongguk please tell me you used protection

jaykay (10:12 am)

first of all

FUCK ALL OF YOU

seokjin u weirdo i hate you

YOU’RE ON WASHING DISH DUTY FOR THIS

also

yes of course the fuck i did do i look stupid

but like...

idk but she’s not talking to me now? idk what i did she just kinda told to to go when we woke up? what do i do?

idiot #1 (11:18 am)

ARE U JOKING

THIS IS NOT A KDRAMA PLEASE STOP BEING STUPID AND JUST DATE

PLEASE

FOR ME

DO IT FOR YOUR HYUNG

JK PLEASE

teeny tiny hyung (11:21 am)

translation: may be ask her out? are you just fwbs now or? what does she like? food? flowers? have you ever even had a conversation with her that wasn’t a screaming match? 

jaykay (11:32 am)

not really....

idk man i just... I DONT KNOW

i like her 

i think i do

do i?

namjoon hyung (11:39 am)

you need to talk to her

that’s the only advice we can really give you

just talk to her

[phoenixrisesoncemore]

I want 8, the hand-kissing, because I am in some respects extremely predictable :D

(I am shocked. Shocked, I tell you.)

8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand

In the polygon of morning sunlight on the floor of jingshi, Lan Wangji is three lines.

One is a headband: straight and steady, a wall of rules made of silk, pale and hard as ice; a horizon—a divider of things—Heaven above and Earth below.

One is a guqin string: the first finger of his right hand hovers over an A as it shimmers and evaporates like morning dew, passing from the “is” into the “was.” Such is a language that can speak to the dead.

And the third… The third only Wei Wuxian has seen.

Beneath five layers of white and a sun-shaped scar, a muscle beats steady and slow. He’d dug them out of the raw earth, carved talismans right into ribs, and seen them in their natural state, rotting inside scrimshaw cages. “Keep me alive that I may kill,” he had intoned, his mouth dry with terror and thirsty for revenge as bones popped and sinew creaked and muscles moved anew.

None ever beat, less so like this one. On a mountain of corpses turned to soil, none were solid ground. None raced to look at him or pulsed when he muttered a name.

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji keeps playing but meets his gaze without hesitation. Wei Wuxian realizes he has no statement or question to follow with; none was really intended, and he fails to contrive one instantly. The thrill of knowing that he can garner Lan Wangji’s full attention with such ease is still overwhelming, and were Lan Zhan really made of thin jade, the whole world, too, could see that muscle picking up speed.

‘May I have the honor of a glimpse from you?’ He had once asked.

It has been a string of hazy early mornings and quiet afternoons since he returned to The Cloud Recesses. Overly quiet. As if something was waiting to be said.

From Wangji rises gentle pops of color: a golden A, the soft green tincture of E, the purple query of G. Sometimes they are soft as rain, sometimes they are momentary fireworks.

There is no end of notes; they spring up like weeds.

But neither had there been an end of corpses.

It was at Nightless City that he had first seen the third, the line that runs from the right hand all the way to the heart, reaching at right angles against the other two down the face of a cliff to catch him, to anchor him to the world when he did not want to stay.

“Let me go, Lan Zhan” he had said.

Now it had reached across 16 years...

“Indulge me, Lan Zhan,” he says. He rises, crosses the room, and drapes himself closer, balanced on elbow and hip, back to the guqin on its low table, and punctuates with a single spin of Chenqing.

Lan Wangji’s hands do not miss a note. “For Wei Ying, always.”

Wei Wuxian purses his lips and worries Chenqing’s tassel, twisting it around his finger. “Shizhui told me something interesting the other day.” He pauses and lets the silence sit between them for a moment. “He said that when he was younger he used to hear you playing Inquiry late at night, and that’s why he asked you to teach him: because it was ‘the saddest and most beautiful thing he had ever heard.’” He spins Chenqing again, suddenly introspective. “I don’t think of Inquiry as beautiful, but then… I suppose that would depend on who’s doing the asking… what is being asked… who it is being asked to.”

He does not need to look: he can feel the sudden and subtle electric tension. “Lan Zhan, were you—by chance—playing for me?”

He had never answered when Wei Wuxian asked about burning money, but the guqin has gone silent, so Wei Wuxian waits, the thrill of expectation rising. Then Lan Wangji plucks a solitary note: E flat.

E flat?

Yes.

Ah, so this is our game!

Wei Wuxian rolls excitedly onto his stomach in front of the dias, beaming, his hands clasping Chenqing under his chin. Lan Wangji’s gaze is demurely downcast.

“Lan Zhan, tell me the truth: did you burn money for me?”

Yes.

Wei Wuxian practically giggles with delight. “When I left this last year, did you miss me when I was gone?”

Yes.

He’s going to hurt himself grinning like this. “Did you truly miss me when I was dead?”

Yes. But the note is plucked harder than it should be and it quavers.

“But you find me so boring! Really, how long would it take you to get tired of me?” He crawls up onto his knees and plops himself into a sitting position at the table, guqin between them.

“I know I don’t have much core to speak of,” he pats his abdomen gingerly, “and I’m working on that! But let’s say we both became immortals, would you get tired of me then? 16 years is one thing, but 160? 1600? 16,000 years? Imagine how boring, Lan Zhan!?”

Lan Wangji is silent.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian leans in close and low, trying to catch his eyes under those lashes. “May I have the honor of a glimpse from you?” Lan Wangji looks up at him, and the gaze is so intense that Wei Wuxian feels suddenly vulnerable. “What on Earth did you want to ask me back then?”

Lan Wangji is quiet for long enough that Wei Wuxian starts to think he has no intention of answering, but then...

“If the lotus seeds were ripe. If you thought the day was pleasant. If you heard the birds singing near Cold Pond, and if their song reminded you of the past. If you could forgive me for having only bitter soup for dinner. If you could see the kind young man A-Yuan was becoming. If you could divide for me the black from the white. If you knew the name of the song. But now… Wei Ying, now I think you do; I no longer need to ask that. So I will ask something else.” He swallows suddenly and Wei Wuxian could swear he’s trembling. “May I make this Wei Ying’s home? Will Wei Ying bear the early mornings and quiet hours and bitter soup and cold winters? Will Wei Ying allow me 16,000 years of Inquiry?”

Wei Wuxian is struck dumb. He sits back, slack-jawed and broken open. What can he say? How can he say…? Did he really wake this morning or is he dreaming still? He feels sloppy, wholly inadequate; his lips are clumsy things, his limbs an awkward pile of angles. How can he be worthy of the look on Lan Zhan’s face? Tears well up and surely he will combust.

But there is no end of tears. Tears spring up like weeds.

And there will be no end of corpses. But he is not a corpse. They are not. No, far from it.

Wei Wuxian fumbles with Chenqing and raises it to his lips where he plays a messy and solitary E flat. In truth it is more than that: a polyphonic note in a contrapuntal song that he’s sure only Lan Wangji can hear.

Gently, he reaches for Lan Wangji’s right hand, the one that had reached for him 16 years ago. Pale as a lily, the nails kept long to pluck the strings of his instrument, he wraps it in his fingers as delicately as he has seen Wangji handle his rabbits and brings it to his lips, and if some of his tears mar that perfect skin he has a feeling Lan Wangji won’t mind. The kiss is soft but is not the tickle of joss paper waiting for the fire; it shudders with his breath but is not the brush of a moth’s wings. It’s tender and reverent and warm with the promise of days and kisses to come and is very much—so very much—alive.

“16,000 years of Inquiry… We should get started then.”

He lays the palm of the hand against his cheek. His smile erupts without warning, and to his delight, Lan Wangji is not prepared.

“My dearest Lan Zhan, what would you like to ask me?”

———

In January gifs and meta about The Untamed started rolling across my dash. As interesting as it looked, I was determined not to watch—just no time for that. And then I saw you posting meta about it, and well… you made it sound very good, and I figure you know what you’re talking about. Add to that one particular gif you reblogged: the moment in the opening scene when LWJ’s arm, clothed in bloody white, reaches across the frame towards WWX as he falls. That was the first image of this show that really seared itself into my brain. So, I offer this with thanks for inspiring me to watch this amazing show (and with endless congratulations)!

Notes:

OK, admittedly it’s not a sun-shaped branding iron in The Untamed, but I like the sun shape better.

E flat is what “yes” sounds like to me during Inquiry in the man-eating castle, but I’m also the last person anyone should consult about music.

Still incomplete associated fanart HERE (color illustration on right).

[update: finished fanart can now he found HERE]

[heli0s-writes]

i need a forest fire*

My submission for @jalapenobarnes​‘s writing challenge. Congratulations on your milestone, Saran! Thank you for hosting! 🧡

Nomad Steve/Reader & the prompt is hiraeth- a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

The title is from James Blake’s song of the same name. 🧡

I'm also double-dipping in the smut prompts with talking dirty over the phone. 1.7k. Please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

“I miss you.”

“I know.”

“No… I miss you.”

He chuckles and leans his head onto the headboard of yet another motel dwelling-- their stay for the week before they continue to another city, another assignment. Can’t plant his feet anywhere yet. No roots to grow for a while. No sun to warm him.

“How’s it been?”

“Fine enough. Same as usual, gotta keep moving.”

You’re thousands of miles away—disembodied voice in his ear that reminds him of home and his bed. Reminds him of the imprint electrifying his nights—the briefness of a new thing. The wonder of a good thing. A love that sprang slow over time, caught fire overnight, burned to ashes too quick.

“How are you?”

“Mm. Fine enough.”

He hears the squeak of a door, the click of a deadbolt, and the extra chain latching on top. Then, a mattress too noisy to be yours. A familiar ritual now, when you want the little bits of him that he can afford to give. A motel some distance from the compound, always a new one with every call because you’re too careful to make mistakes. Too careful to accidentally give him away.

It makes him smile to pretend that the two of you might be in the same place, sharing the same creaky fucking bed. Maybe breaking it in—breaking it apart.

Steve grits his teeth. Hisses discreetly, but not discreet enough.

“What’s that sound for?”

“Just— in bed. In a bed.”

“Not my bed.”

“No,” he laughs, “Wish I was, though.”

“Remember the last time you were there?” Rustling as you settle down and Steve does so as well, slipping his legs beneath paper thin covers. Imitation—imagination—allowing a domestic fantasy.

He considers it-- maybe half a year ago now—and suddenly his cheeks light up. He could easily give out one of those noises again— have you catch him red-handed dreaming of splayed thighs at the edge of the mattress. Him on his knees, one hand in his lap, practically drooling and a mess from the cheek down.

“You’ve got a beard now, huh? What’ll that be like between my legs?”

Oh, hell.

“Baby…” Steve grinds his skull against the wood, shivering at prickles down his spine, “Baby… Christ. You can’t say that.”

“Are you sharing a room? Are you sharing a room?”

You fucking tease. You would like it if he was sharing a room, just so you could provoke him stupid. Jesus, Steve’s the criminal now but you’ve always been a goddamn minx if he’s ever known one. Whip fucking smart, though, and it broke his heart when you suggested that he’d need someone on the other side, that it’ll be okay, Steve, I won’t punch you too hard.

And he only loved you more when you did punch him too hard. Loved you harder when you gave him coordinates to the Raft, the codes, the blueprints lifted from Ross’ files.

He had one last night then, in your room, before it’d inevitably be ransacked and searched—bugged to hell because Ross only trusted you as far as he could throw you, even if you played all your cards right.

It’s why you catch the bus to motels with a burner phone inside the lining of your jacket. Create nonsensical rotations of locations. Schedule calls without a linear time frame. Sometimes a month, sometimes longer. It’s why he misses you so goddamn much.

“Steve…” A drawl of his name that lets him know exactly what you want of him.

“I’m not sharing a room,” he says cautiously, like a warning, “But Sam’s right next door. And it’s paper thin here.”

“You better be quiet then. You’re not Goody-Two-Shoes Cap anymore, are you? Don’t you wanna try phone sex with your girl?” His chest tightens, throat going dry at your tone, at the way you say your girl, at the possibility of phone sex—as daunting as it is exciting.

“Okay, yeah, sweetheart,” Steve shudders, reaching into his sweats because he can’t say no— he’s already half hard, anyway. Itching for it. “Yeah. You can have me. H-how do you want me?”

“Touching yourself, to start.” A sigh in your voice. He closes his eyes, swallows thickly, imagines your breath over his lips, imagines the way you pepper kisses across his chest. “I always liked watching you do that, pretty boy.”

Steve groans, stroking languidly, building himself up, focusing on the way he can just barely hear the hum in the back of your throat. “You’re pretty.”

A giggle then, snapping him out of his trance and heat overtakes the top of his head. Ugh. He’s not good at this. Being laughed at during sex—regardless of how disembodied—never a good sign. “Fuck,” He grumbles. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I like it, Steve; I like you.” Just like that, he’s breathless again. “Hm, wanna know what I’m doing, pretty boy?” And his breath may never come back.

“Remember those little satin panties I wore? Ribbon ties on the side… and you pulled them off with your teeth?”

Of course he does. Delicate lavender and shimmery soft. By the time he dropped to the floor they were already wet in the middle—pastel going rich purple. Your chest-- heaving as you leaned back on the sheets, his hands on the thin skin of your knees, stretching willing legs apart.

Steve catches his cockhead with the crook of his finger. Grunts quietly into the receiver.

“Baby, are you wearing those?”

“Uh-huh, just for you.”

“Are you touching yourself—ah—thinkin’ about me?”

“Every night.”

Fuck. Jesus Christ, you’re bad. He’s gonna blow his load and the call’s only been five minutes.

“What—” another shuddering breath when he grips a little too hard, “—what do you think about me doing?”

You sigh again, whimper like a little punctuation, sheets rustling. “I think about your tongue and how wet you make me,” and your voice is so low, so needy, “I wish you were here, Steve. Touching me all over.” And the picture in his mind of you, so pretty and open, wild at the mere memory of him—

“When you get back,” and there it is, egging his own fist on to match the pace of a subtle and steady sluiced-up rhythm, your fingers working over, inside, back out, twisting and turning. “When you get back, Steve. I’m gonna let you know just how much I miss you.”

He’s hot all over, chasing the ghost of your doting kisses, the phantom touch of your skillful hands. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

“Yeah? You gonna let me make you feel good when you get home?”

“Yes—yes.”

“Keep going. Think about me riding you, baby. Slow at first, how you like, taking you a little bit at a time. You’re always so hard.”

Always for you, yeah, he is. And as much as he loves tasting you—as much as he could spend eternity and a half blessed between your thighs, dedicated to those noises you make when his tongue slips over your clit—his fingers knuckle-deep inside—the way you move on top of him is another sacrament altogether.

Steve jams the phone between his ear and his shoulder—neck cramp tomorrow be damned—and uses both hands. Forgets for a little that you’re not quite there.

Slow, like you said, at first, listening to your recital, the chorus of his breath an applause.

“Now, faster.”

And he’s lost in the roll of your hips, one hand on his chest, the other gripped tight around his shoulder, nails carving crescents into his skin because you need an anchor. He’s lost in the way his heart pounds the sharper the cuts because it means you’ve let yourself go. How you scramble for his fingers next, lacing them through yours, squeezing him there and everywhere.

And oh, how exquisite you look with that sheen of sweat across your chest. Hovering over him like a goddess and fucking him like a wet dream.

“Baby,” red lip pulled pale between his teeth, hands working in tandem—imitation and imagination constructing a well-oiled machine in your absence. “Baby, fuck. Miss you on me—miss you fucking me. God--”

“Yeah? Gonna come?” You’re panting, too, noises high and obscene, the background echo of your hand growing more frantic and unrestrained. “Me too, pretty boy. I want to do everything with you—have all of you. Your hands, your mouth, your cock.”

“Yeah. Yes,” he babbles, “I wanna give you everything.”

“Come with me, Steve—come on, baby.”

And it’s all so fast. Your words. His words. Your hands. His hands. He’s barely finished rucking down his sweats, pulling up the hem of his shirt last minute before his eyes roll back behind his lids. He’s spilling out, over his fist, up his clenched abdomen, entire body tight, panting heavy and hard as he tugs at himself a few more times, breathing and listening, heart still clobbering against his ribcage when you whimper one last time.

The comedown is aching, then. His eyes flutter open. Heat smothered cold and lonesome like those ashes. His neck hurts. His heart hurts.

“Steve,” and he hears it in you, too—the same ache, the same want. Like at the end of every call you’ve made to him in the past six months. 

“Steve,” you say again, “It’s okay. You’ll be back soon enough. You’ll have me then. Every night if you’d like.”

Of course he would, but he can’t voice it now, not in all this dark, not when the pain is bubbling up in his throat, not when he loves you so much he can’t stand to worry you with its sound.

“Look on the bright side, you lawless fugitive. Least you know how to have phone sex now. Cap would never.” He laughs at that, happiness like tinder sparking fast from a flame. “You’ll be home soon.”

Home. Home. A place with his bed and his girl. Planting his feet down safely. Growing roots in that rich, soft soil, sprinkled with ash. Tended to by the warmth of your touch.  

“Yeah. I will,” he says, and the fire chases away the dark.

[abysscronica]

Hi!

It has been a while since I read your books, but I really loved them. When I started writing fanfictions, I remember I only started with x readers because I went back to see how you wrote your books. I don't think I would have got into making my stories if I haven't read yours before, and writing brought a lot of joy since that day. So thank you, honestly! ❤ I want to ask a few questions if I can, since you're the most experienced writer I follow

How do you deal with criticism? I feel like there's always someone who has problems with a story. I never know how to react well. I loved the ending of Captive and how far it was from every cliche.

Also, do you read others' fanfictions of Kid, for example? I always feel like if I read about a character, the image of how I imagined and wrote them will change. At the same time, I miss a lot stories that are surely better than mine, lmao. Maybe your opinion can help to decide

Thank you for your work,

A grateful reader

Hi! THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the extremely beautiful words you spent for my stories, it truly means a lot! You're a writer, so you know how important and supportive these comments are for the morale and motivation, and reading that I inspired you to write and it made you happy is one of the biggest compliment I could receive. Thank you. ❤️

About the criticism, I have to admit I was incredibly lucky so far and I can't recall anything major. A couple of readers were put off by the fact I use an unusual punctuation, especially when writing dialogue. And I do, in fact, because I basically kept the Italian style - a questionable choice, I understand, and probably I will change it at some point, but for now I like it this way.

Some other readers point out when I misspell or misuse a word, although nowadays it happens a lot less. At the beginning I definitely butchered the English language quite a bit (sometimes I still do, unwillingly ofc), I'm honestly surprised people stuck to my stories. But I feel this is a necessary phase for most writers who are not native English speakers.

A few times there were also readers commenting things like "this sentence would have been better this way" and something along those lines.

So, as you can see, nothing major, mostly nitpicking. I never had a problem with these things, you can't please everyone (although I did block people who were rude or aggressive in my books).

I view criticism as a tool: you can take away what you wish from it and leave the rest. It can be helpful if you don't let it destroy your motivation. Also, if the majority of the comments is positive, that speaks the most about your story.

I think writing is a very personal thing, and you should be the first person enjoying your own content. So do it as you like it. Criticism can be useful if you wish to get better, if you want to know why your story does not appeal to (many) readers, and things like that. But if you're content with what you're doing and criticism damages your confidence and motivation, I would say just ignore it for now.

The people who criticize you are not editors/publishers and you're not a professional author seeking payment (at least I don't think). This is a passion, a hobby, so remember that you can write your stories however you like it!

As for me reading other fanfictions, I only read stuff from the authors I follow on Wattpad and I don't actively seek Kid x reader stories. Exactly because of the reason you state: I'm sure there are GREAT stories out there, but I'm too afraid of being influenced by them and subconsciously ending up including stuff from others in my own writing.

I hope this answer your questions! Good luck with your stories!

[frostedfaves]

Sharp Edges

Masterlist

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: “They say home is where your heart is, but what if my heart is six feet underground with you?”

Warnings: heavy angst, grieving, major death, depression, brief mention of implied vomiting, funeral at the end

A/N: sorry if you came here for a good time, but this is not it! based on these Sad Sunday and Fluff Monday blurbs! I’d recommend reading them first since they’re referenced in this, but not entirely necessary. anyway, excited to hear your thoughts! also I meant to post a request today and save this for next week but I started writing this during work and couldn’t stop. so I’ll work on getting requests out next week since I’ve got Sad Sunday tomorrow!

marvel requests?

-

Wanda Maximoff misses you.

When the news broke that you’d died from your injuries before she could get to you, her body collapsed on the spot. Her mind instantly recalled the memory of the last time she’d seen you truly happy.

For a week straight, your hands were covered in clay. Due to your lack of a childhood, you’d never gotten to experience normal things like attempting pottery in an art class. When you finally discovered it, the team never heard the end of it. You’d annoyed Tony into buying a kiln after coming home with enough clay to build a small village and got to work.

You worked a while on making tiles and carving winter trees and flowers into them, eventually moving onto dishes. You’d perfected plates and bowls but couldn’t figure out mugs, which only made you work harder to the point where Wanda had to drag you to the kitchen and bed each day.

On that seventh day you’d run into Wanda’s room, tackling her into a pile of laundry she was sorting because you were just that excited. You’d finally made a mug worth putting into the kiln, and a celebratory kiss was in order. She’d helped you pick out colors to paint it with, sporting a proud smile and eyes full of adoration.

She pressed repeat on your ecstatic screams echoing in her thoughts, hoping to drown out the cries of pain she’d heard over the phone. You’d been taken by an enemy from her very last mission, someone who had no knowledge that when Wanda disappeared months prior, she left you behind. They could only assume that you would be the easiest way to find her, not aware that you were just as in the dark on her whereabouts.

She’d listened with tears streaming down her cheeks as your captor made you beg, packing her belongings frantically while each whimper of her name turned her stomach a bit more. The regret of leaving her Lovely behind was immense, and she wanted nothing more in the moment than burning her enemy alive and bringing you into her arms forever.

There was a mixture of emotions in everyone when Wanda finally reached the compound, much slower upon receiving knowledge that your body rested there. Broken spirits lay behind defeated and tearful eyes, but looking into Steve’s nearly sent her crumbling to the floor again. 

They were cold and dark, as they earned the right to be. The eyes of a man who comforted his best friend for weeks, day and night, when the love of her life deserted her in her sleep. He was no stranger to your heavy sobs in the shower, overheard when he put sweaters in the dryer and left them in the bathroom because you shivered constantly. Your lifeless eyes at the dinner table when he forced you to leave your room. Sitting with you in the medical wing after breaking your wrists on the punching bag.

As far as Steve Rogers was concerned, Wanda deserved every bit of pain she felt.

This thought mixed in with the flashes of his memories of your suffering is what sent her to the floor, gasping for air with a wet face. Through Natasha and Tony’s legs as they approached her she caught him walking away, and it only made it harder to breathe. 

Your funeral came days later, and Wanda spent the entirety of the time in your room. The scent of your favorite lotion on her hands pulled her into a nightmare filled sleep, and she found comfort in it knowing that her reality upon waking up was far more painful. After taking a shower and checking with FRIDAY on Steve’s location in the building, she found herself staring at an empty space in one of the kitchen cupboards.

“Wanda, what’s going on?”

She turned at the sound of Pepper’s voice, heart clenching painfully at the sight of her formal dress. “Where’s her mug?”

“She smashed it.”

“What?” She wanted to ask why, but stopped herself in fear of the answer.

“She used it for the first time a month after you left. When she went to wash it, she saw where you’d painted on the bottom ‘Lovely’s Mug, Do Not Use’ and threw it against the  nearest wall.”

Wanda pushed past Pepper and sprinted to the closest bathroom, not even caring if anyone walked past and heard the violent act of everything she’d held back spilling out. Gentle hands came a few minutes later, one rubbing her back and the other wrapping any loose hairs around her poorly formed bun. When she’d finished, the toilet was flushed for her and a half empty bottle of water was shoved into her shaky grip.

“Rinse.”

She blinked in surprise at the stern tone, turning her teary gaze to meet eyes much softer than days prior. She stood on shaky legs after following his instruction and using the water, her confusion only growing as he helped her lean against the sink for support.

“I thought you hated me,” she voiced her concern into the quiet room, and Steve sighed.

“I want to, trust me.” He took the bottle from her and used his free hand to scratch at his beard nervously. “I loved--love her like family and when you left, it felt like she left too. Just when I thought I was getting her back, she was taken from me for good. As much as I want to hate you, I can’t. Especially knowing that until her last breath, she loved you.”

He stepped forward again, pulling Wanda into a warm embrace as tears rolled down both of their cheeks. The air grew still, heavy with emotion and silence punctuated with their sniffles.

“I hate that I ruined something she was so proud of making. Everything I touched of hers, I destroyed. Her mug, her heart. I wish I’d never left, and sometimes I wish I never met her. She would’ve done much better without me.”

Her next sniffle was cut short when Steve pulled away just enough to make eye contact.

“You may have made a small part of her life hard, but you spent much more time making her happy. Because of you, she stopped being so afraid of nighttime storms, instead associating it with time to spend close to you. She tried new things and worked harder on missions to help create a safe future for the two of you to exist in. And if anything, she’s inspired me to do the same, for you and all of us.”

Wanda remained silent as she mulled over his words, continuing to do so as she got dressed for the worst event of her life, only tied with Pietro’s funeral. She sat in the front row between Steve and Natasha, a numbness taking over as she listened to everyone speak so highly of you. Her arms held tightly to Tony in comfort as he cried in the middle of his speech, allowing Pepper to take over as she took his place in front of everyone.

“This is--for the second time--the worst thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’m not here to talk about me. I want to talk about my best girl, the one I only ever referred to as Lovely, from the moment I met her. In fact, I’d like to talk directly to her, if you don’t mind.”

She turned her gaze directly above the crowd toward the sky, smiling a bit when a bird crossed her line of vision.

“Lovely, I’m so sorry I left you behind. I thought I was protecting you from the monster I believed myself to be, but instead I just made everything worse. I should have stayed. We never got to finish that show we were binge-watching, and I don’t think that I ever will. Not without you.”

She paused for a moment to breathe, also taking the time to clear space on her cheeks for the next round of tears.

“I should have stayed to be around for the next thing you got into after pottery. You deserve to be that excited about something again. I loved the way you’d say my whole name with that shiny look in your eye that just made me love you so much more, and I remember you telling me that if you weren’t so afraid of annoying me, you’d call me by my full name all the time.”

Her eyes blinked as tears clouded her vision once more, allowing them to fall as she turned to your picture beside your covered body.

“I want to say thank you for being an amazing friend and even better girlfriend, Lovely. I didn’t deserve to have you, but I’m glad I was gifted with being a part of your life anyway. I hope that wherever you are, you’re as happy as you made me, and I want you to know something that will forever be true.”

She cleared her throat as her emotions began to choke her there, hands coming to wrap around the pendant of a necklace you gave her as her final words came out in a whisper.

“Wanda Maximoff misses you.”

-

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @creepingwolfberry @marie-03

[poychachi]

Writing About Guns: 10 Errors to Avoid in Your Novel

@writinghaven on Instagram [SOURCE: https://www.janefriedman.com/writing-about-guns/]

1. Clip and magazine don’t mean the same thing.

When most writers use clip, they typically mean magazine. Colloquially that may not make a big difference with readers, but, technically speaking, they’re not synonymous. Confusing the two is also a major indication that the writer isn’t familiar with firearms. In the vast majority of cases, magazine or mag is accurate.

A magazine holds cartridges in reserve inside the firearm, where they wait to be loaded for firing. Some magazines are built into the firearms themselves. Others are detachable.

A clip holds cartridges together for insertion into a magazine. Taking the extra step to put the cartridges into the clip can be necessary depending on the firearm’s design. However, most firearms don’t require a clip outside of a few older models.

If this seems like splitting hairs, it’s not. This is a major gripe from the gun crowd—and therefore with many of your potential readers. It’s also an easy fix with a tremendous return on investment.

2. Bullet doesn���t mean the same thing as shell, round, or cartridge.

This is another set of terms sometimes used interchangeably. Like clip and magazine, they are not the same things.

A bullet is a component of a cartridge (also known as a shell or round). It’s the metal projectile seated at the top of the cartridge.

The cartridge (shell or round) is the whole thing, which includes the bullet, powder, primer, casing, and other components. You might spot empty casings on the ground, but not empty bullets.

3. Pumping a shotgun does not heighten the dramatic effect.

This usually happens when one character intimidates another with a shotgun during a tense situation. It actually makes no sense. Having a character pump a shotgun to punctuate the drama has less to do with looking tough and more to do with being stupid.

A pump-action shotgun loads a shell with a single pump. That same pump simultaneously ejects the previously loaded shell, whether it’s been fired or not. An extra pump for dramatic effect after the shotgun is loaded is just dumping unfired ammunition onto the ground.

A dramatic shotgun pump is called for only if the firearm is not loaded. However, why stick a character into a tense situation with an unloaded shotgun in the first place?

4. The same thing goes for cocking the hammer on a handgun for dramatic effect.

This trope is usually used when one character intimidates another with a handgun. It’s unnecessary for the same reason as dramatic shotgun pumping. Why aim a gun at someone if it’s not ready to fire?

Let’s start with the basics. There are two kinds of handguns: revolvers and pistols. A revolver has a rotating cylinder of multiple chambers where cartridges are inserted (think Dirty Harry’s .44 Magnum or a cowboy’s trusty Colt). Pistols use only a single, stationary chamber where cartridges are fed in and out (think James Bond’s iconic Walther or a police officer’s Glock).

These revolvers and pistols can be further broken down into single-actions and double- actions. Each type addresses the hammer—the metal tab that must be pulled back (cocked) in order to ready the firearm to shoot.

With a single-action revolver, the shooter must manually cock the hammer before each shot. It’s a little different with a double-action revolver. The shooter can either cock the hammer or not before pulling the trigger to shoot.

Pistols are another story. Most modern single-action pistols have hammers that must be cocked before firing. However, the hammer is cocked automatically as the firearm is loaded or fired.

With double-action pistols, cocking the hammer is not necessary prior to pulling the trigger.

There are good reasons for eliminating dramatic cocking that go beyond the technical. A character pausing to unnecessarily cock the hammer is shifting attention away from the surroundings. That split second might be the perfect opportunity for someone else to attack. Also, a writer might lose count of the number of times a handgun is cocked. I’ve read more than a few stories where a single handgun was cocked multiple times without ever firing. The character kept cocking that hammer over and over.

If all of this went over your head, there’s an easy fix: Don’t write about characters cocking handguns.

5. Most rifles and all shotguns don’t reload with a pump.

For some reason in fiction, it’s somewhat common for characters to pump any shotgun (and sometimes rifle) within reach. After all, the click-clack sound of a shooter pumping a sliding mechanism underneath the barrel is iconic. That’s fine if the firearm uses a pump to load and reload ammunition. But not all do.

As a reader, I’ve come across many examples of this misnomer. Bolt-action rifle? Pumped for dramatic effect. Sawed-off, single-shot shotgun? Reloaded with a pump. Fully automatic tactical rifle? Pumped. Handguns? Okay, I haven’t seen those pumped. Yet.

Know how your weapon works before pumping away at a terrible mistake.

6. Don’t look down the barrel to see if it’s loaded.

Unless a character has a death wish, there is never a reason to look down the barrel of a firearm.

7. An assault weapon is not a handy catch-all term for any rifle with military-style features.

Federal, state, and local regulations usually use the term assault weapon when labeling a category of restricted firearms. None of these regulations are consistent. What was considered an assault weapon in the 1930s is different from the definition in the 1990s. It’s also not a term the firearms industry often uses to describe its products.

The solution is to use a term other than assault weapon. Tactical rifle, tactical shotgun, machine gun, submachine gun, fully automatic rifle, and even the ubergeneric gun all work better than the vague assault weapon. They are blanket terms that cover firearms with features suitable for combat or defense. The firearm industry uses these terms, too.

8. Semi-automatic and fully automatic weapons are not the same thing.

A semi-automatic firearm will shoot one time with each pull of the trigger. This is a key difference compared to fully automatic firearms, which can fire multiple times with a single pull of the trigger. Confusing one for the other is a major trip-up area when writing, especially when citing “automatic” firearms without deciding on the type. Pick one and stick to it.

9. Fully automatic firearms aren’t just as accurate as any other weapon.

Fully automatic firearms lose accuracy in a hurry. Holding down the trigger on a fully automatic firearm kills accuracy, not bad guys.

Fully automatic firearms are most accurate when fired in short bursts. This keeps the shots grouped together rather than air balling all over the place.

The reason for this has everything to do with recoil—the manner in which a gun jerks back when firing a round. The impact of recoil becomes exponentially greater the longer the trigger is pulled because there’s no recovery time between shots. The shooter is budged off target little by little with each shot. That can translate into big, Shaq-at-the-free-throw-line misses.

Guns mounted to vehicles or structures are a different story, since they transfer that recoil energy into solid materials.

10. Fully automatic firearms cannot fire continuously for minutes on end.

Wannabe Rambos need to check their egos at the door. Hold down that trigger and don’t blink as the thirty-, fifty-, or one hundred-round magazine empties in a matter of seconds, not minutes. That’s approximately 1.3 Rambo grunts per magazine—not nearly enough time to cover for Sylvester Stallone’s acting abilities.

A character needs to reload every few seconds to keep a continuous stream of lead in the air. Figure that into a scene with a lot of full-auto gunplay. While you’re at it, determine how the character is lugging around all that ammunition.

[seancekitsch]

Not to Touch the Earth

this is a prize buck 60s au bc apparently i have enough of an ego to do that

a/n & warnings: drug reference, alcohol references, no actual drug use, unprotected car sex, use of the word daddy, roughness, cult references, orgy references, none of this is even really prize buck canon but yknow we might reference it again for a joke or two. natural born killers reference also

“Some outlaws lived by the side of a lake, The minister's daughter's in love with the snake,” you sing off-key, “Who lives in a well by the side of the road. Wake up, girl, we're almost home!”

You punctuate the end of the verse by howling out the window of the car Klaus was using, voice being swallowed by the vastness of the desert somewhere on the California border. Klaus drove on, trying to remember a time you were ever so free. He figures you probably never were, not sober. Not totally sober like now. He was coming up on three years, you on six months, and your new favorite activity was definitely driving out into the desert, as far away from Klaus’ little commune as possible, and singing songs that hadn’t been written yet and making love on the hood of the car. 

He smiles and looks over, watching you lean out the window bathing in the golden light of the sunset and he has to laugh. Is this just what you’re like in a car? Or is it being trapped in time? Your first week here was spent avoiding any of his followers and trying to talk to any of the universities in San Francisco, but none of them would hire you because a woman with a doctorate was rare, and a woman professor was even rarer. You stopped trying in a fit of anger after one Dean told you your ‘husband was a brave man for letting his wife become so educated’ before offering to let you take undergraduate classes because those were available to women. So you leaned into helping him hide from the Destiny’s Children. You had fun here. You kept each other in check being sober, you kept him from being fully engulfed by the group. You like these people, you just wish they didn’t like you and your partner as much as they do.

But the times when the two of were alone were the best. Klaus loves stealing you away from everyone else and being with you like everything’s normal. He loves you without that twinge of shame you carry with you, without waking up with tears in your eyes and thinking he doesn’t notice them. You haven’t been crying or hiding it from him here. He loves how goofy you allow yourself to be, the way you don’t constantly hold yourself back.  He remembers back on earlier today, when you’d snuck up on him, licked a warm stripe up his neck and sang lyrics from the very song you were piecing together now.

“Not to touch the earth, not to see the sun. Nothin left to do but run run run,” you sang, only for him.

“Let’s run.”

You didn’t have to say it again before he grabbed the nearest set of car keys and was swatting at your ass to get you running for the passenger seat. 

You feel the hot air hit your skin, and you can’t remember a time you ever actually liked the heat. You never saw yourself even visiting southern California. Sobriety re-introduced you to the cold and you greeted her like an old lover. You like your cold weather and your jackets and your fucking hospital socks you stole and stockpiled which now didn’t even exist yet. But the heat here is different, it kisses your skin like Klaus does, frees you from the burdens of life fifty years from now. The heat is a reminder that you don’t have the struggles you had in 2019, the heat is a reminder you can rebuild yourself. You know you have to go back sometime, but you can be selfish and steal this time with Klaus. You squint into the setting sun on the horizon as Klaus makes the car slow, then veers off the empty road to park. You’d have the moonlight soon, which meant a cool night with him all to yourself. By the time he walks around to your side of the car, he blocks the sun from your view. Your eyes trail up from the tip of that ugly fucking beard he’s got growing to his chin, to his lips. To the grin he sports, saves only for you.

“Do you think they’ve noticed were gone?”

“Why? Worried Keechie’s missing you?” you snort.

“Keechie? God, no. Although, if I were you I’d be worried Madelaine was getting lonely by now”

Right; you were hiding from two members of the group in particular. Your first mistake was attempting to have sex in a five mile radius of the group. You didn’t think they’d barge into your tent and invite themselves to join. But, ever the adventurous and slightly stupid, you let them. Now two of the four that had been in your tent  were trying to recreate that moment again.

“Not my fault I rocked her world. You jealous, Prophet?”

“At first I was impressed because I didn’t think you swung that way, but yes. Yes, terribly.”

That probably isn’t much of a joke. Sobriety put a bit of a possessive streak in Klaus, and as much free love is flowing, it’s nice to feel like you belong to someone. And you do belong to Klaus, in every way that counts for your group. But you’d struck a chord with Madelaine and now shes creeping in on Klaus’ territory.  

He pulls you from the car, literally pulls you. His hands come up under your armpits and lift you from the car window until you can step out of the window and he can lower you down onto the sand. He’s thankful you’ve learned your lesson, as the last time he did this you weren’t wearing sandals and burned your feet on the sand. He bends to let you pluck the wide brimmed hat from his head and you place it on your own as you walk to the trunk to fetch a blanket. Dancing, not walking, he thinks. The way you walk is more like dancing. You grab a blanket from the trunk and sit with him until it’s night. You sit with him close enough to reach out and touch, but not quite. It’s in these moments you can close your eyes and perfectly imagine you’re back in your studio apartment with him, listening to the record player and sharing a bottle of wine, thinking about the narrowly avoided apocalypse and job hunting for him. You can close your eyes and imagine inviting his siblings over to crowd your apartment for a loud night of laughing and take out. You can hold his hand and think of how very little space the two of you took up in the world and how comforting it felt. 

When you open your eyes again it’s dark. Perfect. Night falls quickly in the desert. You look over to see Klaus equally as relaxed, an easy smile painted across his entire face, worry lines smoothed away.  He hums a song you recognize.

“Sweet Jane? Don’t you think that’s a little too ‘Mickey and Mallory’ for us?”

He hums a little more of the song before he answers.

“I was just thinking if we mixed blood in a wedding ceremony our paramours would leave us alone,” there’s a hint of something dark in his eyes, “Now get on the hood.”

It’s the way that he says it, low and commanding, that has you jumping up onto the hood of the car and eagerly arranging yourself in a provocative pose, legs splayed and leaning on your arms to arch you back a little, just to entice him even more. That’s all part of the dance, and here more often than not he leads. He commands and positions you the way he likes it and rewards you in kind. He actually looks a bit like a god figure or a superhero the way he saunters over to you in the dark and crawls above you onto the hood, sandal clad feet standing on the grill so he has more leverage for what he has in mind. 

“Now, are you ready for Daddy?

You have to snort at that.

“Daddy? If anyone is daddy here, it’s me babe.”

He grips your bare thigh, just above the knee, then gives it a little warning slap. Not hard, just a little more than nothing.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to call yourself anything besides what I feel like calling you, doctor.”

Any retort to that comment, which honestly stung a little, died on your tongue when a low growl rumbles from his throat and his mouth connects with your stomach, biting at the cloth of your tank top and the skin underneath. You sink back down and stare at the stars, whimpering as you count them and let Klaus tease you as he undresses you. 

“If you were the prophet I’d be entirely devoted to you,” He says as he pulls your shorts down your legs, “I’d follow you everywhere on Earth, I’d do anything you asked of me.”

“Don’t you already?” you laugh.

“I do,” He confirms, “I do, I do, I do” and punctuates each confirmation with a little nip at the inside of your thigh, the same one he had just slapped. The beard he’s been growing out tickles as you squirm beneath him, hands roaming wherever they wish but solidly keeping you in place for him. You think back on your first time with him, how eager he’d been to please, how you wanted to be the one he was pleasing, and how far you’ve come together. His fingers wind up your legs like ivy on an old statue and pause at your underwear, teasing for a moment, before pulling them aside and plunging two fingers into you without warning. He pushes them in deep, scissoring them back and forth a few times, before pulling them back out, and sucking on them. If youre moaning or swearing, you can't hear yourself. An appetizer for a meal, or something equivalent of that. The delighted moan that echoes from his throat as he sucks you from his fingers sends shivers up your spine, just knowing you're in for it tonight. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you dare to meet his eyes, dark and stormy and hungry for you. He has the audacity to give you his sweetest smile before roughly pulling your underwear away from your body and heavily dropping his knee onto the car hood between your own. Klaus himself is intoxicating, you didn't need drugs or alcohol. It was so easy for him to consume your senses, and you readily let him. And when he finally kisses you, you feel yourself drowning. Really truly drowning. The way his tongue dances with your own has you gripping his shoulders like hes the last rock before a riptide pulling you under. It takes him no time at all to have his pants undone and to be grinding himself against you. This is a glimpse of the Klaus of 2019, humping against you and gently whimpering into your mouth. But quickly he pushes that away, lining himself up with you and pulling back enough from you to make eye contact as he pushes himself in. No matter how domineering he could be in the 60s with you, he makes sure to look at you, to ask those silent questions, to be granted that permission to absolutely take over you.With each thrust, long and deep, punctuated with a needy moan, he takes a little more of you. And you willingly let him, and give him everything you can. 

You probably look like one of those renaissance paintings beneath him, as he thrusts hard deep fast, your breasts exposed like all of the biblical women, your body contorted on the hood of the car, like one of those angels in anguish. There was no where for your hands to find purchase that wasn't Klaus, so your hands are far up behind you, palms planted on the windshield to give yourself a better angle, a better arch of your back for Klaus to wrap his arms firmly around you, so he could kiss your chest and the long expanse of your neck and shoulders while he kept his pace. He held you as lose as possible, and for a moment you imagine its just him. You as nothing but an extension of himself, your pleasure mixing and becoming his pleasure. When he got like this, its easy to imagine he didn't have many lovers before you that cared that much about his pleasure. Sure they probably thought he was a fun time, as that was a given, but it was probably rare someone actually cared about what he was feeling. You like that he trusts you with this bare part of himself. No, you love it. You love-

A deep moan from his mouth vibrates against your breast, you feel it even more than you hear it, and it brings you back to where you are now, looking down at his lust filled, indulgent expression. 

“Keep looking at me,” he commands, thrusting harder, making you almost squeak at the angel he's hitting, “It's just me, and you, and the coyotes out here.”

Your hands scramble to grab the sides of his face as you start to move your hips to fuck back against his thrusts, eager to come for him while hes watching you. Any attempt to praise him comes out as stuttered moans and fragments of words, but there's a devilish smile on his face that tells you he knows what you're saying. 

He pulls one arm from under you, slams it on the car below right next to your head, and goes in for the kill. He’s merciless in his thrusts as he kisses and nips at your fingers that he can reach. He doesnt guide you but throws you off of the cliff into bliss, a scream parting from your lips as he refuses to slow his pace. This more dominant and possessive Klaus is wild, selfish in a beautiful way. In his face you see indulgence personified, a modern Dionysus filling each urge that swept over you. He doesn't let you calm down, doesn't let you catch your breath, overstimulating you as he reaches his own release. He comes equally as loudly, with a shout of your name and “oh, lover” tumbling from his lips before he stills, and captures your lips on his own. 

He kisses you slowly, like he's drinking in the taste of you, holding you still, feeling your skin melt with his. It's hard to tell where he ends and you begin, but you prefer it this way. It's just the two of you in the desert. Just the two of you in the world. There's plenty of water in the canteen, and after a drink to refresh you, you'll be tearing at each other again, just far enough off the road no one will see you. He pulls out of you with a hiss, like it hurts him not to be inside of you, and you find yourself involuntarily whining at the loss as well. He grabs the canteen and returns to put it to your lips, then his own, then you sit and talk of nothing and everything sweet, needlessly flirting and preening each others egos with loving words until you're both ready to go again. It continues like this until one of you falls asleep on the other. This is the desert routine. 

When you wake around sunrise, covered in bruises and hickies, hair tangled to hell, you're wrapped in the blanket from the trunk, Klaus’ shirt used as your pillow. He’s just outside, naked as you are, greeting the dawn. Something about his posture beckons you to join him, and on shaking legs you pull yourself from the car, unsteadily stepping until you can wrap your arms around his torso, his hand reaching to grab for you and sliding over your shoulders. He repositions you so you stand together, not with you behind him. The way its supposed to be. And then the moment the sun is fully in the sky, he greets it by crowing like a rooster. Loudly, freely. You join in.