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ohblackdiamond · 1 year ago

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"c'mon, get your feet wet" (ace/peter) (nc-17)

“Gene’s been buying Paul cute little outfits. I saw ’em.”

Peter snorted.

“He would go for that shit.”

“Blouses. And a couple dresses, too. Like he was a real girl, what the hell.” Ace shook his head. “I bet he even got Paul some lingerie. What would you go for?”

Sequel to "shock them, show them." After his tryst with Paul, a still-sexswapped Ace heads to Peter's house for room and board, and a little company.

This features the most uncoordinated member of KISS attempting sex in the shower. I'm sorry.

“c’mon, get your feet wet”

by Ruriruri

Ace left Paul’s place quicker than he’d initially intended. Partially because of Gene’s oncoming arrival, but also because he’d gotten what he’d come for. He’d figured some things out. He’d figured out sleeping with another girl wouldn’t end the curse.

It hadn’t been the main reason he’d fooled around with Paul, but it had been a reason. A theory to test out. Too bad. Less than a day in, and Ace’s chest was already starting to get on his nerves. His breasts weren’t big at all– when he’d looked down at himself, there was almost nothing to them, and when he’d cupped one, it didn’t even quite fill up his hand– but they felt huge just because they were there when they shouldn’t be. They had felt huge since that morning, and that feeling had only faded when he’d come up to Paul’s a bit later on. That poor bastard’s tits were actually huge. They had even bounced some during their tryst. Ace wondered if they were making his back hurt.

Wondering about Paul’s tits. Not the most constructive use of his time right now. Ace sighed, mechanically going through his limited options as he changed lanes. His material possessions currently consisted of his wallet, his keys, his car, his wedding ring (too loose for his finger now, so it was now on his left thumb), and his clothes (half of which were borrowed from Paul). He had the cash to hunker down in a hotel for awhile. He could turn around and stay at Paul’s free of charge, and grimly expect to end up watching Gene moon over Paul for however long this lasted. Or he could go to Peter’s.

Peter was having his usual wife trouble. Or rather, Lydia was having her usual Peter trouble. Ace couldn’t really blame Lydia. Mellow as Ace was, he probably would’ve outright left Peter a long time ago if he’d been a chick.

Well. He was one right now. He wondered if he’d risk her being there to greet him at the door– Lydia, of course, had met his whole family more than once, so he couldn’t pass himself off as his older sister or anything– then decided he’d go ahead. He was sober enough that he could think up a good excuse for her. He was sober enough to think up anything.

–

It might, Ace decided later, have been a good idea to call Peter up before showing up at his doorstep. Peter’s expression at seeing Ace there was even worse than when he’d finally recognized Paul.

“Jesus Christ. Ace?!”

Peter looked utterly horrified. Ace was a little horrified, too, for a different reason. Jeanette and Paul had always been shorter than him, so he hadn’t had a really good reference for how much height he’d lost until standing in front of Peter. Peter, who he was now at eye-level with.

Damn. Tall for a chick didn’t even register as average for a guy. Not a new revelation, but thoroughly depressing.

“Whatever Paul’s got, I caught,” he said in response, catching how Peter’s gaze was flickering from his face down the length of his body, non-existent tits and even more narrowed shoulders and skinny legs and all. “Gimme a beer.”

“How? I mean, did you sleep with that chick, too?”

“Nah. I just caught it. C’mon, Petey,” and he ended up brushing past him, heading from the foyer into the kitchen, and getting a can of beer out of the fridge for himself, then one for Peter. “Help me out over here.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He sat down in Peter’s living room and took a long swallow of the beer. It had been too long, an hour or more, since he’d had the two at Paul’s. He wanted something heavier, really, but it had occurred to him that in this body, his tolerance was probably shot in comparison. “I stopped at Paul’s earlier. Figured he needed to know first.”

Peter nodded slowly. Ace handed him the other can of beer, which he took and popped open without his gaze ever leaving Ace’s face as he sat down beside him. Ace tried to smile.

“C’mon, man, you knew I wasn’t gonna have any boobs–”

“You look fine.”

“You think? Paul’s mirror could’ve been a little more flattering–”

“Screw Paul,” Peter mumbled idly.

“I already did.”

Peter gave him a long look, and then he laughed, shaking his head.

“I mean, he did this to you.”

“He didn’t mean to. I told you, I just caught it. I know I never got with that chick.” Ace tended to get with less women than Paul in general, for one, and his preference on the road was tall, skinny brunettes. Not that he wouldn’t deviate occasionally, but… he just couldn’t see it. If the girl had gotten with him, too, they probably would’ve been cursed at the same time. That was the logic he was operating under, at least. But maybe he was wrong, maybe curses didn’t operate under any logic.

“How would you catch it when you were only in the same room with him for a couple hours?”

“I dunno. Maybe he’s just suffused with magic or some shit. Like, like a lightning rod. Or a battery, like you just gotta tap in.” Ace shrugged. “The wires probably just got crossed. It doesn’t really matter as long as we both get back in the end.”

Peter inclined his head briefly, but didn’t look too convinced.

“How do you feel?”

“Lighter? Shorter? I don’t fucking know.” He could already tell that the beer wasn’t going to loosen him up appropriately. In front of Paul, a man who was a ball of nerves even when he was normal, and had, in his opinion, only gotten worse since the curse, he could relax in compensation. Equal and opposite reactions. In front of Peter, it was harder to put on. He took another long swallow. “How long can you put me up, Curly? I got sixty bucks in my wallet.”

“No charge.”

“No time limit? Whatcha gonna do about Lydia?”

“Aw, shit.” Peter pursed his lips. “You got any cousins you can pretend to be?”

“Not any that look like me.”

“Lydia won’t know the difference.”

“I’m not that good at faking it. When’s she coming home? I’ll get a hotel before she gets here.”

“She’ll be back on Monday. Don’t worry about it right now. You hungry?”

Ace’s only sustenance had been the beer at Paul’s and the beer he was currently swilling down. He shook his head, only for his stomach to gurgle loudly.

“Do you have any Valium? Paul took a lot out of me.” He didn’t wait for an answer, already getting up trudging towards the narrow kitchen cabinets above the stove, where Peter kept most of the drugs he actually had prescriptions for. Only Peter stood, too, holding up a hand to block him from tugging open the cabinet door.

“I ain’t giving you Valium right now.”

“Petey, c’mon.”

“No.”

“I’m not asking for coke, Jesus. I just wanna take the edge off.”

“Uh-uh.”

Ace stood there in silence for a moment or two, mouth tense, before giving up and heading back to the couch, to finish off the rest of the beer instead. All Peter was allowing out of him so far. Funny how Peter had seen him bombed out of his mind and blackout drunk probably fifteen times just this year, but couldn’t bear to let him pair a single beer with benzos now. Did he come off as that fragile, or was what was left of Peter’s conscience rearing its head?

“You’d give it to me yesterday. Hell, you’d give it to a groupie if she batted her eyes real cute.”

“I don’t wanna see you falling over and passing out while you’re like this, that’s all.”

“I’ll be your Sleeping Beauty. Wake me up with true love’s kiss.”

“You better settle for a hamburger,” Peter retorted, and sauntered off to the fridge.

–

Ace watched Peter make the hamburgers on the stove, not without some interest. He had never learned to cook himself, and, up until they’d first all been stuck on the road together with no budget, had figured none of the rest of the guys could, either. As it turned out, Paul and Peter could make a rough go of it, if they really had to. Peter was even taking the extra step of chopping up some onions and tossing them in the pan with the hamburger patties.

He wondered if another beer would be pressing his luck. He was proven right when Peter handed him a Pepsi along with the hamburger.

“Y’know, if you keep me this close to sober I might get depressed,” Ace managed to crack as he popped the top. Peter, he’d noticed, had barely touched the beer he’d given him prior.

“Half the band has tits now. I think we all better stay sober.”

Responsibility from Peter felt like ice water right on top of his head. Ace opted to change tactics, shifting on his barstool perch by the kitchen island. Harder to get comfortable somehow. Peter was sitting beside him instead of in front of him.

“Gene’s been buying Paul cute little outfits. I saw ’em.”

Peter snorted.

“He would go for that shit.”

“Blouses. And a couple dresses, too. Like he was a real girl, what the hell.” Ace shook his head. “I bet he even got Paul some lingerie. What would you go for?”

“You eating that, to start off with.”

“You’re taking this pretty damn well. Do you get off to it like Geno does?”

Peter didn’t answer. Ace didn’t know why he was doing that to Peter. Pricking at him in that halfassed way of his when all he’d done was be kind enough to let him stay there. It wasn’t entirely because of his enforced borderline-sobriety. Ace didn’t push, taking a bite of the hamburger, and then another. The meat was a little pink, but he didn’t complain, retrieving ketchup and mustard from the fridge and dousing it liberally on the burger. At least he had about the same appetite: too much of one, for his overall build. Still a mass of very skinny limbs paired up with a slightly pouchy gut.

“Jeanette really flipped,” he heard himself say out of nowhere. “I didn’t even know what happened, man, I was still asleep and she was screaming at me in bed. I woke up, y’know, I-I figured it out pretty quick. I tried to tell her. She… she was terrified. She had a flashlight she was gonna brain me with. I said, ‘c’mon, I’m Paul, I’m your husband’... nothing. I was picking stuff up off the dresser and explaining what it was and trying to tell her, to prove it… I’m lucky I even got clothes and the keys. I’m lucky she didn’t call the cops on me.”

He felt Peter’s hand rest on his shoulder, and stiffened up just momentarily.

“Peter, I…” Ace swallowed. “I’m fucking terrified, okay? I told Paul it was all right, but that’s bullshit. This sucks. It fucking sucks. And not… I don’t care about how I look that much. I just can’t do what I wanna do. I can’t really drink, you won’t let me get high…”

“That’s for your own good, Ace.”

“And I can’t… Jeanette, we… right now, I couldn’t even have her the way I’d wanna. Even if she did believe me, ’s not fair to her. She wouldn’t want me as a chick. I know that much.”

He was twisting the wedding band on his thumb without even realizing it. He’d only been married a year now. He had tried and failed at avoiding groupies, but Jeanette, for her part, had let it go as long as it stayed on-tour. No weird chicks calling at their house. Jeanette had never cared much about his occasional fooling around with Bobby– that had, in all honesty, started before their dating– but girlfriends were another matter. He knew he wasn’t doing her right regardless, but at least he wasn’t like Zappa. He hadn’t had any women he’d see for more than the night of a concert.

For at least a couple brief moments, before “Beth” really exploded, he’d thought they might settle down a little bit and ease up on the tours, even. Have a kid. It had been an eventuality before, but now that the option was completely off the table, he mourned it. It was a funny, peculiarly feminine thing to mourn. Maybe it was the hormones, or maybe it was the beer.

Either way, he hated giving in like this, hated confessing like this, even to Peter. Self-doubt he ought to be able to chase off with champagne. Couldn’t even do that anymore. All his vices down the drain, sacrificed to the altar of his current body.

Paul had made out so much better than he had. Still had his house and his car and all that, for now. Even had Gene willing to accompany him wherever he needed to go. Play boyfriend to someone who wouldn’t even give it up. He could tell from how tense Paul had been with him that he’d never come close to letting Gene. All Gene was getting out of the arrangement was a little play-pretty dress-up. Gene was such a sucker, in his way. Ace sighed.

“I wanna… I wanna feel like there’s still something I can do just the same, y’know?”

“There is. C’mon downstairs.”

Ace looked at Peter for a long moment, then nodded, getting up from the barstool. He picked the Pepsi up before following him down the stairs. Either side of the walls held an odd mishmash of paraphernalia– normal stuff like his and Lydia’s wedding, their respective baby pictures, family photos, and then KISS photos and gold albums and a couple newspaper headlines and articles.

“Aren’t you worried I’m gonna pass this on to you?”

“Nah. I’d make too ugly a girl,” Peter said, then laughed.

“We’d need a new band name. Hugs or some shit like that.” Ace traced a finger across his own glass-encased face on one of the photos. “Bill and Sean’d kill us.”

“They would,” Peter said, sounding distracted. The basement was decorated with a tastefulness Ace wasn’t too sure Peter actually possessed. Wood paneling everywhere. Potted plants. Nice, plush furniture. Peter gestured towards the loveseat. “Sit down. Close your eyes.”

Ace closed his eyes, then exaggeratedly puckered out his lips. He felt Peter flick a finger against his cheek.

“Cute, Ace.”

“Be still my fucking heart.”

“Stay there.” Ace heard the creaking of a door, then Peter rummaging around for a bit before that door closed again. “Now hold out your hands.”

“Petey, if you’re handing me your dick, you don’t need me to close my eyes to jerk it off, trust me.”

“Maybe later. Just hold ’em out for me.”

Ace felt the familiar weight of wood against his lap a moment later. He didn’t have to wait for Peter to arrange his hands around the instrument to know what it was.

“Open your eyes.”

A guitar. A beat-up Silvertone acoustic, about the only guitar Peter even had. It was a leftover from early on that had ended up at his and Lydia’s old apartment, that Ace had kept meaning to pick up but never bothered to, and so it had moved with them to Connecticut, stuck in its case in the basement.

“Out of tune, yeah?”

“You’re the last one that played it.”

The tone was still there, at least. Ace tuned it within a minute or two, then messed with the beginning of a solo. Just fooling around. “Paperback Writer.” That had been one of the first songs he’d ever picked out, back when he was a teenager. It was easy. Most of the earlier Beatles stuff was. The intro to “Satisfaction” next– gratified when Peter started to tap out the rhythm on the arm of the couch. The notes were coming out okay. Not beautiful, but okay. Something was off, and he already knew what it was.

“My parents, they wanted me to learn piano.”

He said it quietly, as though he didn’t expect Peter to answer.

“How’d you get out of it?”

“I said it was faggy,” Ace admitted. “Everybody in my family plays something. We’re all musicians. My sister and Charlie took piano lessons, y’know, before Charlie got into playing guitar and started music school. But I… soon as I got an electric guitar, and a little Japanese amp, that was it. I was gone. Aw, Jesus, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, Peter.”

“Why not? I wanna hear it.”

“We had a piano in the house, right, and sometimes I’d still try to play by ear a little, but…” he trailed, suddenly helpless. “I couldn’t reach past an octave.”

“Sure, that’s because you never learned how.”

“You don’t get it. That’s how it is right now. My fingers don’t stretch as far anymore. I can play okay, but the feel’s all off.” He handed the guitar back, guilt mingling with the bile somewhere in his throat. Peter was trying. He was trying so damn hard to cheer him up. Why couldn’t he just fake it in front of him? Try and laugh it off, the way he had with Paul? Why couldn’t he fall into the old routines? He shook his head, half at himself. “L-let’s go to 54, okay? You and me. We’ll… we’ll relax, we’ll find that Carol chick, and…”

“Not right now, man.”

“Don’t tell me not right now.” God. His voice was getting more shrill by the second. He took a deep breath. “’M okay. ’M okay. No wife, no money, no band, no dick, no tits, but I’m okay. It’s funny. I don’t cheat on her half as bad as you cheat on Lyd but I-I–”

Peter reached for him. Ace got up, stumbling past him and hurrying up the stairs, heading towards the front door. Peter grabbed his arm before he could open it.

“Ace, don’t be an idiot!”

“I’m just gonna drive.”

“No!”

Peter had both his arms now. Ace yanked, and yanked hard, but couldn’t pull away. He remembered, sickly, that time on Paul’s front porch. Paul had tried to pin him up against the door. It had been laughable, downright cute, seeing that pretty brunette glaring up at him furiously, standing on his foot like he couldn’t have overpowered her without even trying, if he’d really wanted to–

“Would you stop treating me like a fucking chick?!”

“I’m not!”

“You are. You and everybody else.” Thinking about how Paul had pulled the old Starchild treatment on him made his face burn now. “You think I’m gonna crash?”

“No.”

“Think I’m gonna get drunk and pass out in an alley somewhere?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“If I did that yesterday, you wouldn’t have cared. Do tits count for that much in your book?”

Peter looked like he was about to snap back there for a second or two. But he didn’t. That was surprising. Peter could pop off at anything. Always had some retort. Just like Paul, only there was never any calculation behind his words, just pure reaction. But Peter didn’t say anything, just finally let go of his arms. Ace stood there, and then he shook his head.

“At least let me get drunk, Peter. Lemme do that much. I won’t leave. You can even have my keys. Okay?”

Peter looked at him for a long moment, and then, barely, shook his head.

“You got a real problem here, Ace.”

“No shit, Sherlock. One more beer.”

“Gimme your keys.”

Ace handed them over. The jangle of the keys had a finality about it. Like a prison. Peter’s expression, disturbed, uncomfortable, seemed to sink in Ace’s soul as he stuck them in his pocket.

“One beer,” Peter said, with obvious reluctance.

–

Ace only drank half of it. It didn’t taste great when he’d had to twist Peter’s arm to get it. Peter looked like he felt so damn sorry for him that it was annoying, especially when Ace knew Peter was worse off than him with the harder stuff.

Peter didn’t take another drink at all, just sidled next to him on the couch on the main floor. Ace flicked on the T.V. after awhile, and they watched Columbo fumble through L.A. in silence for twenty minutes or more.

“I’m sorry, Ace.”

“What for?” Ace kept his eyes fixed on the screen. Mr. Clean was demonstrating stain removal for an overwhelmed housewife.

“I don’t wanna hold you hostage. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“’M fine.”

Peter seemed to hesitate.

“I thought… I thought if you wanna, we could see a movie or something.”

Ace usually took Peter to the movies. Or he had, before they’d gotten big. The two of them on a rare off day from concerts and rehearsals, heading into a near-empty theater in the early afternoon to watch a horror movie. That was their thing. One of their things, anyway. One of the few that only incidentally involved getting drunk when Ace would sneak in a couple liquor bottles inside his trenchcoat.

“I don’t feel that fine.”

“Star Wars is out. You said you wanted to go see that.” Peter stretched. “That guy from Bridge on the River Kwai is in it.”

“William Holden?”

“No, the British guy.”

Ace pursed his lips.

“I thought he was dead.”

“Hell if I know. It’s supposed to be a good movie.”

“Not today.” Ace stood abruptly. “I gotta piss. Lemme know if Columbo gets the guy while I’m gone.”

Peter nodded. Ace headed for the bathroom (after three and a half drinks between Paul and Peter, he really did have to go), albeit not the main one on the floor. Instead, he went to the master bathroom off from Peter and Lydia’s bedroom. After he’d washed and dried his hands, he pulled the mirrored medicine cabinet open, thumbing through more of Peter and Lydia’s prescriptions. Valium– funnily enough, they both had a prescription for that shit. Some old antibiotics. Peter had some amphetamines and various pain pills too. Nothing especially illicit, though Ace knew that Peter couldn’t ever keep a stash of coke or heroin for very long at all.

He unscrewed the cap of one of the bottles of Valium, tipping two pills into his hand. Should be enough that he wouldn’t give a shit about anything at all for several hours. He was about to take them when the cabinet door swung forward suddenly, just enough that he was forced to really face his own reflection for the first time since brushing his hair at Paul’s.

A girl’s face stared back at him, a girl’s face that didn’t look dissimilar enough to his own to really startle him much. Her complexion was uneven and noticeably quite scarred, her nose was too big, and she had narrow, dark brown eyes and a fat bottom lip. Nowhere near a knockout, but she could’ve still been sort of pretty with a little makeup. But she looked– nervous. Scared. He had never seen that expression on his own face before. It made his stomach curdle.

Was this how things were going to be from now on, if he didn’t get fixed? He’d never stooped to taking someone else’s pills before. He’d never had to. They were always available, whenever he wanted. He’d never needed to steal them, or sneak them, or beg for them. It had never even occurred to him.

Would he be able to stay with Peter? Or would Peter just put him up in a hotel after awhile? He’d fiercely resented Peter trying to monitor him, but the thought of being left alone was suddenly even worse. He.. he could end up like one of the druggie groupies, just flitting around cheap motels and communes and whatever else. Worse. He might end up selling himself. If he was already begging Paul and Peter for booze and Valium after less than twenty-four hours of not having either at arm’s length…

His throat felt tense and hot. He leaned against the counter, taking a shuddering breath, and dropped both pills into the sink, turning on the tap before he could change his mind. He barely even heard the knock on the door.

“Ace? You okay in there?”

Peter. Quickly, he twisted the cap back on and stuffed the bottle back in the medicine cabinet, swinging the cabinet door shut.

“Everything’s fine! E-everything’s fine.”

He heard the creak of the bathroom door before he saw Peter through the mirror’s reflection, noting absently how even a small, compact guy like Peter looked more intimidating compared to him now. Ace tried to rearrange his expression to something neutral as he turned around to face him.

“You’ve been in here awhile, is all.” Peter’s mouth was pursed. He looked like he was searching Ace’s face. Ace glanced away for a moment.. “I thought you might need something.”

“’M not on the rag.” Ace watched Peter’s face go florid, but somehow, the urge to laugh just wasn’t there. He blinked several times in succession, suddenly aware of how watery his eyes were. The tenseness in his throat hadn’t gone away. “Petey, could you c’mere?”

Peter took a couple steps forward, until he was standing beside him.

“Could you…”

Helpless. So damn helpless. Ace reached over, wrapping his arms around Peter, pressing his face hard against his shoulder. He wasn’t quite crying– the tears didn’t seem quite able to come, but he was on the verge enough that his breaths were hitching, uneven, and it only got worse when Peter’s arms wrapped around his waist in turn.

“Lemme stay here,” Ace heard himself say, muffled by Peter’s shirt, “please, I can’t, I-I’ll fuck it up, you’re right, don’t leave me, don’t…”

“Who said anything about leaving you?”

Peter’s voice was softer than normal. His hand rubbed circles against Ace’s back. Peter had never done that before. Some sabotaging part of Ace mumbled that Peter was treating him like a girl, just like Paul had. But he knew better. Peter was just treating him like Ace.

“I told you not to worry about it, didn’t I? I won’t leave you by yourself. We’ll take care of everything, I swear. I don’t care how much fucking voodoo we gotta go through.”

“What if I don’t get better? And, and Paul, what’s gonna happen? Petey, I-I can’t, I can’t stay like this, I’m gonna, gonna get into trouble–”

More slow circles against his back. More tenderness than he’d ever thought Peter had in him. Sentimental, hotheaded Peter, who’d given all the guys a long-stemmed rose their first night at the Garden. Peter, who was more into coke and heroin and less into booze than he was, and despite that was trying to protect him. Ace inhaled deeply against Peter’s shirt, smelling sweat and leftover cologne, as Peter answered.

“I got you. I got you, okay? No matter what.”

“The band–”

“The band don’t matter like you do.”

It was an effort to pull his face away from Peter’s shirt. He looked up at Peter, blinking hard a few times more, letting go of him with one arm while the other found his shoulder instead. Another deep breath.

“You could really break a girl’s heart, y’know?”

He didn’t give Peter a chance to respond, reaching to cradle his chin in his hand, lift it up like he still needed to, before he kissed him. Not hard or rough, just needy, just wanting. Peter’s kiss back was surprised but fervent, even when Ace deepened it. Kissing him, touching him, came easy as always. Nothing they hadn’t done before a hundred times, and yet Ace had never felt this level of yearning. He didn’t understand it. Tried not to question it. Only a couple hours ago, he’d been messing around with Paul. But it hadn’t been like this, not remotely.

“I better wash up anyway, ’m pretty gross right now.”

“You really did sleep with him?” Peter shook his head, clearly amused.

“I really did. Put it on my tombstone.” Ace’s gaze drooped down to his own bare feet on the tile, and he took a breath. Any minute and Peter would head out the door. Another of their old routines disrupted. If he could only steel himself up one more time… “Hey, Peter…”

“Yeah?”

“You can come with me.”

Peter looked at him carefully.

“You’re not asking me to wash your back.”

“I think my front looks a little better right now. I swear I’m still not half as hairy as–”

“Ace…”

Peter wasn’t letting him get away with it. No more jokes. No more messing around. Ace licked suddenly-dry lips, his fingers toying with the hem of his old yellow t-shirt. Make me feel better. Make me feel good. Make me feel okay.

Make me feel like you always did. Like you can’t help but do. Make me feel worth wanting.

It was too tall an order to ask out of Peter, or anyone else. He didn’t voice it, clearing his throat.

“I wanna be with you. Do you wanna be with me?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Ace pulled open the shower door, turning on the faucet.

“There’s not much eye candy, I gotta warn you.”

“Lemme be the judge of that, Ace.”

Ace tugged off his shirt. Fuck. He should’ve suggested the bed instead of the shower. This was somehow much more exposing. He had felt a mixture of pity and mild inadequacy in front of Paul, even though Paul hadn’t exactly had any other options. In front of Peter, who, like Paul, preferred his girls tall, blonde, and busty, he bit his lip.

“See? Nothing. I make Twiggy look like Dolly Parton.”

Peter reached over, cupping one breast, lightly tweaking one nipple. Ace didn’t have too much sensation there, really, but just getting touched sent a little warmth through his skin.

“You’ve got enough to grab, that’s all you need.” Peter’s fingers slipped down, tracing the space between his breasts, down to the bit of stomach fat that had crept up gradually over the course of the last few tours, down to his jeans, which he unbuttoned and unzipped. Ace took a breath, smelling the leftover notes of Peter’s aftershave, opting to start on Peter’s clothes instead of peeling off his own, not really taking his time with it. Peter had on an Yves Saint Laurent button-down that paired amusingly with his faded blue jeans. Peter tossed the top behind him, and it landed on the sink.

“I bet that’s dry clean only.”

“I don’t care,” Peter said.

“Don’t treat me different, okay? I can take it.”

“I know you can.”

Peter kissed him. His fingers returned to Ace’s jeans, helping him step out of them.

“Do you own any underwear at all, man?”

“Nope.” Completely naked now. Peter yanked down his own jeans and underwear at the same time, tossing them aside. His eyes were scouring Ace’s body like there was anything to look at. Rather than give him any more of an opportunity there, Ace stepped into the shower, where at least he’d be obscured by the steam. Peter followed, closing the door behind him.

It was an old routine for the three of them. Him and Peter and Paul. Group showering after a concert. They hadn’t done it as often the last tour or two, but it was still a common enough thing. Stupid shit. Smacking each other with washcloths. Handjobs. Blowjobs. It had never escalated to fullblown sex when it was the three of them in there. But when Paul couldn’t be bothered to show, and they were both high, it occasionally did.

Ace still couldn’t get over being eye-level with Peter. Peter wasted no time, mouth on his, hands roaming his chest, tracing his side all the way down to his hip. The water beat down insistently in a rhythm all its own, soaking his hair and back, hardly getting anywhere else for now.

“You’re cute, Ace.”

“Petey, I’d be the last girl left in the Coop and you fucking know it.”

“We ain’t in the Coop.” Peter’s hand slipped between Ace’s thighs, and he murmured approvingly. “Shit, you really do need cleaning up.”

“Told you.” Ace took a step back from Peter, just enough to expose more of his body to the showerhead. Peter, meanwhile, reached for the washcloth and soap, and started to lather him up, surprising Ace by starting with his breasts and moving down from there. Despite the warmth of the water, Ace’s nipples were hard. Unsurprisingly, so was Peter.

“What was it like?”

“Sex with Paul? It was nice. He kept going at it like he still had a dick. Wore himself o–ahh.” Peter had chosen that moment to get rid of the last remaining evidence of that escapade. Ace’s thighs twitched as the soft cotton washcloth was replaced by Peter’s hand again, hips rocking slightly forward with each curious move of his fingers. Ace took another step back, then another, until his back was to the wall. “No, c’mon, c’mon, I just don’t wanna fall in here.”

“I won’t let you fall.” Peter’s other hand was steadying his shoulder. Quick laps against his neck, a couple stray kisses, all washed away, but Peter’s main focus, thankfully, was fingering him. He wasn’t nearly as cautious as Paul had been, starting out; he seemed to know almost on instinct how much Ace wanted to be filled. Plunging into him, crooking two, three fingers inside him– Ace was grunting against him, tugging him in by the shoulder, pressing their bodies in as close as he could, Peter’s hard-on against his leg a welcome promise.

“Fuck, Peter…” It hadn’t taken long to find that perfect rhythm. He was soaking, every touch felt like an electric shock, the headiness of the steam making him almost dizzy, legs wobbling, leaving him grasping Peter desperately as he groaned out his release. Peter was smiling.

“I never get tired of seeing you come, man.”

Ace was panting too much to respond at first. It hadn’t been as intense with Paul. Maybe it was just the heat of the shower, and being upright. Maybe. All the warmth was still right there, pooling in his stomach.

“Come on. I’ll let you. Right now.” Ace could tell his words were soft, maybe a little tinny. He didn’t care, looking around for something to brace against. The shower was pretty big, but all he could bear down on besides the wall was the little bar for washcloths, right below the niche for soap and shampoos, and the bar on the door. Peter could probably manage to hold him up for awhile, if he had to, but that wasn’t all that was concerning him. Nerves, that was all, nerves and– wanting something to stay a little closer to the same, even when nothing else had. He turned around, facing the wall, spreading his legs a bit more, knees slightly bent.

“You’re filthy,” Peter said, want and amusement in every syllable. Ace grabbed the washcloth bar with one hand, his other hand against the blue mosaic shower tile. He could feel Peter’s hand on his hip (and a cursory grope of his ass) as he angled into position. He turned as Peter nuzzled against his neck, meeting him for a wet kiss before Peter started to enter him.

Oh. Oh, fuck. Ace gripped the bar like a lifeline. Nothing like fingering. No comparison. Nothing like anal, either. Peter was taking it slow– Ace knew he was– but Ace’s breaths were coming in short bursts as he was filled, a weird, pinching kind of pain at first edging out the pleasure of it. Peter felt absolutely massive, closer to the nine inches he’d always claimed than Ace had ever believed. For a second he almost thought it was going to be too much for him. He pressed his forehead on the tile in a bid to keep his focus, keep from buckling. But the more he let himself relax, the more that pain ebbed. Peter’s first few thrusts were shallow, only building up when Ace began to groan in earnest.

“All right there?”

“All right. ’S all right.” His toes twitched. Peter had hit some spot inside him, one that made the pleasure suddenly burst firework-bright. He cursed loudly, fearful he’d slip, and now both Peter’s hands were on his hips, warm, wet, and firm.

“Steady, Ace. You got it.” Peter’s breath was hot against the back of his neck, all the encouragement Ace needed. Another couple thrusts left Ace reeling in a heady haze of need, the tiles blurring out in front of him as he came again, with no warning but a few more gasps.

“Peter, you haven’t–”

“It’s okay.”

“Keep going, keep going. I can take it. Hurry.”

Ace could feel Peter’s hesitation. Peter actually let go of his hips for a second or two, though he hadn’t pulled out.

“Ace, you don’t gotta worry about pleasing me.”

“I wanna please me, too. One more.” Ace could feel a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth, as he burst into his next request. “Cat, I wanna see you.”

“Turn around.”

“I will, once you get your dick out of me.”

Peter complied. Ace was already wobbling as he turned, the sudden emptiness leaving him with a cold, funny feeling, but Peter immediately worked him back into position, pressing him against the wall, trying not to lose any more momentum. Facing Peter, that needy, wanting look on his face, the dark brown eyes heavy with something Ace hadn’t ever deigned to name before. Facing Peter was really facing himself, his body, everything. Whether he stayed like this or not. Whether Paul did.

Peter urged one of Ace’s legs up, hoisting it around his waist. Ace had seen it before, out of Peter and Paul both, but he knew he was always too drunk to ever fuck a woman like this, holding her there while they were both standing up. But balanced on one leg himself, even with his other heel firmly against the shower wall– he was buckling already, and Peter hadn’t even entered him again yet. All his previous confidence about himself, about Peter, was starting to dissolve as he tried to reach for that bar again, eyes wide.

“Jesus, I’m gonna fucking fall–”

“You’re not. Hold onto me. I’ve got you.”

“Thought I was Baby Elvis.”

“Dammit, Ace, would you stop that shit? I love you.”

Ace’s eyes went huge. His whole body froze, leg suddenly stiff and straight, the only sound the spray of the shower.

“Peter?”

“You heard me. Now hold on.”

“No, no, wait–” Ace’s wobbling started back in earnest, as bad as when he was in the heels onstage, the floor too slippery, his heart beating an off cadence. He was wet all over, juices dripping between his legs, twinges of soreness already making themselves known; he was far too aware of every unfamiliar inch of his own skin. All that was really familiar was Peter.

Peter. Gray-haired, explosive Peter. Peter who’d put him up. Peter who’d gotten high with him, slept with him, done orgies with him, supported him. Peter who he’d come to when he needed someone.

The band don’t matter like you do.

Peter was still looking him right in the eye, forthright as ever. Only the tightness of his lips betraying him now. Ace lunged forward, grasping Peter’s shoulders, tight, secure.

“Peter, listen, you…”

“You don’t have to say it back.”

“I do if I mean it.”

Even with Peter steadying him, he was already about to lose his balance again. Leaning against him this heavily, heights the same, it was easy enough to kiss him, easier than it had ever been before.

“I love you, Peter.”

Make me feel good.

Make me feel like you always did.

Maybe like you always will.

Peter kissed him back. Over and over, a hot furor of lips crushing against lips crushing against skin. Ace felt himself get lost in it, melded there with him, before Peter began to thrust. It didn’t take long. The first thrust and Ace knew he was nearly gone, and apt to fall; with a shaky breath, he let Peter lift up his other leg, wrapping it around him. Pinned there just by Peter alone. Another thrust– Peter was cursing, crying out– Ace thought he felt something– then, as his vision blurred with his own orgasm, all he could feel, all he could touch, was that sensation, better than coke, better than alcohol, overwhelming his body with oneness, wholeness, secure and free.

–

Ace barely remembered anything after that. Peter helping him out of the shower. Falling over, as he’d predicted, but at the sink instead of inside the shower. Then, then, he must’ve passed out from the heat of the shower and their fooling–

No. Not fooling around at all.

The room before him wasn’t Peter and Lydia’s bedroom, anyway. It was his parents’ old apartment. He was sitting in front of their piano, on the piano bench, next to a man that wasn’t quite a man. Someone with a lion’s head and a man’s body. Marbas.

“You’re rather quick. You’ve completed the ritual, and yet, you didn’t know what it entailed.” Marbas smiled, exposing rows of long ivory teeth. “I had expected no less, given your occupation.”

(so we did it?)

His voice was coming out strangely, hazily. Like a fade out at the end of a song. It took real effort to speak at first.

(all i had to do was sleep with a guy, right?)

“You had to give yourself up. Offer all you possessed.” Marbas reached over, touching Ace’s ear– Ace tried not to flinch. “Your body, of course, but a virgin sacrifice is only a portion of the requirement. You had to give him your heart as well. Willingly. To be trampled or treasured.”

(i had to love him. that’s what you mean, isn’t it?)

“In a fashion. You’ll return to yourself in time.”

Ace didn’t have to glance down to know he wasn’t back to normal yet. His wedding ring was still slightly loose on his thumb. But he nodded anyway.

(paul, is he gonna get back, too? if he does the same thing?)

“If that’s his desire.”

(you mean it’s not?)

“Stan has a poor grasp on the things he wants. He’d rather yearn for them from a distance than have them.” Marbas shrugged broad shoulders. “But you don’t fear your desires.”

(no)

“Even as they destroy you.”

Ace swallowed. It was suddenly hard to meet Marbas’ golden gaze.

(i do okay.)

“You’ll lose everything you have. All your comforts, all your pleasures, traded in for a bottle and some powder. You’ll crawl on your knees for a measure of recognition that’s already passed you by.”

(why are you telling me this?)

“Because it doesn’t matter. You’ve made your decision already.” Marbas grasped his left hand– Ace started to jerk it away, but the demon was too quick, tugging the thick silver wedding ring off his thumb, placing it back on his forefinger. It hung there loose for several seconds, and then the ring began to get hot, that heat spreading from the metal through his finger through his hand through the rest of his body, as painful as that electric shock, as his body shifted, warped, changed–

He woke up hours later on Peter and Lydia’s bed, face soaked with sweat, body restored. Peter was there, already awake, and sitting up. Still naked, Ace noticed wryly. Just like him.

“You did it.”

Ace sat up. The ring on his finger glinted just slightly in the light. Jeanette. Marbas. Paul. He’d got it all back. He��d have to tell Paul how to end it. But for now, just for now, he took Peter’s face in his hands, pressed a kiss to his lips.

“We did it, Petey. Me and you.”

#kiss the band #ace frehley #peter criss #ace frehley x peter criss #kiss fanfiction

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writer1 · 8 months ago

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I have a fic that I lost a partner for, so if anyone would like to do a real ghostbusters fic with me please dm me ☺️ here’s the first chapter!

Odd things had started happening at the firehouse lately, and no one could figure out exactly what was going on. It wasn’t anything big most of the time, Egon’s older inventions were dusted and shining, Peter would wake up from a nap to a steaming cup of coffee sat on his desk, Ray would come home from a call to find food sat out for him, usually a chocolate muffin, his favourite. When Winston is working on Ecto-1, his tools that he needs somehow appear right beside him before he can ask about it.

All in all, what's been happening has been very strange. But what takes the cake is what’s happening now. Egon had been going to get himself breakfast. He never usually did, but today was an odd day, what can he say? But as he walked into the kitchen, he froze to see a tray of muffins being pulled from the oven by some invisible force.

The tray is dropped almost immediately, the tray making a loud clatter and the muffins rolling across the floor, one hitting his foot. Egon blinks a couple times and stares at the muffin by his foot, unsure who exactly made the muffins. None of them can bake to save their lives apart from him, and he definitely didn’t make these.

“Everything okay in there?” Venkman and calls from the room next door.

Egon swiftly replies. “Uh, yeah, I just dropped some muffins I was baking.” A lie, but one the others would believe. If there’s a ghost in here, they must be more sophisticated than the usual ghosts they catch if they’re able to make muffins from scratch.

Egon slowly and carefully gathers up the muffins and places them back on the tray for now, placing it on the cooker and closing the oven door and switches it off. He looks around the room, looking for any sign of physical ghost activity. He can’t find any. “Is anyone here?” He asks quietly, not wanting the others to hear.

Suddenly the trash can is opened and a stray Muffin is put in it, before a pen is picked up and it writes on the sticky notes stuck to the fridge. No traps.

Ash will not be trapped like some filthy heathen of a ghost, she won’t risk it! So she will wait for him to assure her. She has been around too long to be fooled this easily.

Egon watches as the pen scribbles something on the sticky note, so he walks closer and reads it. So they can write pretty well too. He nods his head. “Alright, no traps. Could you show yourself?” Egon asks, hoping they might.

For a few moments, there's nothing as Ash debates. But then she shows herself, wearing the familiar ghostbusters uniform. On the name part all it says is Ash, and she crosses her arms as she eyes him. “As I said, no traps.” She floats there, just eyeing him with nervous eyes.

Egon is surprised to see quite a normal looking ghost, a glowing blue figure of a woman, her wavy hair shoulder length. She looks just shorter than he is if her feet were touching the ground. Feeling like this is not a ghost they have to contain, he relaxes, just comfortably eyeing her. Egon chuckles softly. “It’s a little ironic that you’re wearing a ghostbusters outfit.”

Ash blinks, that… was not what she had expected. “Well, it’s much more comfortable than my other outfit and as I am your resident ghost I figured that I should look the part…” She then pauses. “I also can only go between the two outfits or a woman made of fire.” She shrugs, uncrosses and then recrosses her arms nervously. “This is what I am comfortable in.”

“That is fair enough, I’m not judging.” Egon says in a polite tone. He assumes the fire is how she died, since ghosts usually take on characteristics from how they died. “How long have you been here for… Ash?” He reads the namepatch. “Is that your name?”

“You don’t need to know that.” Ash hums. “If you mean the firehouse, then about a month.” She says softly, she at first thought he meant since her death, but realizes he might have meant the firehouse… she’s a bit touchy, concerning her death. “And yes, that’s my name. Don’t judge, Egon.”

“Yes, I meant here at the firehouse.” Egon confirms, then smiles. “Again, no judgement, just curious. I’ve never talked like this to a ghost before. You’re different from others.” He’s intrigued, then realises how that might have sounded, getting slightly flustered. “I-I mean, a good different.” Well this is going smoothly.

Ash snorts. “That is because I haven’t lost myself yet, or been pulled into the ghost demension.” She hums. “Or hell, as we ghosts like to call it.” She flickers a bit just thinking about it.

Egon gently pushes up his glasses as he listens to Ash. “I’ve done a fair amount of research about your dimension and how ghosts work and exist, finding out everything I can about it, but I haven’t discovered everything yet. Being stuck in this realm makes it nearly impossible to know everything.”

Ash hums. “I’ve never been there, but once a ghost goes in… they lose everything. Everything that made us human, our memories, our soul… all gone in a blink of an eye.” She says. “It takes a lot, to last as long as I have and not be pulled in. But let me tell you this, Egon. You find yourself getting pulled into there, dead or alive… you run the other way. Because answers don’t matter when you become a monster. Even Gozer was once human, it doesn’t end well.”

That makes Egon feel uneasy, but he doesn’t show it. “Understood. Maybe not knowing all the answers is safer that way then.” He half heartedly chuckles.

“Much safer.” Ash hums.

Egon smiles softly, thinking about how strange yet wonderful this interaction is—

“Egon look out!” Suddenly there’s a ghost trap under her feet, and Ash becomes a woman of blue fire, as she’s pulled into the trap.

Egon’s eyes go wide, staring at the ghost trap before spinning around to see Ray. Egon is furious, it's an emotion he doesn’t feel often. “Why did you do that?!” He yells.

Ray frowns. “I… ghost!” He says. “That’s what ifs for!”

The others come in, and Peter frowns. “What’s going on in here?” He asks, before seeing a ghost trap. “In our own home? Seriously?” He growls.

“It was only a matter of time, what monster this time?” Winston laughs.

“She was doing nothing wrong! You didn’t need to intervene, you shouldn’t have…” Egon growls and huffs, looking at the trap again. He takes a deep breath to level his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And she wasn’t a monster. If only you guys would think for once before you act.”

“Egon-“ Ray starts, but a glare shuts him up fast. “Sorry, we’ve never seen a good ghost. But we all trust your judgement.”

“Unless it comes to slime.” Peter mutters.

“Anyway, I’ll let her out.” Ray goes to pick up the trap, but suddenly Egon grabs it.

Egon handles the trap with care. “No, she asked for no traps. I promised her that. I’ll handle this by myself, like I was.” With that, Egon goes upstairs and to his room, making sure the door is locked. Egon places the trap on the floor just a few steps away from where he sits down on his bed, the organised mess of books and paper around him making it difficult to sit anywhere else. After a moment, he presses the release to open the trap.

Suddenly a ghost flies out, stretched and in a womanly shape of fire with glowing eyes. It should look menacing, but the fear in those eyes shows that she isn’t. Not at all. The room gets cold as she shrinks, going back to her look before as Ash looks terrified.

The heat for a few moments was immense, Egon almost finding it too much, but he’s relieved when it’s cool again. He doesn’t like how scared she looks. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe.” He attempts in soothing her.

“You promised!” Ash yells. “How could you!” She looks so betrayed before she flies off in a blast of heat. And she’s gone.

Egon's heart shatters, and he sighs.

xxx

Hours later, all the ghostbusters are in a meeting. “So… a lady who’s not old or ugly? Interesting.” Peter hums. “Don’t get many of those ghosts.”

“I need to apologize.” Ray frowns.

Egon sighs. “Well I don’t know where she is. She got really upset and disappeared.” He feels really sad for some reason. He liked Ash’s company.

“Welp.” Ray stands up. “I am sorry, Ash. I shouldn’t have trapped you. Please forgive me.”

“And date Egon!” Peter jokes, getting a slap to the back of the head from Winston.

Egon turns red, sighing. He hopes she hasn’t left.

#the real ghostbusters #ghostbusters #Egon Spengler #oc #original character #ray stantz #peter venkman #winston zeddemore

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wondereads · 1 year ago

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Review of A Bright Heart by Kate Chenli

Summary

Mingshin used to be a merchant's daughter who paled in comparison to her cousin, Aylin, until she used her political mind to help Prince Ren become crown prince and eventually emperor. She's ready to finally marry him and be his empress until he betrays her, frames her for treason...and then she wakes up two years ago. Mingshin has been granted a second chance at life. For what reason she doesn't know, but she's out for revenge.

Plot 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

The plot of this book is incredibly predictable. In fact, it was almost boring. I'll preface this by saying the idea of a girl being betrayed and then getting a chance to do things over is not a new one; it's a very popular trope in East Asian books, webnovels, and comics, as any fans of the recent villainess trend know. It's specifically why I requested this book. However, even though I was expecting something that conformed to the genre, I was not expecting a story where the main character overcame every obstacle with seemingly no struggle. I love a competent main character, but Mingshin flawlessly predicted pretty much every one of her enemy's moves. She has special knowledge for almost every situation, and I never really got to see her actually struggle. While its kind of a staple for this kind of story of the FMC to basically have cheats enabled with her knowledge of the future, there wasn't even a semblance of tension. There was certainly some satisfaction in seeing the antagonists get their asses completely handed to them every time, but I wish there had been some moments where Mingshin had doubted herself or made some mistakes. Even considering the time travel, she's only 18.

The world is pretty well established for a shorter book, and I found the magic element interesting. Some of it seemed a little too convenient, but this book does a decent job of justifying why certain things are happening. The politics of Mingshin's country are complex enough for a couple of red herrings, even if I don't think they fooled anyone, but still simple enough that it doesn't get too confusing.

Characters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Like I've somewhat touched upon, Mingshin is technically likable but ultimately a very flat, uninteresting character. I think she had a lot of potential, especially as someone who loves characters like Jude Duarte, to be a very politically-focused, scheming type character. However, she's just too good at pretty much everything, and none of her "schemes" were actually that complex. Most of the time she just uses her unnaturally good insight to instantly foil any plans against her. There were hints of more depth to her; I found the moment where she almost falters facing Ren and Aylin, two people who meant a lot to her in her last life, incredibly compelling, but the story fails to follow through and grant them any more characteristics than "evil."

Speaking of the side characters, they were lacking depth as a whole. Probably the most egregious offender is Jieh, another candidate for crown prince, the one Mingshin is backing this time around, and the love interest. If you asked me to list Jieh's personality traits, I would be unable to say anything other than "in love with Mingshin." His attention is captured almost immediately and he doesn't really do anything other than help her and pine after her for the rest of the book. He's initially described as "haughty" but we barely see that other than in one scene, and he just doesn't seem to have any discernable goals of his own. The antagonists, who are Ren and Mingshin's uncle and cousins (+ maybe an evil mage?), are also very flat. They are laughably evil and don't seem to have any redeeming qualities whatsoever. They don't have to be sympathetic, but some actual personality traits would be nice. I did like the princess; her desire to be involved in politics and ruling the country despite living in a patriarchal society was interesting, and her friendship with Mingshin was sweet. Unfortunately, her relationship with Mingshin's female bodyguard (and I rarely say this) did feel like it was included for representation brownie points, as the majority of their development happened off-page and they seem to have virtually no reason to like each other.

Writing Style 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

This book reads as more the younger side of YA, which was honestly kind of a breath of fresh air. As someone who tends to read more gritty, dark stuff, a book with a lighter tone while still technically being an epic fantasy is kind of hard to find these days. It is something to keep in mind in terms of personal preference.

Unfortunately, this book suffers from a symptom that pops up a lot in YA fantasy. When writing a book that is specifically high fantasy, you have to make a choice. Are your characters going to talk in a way suitable for their setting, creating a higher level of immersion, or are they going to talk in a modern manner, making it easier for the average person to read? You cannot have it both ways because then you have characters like Mingshin who switches from poetic, setting-appropriate speech to very modern slang, and nothing takes me out of a book faster.

Overall 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

If you enjoy the premise of this book, it's likely you'll get some enjoyment out of this one. However, unless you like the genre, this book is pretty mediocre. The plot is very simple and easy to predict, and the main character is pretty bland and perfect; she knows how to solve every problem. As such there’s not really that much tension since there are few challenges she doesn’t immediately overcome. The love interest and honestly most of the side characters are pretty one-note, and the writing fluctuates between the flowery words you’d expect from the setting and jarringly modern phrases. Overall, I was really looking forward to this book, but I don’t think I’d like it at all if it wasn’t a plot I know I enjoy.

The Author

Kate Chenli: Chinese-American, enjoys travel, A Bright Heart is her debut novel

The Reviewer

Hi, my name is Wonderose! I'm a book reviewer; I post a reading update usually every week and reviews whenever I feel like it. Check out my pinned post for more about me :)

#books #reviews #a bright heart #fantasy #ya #kate chenli #time travel #second chance #fantasy politics #east asia inspired #royalty

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aurorawest · 1 year ago

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Reading update

Just Like That by Cole McCade - 2/5 stars

So I started reading this age gap romance about two professors at a boys boarding school expecting it to be different than the last Cole McCade romance I read. It...wasn't. The emotions are turned up to 11 all the time, from the very first page, and that means there's nowhere emotionally to go. It also felt rushed and like the characters didn't really have room to breathe. So...I might retract what I said about the first Cole McCade novel I read needing to be shorter, because this one was shorter, and it didn't work.

Scattered Showers by Rainbow Rowell - 4/5 stars

Bought this for the SnowBaz story, ended up reading the whole thing and quite enjoying it. The SnowBaz story was definitely still the best though.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo - 4/5 stars

In my last reading update I said I wasn't going to read any my Leigh Bardugo books, totally forgetting this one was sitting very near the top of my TBR pile. I liked it a lot, but I have been informed that Hellbent involves a glowing, fully erect demon penis in multiple scenes (and not even for demon sex) soooo yeah. I think I'll give it a miss.

The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by KJ Charles - 4.75/5 stars

Drama! by AJ Truman - 4.25/5 stars

Bloodline by Jordan L Hawk - 4.75/5 stars

Wanted, A Gentleman by KJ Charles - 5/5 stars

Oh I loved this one so much. I love when KJ Charles writes books with a twist because I never see them coming. And it's not like the clues aren't there. This is a super quick read but so good. I definitely could have read a full length novel about Martin and Theo.

The Klockwerk Kraken by Aidee Ladnier - 5/5 stars

You look at this book and you think, tentacle porn. And yeah, there's some sex with tentacles. But??? This book??? It kind of wrecked me. It's two connected novellas about trauma, healing, family, memory, love...really really good. Highly recommended.

Pack of Lies by Charlie Adhara - 5/5 stars

And then I read a werewolf book and loved it! Not that I expected to hate this or anything, but I definitely went into it feeling a bit iffy, because werewolves are really not my thing. This book is romantic suspense and really good, and I loved Julien and Eli so much. This is a spinoff of Adhara's other werewolf series, which I want to read, but it's only available as an ebook, and I don't do ebooks.

Seven Tears at High Tide by CB Lee - 4/5 stars

Cute little YA mermaid book. Mermaids also aren't my thing so I liked this more than I thought I would. Much better than Jason June's Out of the Blue, imo.

A Restless Truth by Freya Marske - 4.75/5 stars

Again, my toxic trait is I don't really enjoy reading books about women or f/f romances. But not surprisingly at all, this book was really good. Though, you know. I inhaled all references to Robin and Edwin (of which there were many) and was sorta/kinda more invested in the hints of romance between Hawthorn and Alan. Obvs excited for the third book.

The Rules and Regulations for Mediating Myths and Magic by FT Lukens - 3.5/5 stars

Just Like This by Cole McCade - DNF

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. I put this one down before I got through chapter 2.

Never Ever Getting Back Together by Sophie Gonzales - 5/5 stars

I tore through this book in a single day. It was SO funny and sweet. It's considered YA but quite honestly I'd call it New Adult. Or if you don't like New Adult, straight Adult. Sophie Gonzales is the author of one of my top reads of last year, but of course, since this is an f/f romance, I was wary. But ugh, so good. Highly recommend this one.

The Luminaries by Susan Dennard - 5/5 stars

Apparently the idea for this came from the author posting polls on twitter for what would happen next, which is...unspeakably lame, honestly. But the book that came out of it is great. Loved the world, loved Winnie and her family (especially her brother and his boyfriend).

Beguiled by Joanna Chambers - 5/5 stars

Loved the first one, loved this one more.

This Census-Taker by China Miéville - 3.25/5 stars

What was this even about? Pretty sure Miéville was high on peyote when he wrote this.

Nick and Charlie by Alice Oseman - 3.75/5 stars

Picked this up because it was 20% off at Target and was actually pleasantly surprised by how much more adult it is than the series. Then of course started watching season 2 of the series and found it to be as sanitized as season 1.

The Henchman of Zenda - KJ Charles - 3.5/5 stars

He Bears the Cape of Stars from Duck Prints Press - 4.5/5 stars

Glitterland by Alexis Hall - 3.75/5 stars

This is a re-release of one of a novel Hall wrote like a decade ago. It's not a romcom (which I knew going in), but I didn't expect it to be quite so rough. Similar in ways to Paris Daillencourt is About to Crumble, only that was funnier. The fact that he wrote out the Essex accent really grated, but I guess it kind of made sense. My bigger issue with this book was the absolutely shit editing. There were repeated paragraphs, formatting issues, and places where it seemed like there had to be something missing because it made no sense.

The new edition is annotated by Hall, which was pretty fun. Not a bad read, but it's not Boyfriend Material.

Part 2

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foggyfanfic · 2 years ago

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Love and Fury

Chapter Preview: Bruno blinked dumbly and she was gone, under the water. He started to follow her blob before it occurred to him to wonder what he would do when he caught up to her. It didn’t end up mattering, because when she surfaced, she took one look at him then shot away giggling.

CH1 Prev Next Master List

Chapter 20 The Gauntlet

Saturday came, as it inevitably does every week. Bruno had managed to build it up in his head as a cataclysmic event, to the point that he was almost disappointed when he woke up and fire wasn’t raining down from the sky.

Leandra arrived, all smiles and cookies, wrapped in a simple dress that she eventually shed to reveal a modest swimsuit.

In retrospect, Bruno wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. It wasn’t like she was going to show up in white linen, dunk herself in his little pool, then lay herself out like the dessert spread at a party. Of course she owned a swimsuit.

It was relatively modern in cut, the skirt being a couple inches shorter than what some of the elder villagers might call decent, but he’d seen shorter. Hell, he’d seen shorter that very same day.

The weather was getting warmer everyday as they approached the peak of summer, and swimming in the river was once again becoming the most popular way to spend any available free time. He’d taken a run to work off some of his nerves and stumbled on Félix and his family sliding down some rocks worn smooth by the current. One of Félix’s cousins had been proudly wearing a bathing suit that her mother was continuously grumbling about.

Bruno had found himself impressed with the young woman’s rebellious attitude. He wasn’t sure he’d ever have the courage to so blatantly disobey his own mother.

All the same, Bruno found himself slightly more affected by Leandra’s swimwear, simply because it was Leandra wearing it. He eyed her bare legs and his hands twitched, they looked so soft, but also like she could snap his neck with them.

Not that he was thinking of putting his head between her legs or anything.

He’d agonized over the possibility of forgoing the shirt of his own swimming costume, because he knew, or rather hoped, that Leandra would like it if he did. Thankfully, the choice was taken out of his hands when he looked in the mirror and noticed that the shorts did very little to hide Bruno’s privates by themselves. The long, sleeveless, shirt was necessary to cover the otherwise conspicuous bulge.

Leandra didn’t seem to mind, however, “You look good.”

“I- not as good as, as uh… Shoe does,” he chickened out half way through his sentence and somewhat desperately gestured over at Shoe, who was sitting on top of the chicken coop, napping.

She of course, wasn’t fooled, “It’s ok Bruno, you can tell me I’m pretty. Just because we’re both extremely beautiful doesn’t mean we have to get married.”

It wouldn’t be the worst, of course, but she wanted to date him for at least a year before she seriously considered marriage.

“Right- that’s- I-I know that,” his cheeks felt uncomfortably warm, “you, you, you’re very pretty. The swimsuit! Your swimsuit is pretty. Not that you’re not, of course you are, but uh the, swimsuit is too.”

“Gracias Bruno,” she gave him a little curtsy.

There was a long pause, eventually Bruno opened his mouth to ask her a favor but she cut him off, “Bruno, if you’re about to ask me to drown you, the answer is no.”

“Oh,” his shoulders slumped, damn.

“Let’s just get in the water,” she laughed and shook her head, before jumping into the little pond. Bruno followed her, diving in with practiced ease, then swimming over to her when he surfaced.

“I have a question,” she said, slowly swimming backwards as she faced him.

“I-I may have an answer,” he replied.

“I heard that your guys’ rooms respond to your wishes,” she paused and reached towards him, she moved a strand of hair out of his eyes then returned to her swimming, “so, a secret cave with a swimming pool and a tent?”

“It… kind of. I mean, the rooms kind of respond to our wishes,” he held up a hand and tilted it back and forth, “I’ve tried willing the stairs to stop growing, but they keep getting longer and longer every year. On the other hand, this cave gets more rat friendly every time I rescue a new rat. And! The bookshelf never runs out of room. Plus, yeah, there’s a pool and some nice plants, and it’s perfect for when I have migraines. So… I don’t really know how it works.”

“Do you like giving visions? It sort of seems like you don’t, maybe the stairs get taller because-.”

“Eh. It’s… it used to be more fun than it is now,” he admitted, continuing to follow her around and around the pool, “now a days it’s all farming and sick relatives. It’s- I mean I know those things are important, but…”

“But they’re not the moon landing,” she filled in for him.

He shrugged, somewhat guiltily.

“Well that sucks,” she stopped swimming and he found himself very abruptly in her space, “you should get to have fun visions. Actually, yes. I want visions, tons of them, I, I uh… I want to see… the Mars landing? Is that a thing?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t checked,” he admitted.

“Well, you should, you should check to see when we land on every planet in the solar system,” she absentmindedly splashed some water around, “and… and you should check to see if we ever make robots. And also…”

“Flying cars?” he scratched at his chin, “If we can build a rocket to the moon, we must be able to make flying cars.”

She nodded, “Sí. Exactly.”

Bruno smiled at her fondly, “Alright. We can check for those things. But not today, I had to look at next year’s harvest before you got here.”

“Really? Already?”

“Myeh,” he shrugged, “people always get a little more cautious right after potential disasters.”

“Hmm,” she sighed, she swam around him, as if examining him, “Bruno, you basically saved our village with that flash flood vision.”

“Well, I-I don’t know about that,” he laughed nervously, turning in place to follow her as she orbited him.

“You did though, if that flood had taken us by surprise we would have lost half our crops,” Leandra stopped circling him and instead moved back into his space, “did anyone ever thank you?”

“My- Mamá told me she was proud of me,” he gulped, staring into her eyes as they stared intensely back.

She made another thoughtful sound, “Gracias Bruno, for saving us.”

Then, moving slowly so he could dodge her if he wanted, she kissed him on the cheek.

Bruno blinked dumbly and she was gone, under the water. He started to follow her blob before it occurred to him to wonder what he would do when he caught up to her. It didn’t end up mattering, because when she surfaced, she took one look at him then shot away giggling.

A little huff of laughter dragged itself past his lips as he turned to give chase.

They played tag in the water for what felt like mere minutes, but turned out to be an hour and a half. She was slippery, and clever, but Bruno was the faster swimmer, and her delighted giggle served as all the incentive he needed to catch her and allow himself to be caught.

Bruno’s stomach growled loudly, interrupting their fun.

“Agreed,” she told it, as if his belly had just made a salient point in a serious academic discussion.

“You’re hungry too?”

“Sí and kind of thirsty,” she looked down at the water, “is this stuff safe to drink?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know where Casita gets the water from,” Bruno shrugged, he climbed out, “let’s not test it. I can make us some tea to go with the cookies you brought.”

“Oh, that sounds great,” she followed him, then accepted the towel he handed her, “do you mind if I change into dry clothes in your tent?”

“Go ahead, just uh… just give me a moment,” he rushed in and grabbed his own set of clothes, then turned it over to her. Bruno got changed in the bathroom, hanging his suit over the shower curtain rod to drip dry. As he crossed the courtyard to the kitchen, he ran into Félix, who was exchanging pleasantries with Casita on the way to the stairs.

“Hello again,” Félix greeted him, “how was the rest of your run?”

“Good, great, it was great,” Bruno’s stomach growled, earning him a raised eyebrow but he plowed on, determined not to be rude, “h-how was the rest of your swim?”

“It was great,” Félix waved him on, “but don’t let me keep you, I’m off to see Pepa anyways.”

“I- gracias, h-have fun with Pepa,” Bruno slowly backed towards the kitchen.

“I will,” Félix sounded amused and Bruno hoped it was in the same way that Leandra was so often amused by his antics, the fond “you are such a sweet man” sort of amused and not the weirded out “god you’re pathetic” sort of amused.

By the time Bruno was done preparing the tea, Félix was gone. Casita opened Bruno’s door for him, since his hands were full with the tea set.

Leandra was standing in the middle of the canyon, her dress back on and the towel resting on her shoulders with her hair laid out over it to dry. She smiled at him but her eyes seemed fixed on his vision cave.

“Everything ok?” he asked, glancing up at the cave.

“Trying to decide if climbing all those stairs is worth it,” she admitted.

Bruno chuckled dryly and led her back into his secret cave, “I don’t think so, well, not for the things people usually ask for. Might be worth it to see mankind walk on another planet.”

“We’ll have to do it at night this time, or at least late in the day so we can look at the stars when we’re done,” she held the tent flap open for him.

“How about Tuesday? After the market closes? You can join us for dinner.”

He handed her the tea tray and cleared some books off a little table next to the desk. He carried it over to his cushion pile and she placed the tea set on it.

“Sounds wonderful,” she agreed, sitting primly on his cushions.

He joined her on the pile, all further conversation put on hold while they dug into the cookies. She held the basket in her lap and curled her legs so that her knees rested on his thigh. Slowly, he found himself leaning on her more and more.

Bruno wondered idly if all friendships came with this much cuddling. He and his sisters never shied away from physical affection, but he couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen them cuddle with their non-family friends.

Either way, he liked it. He felt all warm and cozy.

“I’ve got to get me one of these,” she eventually sighed, when neither of them had reached for a cookie for a while.

“Hm? A tent?”

“A big ol’ mountain of pillows. It’s so comfy.”

“Oh, yeah, this thing is great. I sleep here sometimes.”

“I bet,” she uncurled her legs so they were draped across his lap, she wondered how much she could intertwine her body with his before he understood that she was into him.

Bruno wrapped an arm around her waist to keep from placing it on her thigh, he didn’t want to ruin the moment by being inappropriate.

Sensing the potential for mischief, Leandra wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled a hand in his hair, slowly pulling his head to her chest. He came willingly at first, then tensed and gulped when he apparently realized there was a breast pressing against his cheek.

“Is this alright?” she checked, completely willing to back off if he asked her to.

“It’s great-, I mean! It’s- no- yes-, I uh…” he let out a loud nervous laugh, “it’s fine.”

“Oh good, you’ll let me know if you’re uncomfortable?”

“Uh-huh.”

He was very comfortable, too comfortable really. This moment was definitely going to follow him into the shower.

“Good,” she hummed, and began scraping her nails gently against his scalp. Bruno melted against her a quiet groan being half muffled by her bosom.

He bit his tongue to keep from proposing marriage. Bruno’s head was always in some state of aching, always. If it wasn’t aching from a difficult vision he’d dragged out of the sand, it was aching with the effort to hold an overeager vision back. She gently kneaded the base of his skull and all thoughts of what was and wasn’t appropriate melted away, he squeezed her tight, fully planning to never let go.

“Bruno,” she was holding back her giggles as Bruno turned into a clingy pile of goo in her arms, “you alright there?”

“My head always hurts,” his voice was barely audible through her cleavage.

“Always?” she frowned, no longer amused. It didn’t look like Bruno was even registering where his face was anymore.

He just nodded, then groaned appreciatively when she brought her other hand up so she could massage his temples.

“Is it the visions?” she asked, pausing while he nodded again, “I had no idea they caused you so much pain.”

“Used to be worth it,” he shrugged, “when it’s fun it’s worth it. Like being sore after a good run. And if I just let the future flow through me for a while, the headache goes away for a couple days, but then it’s hard to have visions on demand.”

“Well then we’ll have to make it fun again,” she decided, “I would like to officially request one fun vision a week, Señor Seer.”

He hummed happily, giving her an extra squeeze as she ran firm fingers over the crown of his head. If he’d lifted his head he would have seen her concerned pout grow.

The last time she’d seen his inhibitions this low was when he was exhausted from the vision-palooza that followed the flash flood.

“Does Julieta know? About the headaches?”

“Meh,” he shrugged, “her cooking can only do so much for them.”

He’d eat an arepa and the pain would fade, only to come back two minutes later as the future continued to press in on him.

“Oh,” she removed one hand from his hair to rub his back as the other massaged his scalp. She did not like this new information, she did not like it at all.

Bruno, oblivious to her growing distress, let himself go boneless against her as her fingers continued to chase the ache away. When she didn’t ask anymore questions he felt himself beginning to drift off.

Soon he was on the cusp of unconsciousness but he could have sworn she whispered, “You give too much to this village, guapo.”

He was about to tell her how much he liked it when she called him that, but was cut off when thunder shook the canyon. Bruno lifted his head, blinking sleepily, a confused frown on his face. There was another crash of thunder and they both sat up, untangling themselves.

“That’s not good,” Bruno mumbled, he stood and stretched, “she has to be really upset for the sound to penetrate our rooms.”

“Should we go check on her?” Leandra asked, already shuffling towards the tent’s exit.

“I’ll go check on her,” Bruno shook his head, “she might not want a huge audience.”

Leandra nodded but followed him out of his room anyway, carrying the tea tray. While he knocked on Pepa’s door she carried the tray down to the kitchen and set it by the sink. She re-entered the courtyard and wasn’t surprised to see that Bruno was still at Pepa’s door, accompanied by Julieta. Agustín, who was standing in Julieta’s doorway, spotted her and joined her downstairs.

If Agustín was there, it probably meant Señora Madrigal was out.

“Félix is with her,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “you don’t think…?”

“Félix would never do anything to hurt her,” Leandra shook her head, “not on purpose at least.”

Agustín nodded gravely, turning his eyes back to the door. They all watched it in tense silence, punctuated by the occasional crash of thunder.

The door burst open, startling everybody. Félix marched out, a deep scowl on his face while Pepa struggled to hold him back.

“Félix, please,” she practically sobbed.

“I’m going to kill him,” Félix seethed, “I’m going to- argh! That miserable little cabrón!”

Oh.

“No, you’ll be banished,” Pepa tried to reason with him, but Félix was beyond reason, his face was red with anger and there was a wild quality to his eyes Leandra had never seen before.

“Well, if ever there was something worth being banished for,” he grinned sharply, he turned abruptly and took Pepa’s hands in his, kissing them both with a surprising gentleness. He dropped them and backed up a step, then turned away, walking calmly down the stairs. He left Casita without another word.

That was how Leandra knew he might actually kill Cicero, the calm rage in his eyes.

“Maybe we should let him do it,” she heard Julieta whisper to Bruno, earning her a sharp look from both siblings. She shrugged unapologetically.

“Remind me to never piss her off,” Leandra muttered to Agustín.

“Yeah, she’s terrifying,” he replied somewhat dreamily.

Leandra shook her head, then announced, “I’ll go talk him down. I’ve wanted to murder Cicero more times than I can count, I know exactly what it takes to drag somebody back from that edge.”

“Good luck,” Bruno saw her off, before turning his full attention to his distressed sister.

Leandra ran after Félix, catching up with him just as he reached town. She didn’t bother trying to physically restrain him, she was strong but the man was built like a brick house and had the current temperament of a particularly stubborn bull, she didn’t fancy her chances in that match up.

“You’re not going to be able to stop me,” he said, grimly.

“I’ll be honest Félix, my ultimate goal here isn’t to stop you from killing Cicero,” she confessed, “it’s to ask you for a favor before you do.”

Félix glanced at her but didn’t respond.

“If you know what he tried to do to Pepa then you probably won’t be surprised to find out he’s the one that raped Rosalie,” she watched him carefully, he only looked angrier, “I want Cicero dead too, hell, I’ve even planned how I would do it. I’d poison his drink at a party, you know, for that sweet, sweet dramatic irony. But killing Cicero now means leaving Rosalie up a creek without a paddle. Her and her kid.”

This finally gave Félix pause, his anger abating just the tiniest bit. He slowed down a little, but still didn’t say anything. Leandra risked moving in front of him, blocking his path. He let her.

“If you want to kill Cicero, I’ll help, I can get you the poison, get you access to his drink, help you get away with it scotch free. But only after you help me clear Rosalie’s name,” she crossed her arms, “once her and Julio are taken care of, that fucker can burn. Alive or in hell, whichever you prefer.”

Félix sighed, scowling at first her, then the sky, “He raped my friend, he tried to rape Pepa, and he’s probably going to try to rape you. I want to tear him to shreds with my bare hands.”

“So would I, if I had hands like yours,” she shrugged, “but let’s think about his victims first.”

He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths, eventually he shook his head and sighed, “I’m not waiting around for him to hurt another innocent woman, especially not one of my little brother’s best friends. Somebody needs to stop him.”

“Don’t forget, if we both get our way, I might also be your future sister in law,” Leandra joked, earning her a quiet snort from her companion.

“All the more reason to stop him now, whatever the cost,” Félix said grimly.

“We could…”

“What?”

“If Julieta and Pepa knew I was suggesting this, they would be very upset with me, but we could go on the offensive,” Leandra whispered, “set a trap.”

“Let me guess, with you as bait?” he scowled deeper at the idea.

“Look Félix, you’re a very pretty man, but somehow I don’t think Cicero would be fooled if we put you in a wig and dress,” she grinned wryly.

He chuckled despite himself, shaking his head at her, “It’s risky.”

“Sí, but I’m already at risk,” she shrugged, “and frankly I’m getting a bit tired of living my life in fear. Not to mention I would like to ask Bruno on a proper date some time this century. I want this over with, and I want to end it on my terms. Not Cicero’s.”

Félix thought about it, eyes ticking over her as he weighed the pros and cons, finally he blew out a heavy breath, “I’m not agreeing to anything unless I know you’re safe.”

“Fair,” she smiled softly, “and appreciated. Cicero is afraid of Bruno, if both you and him are there to back me up when Cicero makes his move, I won’t be in any real danger.”

Félix nodded thoughtfully, “Could work.”

“It will work.”

Back at Casita, Bruno found himself with an armful of Pepa as she fretted, a blizzard whipping their hair around their faces.

“-of course I don’t mind if he kills that cabrón, but in broad daylight?! They’ll banish him for sure, not just banish him, hang him. All because I had to open my big fat mouth,” she dropped her head onto his shoulder.

“I-If it helps, I’m willing to swear to the entire village that Félix was with me, all day,” Agustín held up a finger nervously.

“Would you, really?” Pepa asked hopefully.

“Claro!” Agustín declared cheerfully, as if he’d just volunteered to water Pepa’s plants while she was away instead of committing perjury.

“It’s not- you don’t have to- R-Reina will talk him down,” Bruno said.

There was a pause.

Pepa poked him in the shoulder, “When I’m done panicking, we’re going to talk about the fact that you apparently call Leandra ‘Reina’. But I don’t have the emotional fortitude to make fun of you right now.”

“I do,” Julieta muttered, but she thankfully refrained, she just continued to pet Pepa’s back.

Bruno glanced up at the blizzard, maybe he would get lucky and die of hypothermia before he had to deal with the consequences of saying words.

Casita began clattering happily, then the front door opened, allowing Félix and Leandra to re-enter the house. They were both, thankfully, not covered in the blood of their enemies.

“Pepa! I am so sorry,” Félix said, immediately.

The blizzard turned back into a thunderstorm as Pepa went from distraught to angry, “Sorry? You’re sorry?! Good! You should be, I thought-. You almost went and got yourself banished or, or executed. And for what?”

“The most incredible person I ever met,” Félix answered with a soft smile and an easy shrug, then his face got a little more serious, “not to mention the safety of every girl and woman in the village.”

And just like that the storm was gone. Bruno had to resist the urge to let out a low, impressed whistle.

“Oh Félix,” she sighed, breaking out of Bruno’s arms to run to the man she would hopefully marry someday. He met her halfway up the stairs and they hugged eachother tightly.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Félix said, rubbing her back.

“I was mostly just scared that… that I would lose you,” Pepa confessed, a low mist swirling around her ankles as her ears turned pink.

Bruno exchanged a look with Julieta. Should they be seeing this? Kind of looked like a private moment. He was definitely going to use this as ammunition when Pepa brought up the whole “Reina” thing. Now he just needed Julieta to do something embarrassing and he’d be golden.

Félix muttered something to Pepa that had her practically swooning. Gross.

Bruno looked over the railing at Leandra, who seemed to be immune to the private moment. She wasn’t even looking at it. Her eyes were trained on Agustín, a calculating look on her face. Eventually, she shook her head, apparently dismissing whatever she’d been considering. Her eyes ticked from Agustín to Bruno and she jolted when she realized he was looking at her.

She smiled at him, wiggling her fingers. He returned the gesture, but privately he wondered what exactly she had said to Félix. He trusted her, he did.

He just got the feeling she was up to something.

#Bruno Madrigal #bruno madrigal x female oc #bruno madrigal x oc #Bruno encanto #Love and Fury

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mynewfancyblog · 1 year ago

Text

Plotting

(ps if you're not my college professor, don't look pls and thank you)

Here is my work of a situation A (dying) -> situation B (being stuck in limbo)

I did write over 4,000 words because I got a cool idea in my head, but if you want something shorter, here's something I posted that's just 2,000: Death Creates Enemies - RainbowButterFrosting - Minecraft (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] (plot is situation A (dying) -> situation B (meeting your husband's boss who was a huge jerk to him) -> situation C (fighting with the person that you're probably stuck in limbo with probably forever)

Or even 700 words: You're Just a Fool to Keep Pretending That You Love Me - RainbowButterFrosting - Video Blogging RPF [Archive of Our Own] situation A (a new friend becomes friends with your best friend) -> situation B (platonic jealousy)

This also follows a universe you probably don't understand, but please look at the linguistic choices and style rather than the plot

“Tommy, you said it would be okay. You-” Ghostbur closed his eyes, his tears burning him. He tried wiping them away with his sleeves, but it didn’t seem to help at all as the burning feeling spread across his cheeks. He choked down another sob, trying to do anything to compose himself, yet, he didn’t feel better at all. He pulled his hands away from his eyes, but he didn’t see the obsidian he expected. His head whipped around in confusion. It took him moments of panicking to realize he was in a train car. One with dark green seats and dark oak walls.

The only sound he could hear was his breathing and the roll of wheels over the rails. His breath hitched as he looked through the train’s windows. There wasn’t a door Sam led him through or Tommy’s netherite axe, just darkness. A darkness that terrified him more than lying to Sam. Tommy said it wasn’t lying, yet he felt a bad feeling when he said that.

“T-Tommy?!” Ghostbur yelled, his voice shakier than he intended it to be. He had to find out where he was. Tommy knew how things happened, Tommy had been to the prison before, he knew how to get out as well.

“Sam!” His voice bounced off of the walls, the air around him feeling more oppressive by the minute. He felt like he could barely breathe, his lungs getting constricted in a way that hadn’t before. He fiddled with his yellow sleeves, pulling them past his hands. The fabric on his body was too much. The sounds around him were too loud, and the lights seemed brighter at every moment.

Ghostbur stumbled to a door at the end of the car. When he looked back, he realized there wasn’t a door at the other end. He must’ve been in the last car. It comforted him slightly knowing this. There wasn’t a wrong way to go. His hand shook as he turned the silver doorknob. The door opened, and he saw a chain that connected his car and another one together. It seemed to be black, but the empty void surrounding it could have been playing a trick on him.

“Tommy!” He called out. Tommy must’ve been in the other car. They were just a little far away. That’s why he couldn’t hear the response. He stepped on the black connector and felt his footing barely stay on. Ghostbur took a breath before leaning over and opening the other door.

It thankfully opened with ease. Right away, he noticed that car seemed different than the last. The sight made him fall back into his original car, landing on his back. Before he would have laughed it off as he floated back up, but this time, the ground seemed more real than anything he ever experienced.

A familiar voice taunted him, “Get yourself together, and come here.” Dream’s voice lingered in his mind seconds after it was said, yet he felt frozen in place. Dream sighed, but not in the way Ghostbur typically heard people sigh. It was long and drawn-out, easily resembling the sight of when someone narrowed their eyes.

Ghostbur sat up slowly and crawled slightly away from the man in the orange jumpsuit. “Come here.” Annoyance filled Dream’s voice, yet he found himself almost robotically standing up in his train car, his legs shaking to the point where he thought he would fall. Yet, he successfully made his way to the other train car, all of his movements feeling strange to him. He walked with more precision than he ever had before, but no carefulness in his mind followed it.

He took a shaky breath, “Where’s Tommy?” Tears filled his eyes again, as Ghostbur wiped them quickly, making sure they got onto his sweater and not his face.

Dream laughed once, “Gone.” Although the mask’s expression didn’t change, it cut right through the ghost.

“Tommy was with me though. He just had an invisibility potion. He- he was there. Sam was yelling at him. Then- then I was gone, but he’s still here,” Ghostbur thought through the events in his head, all of them making him dizzy in different ways.

Dream hummed, “Well, he was with you.” Dream looked down at his body. He tsked at himself, “Where are my manners? I can’t believe I’m still wearing this thing.” Dream gestured to his orange jumpsuit. He snapped and his outfit changed at once. It was a green hoodie with black fingerless gloves. The mask stayed the same, yet it seemed more menacing this time.

“Wait- I mean that’s a nice outfit and all, but what do you mean was?”

Confusion slipped into Dream’s voice, “You didn’t see? I suppose that makes sense because you passed out.” Dream adjusted one of his gloves, pulling it a little more onto his hand.

Ghostbur’s breath hitched. He didn’t remember passing out. He didn’t feel faint, the situation still fresh in his mind, “I didn’t though.”

“I saw you. It all happened right in front of me. How else do you think you ended up here?” When he saw Ghostbur thinking, he softly added, “Tommy said you have some memory problems.”

The words danced around his mind and he nodded. He did have trouble remembering things, but he felt like he would remember something like this. At least a fade into blackness instead of the one he got when he closed his eyes. Perhaps he passed out then, his brain just trying to make sense of it. “Yeah, you must be right.”

A smile showed through Dream’s voice, “I always am.” The words sent a shiver to Ghostbur as the man in front of him continued, “I guess you didn’t see Sam kill Tommy then.” Ghostbur tensed as his world stopped.

Tommy died? His mind flooded with images of a Ghostinnit and the shame he would have to admit that he didn’t even see how he died. Tommy died from Ghostbur not being able to follow through a simple plan. His thoughts shocked him more than the news itself. The thought wormed its way into his mind, slipping through the cracks of uncertainty. “He did that?” Ghostbur’s voice cracked on itself.

“Wow, you really missed all of it, huh.” Dream shrugged, “I heard Tommy screaming at the end of it. I tried telling Sam to stop, but he… oh how do I phrase it…” Dream thought for a moment, looking slightly up before meeting Ghostbur’s gaze once again, “He’s killed all of my other visitors, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.”

Ghostbur furrowed his brow, “I- I don’t understand. Tommy came back from a visit before. He said he visited you before.”

“He did! Sam killed him though, beat him to death, oh the poor thing,” Dream’s pity showed near the end. It consumed the room, tugging Ghostbur’s heart along with it. “Luckily, I was able to revive him.”

“Tommy said-”

“It doesn’t matter what Tommy said,” Dream’s words turned sharp and jagged. He paused for a moment and took a breath for brief composure. “Kids lie, Ghostbur. You can’t trust everything they say. Think about it, I didn’t have any weapons in the prison and Sam just happened to be in full netherite with a sword and axe he clearly isn’t afraid to show off.” Dream took a step towards Ghostbur, “Even those contracts that say he’s allowed to kill you. You remember signing that don’t you?”

Ghostbur blinked slowly before nodding. He supposed the details made sense, but it didn’t connect to Tommy’s apprehension about Dream. Tommy didn’t seem like one to lie. Especially about something so serious. Although he hadn’t known Tommy for long, he knew his friend cared about how others felt. Even if it was under the exterior of making fun of them, he cherished them more than could be described in words. Would Tommy lie to him- to all of them?

“A shame really. He tricks everyone,” he spoke with such confidence that the words seemed true, yet something in Ghostbur held onto the moments he spent with Tommy right before the prison. The fear in his eyes along with the caution in his moments. The slight shake in his hands opposed Dream’s words, but the masked man seemed to know what he was talking about.

“The thing is, I have an offer for you.” Ghostbur’s confusion melted away at Dream’s words, “You and Tommy are both dead. You passed out and fell into the lava, and Tommy… you understand already.” Ghostbur nodded automatically. “I can’t revive both of you, resources are too thin with myself in the prison. So it’s simple, would you like Tommy or yourself to be revived first?”

The question took Ghostbur off-guard. He opened his mouth to speak, but not a single sound was made. He tried to swallow down any fear he felt, but it clumped up in a way he couldn’t. It felt useless to make any kind of objection- if the situation even called for one. He pursed his lips, “What’s the difference?”

“Well, the first time means you’re instantly back. The second somewhat depends on whether people want you back or not. And while I haven’t been revived myself, I’ve heard a postponed revival can be quite… lonely if you aren’t prepared for it.”

Ghostbur tilted his head, “I don’t think I’ve felt lonely before. I’ve waited for someone though! Is it like that?”

Dream nodded, “Mhm, it just lingers for a while.” There was something reserved in Dream’s voice that hovered over him, but he didn’t think past it.

Ghostbur nodded happily, “Okay! I can go through that. Cause Tubbo and Ranboo were worried about him a bit. Besides, Tommy would really want me to be back, he seemed a little worried about the whole prison thing.”

Hesitance took over Dream’s voice, “That might be true.”

“What do you mean?” “I mean- you can’t really be certain he wants you back. A lot of people don’t like you.”

Ghostbur thought for a moment. People liked him, didn’t they? He called them his friend, and the feeling was stated to be mutual. Did they lie like Tommy did? Tommy did say they were friends after all. “Yeah, I think I forgot about that.”

“But it’s no worries!” Cheeriness filled Dream’s voice, a smile most likely prevalent behind the mask. “If someone wants you back,” Dream snapped with his fingers. “You’re back just like that.”

A grin returned to Ghostbur’s face, “Okay! Do I stay on the train?”

Dream chuckled, “Nope, we’ve got a whole train station just for you.”

Ghostbur clapped excitedly, “I’ve never been to one of those before!”

“I know! I built it just for you.”

Warmness filled Ghostbur, a homey kind of warmness that made him hug Dream. The masked man seemed stiff in his arms and it made Ghostbur realize something, “Wait, I can touch you! I wasn’t able to touch people before.”

Dream nodded, though his voice seemed sharper than before, “Yep, limbo works a bit differently than the real world.”

Ghostbur pulled away from the hug slightly, “Limbo?” Before Dream could speak, he continued, “Oh I’ve seen people play limbo before, it looks like so much fun! I tried playing it with Tommy, but the bar kept going through me.” Ghostbur’s voice dipped at the end, before quickly coming back up, “Does the bar hit me now?”

Dream quietly sighed, a passive annoyance filled his voice, “Sure.” Dream turned slightly away from Ghostbur as the train rolled to a stop. Ghostbur stumbled slightly from the stop as Dream spoke, “We’re here.”

Dream walked to the other train car and Ghostbur excitedly followed. Dream touched the wall of the train, opening a door that Ghostbur didn’t remember seeing before.

He looked over Dream’s shoulder, his grin slightly dimming. The air smelled stale, the dull flickering lights only amplifying that. The floor and walls were made of gray concrete, with nothing else behind him. Before he could even comment about the dreariness of the place, Dream grabbed him by the back of his sweater and threw him on the floor. Ghostbur winced, tears forming in his eyes at the new sensation that covered his hands and knees.

“Dream-” Ghostbur was cut off by the sound of someone entering the train. He shielded himself momentarily but still caught the gaze of the man eagerly leaving the station. He looked like him. Though, not exactly. He had more color than him, his gray skin differing from the man’s light tan. The man wearing a coat collapsed into the train. Before he could ask anything, the door closed, and the train pulled away faster than he left it.

He sat on the concrete for a moment. Confusion dancing around his head, the stinging feeling on his body only emphasizing it. Dream said limbo would be lonely if he wasn’t revived. Was this the loneliness he was talking about? The feeling didn’t seem to be from the dreary place itself, just the floor roughly hitting him. He thought the sensation was called ‘pain,’ but he hadn’t felt that before either.

He slowly got up, slightly wincing from the previous impact. “Tommy?” He called out, then remembered that the boy must’ve been revived already. He took a shaky breath and walked around the station. There wasn’t anything too interesting. Barely anything he could describe with a positive word.

He tried to smile, but it came out slightly flimsier than he would have liked, “Well we’ll just have to make the most out of it.” There wasn’t anything to make out of it. There were simply some gray walls, gray floors, and lights that barely illuminated the place. Now that he looked back at where the train used to be, there was some metallic track that laid under it.

Ghostbur kneeled down and ran his gently placed his hand on it, his hand burned at the touch and he immediately pulled away. He looked at his hand, seeing a slightly darker gray form where he touched the rail. He stood up and walked a little away from the area, almost afraid he would be burned again.

He tried touching the area to try and make the pain lessen, but he winced at the feeling that seemed to pulse in his hand.

A shiver ran through his body before he realized he was lightly shivering from the room itself. He didn’t like how cold it was. His sweater didn’t help at all as he balled up the ends of it around his hands and tightly held his arms against his body. He remembered something Phil said about how corners are always ninety degrees as he walked over to where two gray walls met. He tucked himself into the corner and put his legs up against his chest. The walls seemed warmer than him, though occasionally sending more shivers through his body.

He put his head down behind his knees, trying to push himself more against the walls. He squeezed his eyes tight. Tommy was coming back for him soon. Even if it slipped his mind, Tubbo or Ranboo or someone would notice he was gone. He sighed as he shivered again.

Ghostbur hadn’t felt the cold before. It swirled his mind and overtook his body, a blue feeling took the ends of his fingers. All he could think of was when he went out in the snow with Tommy.

It was a cold day. ‘Freezing’ in Phil’s words. But Ghostbur and Tommy had an adventure that day! He remembered it so clearly, they were going to see if they could find a polar bear and ride it. Phil rolled his eyes at the idea, but after seeing the two’s determination, he passed them a backpack with some potion and golden apples. The potions didn’t seem strong, just for slightly better speed and a bit of instant health.

They ran out the door, Tommy bundled up with three layers and Ghostbur with his traditional outfit. Phil told them to come back by some time, that Ghostbur didn’t pick up on as he ran with Tommy into the snow. They ran until Tommy was out of breath and gasping the cold air, white shaky breaths coming out of him.

Ghostbur waited patiently before Tommy spoke through pants, “Fuck… this stupid… jacket…” He struggled to take it off, his shaky hands unbuttoning it slowly.

Ghostbur tilted his head, “Didn’t Phil say to keep that on?”

Tommy laughed, “Fuck Phil as well. Besides, it’s not really that cold out.” He managed to get the jacket off and tied it around his waist. Tommy rubbed his arms for a moment before looking back at Ghostbur, “Let’s continue this way.” He started walking towards the direction they ran to previously, taking long strides instead of sprinting.

Ghostbur followed suit. “Do you actually know where we’re going or did you just say that to Phil?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, “Why does everyone think I don’t know what I’m doing!?”

Ghostbur raised an eyebrow. Tommy looked away for a moment, before mumbling, “Okay… I might not know what I’m doing, but I’m a big man! I’ll figure it out.”

Ghostbur smiled, “We’ll figure it out.”

Tommy gently punched Ghostbur in the shoulder, not paying any mind that it went straight through him. “Fine.”

The minutes of their banter turned into an hour and a half, Tommy’s voice was slightly hoarse, though neither of them really minded.

Tommy fished around in his backpack for something as Ghostbur filled in the silence, “The weather is nice today.”

“T- the weather is the same e- every day.” Tommy grabbed a water bottle from his bag. He frustratedly sighed when he realized it was frozen. He put it back in the bag and slung it over his shoulders. He slightly stumbled at the action. Ghostbur sent him a look of concern that was clearly unnoticed.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t know how he didn’t notice the shakiness in Tommy’s legs along with the dullness of Tommy’s lips. Even the paleness of the younger’s face should have been a dead give away something was wrong.

Tommy shakily nodded as he tripped into the snow, “F- fuck.” Ghostbur reached to help him up, but Tommy shivered in response. No- he didn’t shiver in response, his shivering worsened for that moment, despite it already being intense. Tommy laid back in the snow, his shaky hands messing with the knot around his jacket.

“Tommy, what’s wrong?” His voice was more serious this time, as he watched his friend shiver.

Tommy shook his head. He forced himself to sit up as Ghostbur’s concern increased. When Tommy started to stand up, his legs collapsed from under him, making him fall into the snow once more.

“F-fine. ‘M fine.” Tommy closed his eyes as he shakily tried to push himself back up again. He failed as he gave, up letting himself lay in the snow, his white breaths looking smaller than the ones from before.

“Tommy, you don’t look fine, what’s wrong?” Ghostbur typically liked being a ghost. He didn’t get tired, hungry, and if he thought hard enough about a place, he was there. It made it easy to see his friends, making his daily rounds much more convenient. But he despised standing helplessly as Tommy needed someone.

“N-” Tommy cut himself off as he curled himself into a ball.

Ghostbur snapped his fingers, “Oh, you’re cold! Just put on your jacket again.”

Tommy nodded as he tried undoing the knot around his waist, his fingers shaking too much for any precision. Ghostbur reached for the knot but stopped when he realized it was pointless. Ghostbur didn’t like the hopeless acknowledgment in his chest. It made him feel the solid pressure behind him as he shivered. Ghostbur tilted his head, the pressure feeling strange and foreign before he realized that he was still in the train station. He raised his head, squinting at his surroundings. His shoulders went down in disappointment as there was nothing new around him. He put his head back down.

All he had to do was imagine the snow falling around him a little faster and he would be okay. He just had to imagine going to Phil and telling him about Tommy. The concern in his eyes as he brought the ender pearls in a chest, telling Ghostbur to go to Tommy again. He nodded quickly and thought about the cold teenager. He was there within moments as the scene in front of him made his heart crumble slightly. The snow laid delicately in his hair, the boy shaking even more.

“Phil’s coming,” Ghostbur stated. He wasn’t sure which one of them needed to hear it more.

Tommy shook his head, his shivering seeming worse and worse by the second. Tommy mouthed a word, that Ghostbur didn’t see. His mind was racing as purple particles came from his left.

He sighed with relief when he saw it was Phil. “I- I think it’s worse.” Phil nodded, kneeling down into the snow and placing Tommy’s head in his lap. Tommy squinted before closing his eyes again.

“Don’t close your eyes, mate.” He rummaged through the backpack that still hung from Tommy’s shoulder. He grabbed a crimson red potion from the bag, took off the cap, and placed it against Tommy’s lips. The boy gladly drank it, practically chugging the bottle. Ghostbur knelt down next to Phil, not exactly able to help, but still there nonetheless.

When Tommy finished the potion, he grabbed a golden apple from the bag. When Phil held it to Tommy’s mouth, the boy weakly grabbed the apple in his hand and took a bite out of it.

Ghostbur’s quiet voice interrupted the scene, “Is he gonna be okay?”

Phil nodded before asking, “Did Tommy ask you to get me?”

Ghostbur shook his head, his gaze returning to Tommy. He looked better now. There was a bit more color in his skin, his lips turning pink as well. He was still shaking, something Ghostbur frowned at, but he was grateful to see that it wasn’t as bad as before.

After a few moments, Tommy finished the golden apple, stirring slightly in Phil’s hold. He sat up, moving his legs around. He shakily stood up as Phil stood up along with him, wrapping his wing around Tommy’s back.

Tommy mumbled, “Phil I’m f- fine now.”

Phil let out a dry laugh, “That golden apple only lasts in your system so long.”

Tommy shrugged it off, “‘m good.” He took a step forward, his legs still shaky as he grabbed Phil’s arm to prevent falling again.

Phil raised an eyebrow. Tommy avoided Phil’s glance.

As the tension between the two ran thick, Ghostbur hopped in, “I think we should go back. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really excited to see a polar bear! But-” Ghostbur’s voice dipped, “I don’t want you to… be cold again.”

Phil carefully untied the knot around Tommy’s waist, it slipping away with ease as he held it out for Tommy to put back on. Tommy sighed and put the coat on, though he seemed pleased with the slight warmth it brought.

Phil’s voice softened, “You told me you would keep it on.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes for a moment before pursing his lips, “Wasn’t that cold when I took it off.”

Phil rolled his eyes as he gently rubbed Tommy’s back, “That’s cause the jacket might have been keeping you warm.”

Tommy mumbled, “I know, I know.”

“I don’t think you can walk.” The shakiness of Tommy’s legs was still present, but the boy gently pushed himself away from Phil, testing the waters of his own stability. It turned out to be mostly successful with some stumbling.

Tommy pulled off a half-smile, “With the speed potion in there, I think I’ll be fine.”

“You shouldn’t use the potions to keep on going, you should use them to help get out of danger.”

Tommy mocked Phil, making his voice deeper in a way that was far from accurate but was distinctly an impression nonetheless, “Oh look at me, I’m Dadza. I do old man things like gardening, and- and- and nothing else. But wait, I do constantly keep Tommy from enjoying life!”

Phil laughed, “You can’t enjoy life if you die from hypothermia.” He pulled a few ender pearls out of his pocket. “This will probably get both of us back, just make sure to hold onto me.” Tommy slumped into Phil out of pettiness as an ender pearl went flying from Phil’s hand and into the sky. He met Ghostbur’s gaze, “Seeya back at the base?”

Ghostbur nodded, shivering again. He remembered the gray walls against him. The gray walls he despised. He didn’t bother to open his eyes this time as he squeezed them a little tighter, wanting to be anywhere but alone in a train station.

#if you're in the fandom don't look at this it's for college I promise

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littlemisspascal · 2 years ago

Text

The When (Part 1)

Pairing: Ruescott Melshi x Female Reader

Word Count: 4000+

Summary: There is a story before, when, and after Keef Girgo enters your life. This is the When.

Rating: M (18+, minors please do not engage!)

Warnings: Prison/Narkina 5 storyline but an AU where woman inmates are assigned to each unit as ‘peacekeepers’, language, established relationship, non-descriptive smut + references of smut, possessiveness, references of violence + blood, non-descriptive suicide (not major character death)

- Reader has no official name and no physical traits described in detail. However, she is implied to be shorter than Melshi.

Author Note: Thank you everybody for the kind support of this story! For the sake of length, this section--The When--will be broken up into multiple segments! Hope someone enjoys it 😊

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜

The Before / The When Part 2

The daily routine continues. Doesn’t matter Table 5 is down a man. Doesn’t matter that man is—was—Tress and he’s gone forever. Wrapped up in a body bag and taken away like he was nothing more than garbage. He’s not the first to have railed himself during your time here, and you’d be a damn fool to think he’ll be the last. Doesn’t make the hole in your chest any smaller though.

As a peacekeeper—and you hate that title, you really do. You already stand out as separate from the men sheerly by being the only woman in the unit, the extra label just seems excessive—you’re meant to float around the room, encouraging a different table every hour. But on day one of your sentence Kino assigned you to Table Five and you’ve been with your boys ever since.

At first you thought Kino only did it because he saw you as too weak to be helpful, that you’d only get in the way and ruin his streak of being one of the top three rooms on the level. It was only when you saw how he interacted with Ulaf, the longest-serving inmate on level five —a pat on the shoulder every hour, tone just a smidge lighter, friendlier, keeping a particularly close track of Ulaf’s approaching release date—did you understand why he organized the arrangement.

And it was only when you saw Kino successfully argue against the guards to give Table Four a pass for their slowness after the loss of a member (slit his throat with his shaver, you’d learn the gruesome details later from Xaul), that you understood why the prisoners listened to him, respected him, why they obeyed every booming word out of his mouth. Because as far as managers go, how lucky Unit Five-Two-D is to have gotten the very best.

—

The loss of Tress is harder than you expect it to be. His absence means two less hands to twist a hydrospanner, which means you have to step up and fill the void while also catching the drill when it swings around to puncture holes in your piece of metal and double-checking Ulaf’s work isn’t faulty. Table Five is in last place, a ranking that has your eyes drifting towards the deceivingly harmless box in the center of the room, stomach churning.

There’s still time left on the clock. No need to panic just yet. Panic leads to mistakes and mistakes lead to injuries. Melshi will get mad if you’re injured again. There are already too many reasons to be mad around here, you really don’t want to give him another one.

Besides, sooner or later, another prisoner will be joining your table today. That’s always how it goes. Someone dies, the next day they’re replaced. Simple as that.

“Like cheap parts in a machine,” Melshi had said once. Not angry. Not disgusted. Just a plain and cold fact of life.

The boys don’t talk much today while working, too focused on trying to catch up to the other tables to say anything besides the usual Fly! and Hands away repeated on loop like clockwork. Occasionally there will be encouragement like C’mon we got this from Ham, ever the optimist even in the direst of times. Nobody has the heart to tell him and his baby blues to shut up.

You’ll catch Melshi’s gaze right before each fresh droid widget rises up from the depths of the table to be worked on. He’s tired, you can see it in the lines around his mouth, how he clenches his jaw. And you know he sees the same exhaustion mirrored in the slouch of your posture and heavy eyelids. Neither of you offer words of comfort to the other.

It’s enough to be seen.

—

The new inmate shows up during the final hour of the shift, right as you were beginning to fear nobody was coming to replace Tress at all. He’s young, early half of his twenties you estimate, with floppy brown hair and the same thinly veiled look of nervousness everyone wears on their faces when they first arrive.

You remember what it’s like to be in his shoes—well, not shoes technically, but his position. To be stared at by a room full of strangers all with their hands on their heads. It’s like attending a new school, except worse because school ends once the day’s over and everybody gets to go home. There are men here with sentences lasting double their lifetimes. They’ll never see their homes again.

You can barely recall what your home even looks like anymore, too many memories of white walls and a shared cot filling your head. It hadn’t really been a home though, you know that much. Just a building with a roof and four walls. And there had been no one to share it with either. No one to worry why you never came back after that fateful night.

Kino welcomes the newcomer with his typical informative, if not intimidatingly blunt explanation of how to fit in. My name is Kino Loy. I own you now. This is how the game is played. Don’t fuck it up.

You feel the stranger’s eyes on you even before he approaches. You’d bristle if you weren’t used to it after all these years. But there’s something…different about his stare. It isn’t hostile or hungry, doesn’t make the hair on the back of your neck prickle. It’s the look of a man who’s attempting to solve a puzzle in his mind and is startled by an unexpected piece changing the entire image.

He’s curious about you.

“We’ve been waiting for you.” Jemboc is the first to greet him, somehow managing to sound pleasant despite the increasing sense of impending doom you’re all going to be fried. “I’m Jemboc. What’s your name?”

“Keef Girgo.”

There’s something about the way he says it—dull, almost woodenly—that has your fingers instinctively tightening around your tool. It’s too plain. Too irreverent. The kind of name forgotten the second you hear it.

Jemboc carries on introductions, pointing to each of you. “Xaul, Taga, Ulaf and Ham. Then that’s Melshi and his girl.”

You roll your eyes at the ensuing chuckles from the boys, telling Keef your real name despite your misgivings. First impressions can’t be trusted on Narkina 5, forged too rashly in the glance of an eye. It’s the second and third and fourth ones you’ll need to depend on to form a fair judgment.

Keef says nothing, but his gaze is alert, soaking everything in.

“We’re down ten,” Taga announces after glancing at the screen depicting the stats of the room.

The group’s efforts pick up speed.

“Kino got Four a pass before when they were down a man,” Jemboc points out, grabbing the overhead drill. “He should give us one too.”

“He should,” Xaul agrees, lips pursed, “but—”

“He won’t,” Taga finishes shortly, temper flaring. “Not when we have her.”

You know he doesn’t mean it as sharply as it sounds, but the words still sting, still draw blood, and you can’t stop yourself from reflexively wincing.

It’s true though. Even with the difficulties of Ulaf’s old age taken into account, your help is an advantage over the other groups. And in order to make up for that advantage (as well as keep his respect intact), there are times Kino will fight harder for the benefits of the other tables over yours. Case in point.

“We’re down ten. Focus.” If Taga’s voice was a papercut, then Melshi’s is the dangerous click of a blaster promising death.

Silence falls like a blanket over the table, movements frozen as if everyone’s been turned to stone. Even Keef seems to be holding his breath.

You bite your lip, a burst of heat spreading out from the center of your stomach. Maker, this man…

And then Ulaf coughs and the spell is broken and work resumes once more.

You move around the table where you’re needed, tightening bolts, drilling holes, fusing metal—lather, rinse, and repeat. Every day it’s the same spider-like beams and the same precise installation method. Human error is what keeps you on your toes, the only unpredictable element of each shift.

Through it all, Keef stands there soundlessly. Watching, watching, watching…

Ulaf heaves a sigh. “Giving us a new man with only an hour left? It’s hopeless.”

“There’s still forty-two minutes on the clock,” Ham says, but you can hear a thread of trepidation in his voice now. “We can rally.”

You snort, glancing up at the window right as a guard passes by. “Un-fucking-likely. They’re up there laughing at us.”

Keef steps closer in your peripheral, probably to get a better look at the tools, but realizing that doesn’t stop your hackles from raising defensively.

“Hey, new guy,” Xaul seizes Keef’s attention, eyes hollow and mouth pinched, “prepare to fry.”

On that grim note, you think there won’t be anymore talking for awhile, but then—

“Keef,” Melshi corrects.

Your head snaps up, frowning, thinking you must have misheard him.

“What?” Xaul looks just as taken aback as you feel.

“That’s his name.” Melshi’s eyes skim right over your face, locking with the man in question behind you. “Right?”

“Keef,” is the echoed confirmation. There’s an edge to it that wasn’t there when he said it before, and when you look over your shoulder, you see there’s a new rigidity to his expression, too. A refusal to yield. Understanding dawns then, stealing the air from your lungs.

Oh.

You immediately look to Melshi again, finding him already looking back.

It’d been a test.

One glance, that’s all it takes to know you both share the same certainty.

Keef’s lying.

—

Table Five finishes last to the surprise of nobody in the group. You stand in the box, a darker colored square tile in the center meant to be seen by every prisoner in the room. Your breathing is loud even to your own ears, rapid panting as you stare at your feet, toes curling against the cold floor. This isn’t a new experience—Table Five’s been in the box dozens of times over the years of your sentence—but you’ll never be immune to the pain. No, it will always find new ways to break you over and over again.

Melshi stands behind you. He does this on purpose to keep you from seeing him writhing in pain. But his screams…oh his screams your ears will never forget.

Also standing somewhere behind you is Keef. The dark-haired man had withdrawn inside himself when the alarm sounded at the end of the shift, reminding you of a turtle hiding inside its shell. Some vague and distant part of your mind not currently drowning in panic wonders how long he’ll last here. If Narkina 5 will add yet another tally to its ever rising death toll.

And then the box ignites and there’s no more wondering anything anymore.

Your world is consumed in hellfire.

—

The box leaves the bottoms of your bare feet tender and aching, white-hot needles prodding at the flesh, sinking deeper with every step. You’d cry if you could summon the tears, but your body’s a scorched husk, mouth tasting like desert sand.

The walk to the skybridge is a blur. It’s only while you stand in line, waiting for the guards to open the doors, your haziness begins wearing off. You blink a few times, fuzzy outlines sharpening into distinctive shapes, and the residual ringing in your ears starts to fade as you become aware of a hand holding yours, squeezing it rhythmically. You find yourself smiling, just a slight upturn of your chapped lips, because you’ll always recognize Melshi’s touch.

You shuffle around, slowly lifting your tired gaze over his chest and face until you meet his eyes. Empty, is your first thought, stomach plummeting. Empty and colorless, matching the ashen hue of his skin. He looks sick. Worse, he looks…

Biting back a whimper, you lean in even closer, pressing your forehead against the center of his chest where the welcoming sound of his heartbeat washes over you like rain. Melshi stays quiet. Just breathing. He drifts sometimes, too, going somewhere you can’t follow. He’s never gone long, but you still wrestle with helplessness in the interim, wishing you could do more than hold onto him until he returns.

A minute ticks by, then another. The other inmates pay no attention to either of you, chattering amongst themselves or griping about the long wait. It’s sort of funny how after twelve hour shifts of heavy labor with no breaks the sleeping block quickly starts looking like a five-star hotel.

It’s sort of funny, except no, it really isn’t funny at all.

Melshi exhales a shaky breath through his nose and then his lips are suddenly pressing a kiss to the top of your head, a shiver running through you that’s not an aftereffect of the shock.

You tilt your head up to look at him again, tips of your noses almost touching. His eyes flash with a flicker of warmth, sending your heart somersaulting, and you feel relief swell inside of you like a balloon.

“Hi,” you say, and the word comes out like a frog’s croak.

“Hi,” he echoes, a low and gravelly note only you can hear.

This close, where all you see is Melshi, Melshi, Melshi, it’s as crazy as it is upsetting to think just a few years ago you had no idea he even existed. You don’t know how you ever survived a day without his touch. And now that you have him, now that you know the depths of his devotion and care, how it feels to be worshipped as he slides home between your legs…

The tortures of Narkina 5 won’t be what kills you.

Losing Melshi will.

—

Even though Kino swears all the cells are identical, some prisoners get it in their heads that their buddy’s room is somehow better than theirs. They take advantage of the aftermath of an inmate dying, when there’s a vacant spot and a newbie too outnumbered to argue, and swap spaces with whoever’s willing. Usually it doesn’t bother you much—boys will be boys, after all—but this time their shuffling ends with Keef residing in the cell across from you and Melshi.

You lie on your stomach on Melshi’s cot, sipping water from the tube while listening as Jemboc explains the layout to your new neighbor. Melshi stays on the floor below. You don’t have to have a clear view of his face to know he’s studying Keef. All the boys are doing it, lingering on the ledges of their own cells, murmuring to each other.

Their behavior would be weird if it wasn’t commonplace around here. It’s hard to have an interrogation in the work room, let alone a conversation. The sleep block is the only place inmates can talk to each other without interruptions (at least until the floors turn hot).

Keef’s tab reads 2,189. Six years. Not the biggest sentence in the unit, but quadruple amounts always draw curiosity.

You offer the water tube to Melshi, fingers brushing as he takes it from your grasp. He swallows a few gulps, throat bobbing in a way that shouldn’t be as oddly mesmerizing as it is, and then drops it, letting the tube wind itself up back into the wall with a quiet reverberation.

“So, what did you do?” Jemboc asks, leaning against the outer wall of Keef’s cell with his arms crossed casually.

Keef seems to notice then for the first time the abundance of eyes on him, expression spasming with startlement. He shrugs a shoulder, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

Interesting.

Every word out of his mouth so far has been a lie.

Jemboc smirks. “Lot of that around here.” A glance at the number again. “At least you know where you stand from the start, no surprises.”

Melshi makes an irritated sound. “Ask him already.”

Both your and Keef’s eyes shoot towards him, one full of knowing and the other cautious.

“Everyone’s numbers went up last month,” Jemboc explains. “A direct result of the P-O-R-D.”

Taga moves closer, a hint of desperation rounding his eyes, giving him a slightly feral appearance. “People must be talking about it.”

Keef’s cautiousness is erased by confusion, brow creasing. “About what?”

Your nails dig into your palms, the beginnings of dread tearing at your insides. He isn’t lying now. He really doesn’t understand.

“The Public Order Resentencing Directive,” Taga says, spitting each word out like they are individual curses.

A small crowd begins to form on the floor, listening to the exchange with rapt interest. The distinct, sinking feeling in your gut insisting you’ll be grateful for the distance in a few seconds keeps you up high and out of arms’ reach.

“You’re the first guy in since they imposed the new law,” Jemboc tells Keef. “It’s been tough waiting for news of how people are reacting.”

Keef just stares at him for a moment, and it feels like he’s holding the entire room in a chokehold, atmosphere so thick with tension you can scarcely breathe. Your nails sink in deeper, guaranteeing crescent-shaped scars.

When he shakes his head, a quick, timid jerk with his mouth drawn into a tight, uneasy line, you can’t help but flinch.

“He’s never heard of it,” Taga says quietly, voicing your exact thoughts. He then immediately repeats it again more emphatically, anger coating his tongue. “He’s never heard of it.”

The reaction from the group varies from face to face when you force yourself to look. There’s Taga’s outrage mirrored in Xaul’s dark scowl, but there’s also Ulaf shaking his head with grim acceptance of his fate and Ham looking three shades paler like he’s just seen the face of death. Fury, disappointment, terror, the list goes on but nothing rattles your heart more than Melshi’s blank exterior.

Numbness washes over you the longer you stare at him, the longer you fail to discern any sort of meaning. There’s nothing there. He may as well be a total stranger.

For the first time since you’ve gotten together, you can’t read him.

“The Public Order Decree.” Jemboc’s still trying with Keef, like if he says it enough times it’ll jar something loose in the other man’s memories. “The re-evaluation of criminal sentences.”

“No,” Keef denies vehemently. “I’m sorry.”

“But all the rebel activity! They took down a whole garrison!”

“Rebel nonsense,” Xaul scoffs. “Bunch of bantha shit.”

Keef’s voice tightens, defensive. “I don’t know anything.”

“Of course not,” Ulaf says, rubbing at his knuckles rigorously. “We’re just a bunch of riffraff. Who’d want to worry about us?”

“But he’s just one guy,” Ham stammers, gesturing weakly at Keef. “M-maybe word just hasn’t spread yet.”

Any response is silenced by the slap of Melshi’s feet hitting the floor as he steps out of his cell. You sit up on your knees, unsure whether to stay silent or intervene. If Melshi would just look at you...

This isn’t like when he drifts away, when his mind is occupied elsewhere but his body stays in the safety of your hold. No, this is a wall built on purpose warning you to back off. You can’t climb over it or knock it down. The only thing you can do is trust Melshi’s reasons for it. Trust he’ll let you inside when the timing’s right.

You trust Melshi with your life. Always will. But that doesn’t make the ache of being shut out hurt any less though.

“Don’t ever look at the number,” Melshi says, coming face to face with Keef. You shiver at the display of dominance, firm tone leaving no room for arguing. “Double, triple, it doesn’t fucking matter—”

“Hey!” Kino’s shout nearly has you jumping out of your skin, an embarrassing yelp escaping your lips.

Melshi doesn’t even bat an eye. “You’re here ‘til they don’t want you anymore. Get straight with that.”

The other inmates scatter like mice towards their own cells, practically leaping to get out of the way of a severely ticked-off Kino thundering down the hall. Your heartbeat quickens, threatening to burst.

“Melshi,” the manager barks, spittle flying. “That’s enough!”

“Rue,” you call out, rapidly looking back and forth between the men, worry spiking when you’re ignored. “Ruescott, leave it alone.”

“Anyone who thinks they’re getting out of here is dreaming,” Melshi finishes bluntly.

The words come out jagged and sharp like shattered pieces of glass. Keef’s just staring at Melshi, brown eyes wide and dumbstruck and full of something you can’t quite label. And it’s strange, almost scary, how smoothly he transitions from an open book to a complex enigma in-between the blink of an eye. Maybe a chameleon is a better comparison than a turtle.

There isn’t any more time to dwell on your suspicions, not when Kino’s fists are seizing hold of Melshi by the shirt and throwing him against the wall, his face a snarling mask of rage.

“I said,” Kino hisses, “that’s enough.”

You’re on the floor in the next breath, ignoring the jarring of your ankles at the harsh landing as you press yourself against Melshi’s side. You reach for his hand and something softens inside of you when you find he’s reaching for you too, fingers intertwining. Indivisible.

Kino looks down at your hands and then back up at your face, glare losing none of its heat. He says your name, and it takes all the willpower you possess not to duck your head like a disciplined child. “He makes one more scene, just one,” he warns, holding up a finger. “There won’t be any more sleepovers because he’ll be sleeping on the fucking floor. Are we clear?”

Melshi squeezes your hand.

You swallow, squeezing back. “Crystal.”

The alarm rings out—saved by the bell, you think, knees nearly go weak with relief—warning prisoners to return to their cells for lights out. Kino grunts, finally releasing his hold, and turns to address Keef. You ignore them in favor of Melshi, pulling insistently at your joined hands.

“Come on, Rue,” you murmur, bottom lip wobbling despite yourself. “Let’s get inside.”

Melshi’s gaze lingers on Kino for a moment, then Keef, and then, finally, he looks down at you and he’s back. Your Rue is back, fingers trailing over your jaw so delicately you can’t even think straight, can’t stop yourself from blurting out:

“Don’t shut me out again. Not you.”

“Dream—”

“I love you,” you say, tilting your head into his touch. The alarm’s blaring and your feet are on fire and he’s never once said those three precious words back, but none of that matters. He still needs to know. He still needs to understand.

He’s it for you. The one and only keeper of your heart.

“Remember my promise, little dreamer,” he says softly, gently guiding you into the cell, pressing you down onto the cot as darkness falls. Forehead to forehead, words falling into your open mouth. “I’ll never leave you.”

And it sounds like I love you, too. Like You are mine. Like I’ll set this whole place on fire for you, just say the word.

You pull him in for a kiss, then another and another, sinking into each other, becoming one.

There are no doors in the sleep block. No corners or nooks of privacy. But when Melshi holds you in his arms, bodies pressed together in a tangled embrace of warmth, it feels as though the two of you might as well be the only souls left in the galaxy.

—

You wake up to find yourself sprawled across Melshi’s back, face resting between his shoulders. It takes a couple of sluggish seconds to make sense of the unusual position, briefly wondering how you went from being curled into his side hours ago to this, before your semiconscious mind decides it’s not a mystery worth the effort of solving.

Melshi’s still out, breathing slow and deep, on his stomach with his arms tucked under his head. He’s so pleasantly warm, you’re tempted to snuggle even closer and doze off again, but instinct tugs at you, an invisible thread demanding attention. You lift your head, squinting against the faintly glowing lights outlining the walls of the cells.

And then you see it. A dark shape curled up on the floor in the cell directly across.

Keef.

You blink, taken aback, and there’s a dizzying second where you wonder if you’re still dreaming after all, but then Keef’s rubbing at his face with his sleeves and you realize he’s crying. Except he’s not making any sound. No muffled sobs racking his body or the sniffles of a snot-filled nose. Just tears trailing silent lines down his cheeks.

He’s completely stripped bare of all his facades, raw and exposed, and you should turn away, you know you should, but there’s something so utterly captivating about your first real glimpse of the man. Those tears, they must mean something. Heartache or hopelessness or some third profound emotion there isn’t a name for yet.

You don’t know why Keef—or whatever his true name is—is lying, how he ended up here, or what he’s running from. But looking at him now, one damaged soul witnessing another, you realize how little those blank spots matter. He’s one of you now. No going back.

Welcome to the pack, Keef Girgo, you think, closing your eyes once more.

You dream of rushing water and blaster fire, a voice screaming over and over the same three words:

No way out.

#ruescott melshi fanfiction #ruescott melshi #ruescott melshi x you #ruescott melshi x reader #andor fanfiction #my fic #my writing #melshi x reader #melshi x you

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bratkook · 4 years ago

Text

right now. (m) jjk.

not yet, almost , right now

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, smut, idiots to lovers!! word count. 14.8k warnings. two mega fucking idiots<33, miscommunication/dumb assumptions, smut in forms of: fingering, oral sex (f.), orgasm denial, spanking, some spit bc duh, unprotected sex, super sweet & lovey!! also jungkook is a sweetheart pls love him summary. coming to terms with your feelings after getting off to the idea of your close friend is a little harder than you thought, but how long can you take before jungkook decides its time to move on? note. did jlin forget how to write for a few weeks? yes, yes she did....i know this took a long time but life is rough man so forgive me... but anyways lol the final part to the not yet!verse is hereeeee! thank you to @kithtaehyung for reading this over for me ily!! thank you guys for enjoying this mini series, the response was really unexpected but im sososo happy over every comment/ask i’ve gotten for this story. once again, tysm for your love and let me know what you think<3

The evening sun illuminates Jungkook’s apartment, golden hour bouncing off every reflective surface and straight into his eyes the second he walks in, immediately squinting as he makes a beeline to shut the blinds. His head was already throbbing from the hangover that decided to peak around noon, a mean case of nausea putting a damper on his work day. So as much as he loved soaking in some vitamin D today was not the day.

“Are you joking?” he huffs as he brings down the blinds, hand yanking at the flimsy string in an attempt to get it unstuck. “How stup—you’d think with the amount I pay every month in rent the blinds would work!”

Alright, so maybe he was a little grumpy today, choosing to take it out on an inanimate object and blame it purely on the bad decisions made last night—definitely had nothing to do with the residual moping of you going on a date. This could be fixed, easily.

The first order of business? Texting you to see if you’d be interested in devouring greasy food from your favorite place down the street. He’d get to see you and finally put something in his stomach, it’s the best of both worlds really.

Jungkook forgets about the blinds, leaving them stuck in the awkward position as he walks away entirely, fishing his phone out of his pocket while he enters his room. It’s the same text he always sends when he’s hangry: If I don’t get food in the next 15 mins I'm burning this place down and taking you with me.

He knows the response he’ll get, either that meme of the child in front of a burning house or an equally hangry paragraph. The phone gets tossed onto his bed as he changes out of his work clothes, needing to dispose of the business casual attire that was suffocating him, his old college hoodie giving him the comfort he needs.

By the time he’s finally slipping on his sneakers he’s expecting you to come knocking on his door, your impatient attitude always putting a smile on his face. Half of the time your neighbors thought you were having arguments from the way you’d pound onto the slab of wood, saying his name with just enough annoyance laced into each syllable it would fool anyone into thinking you were actually upset instead of being a brat. But when that never comes, he reaches for his phone again.

A few notifications fill up his screen, some instagram direct message previews, his group chat that he never responded to, and a few emails coming through, but you had yet to respond. Maybe it’s a little creepy, but Jungkook knows you’re home because he passed by your parked car on his way in. So his mind jumps to two extremes: you were either face down, drowning in your bathtub, or that yellow shades wearing wannabe version of himself was at your place.

Not an ounce of shame sits within him as he speedwalks to the side his bed was on, placing both palms onto the wall before his ear was pressed against the cold drywall. Jungkook’s not really sure what would make him feel good, hearing you and Jung Hoseok together, or hearing nothing at all. His ears strain to hear anything, but the only sound he gets is his own blood pumping.

With a small pout he pulls back, deciding he’d play the annoying neighbor role today and pound on your door instead. It’s a role he doesn’t take lightly, knuckles banging on the wood loud enough for you to hear wherever you were in your apartment. It takes a few minutes before any sign of life is shown, your door creaking open, and Jungkook is thankful because he was about to head to the maintenance office to ask for a key in case you actually were drowning in your bathtub.

“C’mon, let’s get food,” he declares instantly, a charming smile on his face as he stands with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. The smile slowly falls off when he gets a good look at you, hair looking like a mess on your head and your fluffy blanket draped around you as you give out a weak cough. “Are you sick?”

“I think so,” you rasp out, leaning against your door frame and tugging the blanket tighter around you.

“Did that fucker give you mono?” Jungkook looks irritated, brows pinched together in a grimace—something you’re definitely not accustomed to seeing so you almost don’t catch his accusation.

“Jungkook, no! It’s nothing serious.”

He doesn’t look fully convinced, but he shrugs anyways, positive you weren’t interested in getting interrogated when you were feeling under the weather. “Alright, let me know if you need me to drive you to the doctor if it becomes something serious.”

With a roll of your eyes and a small smile, you wave him off, slowly shutting the door behind you. Your eye immediately peeks through your peephole, not relaxing until he makes his way down the hall and enters the elevator, still on his quest for greasy food.

“God, how old are you?” you grumble to yourself, yanking the blanket off your body and onto the floor with a huff. Pretending to be sick to avoid your friend was a new low, especially after the post-orgasm epiphany you had last night. A sane person would come to terms with their feelings and confess to them, uncertainty and possible rejection be damned! But you? No, you have to fake a cold like the giant coward you are.

The guilt only deepens when a knock comes from your door an hour later, a quick peek through your peephole allowing you to see Jungkook setting two plastic bags on the floor before stepping back and walking to his apartment next door. You don’t come out until you hear his door shut, seeing the logo of your favorite diner down the street. No doubt would your comfort meal be inside the takeaway container.

It takes all you have to not rush over to his place and say you were lying when you see he had also gone ahead and got you cold medication, a few different bottles because he surely didn’t know which was best, along with teas and some cough drops.

You’re a dirty liar. A horrible friend too.

That doesn’t stop you from devouring the meal in the takeout box as you’re hunched over your breakfast bar like a little gremlin. “This is just for today,” you mumble out to yourself as you set the plastic fork down and chug some of the leftover alcohol you had in your fridge. It’s your own version of a pity party, except the food feels heavy in your stomach, knowing the man you were avoiding was the one who bought it—bring on the guilt.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

You’re a dirty liar and horrible friend 2.0. Why this time? Because tomorrow stretched out a few more days than planned. It wasn’t entirely intentional at first, getting stuck at work longer than usual and missing the weekly hangout at your place where you got your remote covered in cheeto dust as you argued over what to watch. But it trickled down onto shorter replies to his texts, or you scrambling out of your apartment and into the elevator so fast in order to not run into him, your mind still trying to list all the pros and cons to this potential relationship before you even had the guts to confess to your feelings.

Jungkook didn’t know thats what was occupying your mind, no he was currently thinking the worst. He notices the change instantly, recognizing it because this was the exact way you had acted while you were with Hajoon, right before you broke the news to him that you needed to keep some distance while you focused on your relationship. So Jungkook automatically assumes that your sudden change in behavior after going on a single date with Jung Hoseok, was because you wanted to make your relationship with this man work.

His assumption stings—a lot actually—and soon enough he stops initiating conversations altogether. He didn’t want to hear you tell him you had to distance yourself again, he’s not sure his heart could handle that a second time, so he decides to get ahead of the curb and take a massive step away from you. It hurts him to know you’re right next door, and just like before, it’s like you’re back to being total strangers.

Safe to say Jungkook was currently going on his own downward spiral.

You could text him like nothing had happened and he’d accept it with open arms, but instead you text your best friend an SOS text, begging her to meet you at your place. She calls you dramatic at first, but once you say it’s about Jungkook she shows up at your place in record time.

“Did you finally fuck him?” Is her greeting of choice, spoken shamelessly from the hallway with no worry about her volume. She cackles when you yank the bottle of wine from her grasp and tug her into your apartment, letting the door slam behind her.

“You’re lucky he’s not home you bitch.” An eye roll is her only response, yanking the bottle back and making her way into your kitchen to grab the opener.

“So you didn’t fuck him?” The cork pops at her question, a curious glance staring you down as she pours the red liquid into an oversized cup.

“No Seulgi, I didn’t fuck him. But I did...something.” It makes your face warm up as you remember it, gratefully grabbing the cup she hands your way because you definitely need some liquid courage before confessing to your sins.

She hums in thought as she raids your pantry for something to munch on, settling on a bag of mini pretzels before leading you to your couch, needing to know the gossip that led to your sos text. “Okay, did you accidentally send him a nude then?”

“No, that wouldn’t be so bad I think?” Sending him an accidental nude would be laughable, probably resolved by a few screaming texts and dumb jokes before moving on. But new feelings seeing the light of day seemed so much worse. “But I sort of kissed him at a club a few weeks ago to get back at Hajoon—long story,” you cut in when you see her ready to fire off questions.

“And then I went on that failed Tinder date I told you about, and when I got home I sort of heard him, you know,”— you mimic a jerking off motion with your hand and ignore her lewd gasp, “and then I…” you trail off shamefully.

“No!” she gasps even louder, hand pressed to her mouth and eyes wide.

“Yes! And the fucking orgasm opened my eyes and made me realize that maybe that tiny crush you guys always joke about him having is real, and maybe I have a tiny crush on him too.”

“Does he know?”

“That I like him?”

“No, that you rubbed one out while listening to him you dirty slut!” Oh she’s loving this, leaning back into your cushions with a handful of pretzels resting on her boobs, a sly smile on her lips as she takes a sip of her wine. She’s the one who planted the seed in your mind, playfully joking about Jungkook any chance she got, saying he had the hots for you because she enjoyed the flustered look on your face. No doubt would she text the group chat with the news the second you finish this cry for help.

“Do you think I told him? I can barely come to terms with the fact that I like him. Like what am I supposed to do?”

She sighs dramatically, munching on the final pretzel on her tits before sitting up and dusting off the crumbs from her shirt. “Look, I know you’re just realizing that he likes you so this is still new and fresh for you, but we’ve noticed it for years. It’s fine that you didn’t see it, you had other things occupying your mind.”

You frown as you stare at the rug beneath your feet, remembering how life was when you first moved into this complex. Getting out of a previous relationship weeks prior, when you had met Jungkook your mind was not interested in pursuing anything with him regardless of how cute you thought he was. It made it easier for you to form a friendship, not worried about trying to impress him, or flirt with him, allowing him to see you for who you truly are.

Jungkook had his fair share of girlfriends during the years, none of which were entirely serious but by the time he was completely single you had met Hajoon, and he had accepted the fact that maybe you were better off as friends and he would just admire you from afar. That is, until you decided to plant one on him. So technically this is your fault.

“Jungkook likes you okay, and I’m sure if you just marched next door and told him you like him too he’ll drop on one knee and marry you.”

“Shut up,” you snort, shoving her shoulder with a smile.

“As a matter of fact, go over there right now!” She stands up from her spot, yanking your arms to haul you up with her.

“I told you, he’s not home. But, I’ll tell him. I have to.”

Seulgi crosses her arms over her chest as she stares at you, clearly displeased that she wouldn’t be witness to this love story unfolding in real time. “You better. You never know what sneaky little bitch is trying to get him to get over you.”

The sneaky little bitch in question is Park Jimin, currently sitting directly across from Jungkook, guzzling down beer like his life depends on it. It's impressive really, how quickly he empties the cup, eyes shut looking as content as could be even in the dim lighting. Jungkook can only watch with a grimace as his friend sets the glass down and wipes at his mouth with no sense of table manners.

“What?” he burps, proceeding to pour more of the golden liquid into his cup from the pitcher in the middle of the table.

“I always forget how absolutely disgusting you are. How do you do it?” Jimin just frowns at the question, not entirely understanding so Jungkook continues. “What switch do you flip to go from sipping champagne to chugging beer like a fucking biker.”

“It’s a talent, I know.” He smiles wide, reaching forward to grip Jungkook’s hand and force him to grab his own cup. Condensation was pooling around the bottom from sitting there untouched, and that just wouldn’t do on Jimin’s watch. “C’mon, drink it!”

“Fine,” Jungkook grumbles, raising the glass and allowing Jimin to clank the cups together before taking a big gulp. He doesn’t clear the cup like his friend did seconds prior but it's enough to appease him. It tastes absolutely bitter the whole way down, settling into his stomach uncomfortably, and the look on his face as he pushes the glass away from him is very telling.

Boisterous shouts fill the sports bar they were in, huddles of people surrounding the tables and booths as they watched the current soccer match playing on the televisions lining the walls. Jungkook honestly feels like a debby downer now, moping in his seat instead of enjoying the atmosphere with his friend like they normally did. The current game was definitely not the reason Jungkook had texted Jimin to grab drinks, no he needed an outlet to talk about you—preferably in a space that didn’t have walls as thin as his apartment.

When he barely acknowledges the plate of wings set in front of him Jimin huffs, resisting the urge to dig in because he knew once he did he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else. “Are you gonna be like this the entire time?”

“Like what?” Jungkook has the gall to ask, acting as if he wasn’t looking like a wounded animal.

“Like you just discovered your wife of ten years is having an affair with your sister.”

He sits up straighter at that, eyes wide in disbelief. “Jesus.“

Jimin knew the jist of what was happening through the texts he had received the past week, but it seems like Jungkook didn’t want to jump into the topic of it at all now that they were sitting across from each other. He just sighs before deciding to be honest, wasting no time beating around the bush to hopefully be the voice of reason Jungkook needs. “You’ve been simping over her for years JK, and I get it, you think she could be the one. But what about you huh? It’s not fair for you to have your heart wrung out each time she gets a man and decides to put the friendship on pause—“

“That happened once!” He defends, brows pinched on his forehead as he shakes his head, ready to explain your situation because he wasn’t a fan of hearing his friend say anything about you when he didn’t truly know what happened. “The dude was a piece of shit and basically told her it was him or me. I’m not gonna crucify her for wanting a long term relationship to work.”

“Right, so she’s not icing you out again because she got a new man? That’s literally what you told me, it’s why I bought you this sympathy pitcher of beer!”

“Fuck you, you bought this pitcher for yourself.” Jimin had chugged two giant glasses of beer already, and was steadily working on his third, whereas Jungkook’s watered down cup remained relatively untouched. “Besides, I was just...spiraling and assumed when I sent you that desperate text. But I haven’t heard anything.”

Jimin can only stare blankly at the table as he processes what was just said before locking eyes with his friend once more, “Sorry, what? You haven’t heard anything? The hell kind of riddle is that.”

Jungkook sinks into the booth with a look of shame, not wanting to admit to occasionally laying in his bed at night in complete and total silence just to see if he could hear you and the hypothetical version of Jung Hoseok doing literally anything. It’s not one of his proudest moments, feeling like a bit of a creeper as he laid stiff on his bed, too scared to make a sound. “Nothing, forget about it. Point is, I haven’t seen the fucker come in or out of her place, so what does that mean?”

A deep sigh comes from Jimin, hand reaching forward to push the beer closer to Jungkook, desperately trying to get him to drink and ease up. “It means you pay far too much attention to her. When was the last time you got any action?”

Two weeks ago. From his hand and filthy imagination.

“A few months,” he grumbles, remembering his last hook up that happened a few days before he discovered you got dumped.

“Get outta here.” Jimin rolls his eyes as he points to the door. “Literally, go stand at the corner outside, show some thighs or a tattooed titty and take your pick of the swarm of girls that will surely follow you.”

Jungkook thinks he’s joking, but when his friend doesn’t drop his hand and narrows his eyes threateningly he knows he’s being serious. “My tits aren’t even tattooed,”—his large palms press against his shirt covered chest as if to prove a point— “And you sound like a douchebag talking like this.”

“What? She went on a tinder date and definitely got laid, so you need to even out the playing field. Also, it might help you chill the hell out.”

“Oh my god, you’re not helping.” Jungkook really didn’t need that visual again, it had flashed in his mind too often the night of his pity party and now it was once again at the front of his brain.

“Alright, okay. I’m throwing out my safe word right now.” Jimin leans closer, arms resting on the table with a confused look on his face. “What do you need from me here? Like, do I play the role of a supportive friend who wants you to get over her, or do I play the role of a friend who wants you to confess? Because you’re giving me some mixed signals Jeon.”

A groan escapes Jungkook, fingers rubbing at his eyes before dragging down his face as he sinks even further into his seat. “I don’t know.”

It’s the truth. Jungkook had no idea what he wanted his friend to do to help him. He knew that although his feelings for you have weighed heavy on his chest for what seems like years, you technically had no idea, so he feels a little guilty over his frustration for the whole situation. You were newly single again and determined to go through this self proclaimed wild phase so Jungkook isn’t dumb enough to think you can’t go out and do whatever you want, even if that means being with someone who isn’t him.

“Look,” Jimin sighs, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You only have two choices here, tell her how you feel and accept whatever comes with it, or make peace with the idea of just being friends. Either way, I think you need to loosen up and have fun tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jungkook sits himself up, wrapping his fingers around the cup in an effort to at least look like he wanted to be here. He couldn’t sit here and mope about a problem like this when he hadn’t attempted to come out and tell you how he feels.

One night of loosening up to get you off his mind wouldn’t hurt, if anything it might help him come to his senses. At least that’s what Jimin was currently whispering with a mischievous smile on his lips. “It’ll be fine, I’ll make sure you don’t black out and get home safe. Who knows, you might get plastered enough to drunk text your confession.”

Jungkook glares at his friend, not liking the goofy look on his face as he starts to laugh. “I swear to god, you better not let me get to that point. Take my phone away from me.”

Jimin obviously wants to see the world burn, or at least he enjoys it when Jungkook somehow digs himself into his own grave. That's exactly why he responds with a million laughing emojis when Jungkook texts him asking why the hell he hadn’t taken his phone last night.

He did a good job hiding his shock when a knock came from his front door, half expecting it to be you, keeping a smile on his face as he allowed the person who was very clearly not you in before swiftly entering his bathroom. Jungkook wants to stay locked here forever, holed up while he sits on his toilet and not in the living room with company. It wasn’t like it was bad company either, his drunken ass going through his contact list and sending an invitation to hangout the following day to the last person he spoke to, Aillie.

The girl is sweet, someone he had a casual fling with for months, someone who was used to his random texts so she doesn’t think twice before agreeing. The only silver lining to this was that he hadn’t sent you a typo-filled drunken confession, which is what Jimin responds with before telling him to suck it up and leave his bathroom.

Jungkook accepts his fate, as well as accepting that he is partially responsible for this. He shoves his device back into his pockets before standing up and flushing the toilet for show, washing his hands just to stall. One good glance at his reflection makes him cringe, stained shirt and sweats combo leaves him looking like the unprepared mess he is. Another detour through his room to change was a must before he has no choice but to step back out.

“You’re totally hung over aren’t you?” Aillie jokes from her spot on the couch, comfortable enough in his apartment from the time spent here. She locks her phone as she stands up, taking her time to really look Jungkook over. He was not dressed like someone who was expecting a guest, and despite having seen Jungkook at his sloppiest, his previous attire of oversized shirt and slightly stained sweatpants didn’t look like someone who was expecting a fuck buddy to pop over. Even with his new outfit looking more put together, it was obvious Jungkook was caught off guard by her showing up.

“What?” Jungkook dumbly asks, trying to come up with some lame excuse to justify his earlier appearance but he falls short. His fingers gently rake through his hair, a grimace falling on his face as he looks back up at her. “Actually, a little. Sorry, I got drunk last night when I text you so sober me was not really prepared.”

“Yeah I figured, you sent me some blurry selfies right after. But we can just hang, we don’t have to do anything,” she trails off, a soft smile on her lips. The only time they ever hung out was to hook up, having ten minute conversations before and after the fact. “Or I can leave too if it's weird that I’m here.”

Jungkook is shaking his head before she can even finish, already feeling bad enough after texting her to come over. How shitty would he be if he immediately kicked her out. This was fine, a nice distraction from it all, decent middle ground that would help him get his mind off you without having to take Jimin’s douchebag advice.

“No, we can watch a movie or something. It’s not like I have other plans.” Had this been two weeks ago it would be a totally different story. Jungkook would typically be waiting in his apartment as he stared at the slowly ticking clock, just waiting for it to strike 7:30 because that's when you usually got home. Then he’d either get a text from you to come over with snacks or you’d show up at his door and invite yourself over for the weekly game night.

It didn’t happen last week, or the week prior, so Jungkook is very confident that it would not be happening today either. It’s that same sense of confidence—and saltiness—that allows him to get comfortable with Aillie, blissfully unaware that you had just pulled into the parking garage a few stories below.

“I swear to god if you don’t go straight to his door the minute you get off the elevator I will never let you live it down.” Seulgi’s voice fills your car through the speakers, fading out as you shut the car off and bring your phone to your ear to continue the conversation.

“Dude, I just got off work. I need to make myself look decent.” Plastic bags rustle together as you grab the snacks you had picked up on your way home, all full of yours and Jungkook's favorite treats. It was definitely a guilt fueled purchase, hoping the items were enough to distract him from the fact that you were kind of a bitch for ghosting him recently, or at least butter him up into accepting your apology easier.

“You think Jungkook cares if you’re a little sweaty from work? He’s a grown man, that’s not gonna stop him from going do—“

“Okay, goodbye!” You hastily cut her off as you press the elevator button, hearing her rambling off about being interrupted. “I’m about to get on the elevator, I’ll tell you how it goes.”

With a small sigh you hang up and stuff the device into your purse, stepping onto the lift as the doors open up and pressing the number for your floor. Your hands are clammy as you grip the plastic bag, uncharacteristically nervous about seeing Jungkook again after so long.

The main obstacle for you to get over was apologizing for being a crappy friend, and if that went well you were going to suck it up and just come out and confess, the odds of him saying no were slim. And even if he did, you’re perfectly content with staying friends, as long as you could keep him close.

It’s that same optimistic mentality that allows you to calm down as you enter your place and decide to give yourself a minute to mentally prepare. His favorite ice cream gets put into the freezer for later before you decide to shower and give yourself a pep talk the entire time.

This pep talk of yours is filled with best case scenarios: Jungkook accepting the confession with open arms, finally being able to kiss him properly, everything falling into place the way it should have a long time ago. And as you head over, totally sober, freshly washed, looking and smelling your best, you really can’t picture this going any other way.

With a deep breath you’re knocking on his front door, quickly pulling back your hand and wiping it onto your pants as you step back. Jungkook hears the knock clearly from his spot on the couch, his gaze tearing away from the television to stare at his front door with a small frown. He hadn’t ordered any food and Aillie had just excused herself to use his bathroom so his brain is having a hard time wondering who it could be.

He curses under his breath, not putting it past himself to have texted a second person last night with an invitation to hang out. Why was Jungkook a friendly drunk?

As he presses his eye against the peephole and spots you standing there, he thinks he’s imagining things. It had seemed like so long since he had last seen you in person, and the warped fish-eyed version of you has him stepping back and rubbing his eyes before taking another glance. He suddenly feels like throwing up, and he can’t blame his earlier hangover on it.

For a brief second he contemplates pretending he hadn’t heard you, but the guilt of doing so makes his heart twist, so he musters up the courage to open the door. It’s barely a crack really, just enough for you to see him while still concealing his apartment, something you definitely found strange because you’re usually flinging the door open and strutting right in, but you suppose his reaction is warranted considering your previous behavior.

“Y/N, hey. Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine!” Your fingers tangle together in front of you, not entirely sure what to do with your nerves and Jungkook spots it easily. His own nerves sky rocket when he hears the sound of running water coming from his bathroom a few feet away, knowing Aillie would most likely pop out any second now, and he’s not sure why it feels like a dirty secret that he has another girl over.

“Did you need something?”

“Yeah, I was actually wanting to talk to you about something kind of important.” Your smile is hopeful, despite the nerves swirling in your eyes. The nervous skip of your heart is felt in your throat, not remembering the last time you had felt this way about telling someone how you felt about them romantically.

“Right now?” he wonders, fingers gripping the door handle tighter when he hears his bathroom door unlock, the sound of footsteps rounding the corner before stepping into the living room, a few feet away from the door and in perfect view of the wedge Jungkook had opened.

When your eyes flicker over his shoulder, spotting the auburn haired girl giving you a curious glance, you feel all your confidence slip away. Seulgi had definitely been right about needing to confess soon, Jungkook was a catch and just because you hadn’t realized it sooner didn’t mean the rest of the world was blind to it.

“Yeah, right now...but you’re busy, so it’s fine!” You want to scramble away from there, feeling dumb the longer you stand there. Jungkook wants to say he’s not busy, kick the girl out of his place and invite you in but that wouldn’t be fair to her, for all he knew your important conversation would be a repeat of the conversation you had over Hajoon, and he really didn't want to get friendship dumped while this girl was in his apartment. He’s pretty sure his Yelp rating would drop a bit if he cried on the couch about you to his old hook up.

He starts to speak but you cut him off before he can, “Don’t worry about it! I’ll see you later.” You force a smile before walking away, not allowing him to get a word in as you quickly step into your apartment and move to the furthest room away from your bedroom.

You can feel the cold of your kitchen floor as you sit on your butt, back against your cabinets, the small twinge of defeat spreading within you. “This is fine. Maybe she’s just a friend. I can always tell him tomorrow,” you whisper out. But your fingers seem to think otherwise as they type out a message to Seulgi, informing her that the mission was unsuccessful and you’d be putting on The Notebook like you always did. It was basically protocol to do so when things went south in your life.

She doesn’t even know how to console you, knowing she can’t tell you it was his loss or that he wasn’t worth it because she knows that’d be a lie and you wouldn’t believe it for a second. The only thing she can offer is coming over, but you’re quick to turn her down, deciding that being alone in the comfort of your bed as you inhaled the ice cream you bought for Jungkook would be best.

Is being in your room the wisest choice when you know you share a wall with Jungkook—and he has a cute girl over? No. Probably not. But you figure if you hear anything explicit it’s just your dose of karma, so you accept it, turning up the volume of the movie a few levels just to soften the blow.

However, Jungkook would definitely not be hooking up with her in his bedroom, or anywhere in his apartment for that matter. Luckily Aillie is blessed with the gift of reading the damn room and can easily spot the shift in Jungkook’s mood the second he shuts the door. She’s sitting on the edge of the couch now, hands gently placed on her knees as she gives him a sympathetic smile.

“I get the vibe that somethings off.”

He looks up at her then, slowing his pace until he’s awkwardly standing in the middle of the room with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “My friend—my neighbor just wanted to talk about something. But everything’s fine.”

The lie tastes bitter on his tongue, and Aillie doesn’t believe him in the slightest. A small sigh fills the air as she stands up, collecting her bag and approaching him. “Look, I know deep talks really aren’t our thing so I’m not going to even try to dive into this, but you should go talk to your friend.”

A comforting hand is placed on his shoulder before she makes her way to the door to leave, Jungkook already following closely behind her. “No, you don’t have to go. You came all this way because I texted you with way too much tequila in my system.”

“Jungkook,” she laughs, opening the door with a smile. “You’re way too sweet for your own good. It was nice seeing you though.” Her eyes slowly move over to your front door before looking back at him, head cocking to the side in a very clear indication that he better go over. He can only nod in understanding, waving her goodbye and shutting the door once she heads down to the elevator.

The action sounds of the movie they were watching continues to fill his apartment, whatever chaos was going on only making his brain whirl so he’s quick to grab the remote and shut it off entirely. Now he’s just stuck in complete silence, wondering if he should quickly make his way over to yours or play it calm and collected.

The total silence allows him to hear the muffled mumbling of a movie he knew all too well. It draws him in, lures him into his bedroom until he’s kneeling on the mattress with his ear pressed against the wall to properly make it out. You were watching the Notebook, at a concerning volume, which could mean a number of things. Jungkook knew none of them were good, usually rooted in issues you had with your ex, or a tough day at work, or any particular day where you just felt like crying.

With a deep breath, he’s slowly knocking along his wall, almost experimentally, hoping it's enough to grab your attention through the current scene playing. For a second he thinks maybe you’ve fallen asleep while watching the film, but then the room falls silent as you pause it entirely.

Your hearts racing now, ears straining to hear anything else and hoping this wasn’t how the beginning of the explicit noises would start, but then another knock comes from behind you. It makes you gasp, like you’ve just been caught being the nosey neighbor you are, hearing the soft scrape of his hand sliding down the wall. The ice cream gets put onto your nightstand as you sit up properly, forcing yourself out of the mountain of pillows you were practically suffocating in and turning around to knock back.

Jungkook’s palm presses back onto the wall, smiling at your response before fishing his phone out of his pocket. His fingers find your thread of messages, further down the list than he was used to, and as he opens them up and sees the string of unanswered texts dating back to two weeks ago, it stings just like it did before. He pushes his pride aside though, knowing you had wanted to talk today in person, so he proceeds to quadruple text you.

Jungkook 8:44pm : are you seriously watching the notebook again?

You’re unlocking your phone the second it buzzes, smiling at the dimly lit screen before typing out a response.

Y/N 8:45pm : shut up, it’s my comfort movie

Y/N 8:45pm : do you wanna watch it with me? for old times sake

The device is locked and placed face down onto your sheets the second you hit send, sinking into the pillows once again as you try not to scream at yourself because you know he’ll hear you. Why would you invite him over when he clearly has company? You had seen her with your own eyes, had seen how cute she is, had seen how cute Jungkook is, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

Jungkook is quick though, texting back in agreement and heading over instantly. If you were watching your comfort movie then Jungkook wanted to make sure you were okay. Putting the past two weeks behind him, knowing you’d most likely have a good enough explanation—an explanation he would definitely be needing before the night was over—he’s knocking on your door before you can even check your messages.

It takes you a minute to untangle your limbs from your covers as you hastily try to get to your door, sock clad feet sliding along your wooden floors when you finally yank the door open. Jungkook wears a soft smile as he stares down at you, taking note that you had switched your outfit to your usual sad movie binge attire of baggy shirt and lounge shorts. His eyes zero in on your lips when he notices there's something lingering at the corner of them.

“So, are you gonna share whatever the hell that is?” His finger points at it smugly, laughing when your tongue peeks out to wipe it away.

“It was actually meant to be for you.” Stepping aside, you let him enter your place. Jungkook almost feels a little strange being here after the weird few weeks, but he pushes it aside, just wanting things to feel normal.

“Does that mean there’s no more left?” His eyes playfully narrow at you as you step closer, moving on to stare at the kitchen table, and the coffee table in search of the tub of ice cream that supposedly had his name on it. The earlier nerves you felt slowly fade away when you realize he’s not visibly upset about what happened, but it only makes your guilt deepen that despite your ability to be a crummy friend, Jungkook would still try his best to come through for you.

“There’s about half of it left, it’s probably a little soft now though.” You side step him to enter the kitchen, grabbing an extra spoon and handing it over as a peace treaty, smiling when he gratefully accepts it. “C’mon, I paused the movie.”

Jungkook is not a stranger to your bedroom, especially when sappy movies were playing, finding his spot easily on the right side where he typically handed you tissues whenever you cried. The tissues were missing this time, in place of them being the bag of snacks you had bought, his ice cream on the other nightstand.

“What part are you on?” he asks, settling onto the bed after fluffing up the pillows, waving his hands so you could pass the tub of ice cream his way.

“It just started raining on the boat.” Jungkook hums, scooping out some of the chocolate ice cream and into his mouth. He knew this scene very well, and when you press play, he mentally repeats all of the lines. Just as Noah declares he wrote her 365 letters, you awkwardly clear your throat, your own spoon slowly sneaking over to his side to steal some ice cream for yourself.

“I’m sorry if I made things awkward with your date.” Your voice sounds timid, something he’s not used to hearing from you at all, so he chuckles, laughing harder when you swat at his arm. “I’m serious, I should have texted you before just showing up.”

“Really? When have you ever done that before?” The two of you never notified the other when they wanted to show up, Jungkook had even given you the code to his place once when he was at work and you were desperate for some fruity pebbles—you used that code to your advantage and Jungkook never hated it. But all things considered, it's fair why you think you would have to give him a heads up.

“You didn’t make it awkward though.” It’s not the complete truth, you coming over is what had made Aillie decide to leave, but Jungkook had to take most of the credit for it. “I kinda made it awkward from the beginning.”

“Why, what happened?”

“I went out last night with Jimin“ —you immediately hum in understanding, knowing very well how convincing Jimin could be with alcohol— “and apparently I texted her to hang out today, had no recollection, so when she showed up I was definitely not ready.”

“Damn, this is how I know you’re a better person than I am. If that happened to me, the second I checked my peephole and saw someone I didn’t remember inviting over, I’m gonna pretend I’m not home.”

“Yeah well, she lives like an hour away so I’d feel like an ass if I did that. Don’t think I’ll be talking to her again any time soon though.” He sighs in thought, gently tapping his spoon on the surface of the softening ice cream. There was one thing weighing heavy on his mind, needing to know what important thing you had to talk to him about, wondering if you were actually going to friendship dump him earlier and he had just made it worse by coming over and hanging out like old times.

He doesn’t want to come right out and ask it though, not wanting to set himself up for an awkward conversation in case that wasn’t what you wanted to talk about, so he settles for something safe enough that would allow him to get a glimpse.

“So how are things with Hoseok?” Yeah, that’s a good start.

“Huh?” Your spoon freezes in its spot, face clearly looking confused in the dim glow of the television, the movie long forgotten now that you were speaking.

“Tinder guy? Yellow sunglasses guy that gave you mono?”

It suddenly clicks again, having forgotten all about Jung Hoseok the second you had gotten home from the failed date and came to terms with your feelings. Your lie of having a cold must have been believable enough for Jungkook to genuinely think he had given you something like mono.

“He didn’t give me mono!” Jungkook rolls his eyes with a playful smile, humming along like he totally believes you. “But I didn’t tell you?”

He frowns as he stares at you, not entirely sure how to take your tone. “Tell me what? That you’re engaged and the wedding is in June?”

“No way,” you laugh, swatting his spoon away with a clank as you grab some ice cream before shoving it in your mouth, fighting against the brain freeze to continue speaking. “Our date was a bust.”

“How? Was it that bad?” He desperately wanted to know, having convinced himself the date had gone spectacularly well and you were now an exclusive item. The small twinge of guilt is felt when he realizes he’s a little too happy that the date had been a failure, but he allows himself to have this small, tiny victory.

“Mm, it was so good it was bad.” He looks utterly confused, and you don’t blame him, so you elaborate. “He was this perfect gentleman who just wanted to play games, like to the point where he had a notebook where he was tallying our points, and then he walked me to my car and kissed my cheek goodbye.”

“Oh the horror!” Jungkook gasps, setting his spoon down to clutch his heart in dramatics. “How dare he try to romance you with a game night.”

“Jungkook, shut up!” you laugh, finally feeling like everything was right again, sitting in bed with your closest friend as you teased each other. “Look, I’ll give him some credit. The date was nice, he was not the sleazy douchebag his profile made him out to be, and I’m sure he’ll find the perfect girl for him on Tinder. But he clearly wanted something serious and—“

“And you don’t want that right now. It’s fair.” Of course you would turn him down, you had just decided to embark on this new adventure in the single world. It was kind of dumb for Jungkook to assume one date with Tinder Boy would be enough for you to give up your short lived dream.

You take a steady breath at his words before taking another scoop of ice cream, lips wrapped around the spoon as you slowly pull it out of your mouth. The nerves are trickling back in, making your heart skip and your eyes bounce around. If you don’t come out and say it now, you know you never will.

Your spoon joins his in the tub of ice cream before you decide to move it back to the nightstand, forcing yourself to look back at him, seeing him turned away as he rummages through the plastic bag full of snacks. “I don’t want that with him.”

Jungkook freezes, the rustling of plastic ceases as his hands come back to his sides and he turns back around. With him. He was the king of jumping to worse case scenarios so his brain has no issues coming to this very horrible conclusion.

“Have you been talking to Hajoon again?”

“No, Jungkook I haven’t.”

“Are you sure? I’m saying this now, but if you get back with him I will not hesitate to pop him in the face if I run into him in the halls. It’s fair game out there, neutral territory for him to get his ass beat—“

“It’s you.”

His brain short circuits at that, mini versions of himself currently running around and screaming in his head as he tries to make sense of this. The first instinct he has is to crack a joke, to say that he hadn’t been talking to Hajoon again, and laugh it off. But you look a little too vulnerable right now, eyes nervously looking at him and then looking away at his lingering silence.

“Wait, what?” It’s the only thing he can sputter out, caught off guard by your words, not wanting to say anything else in case the world was cruel enough for him to have completely misheard you.

“I don’t want that with Tinder Boy or Hajoon, I want it with you.” It gets a little easier saying it a second time, but his reaction is hard to gauge. You had been expecting him to reciprocate the confession instantly, but the longer he looked shocked only made you think that you and Seulgi had been seriously wrong about his supposed crush.

Jungkook is having a difficult time trying to go from you ghosting him to you suddenly admitting to liking him, the change in emotions not allowing him to say anything he had practiced in the mirror for so long. He can’t come out and give you a speech about how he thinks you’re the one, how you’re obviously a good match together, brain too focused on other details. “How long have you known this?”

“For the past two weeks, but deep down I know it’s been longer.”

His wide eyes glance over at you now, everything slowly clicking into place. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Yes,” you mumble, embarrassed over the way you had acted. The last time you had avoided someone was in elementary school, having a best friend go ask your crush if he likes you while you hid in the bathroom, scared of the answer. “I like you Jungkook and I knew I wouldn’t be able to play it cool. I was scared to say something and have you not feel the same and then have our friendship be weird.”

Jungkook smiles in that adorable way you love, nose scrunching up cutely as he leans closer, large palms coming to cup your cheeks. He has wanted to hear this for so long, and sure, maybe it wasn’t some super romantic confession over a candlelit dinner like he had occasionally dreamed of, but this felt right.

“You’re so stupid,” he whispers out, thumb softly caressing your cheek as he chuckles, feeling the way your lips turn into a frown at his harmless insult.

“Jungkook, I’m being serious,” you whine, heart still pounding in your chest. Your hands come up to gently wrap around his wrists, allowing him to continue to squish your cheeks with that endearing look on his face.

“I’m being serious too Y/N. Did you really think I wouldn’t feel the same?” Jungkook did everything he did with you out of pure friendliness, never expecting to get something in return from it, but there was a small sprinkling of a crush in every one of his actions. “I like you too, and I have for a really long time.”

The relief you feel comes instantly, lips slowly pulling into a smile when you finally have the confidence to look directly into his eyes again. If this is how light you feel after the two weeks spent freaking out, you can only imagine how Jungkook feels. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Now, can I please kiss you?” You’re nodding the second the question leaves his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as his hands glide down to cup your jaw, soft lips slowly pressing against yours. It’s a gentle smack of skin as he pulls back, a smirk on his lips when he opens his eyes, softly rubbing his nose against yours.

“Wait,” he breathes out, chuckling softly. “Is he still looking?” He has the nerve to repeat the same question that had been the root of your guilt, and when your eyes shoot open and glare at him, he can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out.

“I hate you,” you mutter out, not an ounce of truth behind it.

“Mm, no you don’t.”

His lips find yours again, falling into a steady rhythm, softer and less rushed than the first kiss you had shared at the club. There’s no pounding bass in the background, or the taste of liquor on your lips, but Jungkook prefers it this way. He likes the low hum of the movie continuing to play in the background, the sweetness of the ice cream lingering on your lips when his tongue gently swipes at the seam of them, the way your hands slowly slide around his neck as he deepens each kiss.

With each shared breath, you slide further down your bed, pulling Jungkook down with you until he’s hovering directly above you. His knees dig into the sheets, one hand pressed beside your head to keep himself stable as you urge him even closer to you. The delicate golden chain he wears kisses your skin, pendant settling onto your chest, the cool sensation is almost enough to distract you as his tongue slowly slips into your mouth. Jungkook groans when you let out a small gasp, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging gently at the strands by the nape of his neck.

He wants to remember this kiss instead of the one from the club, embed every gasp you let out into his brain, the way your chest pushes up to feel more of him, how your hands slide down his back, leaving a fiery trail in their path that makes Jungkook shiver. And when you slide your thighs further apart for him, innocently at first, he can’t help it when his lips freeze on yours as you slowly roll your hips upwards. It gives him the same automatic reaction he had gotten at the club, all the blood rushing to his cock instantly, except this time he doesn’t feel the shame he had felt before. There was no ulterior motive to what you were doing, sincerity shown in your confession, shared within each kiss, so Jungkook allows himself to bask in the want he feels for you.

“Y/N,” he groans out when you repeat the action, pulling away from your swollen lips to stare at you through hooded eyes. You’re licking your lips over as your eyes slowly open, a small glimmer evident in them as you tilt your head and pretend to not know what you’re doing.

“What?” you question, leaning up to kiss the edge of his mouth, giggling when he attempts to chase your lips as you pull back, choosing to kiss down his jaw instead. As your tongue gently trails along the side of his neck, you feel the harsh gulp he takes, his fingers bunching up in the sheets beside your head. His neck has always been a weak point for him, turning him into a puddle in seconds, you knew this from the unfiltered conversations you’ve had and it was something you were definitely going to be using to your advantage.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he grunts, eyes fluttering shut as you nip at his skin, a visible shiver racking through him.

“Of course I am,” you hum, letting your hands roam his back, sliding around his front until you’re sneaking past the white fabric of his shirt. When your cool hands meet his skin, he tenses, the muscles on his stomach tightening up as your fingertips trail up his body. You’ve known Jungkook was well defined, lean and toned in all the best places, having seen him shirtless a few times. But being able to touch him like this, feel each stuttered breath and jump of his skin reacting to your touch fueled you.

Jungkook knows you can feel the racing of his heart now, your palms flat on his chest, each thrum revealing his emotions despite the cool and calm exterior he was trying to have. His hips lower towards yours, resisting the urge to rut into you as you start to suck on his skin. The low hum you let out vibrates against his neck, mixed in with the feeling of your wet lips, and he knows he’s done for. The final blow comes in the form of you swiping your tongue at the blossomed hickey, sweet voice pulling him back to earth as you look at him once more. “I want you Jungkook.”

Oh god, he couldn’t do this. His face pulls into a grimace, begging himself to not instantly cum in his pants at what you just said. How many times has he fantasized about this? Hoped you’d beg him for anything in that same exact voice, dreamed of you kissing and sucking on his skin like you currently were. Jungkook isn’t sure any amount of mental preparation would be enough for this.

“Say that again please.”

You giggle, finger pushing back a strand of his hair as it falls over his face, tucking it behind his ear. The normal doe eyed look you were accustomed to is nowhere to be found, pupils blown out in lust as he stares at you. Being on the receiving end of this stare fills your stomach with butterflies, the flapping of their wings intensifying as he nudges his nose into yours.

“I want you.” It’s breathless, spoken so softly through the background noise like a personal secret just for him. Jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of hearing you say it, that much is proven true when you repeat it in between kisses, trailing back up his neck in the same path you had taken until you're speaking the words directly against his lips. He swallows them down greedily, groaning into your mouth when his tongue tangles with yours once more.

“Fuck, you can have me baby.” He chuckles against your mouth when you start to tug at his shirt, yanking the thin material until he has to pull back and slip the tee off himself. The balled fabric gets tossed aside without a care, dark swirls of ink on his arm fully revealed now, each tattoo reminding you of how long you’ve known him, remembering the two pieces that he had when you first met. When he leans back over you, taking his time trailing kisses down your neck, onto your chest until his own hands are slowly tugging your shirt off of you, you decide there’s other things to focus on besides his glorious tattoos.

“Ah, Jungkook,” you sigh, fingers tangling into his hair when he kisses the swells of your breast, warm tongue sliding over your nipple before his lips are wrapping around it. His large palm gropes the other, thumb flicking over the pebbled bud, smirking when you push your chest further out for him.

“What baby?” He pulls back to blow a gust of cool air on your nipple, the wetness of his saliva making your skin break out into goosebumps.

“No teasing.”

Jungkook’s laughing now, eyes peering up at you through his lashes. “Oh, you think I’m not gonna tease you after what you did?” He tsks in disapproval as he continues to kiss down your torso, letting his hands trail down your sides, not stopping until he reaches the hem of your shorts. A kiss is placed above your navel as he pulls the shorts down your legs, toying with the waistband of your black underwear. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

The build up before pleasure will always be your favorite part. The way his hands grip your thighs after tugging your underwear off, fingertips trailing up until his palm is pressing them further apart. It’s impossible to look at him now, the visual of his long hair framing his face as he starts to press wet kisses on your skin is too much to handle. You can feel the warm huff of air when he laughs as your head drops back onto the pillow once more, eyes slipping shut while you wait with anticipation.

Jungkook wants to comment over how wet you are already, boost his own ego about being able to rile you up with just kissing, but he can see the way you’re already on edge, and he decides he can tease you some more later with what he has in store. Instead, he gives you what you’re mentally pleading him for. Finally pressing his soft lips to your folds, the short gasp you release as his tongue glides up before gently flicking across your clit has him shutting his own eyes, reveling in the way you react to his touch.

His long fingers spread out your folds before he’s messily spitting onto them, watching the way the glob of saliva trickles down before he’s diving in, falling into the perfect pace with ease. It has your hips rutting up instantly, your hand uncurling its grip from your sheets to travel down your body and find its place tangled in his hair. Jungkook groans against your clit when your fingers grip tightly, yanking the dark strands as the prettiest moan flows out of you.

“J-just like that, fuck,” you whimper, finally lifting your head up to stare down at him when he latches his lips around your clit and sucks. It sends a spark down your spine, stomach tensing at his rhythm, fully intent to have you fall apart.

Jungkook wants to push you over the edge, knows he’s talented enough to get you there in record time—he was cocky in the best way—and the way your thighs tremble as he slowly sinks his finger into you proves his point. The slick coating your entrance allows a second finger to slip through with little resistance, a shuddering breath filling the air as he begins to spread his fingers apart, stretching you out in the most delicious way.

It’s not until his fingers curl up, rubbing along the sweet patch inside of you and you moan out his name, that he realizes he has you right where he wants you. He can’t get himself to look up at you, to see the way your jaw drops as you plead for more. Jungkook knows if his eyes lock with yours too soon he’ll be too weak to be as cruel as he wants to be.

The pleasure blooms inside you, hips rolling up into his in a way he welcomes, smirk spreading onto his lips when your moans get breathier. He eats you out with determination set in his brows, not satisfied until you’re tightening around his fingers, thighs threatening to close in on either side of his head. The messy way he slurps against you sends you reeling, rutting up into him with need, the wet thump of his fingers blending in with your moans of his name.

“God, Jungkook, I’m gonna cum.” He believes you, eyes finally opening up to stare at you. The visual is enough to make his cock throb in his pants, your glassy eyed stare locked onto his, chest rising and falling in time with each choked breath. When he playfully winks at you, your walls pulse around him, seconds away from being pushed over the edge, and that’s when he pulls away.

The warm glow of your orgasm approaching, just about to crest, gets ripped away from you instantly. It makes you gasp, thighs twitching as your hips attempt to push up back towards his mouth, but he’s having none of that. His shiny lips smile up at you innocently, head tilted to slowly kiss your trembling thighs, chuckling at the small cry of frustration you let out.

“You taste good baby,” he hums, smooching the skin at the juncture of your thighs, circling around your clit without relieving the pressure you felt. The dull ache has your fingers releasing his hair in defeat, a frown etched onto your lips.

“Jungkook, that’s mean,” you pant, sitting up and resting on your elbows to properly stare at him.

“A little, but you deserved it don’t you think?” Jungkook didn’t want to tease you too much, he just wanted to get even for the past two weeks. “You could have had me between your thighs every single night if you would’ve said something soon, so I think you can be patient.”

A firm kiss is pressed to your swollen clit and it makes your whole body shudder, your head dropping back as you take a deep breath to control yourself. “I can’t be patient Kook,” you whine, head leveling back out to give him the most convincing stare you can muster. There's that crease between your brows that he likes when you pinch them together, hands gently raking through his hair, teeth pillowing out your lower lip as you bite down onto it.

“Please, you can torture me later if you want but not now.” Your words have him cocking up his brow, hands once again gripping the meat of your thighs before he crawls back up your body. The feeling of his chain dragging up your skin has you shivering, breath catching in your throat when he hovers inches above you once more.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before his hand slips between your thighs again. A groan reaches his ears as his fingers circle your clit, covered in your arousal and his saliva, gliding with ease as he works you back to your ruined orgasm.

His lips find yours, swallowing down the moan you let out when he quickens his pace. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangling with yours with more urgency than before, messy and desperate in a way that had more arousal gushing out of you. The earlier pleasure reignites inside you, your hands sliding around his neck to keep him close, kissing him with fervor, quiet moans and whimpers slipping past between each smack of your lips.

“Jungkook,” you barely manage to squeal, a few more flicks needed to finally push you over the edge. Your lips are slick with spit as you pull back, jaw slack as you lose yourself in the feeling, and Jungkook easily bookmarks this into his brain to go back to and daydream of whenever he’s bored at work. Your eyes are squeezed shut as the feeling flows through you, not able to see how Jungkook stares at you in awe.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, slowly pulling his hand away when you keen at the sensitivity, thighs twitching on the sheets as the pleasure rolls through you in waves. You’re looking up just in time to see him slip his messy fingers into his mouth, tongue licking them clean and savoring the taste of you. Just as he slides them back out, your fingers wrap around his wrist and lead them directly into your mouth, sinking onto them with your eyes locked on his own.

Jungkook’s cock jumps in its confines when you suck, tip of your tongue circling his fingertips before popping them back out with a smirk. There’s a brief moment of shock on his features before he’s jumping into action, quickly unbuttoning his jeans in haste that left you giggling on your sheets.

“What happened to patience?” you tease, laughing harder when he pauses with one foot stuck in the hole of his jeans, a playful glare thrown your way.

“Oh, now you want patience?” He kicks his pants the rest of the way off, slowly shuffling towards you as he stands beside the bed in just his boxers. Your hands make grabby motions for him, reaching for the waistband of his underwear to tug them down, licking your lips over as his cock springs out. It bobs in the air for a second, thick and heavy, precum collecting at the tip with the prettiest veins on the underside of it. Of course Jungkook and his pretty privilege would have a dick worthy of leaving you speechless.

Jungkook allows you to ogle at him, confidently wrapping his palm around the base of his cock, hissing slightly at the sensation as he looks down at it, allowing spit to accumulate behind his lips before a string of it escapes and lands right onto his length to help the glide of his palm. Your eyes widen at the sight, hand replacing his as he guides your motions, giving an experimental squeeze and enjoying how his abs tense up.

“I’ve been patient for a long time Y/N. You said you want me right?” You’re nodding instantly, eyes looking away from his shiny length to stare up at him. “How do you want me?”

“Jungkook, just get over here.” He doesn’t resist when you let go of his cock, hands gripping his arm to yank him back onto the bed in a clumsy heap. His legs are a tangled mess, nearly ramming his forehead with yours from the force, shared laughter filling the air as you situate yourself. Jungkook had pictured this a thousand times and this is exactly how he imagined it, full of soft kisses, hushed laughter and goofy smiles, playfulness mixed in with lust all coming together perfectly to make the two of you.

As he settles between your thighs, your sodden folds inches from his length, you can see the look on his face as his eyes glance in between both of your nightstands. Already knowing the question that was about to spill out, you beat him to the punch. “You don’t need one, if you don’t want to. I’m on birth control, and haven’t been with anyone since…” you trail off, not needing to specify.

Jungkook tries not to look too excited, really, but it’s hard. Every one of his lewd fantasies had involved being able to feel you entirely, and if your thoughts from that night were anything to go by, you definitely want the same. It takes him a second to speak, having to swallow properly to prevent himself from choking on his saliva and embarrassing himself in front of you. “I’m clean, I promise.”

“I trust you,” you smile, biting down onto your bottom lip as he fists his cock, slowly leading it to your dripping center. His free hand rests on your inner thigh, softly palming the skin as the head of his cock nudges against your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscles and into your heat. With his gaze locked down to where you connect, he sees inch by inch sink into you, finally bottoming out with a shared gasp.

Jungkook leans over you properly now, hand sliding up to lace with yours as the other rests beside your head, just taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of your velvety walls wrapped tightly around his cock. You welcome the stretch, the curve of his length inside you, how he cages you in with his body, eyes full of want staring directly at you, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze because he knows he can’t properly form a sentence right now.

“Fuck me, please.” With his hips pressed flush against yours, he’s slowly inching back, letting you get used to his size with each thrust. It doesn’t take long before he’s rearing back entirely, thrusting forward with a wet squelch, corner of his lips curling up into a smirk when you moan out his name. Your hand curls around his shoulder, fingers digging into his back to keep yourself steady from the force of his hips.

Each time the head of his cock would nudge against your bundle of nerves, your nails would sink into his skin, leaving half moon indents that left him groaning in pleasure. Jungkook hadn’t outright told you, but it had become increasingly obvious that he has a slight kink for pain, practically mewling above you as you scratch his back, fucking you with more determination than before.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, slotting his lips with yours in a messy kiss. The back of your headboard starts to rattle against the wall, bouncing back in time with his hips, and it brings you back to the filthy thoughts you had before. How often you’d hear the same sounds on the opposite side, mixing in with the sharpness of skin connecting together, and you want it. So badly.

“J-jungkook,” you breathe out, letting him pepper more kisses onto you, hips never slowing down. “Can you do something for me?” The tone you use, coated in sugar so sweet he couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Anything.”

It’s hard to concentrate on anything else while his cock continues to fuck into you, turning your mind into mush each time he sunk all the way in. He can see the way you try to focus, eyes falling shut with the cutest pout on your kiss swollen lips, finally grabbing onto the reigns of your mind as you spit it out. “Wanna feel you—fuck—spank me, please.”

Only then do his hips slow down, cock throbbing inside of you, fighting the urge to cum before fulfilling your request. The only confirmation that he was agreeing, wholeheartedly, comes when he pulls out of you, moving too quickly for you to protest at the loss of contact. The room spins for a second as his hands grip onto your hips and flip you over with ease, palms gripping the globes of your ass and softly patting them with a chuckle.

“Of course baby,” he murmurs, hooking his arm underneath your stomach to haul you up onto your knees, allowing you to steady yourself before he’s sliding into you once again. The change in position has you keening, his cock sinking deeper than before, the wetness dripping out of you helping him maintain the earlier pace he had. Your hands fist the sheets beneath you, back arching in ecstasy as he hits your g-spot with precision, a tiny shriek of his name making him smile.

Jungkook keeps you on edge, strong hands gripping the skin of your hips tightly, mouth dropping open while he pants at the way you pulse around his cock, leaving it coated in your slick. His hand slides down to your ass, a gentle touch being your only warning before he’s pulling his hand back and delivering a swift slap to your skin. Your reaction is immediate, an unrestrained moan sounding like music to his ears. The sharp sting spreads directly to your core, your head bowing forward as you mentally beg him for more, your wish being granted seconds later when he repeats it on the other side.

If the wet sounds of his cock fucking you weren’t filthy enough, the added slap of his palm across your ass definitely topped it off. Jungkook had never seen you so needy, thighs coated in your arousal, gushing around him each time he spanked you until you were creaming his cock. The greedy way your walls suck him in, wanting him closer, deeper than ever, left him mesmerized.

His hand soothes the dull throb on your skin, a trembling breath reaching his ears as he leans over your back, lips kissing up your spine up until reaching your shoulder. Hot pants of breath hit your skin, making you shiver as his lips trail along the edge of your ear. “Feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you mewl, voice trembling from the pleasure, rutting your hips in time with his.

Jungkook’s way of love was a breath of fresh air for you, rough enough to exhilarate you, the force of his hips leaving you scrambling for purchase to prevent you from face planting onto the sheets, gripping onto your hair and tugging it back with enough force to make your body tingle. But it was intertwined with adoration, sweet praise whispered into your ear, lacing his fingers with yours to let you feel secure.

“You’re never getting rid of me baby,” he groans out. The low rasp in his voice makes you tremble, neck straining from his grip in your hair but the burn feels too good to pull away. His small confession has your heart skipping, eyes slipping shut to bask in the overwhelming feeling surrounding you.

“Good,” you manage to pant, “would never dream of it.” After four years of friendship, the beginning stages of getting to know each other, figuring out the right ways to flow with your different personalities, it's all out of the way now, so it’s incredibly easy for you to picture a steady future with him. The breakfast gossiping, shameless club outings, chaotic game nights with snacks thrown at each other, you want everything you already have with him and more. What you have, so rooted in sincerity, built off mutual respect for each other, blossoming into love so pure, you can’t imagine having this with anyone else.

“Y/N,” he gasps, the pulsing of your walls bringing him closer to his climax. “I’m close.”

You can only hum in agreement, burying your face into your pillow when he releases the grip he has in your hair, nipples rubbing against the sheets in time with his thrusts, the sensitivity sending sparks throughout you. Both his hands grip your hips again, dimpling the skin as he quickens his pace, the tantalizing roll of his hips intent to send you over before him. His eyes trail over the curve of your back, how you arch it further to feel more of him, sliding down to your ass, seeing the way it bounces back with each snap of his hips, how you weakly rut back onto him, pussy clamping around his length as your orgasm approached.

Jungkook slides his hand around you, trailing across your tummy before slipping between your thighs to the spot you needed him most. Even with your face buried in the sheets, the moan you let out is loud enough for Jungkook to hear perfectly, body shuddering as he flicks across your clit in tight circles.

“Kook, I’m cumming—fuck,” you shout out, white heat enveloping your body as you get sent over the edge. Your mind blanks for a minute, the intensity of your orgasm crashing over you so suddenly, making your limbs tense up while every nerve ending lights up. The only thing you can think of is him, chanting out your name while you pulse around him, sweet words coaxing you through your high, thumb rubbing along the skin of your hips as he never slows his pace.

As he fucks you through it, groaning out at how tight your walls are around him, you have to turn your head to gasp in a breath, face feeling hot from it all. You can feel how sweaty your skin has become, the back of your neck feeling sticky as your turn to get a glimpse of him, body still shuddering from the aftershocks.

Jungkook doesn’t have a care for his own volume now, moaning unabashedly as he pistons his hips into you with less grace than before. The soft mewls of overstimulation you let out just bring him closer to his release, thrusts getting sloppier as the pleasure takes over him.

“Fuck, baby-” he grunts out, mouth dropping open as he moans even louder, finally falling apart. He pushes further into you, head falling forward as his hips press flushed against your ass, warm spurts of his cum filling you up in a way that fulfills your dirtiest fantasies. A few more shallow thrusts has the two of you gasping, hearts pounding in your chests, coming down slowly as he finally stills.

A serene silence falls over you, the movie long turned off in the background, only the low glow of the television letting you know it was still on. With great hesitation, Jungkook finally pulls out of you, gulping when he sees the thick globs of cum spill from your core, dripping down your thighs before landing on the sheets in a sinful mess. Your sheets are well and truly ruined, Jungkook would honestly suggest tossing them in the trash judging by the damp spot directly beneath you.

With a small groan, you’re flopping fully onto your stomach, thighs no longer able to keep yourself up, the exhaustion creeping up on you. Jungkook chuckles when he hears you, soothing your back with a gentle massage. “You’re not sleeping in here babe.”

“Why not,” you slur, cheek pressed against your pillow, eyes already shut. All you wanted to do was lay here, preferably with his arms wrapped around you, but Jungkook clearly has other plans.

“Because it’s disgusting,” he laughs, giving you a few more seconds of rest before he’s moving around. The dip in the bed lets you know he’s gotten off, one eye peeking open to search for him, seeing him gathering his belongings from the floor.

“Where are you going?”

He shimmies back into his clothes with a grimace, gathering your own items before approaching you once more. “We are going next door and sleeping in my totally clean bed, c’mon.”

You only put up a fight for a second, secretly enjoying the way he helps you get dressed in your earlier clothes, heart swelling in your chest at how domestic it all feels. The mess in your room would have to be dealt with another day, the only important item being the ice cream that finds its way back into the freezer as you both head out of your apartment and swiftly enter his next door.

He’s just as delicate and careful in the shower, taking turns cleaning each other, large hands gripping your ass and giggling like a child when you wince at the small throb of pain you feel. Soft kisses are shared under the showerhead, warm water soothing your body as the room fogs up, sweet confessions scribbled on the glass in his messy writing, topped off with a heart. Jungkook stops you before you can wipe it away, shyly telling you that he’d like to see it reappear the next time he showers.

His bedroom was one you weren’t too familiar with, used to lounging in his living room the most, so as he settles into his bed after getting cozy in his pajamas, you wait for him to call you over before joining him. The coolness of his sheets has you sighing, snuggling into his side with a smile on your lips, one that Jungkook sees as he stares down at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Seeing you draped in his clothes, cuddled up beside him in a way you’ve never done before, makes him feel like a giddy teenager.

“Can I be honest?” he wonders, arm wrapping around you to pull you even closer to him. When you hum in confirmation, he laughs sheepishly. “I thought you were going to friendship dump me today.”

“What, why?”

Your head bobs up as he shrugs his shoulders. “The way you were acting reminded me of the last time you told me you wanted to focus on your relationship. I was just scared I was going to lose you again.”

The tone he uses makes your heart ache, the same guilt you felt these past few days coming back when you put yourself in his shoes. You had no idea that the way you were acting would affect him this way, never once imagining that he thought you would cut off this friendship while you were just coming to terms with the fact that you harbored strong feelings for him.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” you sigh, palm resting on his chest, feeling each beat of his heart, no longer racing like before, confident and steady in it’s pace because he knows you’re not going anywhere. “I’m stupid, and freaked out after what I did, and just needed to gather my thoughts before saying anything.”

He cranes his head away from you, a confused look on his face. “After what you did? What did you do?”

Fuck.

“Uhm,” you start with a strained laugh, refusing to look up at him out of embarrassment, but the truth has to come out so you power through it. “So, the night of the date, I sort of got home earlier than I told you I did.”

His eyes narrow at you, refusing to give anything away before he knew where this was going. “Okay, go on.”

“And I sort of heard you through the walls.” You look up at him now, your guilty stare spelling it out for him. His eyes widen before he can conceal his surprise, cheeks warming up instantly because oh boy, he knew exactly where this was going. “And then, I sort of...joined.”

“You lied to me!” he shouts, shocked smile on his face as he recalls the way you had replied to his texts, telling him you had just gotten home and going the extra mile to say you were in a totally different room when in reality, you were sprawled out in your bed after just getting off to the sound of him.

Filthy. And also kind of hot. Jungkook was definitely into that, something he’ll totally proposition you into doing again because why not.

“I know! I couldn’t help it, it was so hot, and I felt so guilty. But, you’re technically the reason why my orgasm gave me my epiphany and let me realize I really do like you. So, I think I did us both a favor by being a dirty liar.” He’s laughing instantly, fingers gripping your cheeks to turn your head up, planting a firm kiss onto your lips obnoxiously.

“Alright, you’re forgiven. Plus, consider us even because I have definitely heard you getting off on your own plenty of times too.” A squeal of surprise fills the air as you swat at his chest, burying your face into his shirt and feeling the rumble of his laughter. It really wasn’t ever intentional. The walls are thin, you weren’t exactly quiet, and he couldn’t just lay there and ignore it. So call him an opportunist, or a pervert, because you were one too.

Jungkook is cheeky though, knowing how to get under your skin in the best way, and you can already tell you’re in for a ride when he gets close to your ear and whispers, “You wanna show me how you did it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you snort, peering up at him with mischief in your eyes.

“You did say I could torture you later.” He smiles innocently, fingers pinching your chin as he kisses you again. “It’s later.”

The sweet laughter that escapes you makes his heart skip a beat, still not able to come to terms that this was happening and wasn’t some dream of his that he’d wake up from. He kisses the tops of your cheeks first, then your nose, before reaching your lips, his hand gently caressing your skin. Jungkook had no intention of torturing you tonight, knowing how tired you typically were after work on a normal day, and after drawing two orgasms out of you that left you shaking, he knows how close you are to sleep with the way your eyes droop.

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t give up on crushes and love?” he mumbles against your lips, inching back to stare down at you.

“I’m glad I stopped looking for it in the wrong places.” Your hands wrap around his neck, toying with his hair before pulling him back to you, reattaching your lips because you just couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Every single moment you shared, from moving in and awkwardly trying to get to know each other, the ups and downs of failed relationships, the push that started it all at the club, and every almost moment in between brought you full circle to right now. There probably won’t be a moment where you don’t wish you had done this sooner, worked past your worry of ruining a good friendship in fear of what could happen, but the past helped mold you into who you are, strengthening your relationship to be the way it is now.

Right now had you thinking of the future, and there was nothing more exciting than that.

#jungkook smut #heartsforbts #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #bangtansorciere #bangtaninn #btscreatorscorner #jeongguk smut #jeon jungkook #bts smut #jungkook fluff #new

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obeiii-mee · 3 years ago

Note

MC had a bad day or they’re dealing with a bad loss from a loved one. So they decide to seek comfort from the Brothers! But they don’t do it in a normal way, they just barge in the room where the brothers are all relaxing or hanging out at before MC just busts in getting their attention and they go “I need a hug 🥺”. Let’s see the some fluffy hc’s of the brothers comforting MC 🥰

And how could they not want to hug their cute human that is literally 3 seconds away from breaking down into tears?

The Brothers Comforting MC After A Bad Day:

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You’re right, they wouldn’t be able to resist, they love their human too much 😌

*soBS* I want to hug one of them so bad rn

Thank you for the request, I love writing fluffy HCs, it’s my weak spot and it gives me serotonin. I hope you have a nice day/night!! Uh, it’s sort of implied that MC is slightly shorter than them so sorry if that’s a problem-

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Notes: Fluff, mentions of loss and dead family members/friends, mostly comfort though, short HCs

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beezlebub and Belphegor.

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Lucifer:

-He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t really need to because him just being there, arms wrapped around you and hands lightly running up and down your back, is worth more words than any sort of verbal consolation he could’ve given you and because of this, you feel at ease

-His touch is firm but gentle and you relax almost immediately, burying your head against his chest and feeling him press a kiss on top of your hairline, tightening your hold on him

-He already told his brothers to back off because the last thing he wanted was for you you to get overwhelmed by their insensitivity so you two were left in the living room by yourselves

-In a bit of an awkward position though, because you were both standing and after a while, it was clear a hug wasn’t going to be enough

-That’s his excuse as to why he picked you up bridal style five minutes later and carried you all the way to his bedroom, a place he knows his siblings won’t ever trespass without his permission and somewhere he can shield you from any prying eyes while you’re in this vulnerable state

-At this point, he was basically cradling you like a baby, having you sit on his lap and waiting for you to tire yourself out until you couldn’t cry anymore and watching you slip into that hiccuping stage you get after a breakdown

-Lucifer is obviously going to ask what happened, but whether you answer him or not is up to you because he’s not one to push matters if he sees you’re uncomfortable talking about it

-However, he might insist if he concludes that it’s affecting you and your well being and that’s how you know usually know he’s worried

-His voice is soft though and just listening to it makes you want to tell him everything, whether it’d be something as annoying as a small inconvenience you stumbled across that day or the death of a relative, you feel welcomed enough to spill everything

-Even if you decide not to, he’ll stay with you until you feel better, until you’re no longer crying or shaking or anything of the sort. He speaks occasionally, almost soothingly about how important you are to him and how capable you are of overcoming anything in your way. For the most part, however, he remains quiet and allows you to mull over your thoughts, willing to forget about his paperwork just to let you cling to him for a few hours

-Maybe later, when you’re no longer as distressed, he could get the full story out of you and help you overcome whatever problem you’re having trouble facing but for now, he understands all you need is for him to be there

“MC?” He calls your name out because he was thinking that maybe you had fallen asleep but he realised that was not the case when you looked up at him, streaks of tears still sliding down your cheeks. When you don’t respond, he sighs almost contently “A bit longer?” You don’t answer again but this time, he could feel you nod against him and he smiles despite himself as he leaned his head against yours “All right then, just a bit longer.”

Mammon:

-Truth be told, he’s never been the best at comforting someone and normally, he’s kind of awkward when he wants to show his support because it feels so out of his character

-But it’s not like he was going to refuse you anyway. Not when you specifically came to him and asked him for help and not when you looked like you were on the verge of crying. He’d be a monster to deny you >:(

-It upsets him too, you know. He’s meant to be your protector, guardian even, so the fact that he couldn’t keep you from getting hurt makes him feel like he failed at keeping his human safe. Actually, it takes a lot of convincing on your part just to tell him that you’re not actually physically hurt. Just a shitty day…

-Mammon, despite the walls he puts up ever now and then, is someone that genuinely cares for you. And he’s also the type that does almost everything in excess, especially when it comes to you or spending money. That’s just his personality; he’s loud and boisterous and even though he wants to deny this, completely transparent with his emotions

-You ask for a hug? He gives you plenty of hugs! He lets you lay on top of him while cuddling so he can hold you!!! He brings you snacks and drinks!!! Shit, he basically cradles you the whole night!!! And he’s blushing and acting annoyed the entire time, refusing to accept how much he’s actually enjoying this

-The point is, he tends to coddle you whenever you have a bad day or if you’re really affected by the loss of a dead loved one. This is probably because he, in turn, likes to be babied and cared for when he’s feeling down and he subconsciously does that to you because it’s the only means of comfort he knows how to execute well

-A hug would’ve sufficed, but you’re his human and let him be damned if he’s not gonna give you the world on a silver platter if you keep looking at him with those sad eyes of yours

-By now, if you need anything, you just need to ask because even with a bit of grumbling, he’ll get it for you. More snacks? Say less. Wanna watch TV with him for a while? Immediately reaches for the remote? You just want to cuddle? His body is naturally warm for a reason bby, dig in. You want his heart? Give him a moment to surgically get it out of his chest-

-No matter what, he’s so glad that you trust him enough to talk to him about this sort of stuff and that he’s the first person you think of when you need consolation

-It makes sense after all, right? He’s your first pact so your direct happiness is his responsibility while you’re in DevilDom! It’s his job to make sure you function again by tomorrow morning and that you’re no longer troubled by anything

“Hey! What’s with all the crying huh?” He cups your face in his hands and softly squishes the flesh between his fingers. His thumbs brush over the tears in your eyes and he let’s out a small ‘tsk’ as your foreheads touch and his hands drip to your shoulders to keep you steady “The Great Mammon is hugging ya right now, ya know? There’s no reason for you to be upset, not when I’ve got ya in my arms like this, OK? So you can stop with yer water works now.” As noisy as his voice is, there’s a gentle note behind it when he speaks and embraces you, his cologne spreading everywhere “I love you, ya big idiot. So please, stop cryin’ and lemme hold ya already! Yer making me worried, ya stupid human.”

Levi:

-You stopping by his room is not unusual. In fact, you do it every day and it’s just part of the routine you have with him. However, he’s wasn’t exactly expecting you to stand there, all shaken up and ask him for a hug!!!

-And he doesn’t process this request for a second but then he freaks out so badly-

-Yells incomprehensibly about how you’re ‘pulling your normie tricks on him again’ and how he’s ‘not going to be fooled by them anymore.’

-You raise your head to meet his eyes while he’s still rambling on though and he sees your teary expression and now he feels guilty because you look really upset. Levi’s kinda scared he made it worse-

-He’s the type to usher you in his room and lock the door as usual but instead of doing what the two of you always do, you literally stay attached to him because you need comfort damn it!

-Levi….is sort of clueless about these emotional outbursts since he himself doesn’t deal with them very well. However, he’s watched enough animes revolving around romance to conclude on the best course of action so-do not fear! (Spoiler, he still doesn’t know what he’s doing)

-He’s really stuck and can either stay as quiet as a nun or start babbling in a language you probably wouldn’t even understand because he’s so nervous

-Or actually, he might start crying with you if I’m being fair; he’s very in sync with his Henry and your emotions

-Once he calms down, he’s actually not all that bad at comforting. Levi is a bit stand offish with his hugs at first but he relaxes into them and by now, you’re both standing by the side of his bed, with you leaning onto him and him holding your hand. He then intertwines your fingers together but subconsciously because he wouldn’t have the gall otherwise

-Later, he tells you to help yourself with the snacks he has hidden in his room. I guarantee you he has a whole ass mini refrigerator hidden somewhere for his all night gaming session, in case he needs any boosts. No one knows how Beel hasn’t found the stash yet and there’s no need to tell him

-Then you watch re runs of old shows together and make fun of the shitty editing and dialogue. He’s still holding your hand though and he’s really flustered and wondering if it’s too sweaty for you but don’t mention it because he’ll get even more embarrassed

-He glances over to you, every once in a while, whilst you’re cuddled up against his arm, eyes glued on the TV, to make sure you’re OK. You almost gave him a seizure or at least that’s how he felt-so he made it his mission to make you feel better by any means necessary. Fuck today’s raids, his team can get them done without him!!

“I-I don’t know why you would want me of all people to hug you but…” he trailed off in a whisper, having to lean down so you could wrap your arms against his neck and bury your head in his shoulder. He pulled you in closer, a streak of protectiveness coursing through him as he shut the door to his room with his foot “Lord of the Shadows would never leave Henry all on his own, so I’m not going to do that either. This is an important character development arc and-just, please don’t cry. I’ll give you more hugs, OK? Seeing you like this is not good for my heart-“ stopped mid sentence after realising what he just said and now he’s the one burying his head in your shoulder, flushed beyond hell “Forget I just said that! Holy Lord Diavolo this is embarrassing, why am I like this????”

Satan:

-It troubles him greatly to see you like this and he can sort of feel the world shift out of place, seeing you with tears running down your face and hands balled into fists out of frustration almost immediately makes him fly into a fit of rage because who would dare to hurt you-

-Oh, a hug? If that’s all you need, he’s more than happy to oblige but if you’re as distraught as you seem to be, he wonders if just a small embrace from him would be enough

-Satan’s hugs are very intimate and even passionate at times. He has one hand on the back of your head and the other supporting your lower back while you bawl your eyes out into his shoulder and getting his uniform wet

-You can’t really seem to focus on what he’s trying to tell you because he’s so warm and welcoming and even though he’s someone as renowned as the Avatar of Wrath, he’s shockingly patient with you as you let out the overwhelming emotions that have been consuming you all day

-It’s hard to not relax when you’re in Satan’s presence because he’s calm and he smells like musty, old books and mahogany wood and cats, meaning he was most likely cuddling strays he found on the street the entire day. The first visual that comes to mind is fire crackling behind a grate in a chimney and someone reading a book while swinging back and forth on an old, rickety chair when you’re around him

-He will wait until you’re no longer crying and then, before you know it, you find yourself in the library with him, drinking tea and being handed a plate of biscuits he took from the kitchen to help you regain your strength after all that crying. You’re still feeling pretty miserable about the day you’ve had but you quickly lose yourself in a conversation with him over a cup of tea

-Sometimes, you two talk for hours on end about nothing important just to hear each other’s voices and finally have some quality time spent together. Even though he wishes the circumstances were better, he’s glad to have been able to snatch you away from his brothers for a while and he’s even happier you chose him to confide in

-Satan practically doesn’t even mention your outburst and keeps the small talk minimal but he wants you to know that if you do wish to tell him about it, he’s more than happy to listen and he’s not so bad at giving advice either

-The topic of the discussion you were having with him changed abruptly by the end of the night and now you’re reading together from this book he started a while ago, both of you covered with a blanket, your head on his chest and his leaning on yours. He’s holding the book with both of his hands, but still managed to get his left wrapped around you. And because of this feeling of safety and warmth, you don’t feel desperate anymore. Tomorrow, you’ll be able to sort out your feelings but now, you’re content to just listening to Satan read, in his clear, soft voice

“Ah MC, could you turn the page for me?” You do as he asked to and you could feel him smiling as he kissed your hairline, sighing before going back to the book and the story within “Thank you. You truly are amazing, did you know that? I’ve never met someone as caring and as kind as you. Well, I suppose Beel could compete for the title but unlike him, you don’t really leave us in debt whenever we visit the grocery store.” Hearing you laugh makes him smile even more and he lets you hold the other side of the book while he plays with your hair and now you join in reading with him, out loud and trying to act out voices for the characters. As everything unfolds, Satan feels the world click right back into place.

Asmo:

-It’s a known fact by now that Asmo is willing to give you any sort of affection at any point in time, whether it’d be a hug, a kiss, holding your hand-you name it! I mean, whenever he’s feeling down, you being there to encourage him helps a lot so it’s only natural it works the other way around too!

-If he notices that you’re genuinely upset by something, then he would have no problem whatsoever with lavishing you in attention and really, a hug or two from him is the bare minimum in situations like this

-In any case, he always enjoys fussing over you and you having a bad day is the perfect excuse for him to do so! After all, he can’t disappoint you since you came to him with your troubles and he will do anything in his power to make you feel better. Actually, if he could, he would keep hugging you forever but as miraculous as his charm can be, it’s not effective against someone with this low of a morale

-His first suggestion is to take a bath! It’s his way of taking care of you; you’re tired after such a long day and he feels like you’re neglecting yourself a little because of it. So you relax in his bathtub with him for a while, him actively trying to get your mind off any bad, lingering thoughts while you splash around in the bubbles

-And obviously after that, you need to have your mandatory spa sessions with him since you need to unwind and what’s a better way to do that than to let him paint your nails and apply lotion to your skin? Besides, it creates a great opportunity for you to take things off your chest

-He’s in need to hear gossip constantly so if you don’t feel like talking, he’s gonna be a bit bummed out but he still respects your wishes enough to not push you. If your problem is as sensitive as the death of a family member, you’re not obligated to talk to him about it and he will understand, since people grieve in different ways. He too shut down after the death of Lilith for a while after all

-A bad day is nothing Asmo can’t handle. He’s had plenty of those before, mostly because of Mammon and his thievery, they’re usually common factors. It’s only natural you experience those yourself and he’s more than willing to be your support system if you need one. He wants you to know that you can go to him if you need advice or help with anything, or even if you just need to someone to hear you out

-To give a more detailed explanation of his hugs, they are usually really light and you never feel suffocated when you’re in his arms. He never squeezes you too tight and he always smells amazing, so you feel inclined to stay near him for as long as possible. Despite his overtly loud nature, he gets incredibly soft spoken with you and he traces patterns on your back and arms as you stand there together

-It’s important to mention, he never pulls away from you first. He lets you decide when you’ve had enough and when you’re ready to move on or if you require some other means of comfort

-And even if you’re no longer disgruntled, he’s still going to pamper you as much as possible the next day with either a shopping spree or another few spa sessions, this time done at a professional institution rather than the privacy of his bedroom

-Asmo is in touch with your emotions and it’s kinda scary sometimes because of how well he can read you, since he almost always knows what you need

“Oh darling, how could I refuse a hug from you?” You can feel his arms embrace you, even with your eyes closed and for some reason, this makes you cry even harder, sobbing as he tries to comfort you. You’re aware he let go of you at some point and returned with a tissue to dab away at your tears, gently to not hurt your eyes and now he’s hugging you again, a wry smile on his face “You don’t have to worry about a thing, MC. Everything will get sorted out, I promise. In the meantime, come to me if anything troubles you again, OK? No more crying, darling-it’s bad for your eyes.”

Beel:

-The type to immediately lean in for a hug without even questioning why. As soon as you ask him, you barely have time to finish the question and you already find yourself in his arms. The only exception would be when he’s eating or maybe in the middle of a work out but the point is he doesn’t hesitate much when it comes to you. And I mean, he loves hugs just as much as his siblings do

-Beel is not the most observant and he may not realise you’re in a bad mood unless you tell him outright. It’s not even that he’s emotionally distant, it’s just that if you tell him that you’re fine, then he’s gonna take your word for it and believe you since he’s pretty straightforward with his feelings as well. However, as dense as he may be on occasion, even he’s bound to notice that you’re not being your usual self and this is especially true if you start crying out of nowhere while he’s nearby. Probably assumes the worst and is under the impression that he did something to upset you because shifting the blame onto himself whenever others suffer is his coping mechanism and we’ve seen him to do it before

-If you’ve just had a bad day, he understands that things could’ve been very overwhelming for you and he wishes he had known sooner so he could’ve helped back then, instead of letting it come to this. But he doesn’t hesitate all that much since he looks like he’s built for giving hugs on a daily basis. I’m not even sure this would classify as a hug since you’re not touching the floor. Rather, you are attached to him like a koala and he’s carrying you around as if you were a baby strapped to his chest. And he genuinely doesn’t mind. He’s been doing it with Belphie for centuries now

-Please, after a while he gets seriously concerned because are humans supposed to cry this much? What if you dehydrate or something? So he makes you stay in bed and just gives you plenty of water. You look so pale and sad, he shares his food with you too because his heart is aching just looking at you like this. He feels like besides being there, he can’t provide you with much help and he’s starting to think he’s hopeless at comforting

-If a family member died then…Beel is one of the best people you could’ve gone to. Honestly, having dealt with his sister’s situation, he knows how horrible it is to lose somebody you love dearly (I mean, all the brothers do but I’m making a point saying Beel, Belphie and Lucifer were especially affected). Now he’s sad himself since he’s aware that you’re going through something similar and his twin might walk in on the two of you being emotional on the floor

-For the most part, Beel makes sure you keep yourself healthy even when you’re tired and depressed. Continues to bring you food, even if he eats half of it on his way to your room, and just keeps you company in general in case you get lonely. Seeing you upset makes him even more considerate of your feelings and you don’t have the heart to tell him that he doesn’t need to stay with you all night. He thinks he does because you’ve always offered to stay with him whenever he’s had nightmares before so how he’s gotta return the favour

-Beel gives these bear hugs all the time, since he’s so big and his hand basically covers your entire back. So, more often than not, you end up cuddling while standing because he’s a lot taller than you, with him being a demon and all. Despite that, you feel so unbelievably complete when he holds you like this. It’s hard not to feel protected since his whole body is practically concealing yours so easily all the time and you feel sheltered from the world and it’s….nice

-And Beel enjoys hugging you too, because he knows that as long as he’s nearby, you’ll be safe and that’s really all he needs. He wants to be there for you the same way you were there for him when he needed it most and comforting you when you’re having a shitty day is like his full time job

-You could come to Beel with any problem and he would never judge you, no matter what. He’s just really unproblematic and he just wants you to go back to your normal self because it hurts him to see you cry your eyes out. Now, not only are hugs mandatory but holding your hand is too. It’s like hugging…but your hands are doing the hugging

-Definitely even goes to Belphie after a while if he really doesn’t know what to do and that’s how you know he’s desperate to do something. Since the Seventh Born isn’t exactly someone that yields great advice, more so when it comes to other…people….and his twin knows this-

-Beel’s best strategy at the moment is to just maintain some kind of physical contact because he discovered that makes you feel better and it calms you down more than him trying to verbally console you. He even invited you to sleep in his room if you’re comfortable doing so just so you’re not alone. After that one incident, he’s trying to coax you to tell him whenever something is wrong so he can jump in and help, because that’s all he really wants to do ahakenksms

“MC? Did something happen?” He’s honestly taken aback by how shaky you are and how you’re hands are trembling as they’re reaching to connect with his. Without much of a warning, he feels a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach and now he discovers that he doesn’t like seeing you with tears trailing down your face. And he feels worse the longer you wail in his chest and he doesn’t know what to do. So, he wraps his arms around you so tight you think you might explode, strangely comforted by the feeling as he speaks again “I’m sorry if I’ve done something to upset you. What can I do to help, MC? We can just stay like this for a while if you want” And when he sees you nod, he proceeds to not move an inch almost the entire night. Obviously, hunger overtook him eventually but he shared his stolen goods with you so can you really complain? Doubtful, not when he hasn’t let go of your hand the whole time.

Belphie:

- Hugging him is a gamble. Realistically speaking, you’re not going to catch him standing upright long enough for you to give him a hug. He’s laying on the floor somewhere, asleep so you shouldn’t expect much from him to begin with. Even if you were to get lucky and stumble upon him while he’s wide awake, he might slump over and succumb to sleep the moment you embrace him because you’re so warm

-Cuddling is a different story altogether. He’d rather shoot himself in the foot than not have you cuddle with him so if you need to be babied for once, he’s a pretty good option to consider

-As usual, he’s in the attic and you go to him because it’s really late and you didn’t want to wake up any of the other brothers. Actually, Belphie is normally awake by dusk so to see him sleep like a log past midnight was quite surprising. You didn’t exactly want to interrupt but if you stayed alone for any longer, you would’ve gone insane. So you shook him awake. And he was understandably confused and probably forgot what planet he was on for a minute when you did so

-Technically, he was half awake and from his point of view, everything must’ve been pretty blurry. He did see you; the problem was that because he was still feeling very sleepy, he was basically in a daze and could only squint at you to try and figure out if you were really there or if he was hallucinating. His suspicion was confirmed soon enough because he reached out after a few seconds and poked your cheek just to check. His face the entire time and the action itself was so amusing that, despite tittering on the edge of a breakdown, you burst out laughing

-Once he came to the conclusion that you were, in fact, real and he wasn’t dreaming, he sighed and opened his arms out for you; a direct invitation to cuddle with him. By now, he likely didn’t even noticed you looked sad because, as I said, he was all over the place but this little ritual you two have was common enough that it got engraved in his memory. Now he does it out of impulse whenever you’re around and he wants attention

-So you basically tackled him and threw yourself on top of him so hard, both of you toppled over on the bed and now you were used as a blanket, with his arms wrapped securely around you; preventing you from getting up. Not that you were planning on doing that anytime soon but moving on-

-You thought he had fallen back asleep, because he went really quiet and he stopped squirming to get comfortable. To be exact, the whole room was rather still and the only thing you could really hear was Belphie’s soft breathing and the rustle of the bedsheets every once in a while. And since it was extremely dark as well, you couldn’t see a thing either so it felt like the best place to let go of your stress

-It’s not like you were making much noise but as I said, the seventh born wasn’t sleeping just yet. And he wouldn’t be able to because it was obvious to him now that something was wrong. He believed that he was bearing witness to something that should’ve been a lot more private than this so he didn’t say anything. You should have your moment, let you have a chance to recollect your thoughts and the next day, he might ask you

-It was too much to handle. It’s not like he was gonna get any sleep unless he knew your problem was solved otherwise he might get nightmares all night. Besides, if you’re crying this much, then something terrible must’ve happened. You realised he was awake when he gave your entire body a small squeeze, as if to reassure you and you froze because did you just wake him up???? Or worse, did he hear all that sobbing you were doing????

-Hugging him is similar to hugging a pillow. He’s soft and squishy and warm and it’s impossible to resist him when rest at a time like this is so tempting. His fingers running over your pact mark once or twice, as if to remind you that he’s right there and low whispers describing the best dream he ever had about you, hoping to distract you for long enough to help you fall asleep

-To him, it doesn’t make a difference if a family member died or if you’re just having a bad day. All he knows is that you’re having a lot of emotional problems because of either one and as a result, you need a shoulder to lean on. He’s glad that you trust him enough to let him assist and if it was up to him, he would keep cuddling you forever. You’ve already suffered enough so let him take care of you this time around, OK?

“Dumbass, why are you crying?” The gentleness of his words was a clear contrast to that quick insult he shoved at the beginning of his statement, though you couldn’t hear any malice behind it and the fact that he really cared about what happened to cause you to struggle with your emotions so badly, would’ve made you wail even harder. However, he managed to silence you pretty well because he kept speaking and you wanted to listen; you wanted to hear what he had to say so you reduced your sobs and you sat quietly enough to do just that. Belphie flipped you over, now with him on top and you underneath and he laid there, cheek sloshed against yours as he sleepily mumbled out more praise for you, “MC, are you tired? You should go to bed, you need to get some sleep. Tomorrow, you can tell me what the problem is and I’ll help. I promise-I’ll even get up early for you. Just…please calm down. I don’t want to see you crying yourself to sleep ever again. I’ll stay here the entire time, alright? And I’ll make sure you have nice dreams tonight MC…just let me hold you…”

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strawberrymilkgeorge · 4 years ago

Text

Part Eighteen. The Package.

warnings: swearing word count: 4.3k (not including pictures)

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

a/n: me: *it’ll be a much shorter update* also me: *makes it 4.3k words* okay 🧍‍♀️ basically um.... strap in :D

**********

As expected, Y/n’s appearance on Quackity’s stream had caused a panic on Twitter, half of their fans screaming about how cute Bugity was, the other half defending Dreamsy with their lives. It was all very amusing to Y/n, knowing nothing could ever happen between her and Quackity and that neither of them actually had feelings for each other.

It seemed certain people thought otherwise.

Dream, the confident and bold man that he usually was, had once again gone quiet towards her. Though it had only been a couple of days, they hardly talked after the stream and had little contact since then, which was very unusual for the two, who normally FaceTimed at least once a day since he showed her his face.

The weirdest part was he hadn’t Tweeted any jokes about Quackity being too short for her or how Dream was her self-proclaimed Minecraft husband. Maybe he was just busy or tired, but she had a suspicion that it was because she and Quackity had succeeded in making Dream jealous, and she didn’t like it.

Unlike last time, Y/n knew to confront him about it and work it out before whatever was going on became a bigger issue. She couldn’t deal with him being weird around her again and she had a feeling that he couldn’t either. Even if he was just busy, she wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.

After sending a text to Dream to see if he was busy, Y/n was startled by her front door opening.

“Y/n!” Karl shouted as he ran in, hands full of as many white, plastic bags as possible without dropping or tearing any, though there were a few bags on his right arm that looked like they were about to give. “My beloved!”

“Karl!” she said back in a slight panic, not expecting him to burst into her house so abruptly. Naomi followed behind him with a few bags in her hands, kicking off her shoes by the entrance and dumping her keys next to them. The two friends set their new purchases on the kitchen counters and Y/n made her way to them to sit at the counter. “Enjoy your trip?”

“Oh for sure,” Naomi nodded sarcastically, unbagging a few items. “Grocery shopping with this one is always sooo fun.”

Y/n laughed as Karl perked up like he remembered something and dug through a few of the bags Naomi was sorting through. “LOOK WHAT WE BOUGHT!”

“Uh… cereal?” she guessed, eyeing the brown box her best friend held up proudly.

“Dude, it’s Cocoa Krispies!” he clarified. “I forgot these exist! I’m so excited, it’ll be like eating childhood.”

Naomi rolled her eyes fondly at his antics before turning to Y/n. “Any word from Dream?”

She shook her head. “But I only just texted him.”

“What about Dream?” Karl asked softly, worry in his eyes as he looked between the two girls. “Did something happen? Besides, you know, you showing him your face.”

Y/n groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of this. I’m sorry you found out from a stream and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first. It just happened so fast.”

“As long as I’m the first person you tell when you inevitably start dating.”

“Oh, like you tell me anything, Mr. I’m-Obviously-Texting-Someone-Cute-Because-I-Never-Stop-Giggling-At-My-Phone-But-Haven’t-Mentioned-Anything-To-My-Best-Friend,” Y/n accused, lifting her hands to put air quotes around the last two words. Karl turned bright red and Y/n raised her eyebrows as his phone buzzed on the counter, his eyes darting to it before looking at Y/n with a bashful smile, face still glowing. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Karl sputtered out some attempt of an excuse as he grabbed the ends of his green hoodie in his hands before giving up and huffing. “Okay, and? I only keep things from you because you keep things from me!” he said with a laugh.

“Lie,” Naomi cut in. “We know you've been texting someone for a while. We just respect your privacy about relationships, but we’ve definitely noticed.”

“I'm private about relationships?” Karl laughed. “Says you!”

“I'll tell you anything you want to know as long as you don't share it with fans,” Naomi challenged, crossing her arms and looking at Karl pointedly, as if asking him to test her.

Karl dropped his hands and paused before genuinely asking, “Are you guys dating dating?”

“We’re waiting until we meet to see how it goes,” she answered. “Your turn! Is it the camera girl at work that you mentioned a few months ago?”

“Anyways!!” Karl dragged out the word loudly, pretending to not hear Naomi's question or either of the girl’s laughter. “What about Dream?” he tried redirecting the conversation and luckily for him, Y/n didn’t mind.

“Well, I kinda....” she took a deep breath as she started helping Naomi put groceries away. “I really want to... I think, well, I know—”

“She decided to tell him she likes him,” Naomi answered for her, receiving a glare from the taller girl. “What? You were taking too long.”

Karl’s mouth opened. “Wait, really!? When? Today??” He fired off questions and Naomi chuckled.

Y/n took a shaky, but excited breath. “I don’t know when. But I’m going to tell him,” she said with determination clear in her voice.

“What made you decide to?” Karl asked with a wide grin, reaching over to Naomi to help her place a box on a higher shelf than she could reach. “Why all of a sudden?”

Y/n shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly with excitement. “Well, I started to think he likes me too and I really want to know if something could happen or if I should try to just move on. I’ll never know unless I ask, right?” she said, and Karl and Naomi both smiled at her. “I'm sick of not knowing for sure.”

“I’m so excited for you!” Karl giggled. “I’m—Y/n, this is gonna be good. I know it.”

She smiled widely, scrunching her nose lightly. “I think so too.”

“So do George and I,” Naomi commented as she took a handful of Cocoa Krispies from the box, earning a look of betrayal from Karl, who snatched the box from her to have a snack too.

“Does everyone talk about him and I?”

Karl nodded slowly while Naomi took a more blunt approach. “Yup.”

“What are the odds that he’s the only one who doesn’t think we like each other?”

Karl giggled. “1 in 7.5 trilli— OW! You just hit me!”

“Overused joke,” Naomi explained, retracting her hand from the back of his head with a sweet smile.

Y/n pulled her phone out of her pocket as it vibrated and gasped lightly before looking up at her friends. “Okay Karl, I need to know details about this secret person you’re keeping from us, especially if it's camera girl because she sounded adorable.”

“No,” he protested pointedly. “Not until something actually happens.”

“Is.. is that a confirmation that it's camera girl?” Naomi snapped her head to look at him.

Karl paused, turning pink. “N-no?”

“Karl!” Y/n pouted and he winked dramatically at her.

“Go talk to your boy. I know it was him that just texted you.”

“Make him your boyfriend,” Naomi demanded jokingly, though the glint in her eyes told Y/n that she meant it.

“Not happening right now,” Y/n assured, getting up from her seat. “But I am going to go talk to him. So love you both, bye.”

“Hi,” Y/n greeted happily as she propped her phone up on her desk and tucked her knees to her chest.

“Hello,” Dream said with a weak smile, less enthusiastic than he seemed over text, though he was trying his best to make that not noticeable. He pulled his hood over his hair but kept his face in view and Y/n could clearly see him being vaguely distant, not looking directly at his phone.

Focus on the mission: make sure he's doing okay and if not, find out why, she reminded herself as her thoughts started to focus on how adorable he looked all tired and pouty. Don't tell him you like him if he's mad at you for something.

“Are you doing okay?” He nodded distractedly at her question and she frowned softly. “What’s wrong, Clay?”

The man stuck with his story, adding a slight smile and a breathy laugh in an attempt to make his obvious lie more believable. “Nothing. I’m fine, Bug.”

Y/n took a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it suddenly. “At the risk of sounding… narcissistic,” she paused, “are you by chance upset at all by the... stream from the other day?”

Hesitation was written all over Dream’s face as he chewed on his lower lip and hummed.

“Or something completely different? I just wanna make sure I didn't do anything to upset you..”

“I'm not upset at you,” he clarified quickly before hesitantly adding, “but... maybe it has a little bit to do with that.”

Y/n nodded, hoping she was understanding correctly and wasn’t about to make a fool of herself. “In a... jealous way?”

Dream huffed, clearly frustrated. “Yeah, I get it, the whole point was that Alex wanted to make me jealous because he knows how much I care about you and… and whatever. Well, it worked,” he admitted the last part softly like he was embarrassed.

“Dream,” Y/n sighed, “I’ve said it before, you have nothing to be jealous of.”

“I’m aware that I’m not allowed to be jealous, Y/n,” he said harshly, though she knew the slight anger wasn’t directed at her specifically, despite the use of her real name, which he hardly ever used.

She frowned. “That’s not—no, that’s not what I’m saying. I mean that there’s nothing to be jealous of.”

Dream looked at the camera skeptically. “I mean… there kinda is, to be fair. Two of my best friend’s reading—”

“Dream,” Y/n deadpanned, looking softly but sternly at him through the pixels that made their distance seem closer. “I’m serious.”

The blond boy shrugged slowly, seeming to realize how dumb it was to think there was a possibility of him losing Y/n’s attention in any way. “I know it’s stupid to be jealous anyway. You can, you know, have whatever friends you want. I just…” he trailed off like he wanted to say something important but shook his head.

Y/n took a deep breath, so tempted to just blurt out the words at the back of her throat. Just tell him you like him, she scolded herself, do it. It’s the perfect chance. She didn’t know if she was being dumb and was just reading into things or if she was right, but she felt like he liked her. Even before he saw her.

“Sorry I made you mad,” she whispered and he frowned.

“You didn't—Bug, I'm not mad at you. Or Quackity. I’m mad at myself if anything but… not mad.”

“So… you don't hate me?”

He rolled his head back and smiled, scoffing lightly. “I could never be mad at you. Like, actually.”

She rolled her lips between her teeth, feeling the words bubble at the back of her throat again. But before she could open her mouth to let them fly, the boy on the other side of the phone spoke up.

“Hey, did you get my package yet?” Dream asked suddenly. Y/n couldn’t tell if he was changing the subject on purpose or if he just remembered and didn’t want to forget, but it made her want to hit her head on her desk. She needed to figure out a way to subtly bring the conversation back around eventually so she could make herself tell him she liked him.

Y/n let out her breath shakily and her shoulders dropped. “Oh, uh, I don’t think so. The mail hasn’t come today though.”

Dream groaned. “I wish it would show up already,” he pouted. “It’s supposed to get there sometime in the next couple days. I don’t know exactly when because UPS is being vague.”

Y/n laughed. “What did you send?”

“The hoodie!”

“Oh yeah!” she gasped, forgetting about her self-appointed task from moments ago. “I’m very excited. Thank you again, by the way. It’s very sweet of you to send me your merch for free.”

“Of course,” he said with a soft smile. “Anything for you.”

“I’ll just have to pay you back by giving you the very first Bugsy merch.”

“Ohh!!” he gasped excitedly. “Are you working on some?”

She shrugged vaguely to tease him. “I may or may not have a few ideas.”

“Please, can I know? I really wanna know.”

“Why are you so excited?” she asked with a laugh. “You can find out when I announce stuff.”

He pouted. “I don’t get any sort of privilege?”

“Pretty privilege will only get you so far in life, bud,” she teased and he shook his head. She wondered if she would have butterflies in her stomach still if she called him pretty under different circumstances, like if they were dating. Would he react in a different way or still just give her that smile.

“I just can’t wait,” he interrupted her train of thought. “I love having every crumb of BugsyGames content I can get.”

“You already get more than anyone except Karl and Naomi. So greedy.”

He hummed and smiled at her fondly.

“Hey, you said you wanted to talk about something?”

“Huh? Oh… that… uh, well.” He stopped abruptly and his brows furrowed in deep thought, like he was deciding how to say something important again.

She decided to give him a way out by offering, “Was it just about wondering if I got the hoodie yet?”

Dream’s face lit up and she didn’t mistake the grateful look for anything else. “Yeah, that. Just let me know when you do get it. Or I’ll text you if they ever let me know where it is.”

A few days later, Y/n got a notification on Twitter from Dream’s alt account. She rolled her eyes fondly at his theatrics, knowing he didn’t text her like he made Twitter think.

Y/n lifted the large, brown box from her doorstep and shook her head as she brought it into her apartment. She dropped it on her bed with a huff, hoping that Dream didn’t send her more than one of his merch hoodies. She read the label on the front and immediately knew he did; the white sticker had her nickname written in a small, neat but childlike script instead of a label printed off from a factory. He made her believe he had ordered one from his website and had it delivered to her house, but this clearly showed it had been at his house, giving her the impression there was more than one. She breathed out and grabbed her phone, hoping Dream would pick up her FaceTime call.

After only two rings, Dream answered. “Helloooo,” he greeted slowly but happily. He was slouched sideways on his couch so his cheek pressed against the back and he smiled sleepily.

“Clay.”

“Clay?” he laughed. “Are you mad at me or something?”

“What did you send me?”

“Hoodies? Did you get them?”

“Plural?” Y/n emphasized and he smiled.

“Plural,” he confirmed, making Y/n groan.

“I feel so bad! I didn’t even want one free—”

“Come onnn, it’s fine. Bug, I’ve gifted you, like, 700 subs in one stream before but you don’t want more than one of my hoodies?”

She paused. Did he mean ‘his’ hoodies as in his hoodies? Or as in his brand?

“Just open it!” Dream prompted as he sat up a little. “I’m excited!”

“Which ones did you send me?” Y/n asked as she grabbed scissors from her desk and started opening the box, propping her phone up on her pillows so he could see. “Also, nice handwriting.”

Dream laughed. “Yeah? Sapnap says it looks like shit.”

“I doubt his is any better. I like the little… thing you drew? What is that?” she asked as she paused and leaned closer to the package to get a better look at the artwork.

“It’s a bug!” Dream laughed. “It’s not that bad. Okay, it is pretty bad but you could have figured out what it was from context clues.”

“It's just a scribble.”

“Okay, Miss Artist,” he mocked. “Just open the package!”

Y/n finished opening the box and was hit with an unfamiliar scent. It was nice, making the butterflies in her stomach flutter. She grabbed the material on top, a classic lime green hoodie with Dream’s smile printed on the front, and held it up with a wide smile.

“IT’S SO CUTE!!” she complimented, stepping back from the camera and holding it up to her body. “And also the perfect size! Thank you so much, Dream, seriously.”

“Put it on!” he said with a giggle and she complied, wanting to feel how soft it was while wearing it. She pulled the hoodie on, noting how the scent from the box lingered on the green fabric, but wasn’t strong enough to be the source.

She stepped back and lifted her arms, showing how it fit just how she liked her hoodies to. “It’s perfect!” she assured.

“It looks good on you,” he complimented. “There’s still another one.��

“I know, because you just can’t help but to break rules and go against our agreement,” she joked as she took off the new hoodie and poked her head in the box to see what else he had sent her.

Her eyes locked onto a maroon-colored hoodie with an unfamiliar logo on the front, definitely not more merch like she expected.

“It’s mine,” Dream explained softly from her phone. She looked at him to see him doing his best to hide behind his hand without making his embarrassment obvious.

“No, it’s not,” she challenged in disbelief. No way he sent her his actual hoodie.

Dream nodded and she grabbed it from the box, noticing how much larger it was than the last one. She held it up to her body again and almost fainted at the size difference.

“It’s from, like, forever ago when my family went to the Florida Keys on vacation,” he explained. “Thought you might want a reminder that warm places exist while it gets colder there.”

Y/n smiled widely, not even trying to hide her happiness, which made Dream crack and flash his own grin. “Wanna try it on?”

She didn’t need to be asked twice, slipping it over her head like the last one. It smelled amazing. This was definitely the source of the cologne and she just knew it was his. If this is what he smelled like, she was going to have a hard time not cuddling with him 24/7 when they went on vacation.

“Y/n, you look so cu—”

“It smells so good,” she voiced abruptly and distractedly, making Dream cut himself off and turn a pink that even his phone camera could pick up on.

“Glad you think so.”

She lifted the material over her nose and was even more overwhelmed by the scent that surrounded her. If her stomach butterflies were fluttering before, they were raging lunatics at this point.

“You look so cute, Bug,” Dream complimented fondly and she smiled at him, flipping the hood up to cover her face. “I was right, you do look much better in my clothes than in Karl’s.”

She hummed happily and fiddled with the hoodie strings as she walked back to her phone and took a breath.

She needed to just say it. It was obvious now; there was no way he didn’t like her, sending her his hoodie practically drenched in his cologne and saying she looked cute in his clothes while he blushed. She had nothing to lose in telling him she liked him.

“Thank you, Dream. It really means a lot to me,” she said genuinely and he smiled at her.

“One more thing,” he said and she could detect nervousness in his voice, worrying her only slightly.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t know how to say this because I’ve never done this like… this… but you know there’s a first for everything I guess, and, uh—”

“Dream,” Y/n got his attention with a small laugh. “Just say whatever you need to say.”

“I lied about what I wanted to talk to you about the other day,” he admitted, tightening his hoodie strings before loosening them and huffing loudly. “I mean, I did want to see if the package was there, but I also wanted to… I have a better explanation for kinda ignoring you after Quackity’s stream and stuff um…” he paused and took a deep breath. “I know I can get kinda, I don't know, possessive about people,” he stated, his voice raising at the end like it was a question. “And it's something I'm definitely working on because it’s not a really good trait to have, but I do it especially when I like someone a lot so I’m sorry for being jealous of Quackity and Karl and even Naomi but, uh, I really like you a lot so if I’ve ever come across as overly jealous, that's why. But, again, I'm working on that.”

Y/n didn't know how to contain her smile even if she wanted to. Her heart raced as she looked at Dream’s embarrassed and red face.

“This is also not how I wanted to do this but, I’m pretty sure if I went another day without telling you that I like you, especially after seeing you in my hoodie, I was going to actually explode.”

“You asshole,” she mumbled, a huge grin contradicting her words.

“Oh god, I'm so sorry for rambling. I understand if you wanna send me the hoodie back or even just burn it if you want. Go ahead and burn it. I didn't mean it to come across as creepy if it did. I can see how it would be because I told you I like you after telling you to wear it and… oh god. And I'll stop texting you so much and not go on streams you'll be on and—”

“No, no! Dream, I don't want any of that!” She laughed. “I called you an asshole because you beat me to it.”

“Beat you to what?” he asked, the shakiness in his voice telling her how anxious he was.

Put him out of his misery, Y/n. “I was going to tell you I like you,” she explained before softly adding, “You beat me to it.”

Dream looked at her like she hung the moon just for him. “You do?”

“Yes, dummy. I really do.” Her face was on fire and she lifted the collar of her (his) hoodie over her nose like she always did when she was flustered. This time, the action only worsened her state since she was reintroduced to the scent of Dream’s cologne.

Y/n’s screen showed Dream’s ceiling as he set his phone down abruptly and put his head in his hands, which she could kinda see by his mess of blond waves shoved into the camera lens as he leaned over his desk.

“Dream!” She laughed. “Come back!”

He grabbed his phone and held it close to his face, absolutely beaming. “You have no idea how happy— Bug, I like you a lot.”

“I like you too, Dream,” she repeated and his smile only grew.

“Holy shit. You have a crush on me!”

“Shut up,” she joked. “What are you gonna do about it, huh?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I'm going to take you on a fucking date when you get here, that's what I'll do about it. Sound good?”

She bit her lips and nodded. “I can check my schedule.”

“Oh, come on,” he whined lightly. “Really?”

“Yes, I’ll go on a freaking date with you, Clay. What kind of question is that?”

“Consent is key!!” he declared. “I'm not gonna force you to go out with me—”

“You'd have to force me not to,” she laughed. “But just to be very clear, do you see now that I meant it when I said you had nothing to be jealous of?”

He frowned seriously. “I'm really sorry. I know it's unattractive and unhealthy and I'm working on it, I really am.”

“Honestly, you've done pretty good, I think. I mean, I didn't even know you were jealous of Naomi until you told me. And you didn't blow up at Quackity… at least not during stream or in front of me, which shows you have some self control.”

Dream laughed through his nose. “I actually didn't yell at him for that at all. Just… pouted to George and Karl.”

“W-wait to KARL? Karl knows you like me? AND George? That means both of us told them how we felt and neither of them let us know!”

“They hate us,” Dream joked.

“Just for that, I'm not telling either of them about the date. Purely out of spite.”

“I made them swear they wouldn't tell you anything though. So I understand why they didn't say anything.”

Y/n hummed. “I guess I did the same… okay fine they're super loyal, perfect friends. Still annoying.”

Dream smiled at her attitude and her frown melted away.

“By the way, I never said you being jealous wasn't hot.”

Dream’s eyebrows shot up. “What the hell did you just say?”

“Unreasonable jealousy isn't but you sending me a hoodie just because you don't want to see me wear Karl’s is kinda…” she suddenly got shy at her words but still raised an eyebrow at him. “It's definitely attractive.”

Dream shook his head fondly. “You're going to kill me.”

*********

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shorkbrian · 4 years ago

Note

I love your yan Hizashi and Aizawa teamup fic so much! I love how shy the reader is and how daddy Aizawa is, and then Hizashi comes home - damn! Thinking about that shower ending 🥰🥰🥰

shower sex just hit different bro.

(What to expect - shower sex lol, NSFW, no penetration, just some clit rubbing and hand jobs. Noncon, dubcon, soft domestic stuff too lol)

Like just Aizawa dragging you into the bathroom, Hizashi already in the shower, completely unaware of your presence as he whistles out a jaunty tune.

Aizawa strips you down, pushes you towards the shower before taking off his own clothes. He guides you inside, and you flinch when the water starts hitting your skin, far hotter than what you were used to.

“Oh shit, didn’t know we were gonna have a party!” Hizashi sings as he turns around, eyes twinkling as he looks you up and down.

You’re tempted to hide your body with your hands, the blond’s eyes sweeping shamelessly over your skin, the man grinning when he makes eye contact with you again.

But Aizawa doesn’t give you that option, softly gripping your elbows and pushing you forward a bit more so he can step in completely, shutting the foggy shower door behind him.

“Be gentle ‘Zashi, I haven’t done anything with her yet.”

You assumed the dark-haired man meant “done anything sexual”. He’d touched you quite a few times, hands stroking through your hair, quickly scrubbing you down in the shower, sitting close in bed as he read a book, one hand around your shoulders as he kept you from bolting.

“Oh.... Sho, how could you resist? She’s so beautiful.” Hizashi breathed, hands fluttering up to your face, stroking over your cheeks as the water burned your skin raw.

“I wanted to wait until you got home.” Shouta shrugged, although the tone in his voice indicated that he would rather have not.

His self control was admirable.

Hizashi had less control, hands immediately dropping to grope at your chest, squeezing gently, pulling.

“God, you’re amazing Sho, I wouldn’ta been able to hold back. Look at her, all sweet and ripe.”

Shouta merely hummed, pressing himself firm to your back to stop you from backing away from his husbands’s fondling. His chest was warm against your back, and you could feel his length quickly chubbing up against your ass, excited by the meek little noises of protest falling from your lips.

A pinch to your nipple had you cry out, hands flying to Hizashi’s wrists, pulling them away from your chest.

“Ah, sorry honey, was just feeling’ ya.”

“I told you to be gentle.” Shouta admonishes, wrapping his arms loosely around your shoulders, pulling you protectively towards his body, until there was no room between the two of you.

Hizashi pouted, backing into the spray of water to rinse out his hair, blonde tresses cascading like silk down his back. He was pretty, while the man behind you had rugged looks.

Shouta seemed to share the same thought, because he began slowly rubbing up and down your sides, pressing a kiss underneath your ear that made you shiver before murmuring “Doesn’t he look nice? He’s so beautiful, long hair, long legs....”

He trailed off as he pressed more kisses to your neck, slowly traveling down. One of his hands crept across your stomach, and you keened in discomfort, trying to move away from his touch, but his other hand grabbed hold of your hip, keeping you still.

“You aren’t so bad yourself, mr. mountain man.” Hizashi winked at his lover, before turning around to scrub at his face, hiding his bobbing erection from view.

The man behind you huffed out a low laugh, and then his fingers were slipping between your folds, making you squeal and buck your hips.

Having someone else touch you was entirely different from doing it yourself. You didn’t know the rhythm of his hands, where he’d touch you next, how much force he’d use, if he’d rub, or pinch, or tap.

The heat built up in your stomach so fast that you almost fainted. You came seconds later, knees buckling beneath you with a provocative moan.

“Holy shit, she’s sensitive.” Aizawa kept you standing, leaning you back against his sturdy body as your thoughts swirled loosely in your mind.

It was so intense, you missed Hizashi turning back to the two of you quickly, eyes widening. “Did she just cum? Just from your fingers?”

“I didn’t even get them inside.”

“Holy shit.” Hizashi echoed his husband’s earlier statement, stepping towards the both of you.

At the feel of his long, slender fingers taking the place of Aizawa’s shorter, stubby digits, you cried out, squirming desperately to escape the sensation of too much.

Thankfully, the blond relented. He reached around your body, gripping his husband’s thick length with a kiss over your shoulder with Aizawa, rubbing him slowly.

As you made sense of the world again, you could feel his wrist, how it jostled against the small of your back as he jerked Shouta off, making the dark haired man moan in your ear before capturing Hizashi’s lips in another passionate kiss.

You felt out of place, inserted between the two men, interrupting their private life, such an intimate moment.

Hizashi seemed to notice your discomfort, drawing back slightly so he could find one of your hands in his own.

“Doing so nice honey, bet Shouta made you feel so good. Wanna make me feel good too?”

You really didn’t, but you didn’t know what else to do except let his hand guide your around his cock, jumping when the blond hissed.

“Oh fuck, her hands’r so much smaller than yours.” He told his husband, reaching for another kiss.

“Mm, wonder what it’d feel like to have both of of you strokin’ me off.”

“Don’t be greedy-” Aizawa huffed, easily rocking his hips forward, signaling to his husband that he wanted more attention on his cock, a tighter grip, a faster pace.

Hizashi grinned lazily, letting out a drunken chuckle before speeding up his movements, Aizawa groaning at the stimulation and dropping his head forward onto your shoulder.

The blond’s hand was still on your own, gripping it tightly as he guided it up and down his shaft, the angle awkward and stiff.

But apparently it was doing something for him, because he was moaning breathily. The sound set Shouta off, because he began bucking against his husband’s hand, and subsequently your ass, grunting quietly as he neared his end.

“A bit faster ‘Zashi... ah, there we go. Making him feel good down there?” He directed the question towards you, breath puffing against your shoulder blades as you were jostled from the force of his thrusts into his husband’s hand.

“She’s doing real good, gonna-gonna cum soon.” Hizashi sounded strained, also reaching his climax as he humped against your hand.

And then they were done, cum sprayed over your lower back, dripping steadily down towards your ass, sliding grossly between your cheeks. There was cum on your front too, coating your hand, wet against your stomach.

Hizashi panted for a second, before moving to the side, letting the spray from the showered wash away the evidence of his pleasure, releasing your hand.

“Jesus, you’re amazing hon’, can’t wait to see what else you can do.” A wink was thrown your way, and Aizawa snorted from behind you as he regained his bearings.

“Calm down ‘Zashi, she’s overwhelmed.” And you were, struggling not to let your breath run away, quicken and choke you until you couldn’t draw air into your lungs. This was all happening so fast, and you couldn’t stop it, didn’t know how.

“You’re alright (Y/N).” Aizawa’s voice was soothing, deep and melodic as he shuffled away from your back, moving to your side so he could reach for the soap and a loofah.

“Okay, okay-” Hizashi held up his hands, grabbing the soap for Aizawa while the dark-haired man grabbed the loofah. “-just gettin’ excited, can’t believe our girl is actually here.”

They washed you together, wiping you down gently, careful of oversensitive skin and the tears beginning to brim in your eyes. Hizashi’s hands were quick to get distracted, trying to slip between your legs before Aizawa quickly slapped them away, giving his husband a warning look. Hizashi responded by playfully sticking out his tongue.

“I just can’t help it, she’s just so cute! And I didn’t get to see her when she came, Sho, you shoulda told me it was happening!” The man whined, putting the soap back on the shelf as they finished washing you up.

Aizawa snorted, rolling his eyes as he helped you rinse off. “You’re just an insatiable bastard, we can fool around after we get her taken care of.”

The blond grinned, checking to make sure everyone was thoroughly clean before he switched off the water, hurrying to grab towels. “Fuckin’ sweet! Here, catch-”

A towel was thrown your way as Aizawa helped you step out of the shower, but it was caught by the man behind you before you could blink. He immediately wrapped it around your body, before catching another towel Hizashi threw his way, slinging it around his hips.

“You gonna tell us about America? How did your stomach handle the food?”

Their conversation turned into a gentle drone of background noise as you were dried off, Hizashi’s hands taking over from your own to rub you down while he chatted with his husband.

You were guided into soft shorts, Hizashi holding them for you while you stepped in, Aizawa pulling an oversized shirt over your head.

They set you on the bed while they similarly dressed, and you sat there quietly, lost in your head, dazed, confused, too stressed and scared to do much but stare blankly at the floor.

It was warm when they tucked you into bed, nestled between them. They were still talking, voices soft and fading to whispers as you closed your eyes, silent and overwhelmed.

Maybe some sleep would help you feel better, and less like the ground was crumbling from beneath your feet.

#shouta aizawa #hizashi yamada #shouta x hizashi #shouta x reader #aizawa x hizashi #hizashi #hizashi imagine #hizashi yamada smut #hizashi x reader #poly relationship #poly erasermic #yandere erasermic #yandere #Yandere imagines #tw dubcon #tw noncon

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whumperooni · 4 years ago

Note

Mr.Natsuo being your teacher and you purposely flirt with other boys as wear really short skirts in his class to make him ✨jealous ✨and horny , he asks to see you after class and you get fucked on his table 🥺🥺 Sorry I’m on my period and I’m going feral 😃

No, no- never apologize for this! It makes me feral too ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ Natsuo Sensei, please come get this pussy ♡

tags/warnings: teacher/student relationship, teacher kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, manipulation, improvised gags

A/N: I wrote Natsuo a bit more rough than I normally do, but I think it turned out okay;;; I also abused the words professor, doctor, sensei, and teacher;;;;

But. Ya know.

Enjoy! ♡

You were fucked the moment you walked into his classroom. Introduction to Human Anatomy and Physiology. 2:30 pm, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Led by Doctor Natsuo Todoroki. An insert into your schedule that seemed harmless enough. Interesting, surely. Something you were a little worried about- what if you turned out squeamish despite your love for all things horror and gore?- and something that would just fill your first semester of college. Harmless. Routine for your major. Nothing to give you any sort of fuss or throw you into a flustered little mess. Or, so you thought. Honestly, you hadn’t given much thought to what your professor might be like. You were more worried over having to share a dorm room with a stranger, if you could handle your class load, how hard it might be to adjust being away from home and all you’ve ever known. You suppose your mind’s eye might have conjured a vague image of a wrinkled and wizened old man with a stern gaze and whitened hair. You suppose you might have faintly imagined Doctor Todoroki to be a tired geezer in a lab coat and faded sweater vest. You suppose you might have had the predetermined, unconscious notion that your professor would be intelligent, elderly, stern and, well, someone who you would only think about in terms of being someone to give you tests and homework and lectures. You didn’t think that you would walk into the room to find a smiling, young man with a handsome face and thick thighs, big arms. You didn’t think that you would walk into the room to lock eyes with your professor and immediately go weak in the knees under a stormy gaze and a sunshine smile. You didn’t think that you would walk into the room to only have your breath snatched away, your cheeks flared with a flush, your heart forced into a thundering staccato. You didn’t think that Doctor Todoroki would be hot. But, oh god- oh god- he’s gorgeous. Doctor Todoroki- well, Doctor Natsuo or even professor; he seems to prefer those much more than his family name- is, honestly, a living, breathing wet dream. He’s hot. He’s kind. He’s friendly. He’s funny. He’s perfect. The class that you thought would be only mildly interesting turns out to be your favorite. How could it not be when you’re blessed with a full hour of delicious eye candy, a teacher that’s so generous with his praise and has your spine tingling whenever he says your name? He’s so friendly and he’s so polite, too. The way he calls you Miss is a little old fashioned, sure, but it sends your mind reeling and your cheeks flushing- quick fantasies zipping through your thoughts as your thighs involuntarily push together. Your crush springs up from the moment you see him and it only gets stronger with each passing day. Little accidental brushes against you, the smiles he sends your way, the scent of his cologne whenever he leans over your table to correct an answer, the way his praise rings in your ears late at night- it all sends you spiraling. You’ve never had a crush quite like this before. Certainly not on a teacher. You want him, though. Oh, god, do you want him. Your roommate is the unfortunate one that has to hear you whine and moan over him- you’re much too embarrassed to admit your crush to your friends back home or any of your family; they’d be sure to scold you, to call you foolish and chide that you’re a silly little girl. She understands it, at least. That helps, keeps you from being too ashamed. “I mean, it’s no surprise you’ve got a thing for him,” she muses. “He’s young. He’s hot. Anyone would get a little crush.” You don’t like that thought, really. You don’t want to think about others lusting after your sensei. “Why not try shooting your shot?” At your scandalized look, she huffs and shrugs, rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on,” she scoffs. “No need to be such a good girl. Professors hook up with their students all the time. You just gotta be discreet.” “I can’t,” you protest- shaking your head and pulling your knees up to your chest. “And it’s not like he- he doesn’t see me in that kind of way.” “You don’t know that,” she counters with a click of her tongue. Another huff leaves her and it’s easy to see that her patience with the situation is waning. “Either feel it out or get over it or find someone else to moon over. There’s no point in moping and stewing.” You’re not moping. You’re just- you’re just- Okay, you’re mooning over him like she said. But you’re not moping. It’s just- it’s such a new situation for you. You’ve always had crushes on your peers- never anyone older than you by more than a year or two, never anyone in a position of authority over you. A taboo situation like this has never been your cup of tea- you’ve always been a good, sensible girl. Crushes on teachers have never been something you thought to entertain. But now? Well, now... You bite your lip and eye your reflection, nervously touch up your makeup in the bathroom mirror. It’s light and simple but pretty and sweet. Stalking Professor Natsuo’s social medias helped you gain the insight that he seems to prefer his women more natural and cute, innocent looking- all glossy lips and doe eyed, fluttering lashes with just the barest hint of mascara and blush. The false lashes might be a bit too much, but they make you look even more doll like and, that too, is something he seems to like. Pretty. Simple. Doll like. Sweet. Young. You think you’ve managed to put that look together rather nicely. The pleated skirt- just shy of rising above your knees- and the soft cardigan help, too, and, really, you don’t think you’ve ever looked quite so innocent before- even when you were a wide eyed, straight A, pure and untouched student back in high school. ...god, what are you doing? A groan leaves you and you nearly scrub the makeup from your face, nearly rip off the skirt and switch it out for the leggings you have stuffed inside your backpack. Nearly. You don’t think that this is really going to work. You don’t think that this is really going to draw any sort of reaction from him. And, well, maybe that’s what you need? Maybe you need to truly see that it’s a fruitless desire- maybe then it’ll shrivel up and away and you’ll be free from your sinful fantasies, free from the desire that has your head spinning. And, well, it’s been a while since you’ve dressed up a little, too- the rigors of college have had you leaning more toward comfort than style, have kept you too tired and busy to give time to makeup and skirts and a polished appearance. It feels kind of nice being all cute and attractive instead of frumpy and disheveled. ...you’re not going to change. You deserve to feel nice and you’re dying- desperate- to see how your professor will react to you looking nicer than the tired lump you usually display. Just act normal, you tell yourself as you head toward the class- clutching your textbooks tight to your chest. Don’t be too hopeful. Don’t be too excited. Don’t get disappointed. Just- just think of it as an experiment. That’s all it is, right? Just an experiment! You’re just putting a hypothesis to a test! (What a load of crap. It does help to calm your fluttering, nervous heart, though) You swallow as you approach the room and take a deep breath to steady yourself, bite your lip as you eye the open door. You can hear him rustling around and you know that the others will be around soon- you can’t just keep standing there like a dumbstruck, coltish fool. Another swallow, another deep breath. You walk into the room and fix a nervous smile on your face, chirp out a nearly stuttered “Good afternoon, Professor.” He’s faced away from you- broad back greeting your vision as he scrawls something across the blackboard. His head turns, though, and you get to hear an absent “good afternoon” replied back, you get to watch his gaze fall on you. His hand pauses. His snowy lashes blink once, twice, three times. Surprise flickers over his face- evident enough that you can catch it without doubt. His eyes flick down and back up so quickly that you almost miss it, dart away whenever your smile shrugs off its nervousness and grows ever so sweetly. You sit yourself down front and center- right in front of your sensei’s desk. He doesn’t look back at you as you organize your books and gear. He doesn’t look back at you as you primly cross your ankles and rest them to the side, drag a curious, studious gaze along his back. You had hoped for a response, but you hadn’t really expected it- Professor Natsuo has been kinder and more friendly and open than your other teachers, yes, but he’s still been professional. He’s never crossed any boundaries and you’ve never see him give another student the once over. This is...promising. Your cheeks stay flushed as the other students file in, but your anxiousness is gone away. Sure, that little look doesn’t really mean anything but now you’re...well. Now you’re curious. Desperate and needy for some validation of your silly little fantasies, but curious too. Could you...would he...? You wet your lips, unthinking, and keep your eyes on Doctor Natsuo throughout the class- analyzing his behavior, absorbing his words, taking in how his gaze finds you a bit more often than it usually does. Interesting. Encouraging. The next day you wear a skirt that’s a little bit shorter, don sweet mary janes and ankle socks decorated in lacy frills. Steel grey eyes dart to your legs more than once during the class and you even catch your professor tracing his eyes over your hips when he thinks you’re not looking- his reflection in the shining convex mirror hanging above your dissection table showing guilt, an almost nervous tilt to his lips. Oh, you’ve got him. But how do you proceed...? Your worries and frets and protests over taboo desires are long gone- they got dashed away with the first blink of his long lashes, with the first glance over he had given you. Really, you should feel ashamed over discarding your morals so easily, but it’s an exciting situation, isn’t it? It’s nothing you would ever think to find yourself in. But college is all about new, exciting situations, right? It’s about taking chances. God, you hope this is really a chance for you- you’ve never had the opportunity to play a coy game like this before. It’s...fun. High school would have been a lot more interesting if you had known this kind of thrill. You come home smiling ear to ear after a successful attempt at making Doctor Natsuo blush. (A sway of your hips, a flit of your slowly shortening skirts, a coo of his name as you thanked him for such an interesting lesson, a sweet smile and your fingers daring to skim ever so lightly and quickly over his wrist as you walked out of the classroom) The smile on your face has your roommate’s brow quirking, but one look at your outfit has her lips pulling into a smirk- something near gloating on her face. “You shooting your shot?” she asks, already knowing the answer. “Something like that.” You plop down on your bed, smile waning but still present- content as you let yourself get comfortable. She doesn’t offer any more conversation and you’re okay with that- mind fixating instead on how you could possibly further things with your sought after teacher. Things are good, for now- much better than you had ever thought they would be. The little forays into flirtation have been fun, exciting and they’ve even helped boost your confidence- something you hadn’t realized was sorely needed. It’s been fun. And it stays fun- the short skirts, the girly lilt you find yourself injecting into your voice, the soft makeup and sweet perfume, the way you always leave the class with wet panties and a vibrating exciting buzzing through you, the way your teacher’s eyes can’t help but dart over you, the way he breathes in just a bit deep when you get a little too close, the way he swallows whenever you so lightly purr his name- it all stays fun. Fun, but...frustrating. After a while it gets frustrating. Because he doesn’t do anything, not really. He stays a proper, good teacher- something you give props to him for- and he never returns your gentle flirtations, the subtle and silent invitations you push his way. He’s so...professional. It’s kind of a turn on- kind of. It’s mostly just...frustrating. You find your lips dipping into a pout more and more, find yourself sulky and downtrodden. Sure, this has been fun and interesting but you...you want more. You want him. You need him. You’ve needed him for so long it seems. You find your muffled ministrations in the shower getting more and more frantic- your fingers pumping into your cunt relentlessly but giving you none of the relief you seek. When you are able to cum, it’s always with a whimper of sensei or doctor or professor- sometimes even a daring Natsuo. You get restless and impatient, desperate and a little hopeless. If your teacher senses or sees that, he doesn’t say anything- in fact, his gaze seems to avert from the feverish look in your eyes, he seems to pull away from your bold, reckless attempts to get closer to him. That hurts. That makes you angry. That makes you feel stupid. But he still wants you- or, at least, he still finds you tempting. You know he does- he can’t hide the way his eyes fall on you whenever you walk into the room, he can’t hide the quick glances he lays over you when he thinks no one else can see. You see his hesitance and want. You see it. ...if he’s not going to act on his desires, if he’s going to resist, then you’re going to kick things up a notch- someone has to; you can’t live with this stalemate any longer. It’s not a punishment, not really- it’s just throwing in his face what he’s missing out on. (My, whenever did you become so reckless and cruel? When did you become so desperate?) The ratio of boys to girls in the class is quite staggering- something one would think the university wouldn’t allow for fear of lawsuits. There are three boys for each girl- ambitious, studious, virginal, frantically horny things with expectations piled high on their shoulders and stress wracking their every thoughts. (It wouldn’t be unfair to say they you’re just like them- just sans the virginal part, double the stressed and horny part to make up for it) They’re good boys, for the most part- friendly and tired, nice but none of them quite to your taste or striking enough to jar your fixation from your sensei. Some of them are even handsome- which makes this a lot easier. “Oh, you brought me coffee? Thank you so much, Dai-chan! You’re so sweet!” The kiss you lay upon your classmate’s cheek makes him blush and fluster. It also makes your dear teacher stare- eyes wide and brow furrowed when you flick your gaze his way, his lips twitching as if he’s not sure if he wants to frown or not. The soft giggle you let out does bring a frown- something that deepens whenever one of the other boys comes over to grab your attention, try his hand. You should have thought of using them earlier on- they’ve been eager enough to try to flirt this whole time. Doctor Natsuo, for his part, doesn’t say or do anything- of course he doesn’t. But his usually happy temperament turns a bit tense, a little sour. He doesn’t lash out, not really, but you can see the way his teeth grit and his brow puckers whenever one of the boys dares to lay their hand on your arm, the small of your back. Good, you think- vicious and bitter, sour yourself. Get jealous. “What the fuck is up with Todoroki lately?” “Dude, did you hear how he snapped at Araka?” “Do you think something happened? He seems...stressed.” Your classmates trade hushed whispers as they flee the room, but you don’t think to join them- you stay quiet and soak in their quiet gossip, smile sharply without a look back to your grimacing, frustrated sensei. Just a little more. At this point, you’re not even sure what you want from him- an admittance of his own desires, him hurting and annoyed? You don’t know. You just want something to happen- you need something to break this little silent game apart. You think and think and think over what could raise the situation to the breaking point and, finally, you settle on something simple. The night before your Thursday class, you invite over one of your classmates- Eita; one of the more attractive ones, one of the less nervous ones. Your roommate is gracious enough to stay away (thanks to your offer of money for booze and weed and help with her homework) and you have the room all to yourself. Three beers and some easy flirtations, just a few small touches- that’s all it takes to get what you’re after. You don’t let him fuck you- he’s not worth it, nowhere near what you want- but you let him fumble his hands over you, are kind enough to wrap your hand around his cock while his lips frantically roam and suck over your neck. You don’t let him come until you’re absolutely sure that you have what you want. It reduces him to a whining mess- which, hey, is honestly kind of cute. You rebuff his sweet offers to “return the favor” and send him off with a kiss to the cheek, spend the rest of your night nursing a glass of wine and silently brooding- mind tired and body exhausted, your desires so restless. The next day you dress in a pleated, short skirt that just barely skims the middle of your thighs and fix your hair into a cute little updo, don your now signature mary janes and pull on a brand new pair of knee high socks. The sly comments you get throughout the day are annoying, but easily ignored. You’re impatient through the morning and it only gets worse as Doctor Natsuo’s class creeps closer. You spend the day jittering your leg and biting your lip, checking your phone every few moments and huffing to yourself, clutching at your arms and trying not to pace up and down the school’s halls. Finally- finally- it’s time for your favorite class. You have to force yourself to walk slowly toward it. You have to breathe in deep to quiet your pounding heart, to still your trembling hands. This has to spur something on. You walk into the classroom- skirt swaying, lips hiding your anticipation behind a smile. You ignore Professor Natsuo and make your way to Eita’s desk, plant your elbows on it and rest your chin in your hand, arch your hips up so your teacher can be teased by the sight of your soft thighs and curves, taunted by how just an inch or two of fabric prevents your panties from being flashed. (Is he looking? He has to be looking. He better be looking.) “Eita-kun,” you coo, sweet and loud enough for others to hear, “I had such a good time last night. We should do it again.” Eita’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush. You might enjoy it if you weren’t so distracted by the noise of a coffee cup slamming down and clattering on the desk behind you, if your breathing didn’t hitch so sharply at the fault in your sensei’s composure. Slowly, you straighten yourself to standing and turn around. Professor Natsuo’s face is red and flustered- jealous- when you look and his eyes are narrowed at you, his coffee spilled on the desk. You offer him a sweet blink and a sweeter smile, tilt your head so he can see the blossomed bruise tinting your throat pewter and mauve, a stormy and swirling blue. His eyes widen, his gaze darts behind you. Your smile grows. How do you like that, sensei? Your hands tremble just a little- from nerves, from excitement, from aching anticipation- and you clasp them behind your back to hide them from his gaze, lean forward and peer over his desk. “Are you okay, sir?” you ask him- chirping and so very sweet. “Do you need help cleaning that up?” He stares at you- disbelieving and still so evident in his shock, his envy. Some strangled noise chokes its way up and out of his throat whenever you flutter your lashes his way and smug amusement gathers in you as you watch his jaw tighten, his teeth grit as he tries to gather his composure once more. “No. Sit.” Oh. You’ve never heard him sound like that before. So authoritative, so stern. So hot. It’s your turn to let out a noise- something soft and almost curious, accompanied by flushed cheeks. You obey your teacher and sit down without a fuss- thighs pressing together and already growing damp, lip bitten and eyes half-shut as you watch him silently clean up the coffee. He doesn’t look at you throughout the whole lesson. He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t call on you. He doesn’t smile or laugh or joke around. He’s...cold throughout the class- words iced over and posture rigid, his face holding no warmth at all. You gulp as you listen to him lecture and squirm in your seat- nerves starting to gather and grow despite the way you’re still so very wet between your thighs. You had wanted something to happen. You were determined to force anything to happen. But maybe- maybe you miscalculated. Maybe you fucked up. It’s something of a relief when the class ends. Usually, you like to linger for a few moments, like to stay just a bit longer than necessary so you can grab your teacher’s attention with a question or some sort of compliment over the lesson. Today, though? Today you shoot up from your seat without delay, begin to gather all your supplies as quickly as you can. At least...at least until he says your name. It’s firm, just a little icy. You stiffen at the sound and gulp, look back at him with wide eyes and a nervous smile. Before hearing your name part from your teacher’s lips would send you flying high, but right now...right now your skin is tingling with a giddy apprehension, your fingertips are trembling as you search his face for any hint of what’s to come. “I need to have a word with you,” Doctor Natsuo tells you- eyes boring into yours and keeping you frozen where you stand. “I, um,” you try to weakly protest, “I have to get to my next class...” “It won’t take long.” If he catches your wince, he doesn’t react to it. Professor Natsuo simply leans against his desk as the rest of the students file out- arms folded over his chest, sleeves rolled up to display thick forearms. And you? You stay rooted to the spot- heart pounding and eyes still wide, cheeks flushed and thighs damp. When the last student leaves, Professor Natsuo walks over to the door and closes it shut. Click. W-Wait- did he just- “D-Doctor Natsuo?” you squeak out. “What are you- what are you doing?” “I think I should be asking that question.” Oh, shit. Your teacher turns around slowly and the look he gives you takes your breath away. He looks angry and frustrated. He looks pissed. Pissed, but there’s- there’s something more- there’s- “What-” He takes a step toward you, you take a step back. “- do you think you’re doing, young lady?” The whimper that leaves you is equal parts anxious and needy- soft and unwanted. You probably shouldn’t find the growl in his words so hot. Your knees probably shouldn’t knock together and your pussy shouldn’t throb at the snap of young lady. But it’s- you didn’t expect him to be like this. But you- it’s- A tremble wracks through you and Professor Natsuo takes another step toward you. You bump against his desk whenever you stumble back and flinch at the wood that slams into your lower back, gasp and whimper once more when big hands fall to the table on both your sides, when your teacher brackets your trembling form and keeps you enclosed and captive. His eyes are narrowed. His cheeks are flushed. His cologne smells so nice up close, his height has your lashes fluttering and your breathing shuddering as you’re forced to tilt your head back to look up at him with wide eyes. “S- Sir?” “Don’t sir me,” he snaps, crowding closer to you. “I’ve lost my patience with you playing coy.” He’s lost his patience? Your mouth opens to shoot off something probably very stupid, but the words die as a big, cool hand finds your throat and forces your head to a tilt. The touch is beyond expected, has you crying out softly and gripping onto his shirt, almost hyperventilating. The pin prick retraction of your pupils is dramatic and so is your whimpering exhales but, god, this is not what you had expected. “You’ve been toying with me for weeks now,” Doctor Natsuo growls out, his fingers digging into the hickey on your neck. “All your short skirts and little touches, your shameless flirtations- you’ve been trying to drive me mad, haven’t you?” “Pr- Professor,” you whimper out, thighs rubbing together and a moan threatening to sound. “I just- I just wanted-” “You just wanted some attention,” he huffs out- his other hand gripping at your waist and his knee knocking your legs apart. “You wanted to see what would break me, right? That’s why you came in flaunting this today.” Your teacher’s thigh slots between yours and his fingers push deeper into your bruised flesh, his stormy eyes narrow and take in the way you shudder, how your cheeks flush even darker and your eyes start to turn just a bit glossy. A mewl leaves you- embarrassing and so needy, so helpless- and you whine softly after, try to turn your head away so he can’t see the way all your bravado and confidence is melting away into your selfish, needy, hopeless desires. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he demands- forcing your face back to him. He doesn’t look angry now- just frustrated- and your stuttered little gasp only makes his teeth grit, the way your thighs squeeze his makes his breath in sharp and deep. “Go on- tell me.” You- you can’t. You can’t deny him, can’t lie. Not now that things have finally boiled over, not now that he’s finally confronting you. Not now that you’re about to come just from the feeling of his thigh pressing against your soaked cunt. Not now that you’re so close to moaning and falling into a pleading, begging thing. “I- I had to,” you whine. “You weren’t- you wouldn’t-” “Tch.” The grip on your neck tightens and leaves you whimpering, leaves your fingers curling even tighter into your teacher’s shirt. “I was trying to be a good teacher,” Professor Natsuo grits out. “I was trying to keep from taking advantage of you.” Take advantage of you? You would laugh if it weren’t for your wettening lashes, the way your hips are aching and tightening from trying not to grind over your sensei’s thigh. “Sensei-” “Did you fuck him?” he interrupts- fingers dragging over your hickey and hand gripping your hip tighter, pulling you closer and making you whimper, tremble as your cunt is made to glide over his leg. “Don’t tell me after all this time you settled for a boy like that?” You shake your head the best you can- almost frantic with it, flushed and vaguely angry he would even insinuate that you would hook up with someone after you’ve put in so much effort toward him. “N- No! I wanted- I didn’t want- didn’t want him,” you whine, hips jerking despite yourself, a mewl leaving you whenever your teacher’s breath catches. “Sensei, please-” “Fuck.” The groan that leaves him has your lashes fluttering, your lips parting with a soft whine. The hand on your neck moves to your scalp and buries thick fingers in your hair, messes up your updo and sends your hairtie flying. He ignores the protesting noise that leaves you and looks down at you instead- eyes dark with a need that mirrors your own, nostrils flaring as his breathing turns heavy. “You are so naughty,” Doctor Natsuo growls- one hand curling his fingers into your hair, the other smoothing down your waist and to your spread legs. “Filthy little thing.” Filthy? You’re not- you’re not- The hand at your waist moves to loosen his tie and you whimper when he pops open his top button, when he shifts his hips forward and you feel his cock hard on your thigh. “Pl- please, sensei,” you breathe out in a beg- unplanned and so thoughtless, even overwhelmed. “I- I’ll be good! I won’t tell! I just want- I need-” You cut yourself off with a whine and rock against his thigh, look up at him with your wet lashes and flushed cheeks. He groans whenever you whimper and you clutch at him tighter, try to press against him. “I need you, sensei,” you plead- so soft and so desperate. “I need you. I- I promise I’ll be good. I just- I just-” You whimper once more and he groans, grips your waist and sits you on the table rough enough to make all his pens rattle and shake. He slots himself between your spread legs and buries his fingers back into your hair, presses his mouth against yours so fast and hard that it makes your whole world screech to a screaming halt. Your eyes widen and then slam shut, your body goes limp as you whimper and tremble from the way his tongue traces over your bottom lip. You allow your mouth to open and your teacher groans over it, slips his tongue inside and forces you to bend back as he presses closer toward you. Whenever he pulls his head back from yours, there’s a glistening of spit on his lips, a flush to his cheeks. You squirm under his gaze- suddenly so shy, suddenly so flustered- and whine as he stares down at you, arch your back and gasp whenever he forces your head to the side once more and presses his lips to your throat. It hurts when his teeth dig into the already tender, bruised flesh but it sends your mind reeling, has you mewling and reaching to scratch at his back. “Y- Yes! Please! Cover it! Make that mark yours!” The words fly out fast and without any thought, the begging comes from a place you didn’t realize existed within you. You don’t even realize that you mewled such a thing out until your teacher is groaning against your neck, until he’s muttering a, “Fuck- that’s a good girl” right against your throat. If you weren’t so swept up in the situation, you might feel embarrassed. But, you’re not- you’re just gasping and flushed and made even more needy from the praise, from the way your sensei’s hands drag down your sides to grip your waist. Tears blur your vision and a stuttered breath has you shaking, your nails digging deep into soft fabric and clawing over a broad back. “Doctor Natsuo please!” Another groan from your teacher and his hand slips under your skirt, his fingers push your soaked panties to the side and dip into your sopping cunt. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he growls, curling two thick digits and making you cry out. “Hey- shh, shh. Be good. You promised you were going to be good.” Be good? Oh, fuck, you wanna be good. You bite your lip as your teacher fucks his fingers deep inside you and try so, so, so hard to stay nice and quiet and good. He watches you as you try to muffle your whimper behind your hand and you shake from the way he licks his lips, from the way his lashes lower and his gaze turns approving. “That’s it, baby,” he mumbles. “Good girl. Fuck- turn over.” Professor Natsuo backs away and you can’t quite bite back your whine whenever his fingers leave, can’t quite inject any gracefulness in the way you scramble to comply. He yanks you back whenever you’re on your stomach- has your knees knocking against his desk and your hips arching up. There’s no warning when he grabs the plush flesh of your ass and spreads your cheeks wide. Your face flushes and a soft noise leaves you, your thighs press together as you squirm and whimper. “Cute,” he murmurs, squeezing your butt roughly. “Even better than I imagined.” Imagined? Oh- oh. He- he thought of you. He fantasized about you. Sensei- sensei got off to you. Your cunny clenches and your teacher groans- low and deep and accompanied by the sound of a zipper being pulled down. When you look back over your shoulder at him, his fingers are undoing his tie and you’re left blinking in confusion as he wraps each end around his palms. “Professor...?” “Open your mouth.” You do so without hesitation- lips falling open and fingers curling against the wood of the desk. Professor Natsuo slips his tie between your lips and you whine as it digs into your cheeks, shudder whenever he gives it a tight tug. “Now be a good student for your sensei,” he instructs, gathering the tie in one hand and pulling out his cock with the other. “Quiet and good.” You nod the best you can, but it’s a promise you can’t quite keep whenever his cock nestles between your cunt’s lips, whenever the tip eases into your hole and then slams fully in. You cry out- spit wetting your teacher’s silk tie and his hand laying heavy across your ass, your head getting yanked back whenever he jerks on the tie. “What did I say?” He said- he said to be quiet and good. You have to be quiet and good. A muffled whimper leaves you and you rock your hips back, squeeze around your sensei’s cock with the softest little whine. He groans and his hips pap against you, his dick drives in deep enough to have your toes curling and your lashes fluttering. He’s- he’s big. Bigger than you thought he’d be. Bigger than you dared to imagine. The stretch is- it’s so much. But you’re so wet. You’re so needy. Tiny, strangled whimpers leave you as your professor falls into a rhythm and you shudder, do your best to fuck your hips back against him. That stops whenever he grips your waist with a grunt and you whine softly, still and let your teacher fuck you how he pleases. You take it and you love it, get pushed close to orgasm faster than ever before. You almost collapse when you come on his cock and you hiccup out a whine of pleasure, a muffled mewl of his name. Doctor Natsuo groans as your gummy insides spasm around him and his grip becomes bruising, his rocks get faster- harder. Feels so good! Feels so good! Sensei’s dick feels so good! “Shen- shensay!” “Oh, fuck- god- you’re so tight, baby. Good girl- you like sensei’s cock deep inside you? Is this what you wanted?” You whimper and nod- cheek scrubbing against the desk, cunt gripping his cock like a vice. He grunts and grabs onto your hips, forces your head up and back as the tie drags you and forces your back to arch in a tight, painful angle. Still feels good, though. Still feels like everything you wanted. You want- need- so much more. “Shoulda done this sooner,” your teacher groans out. “Shoulda- fuck!” He slams in you deep enough to have your eyes rolling back, hard enough to have your whole body shaking and your nails clawing across his desk. “C’mon, c’mon- take it- take it! Sensei is- Sensei is gonna fill you up- gonna give that needy cunt what it needs!” He’s gonna- he’s gonna- oh, god! Doctor Natsuo fucks into you faster and faster- the movements jarring you against the desk and making it rock, the jab of his cock rushing you to the height of pleasure again. You cry out as he slams into you- the tie falling from your lips as he drops it and forces you back onto the desk, slides his arms under you and grips your shoulders, fucks into you rough and deep and so, so perfectly. Warmth floods inside your pussy and you whimper as you’re filled with your sensei’s seed, twitch and come on his cock again- lashes fluttering and teeth digging into your lip to muffle your whine, honeyed insides milking his dick as if you need more. You do need more- you do. How could you have ever imagined one time would be enough to satisfy your fantasies? Your teacher pants and grinds into you- hot breath fanning over your cheek and his cock sliding out with a wet pop whenever he draws his hips back. You whimper at the loss but mewl when his fingers draw up your slit, slide back and down onto your knees as exhaustion slips over you. Fuck...fuck, did that just happen? A touch to your cheek has you looking up and you blink hazily at your sensei’s flushed cheeks, the shining and wet cock that he stuffs inside his trousers. “Satisfied?” he asks, slightly breathless and a groan hiding in his voice. “Going to be a good girl now? No more teasing sensei?” You nod, not quite thinking over the action or processing the words, only close your eyes when the slightest smile flits across his lips, when his fingers brush over your cheek and his gaze goes heavy lidded. “Sensei...” His fingers glance over your jawline and down low, stroke over your new hickey and bring a mewl. With your eyes closed, you can’t see the way his expression ripples with something hesitant and something curious, something...greedy. Strong hands help you up from the floor and you shudder as your legs tremble, press against his chest and look up at him with heavy eyes, a yearning that you can’t quite hide. He strokes your hair and it’s...nice. Unexpected from the way he reacted before, so very welcome. “...I was harsh with you.” The apologetic tone is also unexpected. Your professor seems to almost fluster, hesitates as he strokes your hair again and allows his grey gaze to look over your flushed cheeks and parted lips, the desire that you can’t quite hide. “...you were a good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and making you flush even more. “...you gonna keep being good? Not tell?” Of course you’re not going to tell. Of course you’re not going to risk this. You nod without any hesitation and you’re graced with a smile, another kiss that has you wanting to melt against him. “Then in that case...” You blink and watch as he breathes in deep, tilt your head as your heart begins to flutter in your chest. “Come over tonight. I can give you what you want properly.” He wants...he wants you to come over? He wants to fuck you again? You could swear it’s almost a smirk that forms on his face whenever your eyes widen and your breath catches. “I- I...yes, please.” He hums and he steps away- leaving you to stumble slightly and look at him in wonder, an unending adoration that you had pretended wasn’t underneath all your lust for him. “Good. But for now...” Sensei takes a deep breath and then he smiles at you- this time a bit wry, a little amused. “You’re going to be late for your next class.” Next class? Oh- oh shit! A squeak escapes you and you hurry to gather up all your stuff, shove your books in your arms and race toward the door. “Hey.” You freeze as you grab onto the doorknob and nearly tumble into it, look back toward your sensei. “I want you to call me Natsuo when we’re alone.” He- he what? Oh. Oh. You open your mouth, but the trilling of the bell cuts you off and you’re left only with the time to nod and flush, mumble out a soft, “Yes, sir” before you have to rush out the room. You head toward your next class with weak legs and cheeks red from where your sensei’s tie pulled deep into your skin, hair a mess and your teacher’s- Natsuo’s- cum dripping down your thighs. You smile as you rush off to your next class- happy and fucked, eager to see what Natsuo has in store for you later that night.

#natsuo todoroki x reader #rooni's shit #tw breeding kink #Anonymous

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