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snackhobi · 4 years ago

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pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan.

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve.

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable.

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is.

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church.

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside.

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?”

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement.

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble.

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised.

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt.

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts.

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless.

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck.

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in.

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres.

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body.

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage.

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe.

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead.

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming.

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class.

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end.

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?”

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading.

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it.

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing.

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.”

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good.

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it.

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm.

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be.

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh.

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent.

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed.

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside.

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil.

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed.

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you.

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you.

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs.

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…”

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

#magicshopnet #btswritingcafe #taehyung smut #taehyung oneshot #taehyung x reader #bts #bts smut #v smut #v oneshot #v x reader #taehyung #taehyung fluff #bts oneshot #kim taehyung #taehyung imagine #taehyung scenario #bts fic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist

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kevin-the-bruyne · 3 years ago

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what are the top 3 zeenunew moments that make you go feral? *chin hands*

Anon I ask you this seriously: don't you think it's homophobic to make me choose THREE moments - how??? I have shortened the criteria to just interviews/lives and not BTS/dates/DMD events for some peace of heart.

Zee asking New to be his boyfriend

(X)

God bless Zee but he isn't particularly bright asdkjsfhksjdfh - this is terrible horrible fan service (because it only fuels obsessive behavior instead of the awww squeeee reaction hotspot). Technically, Zee should be too experienced to say something like this but the man runs on vibes and aesthetics and this was apparently the vibe in the moment (it really wasn't lmao).

This doesn't even serve to further their relationship in RL because New can't say yes, them being in an actual relationship is bad for business. New's soul just left his body, he's totally gobsmacked, his eyes have become tiny slits, the embodiment of screaming, crying, throwing up. He would tackle Zee to the ground if it were not for the laws of the land.

This bit has achieved absolutely nothing other than to drive me mad and I just *SCREAM*

Nunew vs Zee's hoe shirt

(I dont know why my gifs are going right to left like manga but i can't change it - full video X)

It's the way my man doesn't miss a beat. He sees Zee's chest exposed he must cover it, he can react to filters, answers questions, button a shirt without looking at it - a man of many talents, true multitasker that New Chawarin.

But it's really how this struggle just keeps going throughout the live. Refer back to my previous comment that Zee isn't very bright - HE NOTICES THE BUTTONED SHIRT AND GOES OFF SCREEN TO UNBUTTON IT - oh the pains of being in love with a beautiful idiot

A wholeass FIVE MINUTES LATER New notices the opened shirt again and he's not even looking at the screen anymore, hands zero in on the lapels like muscle memory. This is how you know that this is Not The First Time New's had to shield Zee's dumbass virtue

(Again right to left - i s2g these are not the same gifs it just looks that way cause my man IS DETERMINED)

I WISH this was scripted because then that would mean that DMD has a comedy genius on their retainer. No my good sirs, I feel like this can only be conceived by someone who is very tired, sleep deprived, is on the third interview of the day, has to remember to appear cute, read questions, talk to people, give sensible answers and UP TO HERE with how everyone wants to fuck their boyfriend.

New unable to button the shirt this time folds the shirt closed instead. Zee - THE FOOL - dislodges it open and New tries to button it YET AGAIN, fails YET AGAIN and then just decides to keep holding it closed with his hands and proceeds to just...do that until someone POINTS IT OUT CAUSE ITS SUCH A WEIRD FUCKING THING TO DO.

And the next bit is just best seen and heard - like everything about this is just *chefs kiss*. Zee's 'what are you doing?' New doesn't bother to stop, doesn't bother to answer. The super soft and suspicious 'did you unbutton it?' Zee going totally off screen in response. New's 'meeeeeeh okaay' in the very unsubtle you're in so much trouble tone, Zee's NONSENSE justification. New telling him to just take it off with the most annoyed expression I've ever seen on him. A wholeass THIRD GUY coming in support of Zee's exposed chest. POETIC CINEMA. It haunts me in my sleep. My favorite part though? This was sometime late 21st April in Thailand so New was defending Zee's innocence the same time that I was defending my thesis. Very similar stakes I think. I feel very close to him in this moment.

Zee (and the DMD team) showing New the ropes in SosatSeoulSay in particular this one. I think Seoul interviews are particularly good at showing how all the boys are supporting each other. She's quite shippy and direct so she throws New off quite a bit and he's often stumped for answers even in the newer ones.

But oh this one from months ago really highlights how Zee did so much of the heavy lifting early on to sail their ship since New would be totally paralyzed from embarassment at times. I linked the whole bit including Pure thirdwheeling and being A Whole Mood ready to film them with her phone

But idk just Zee guiding New through the interview, helping him through the shippy bits. He strikes a good balance of reeling it in like closing his eyes to help New through the moment but also embarrassing him when the opportunity rises because New's entire charm is around his innocence and awkwardness.

Look at this giant himbo looking so proud at making New feel shy. This interview is number 1 because this really sealed the deal for me. I am a hoe for when actors are focused on each other's professional development. Seeing Zee constantly adapt to NuNew, to be a good partner to NuNew agh it really pushed me off the deep end.

#zeenunew #zee pruk #new chawarin #liankuea #cutie pie the series #nani answers

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thesansiestserif · 3 years ago

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cold days - killer sans x reader

| i decided to start posting some of my quotev oneshots on here! to feed all the simps | It had been a pretty bad day, and now it was worse. You had been walking home, the dark cloud rolling over you matching your stormy mood. Then, of course, the sky opened up and started to drown the roads in water. Hoping to escape the rain, you found refuge inside a coffee shop.It was quite a cute little space inside. There were stalls and beanbags, the walls lined with plants and old photos. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla drifted around the room. Seemed like a good place to warm up and wait out the rain. You sat at a small, two-person table near the counter and decided to get a drink to warm you up. And boy, there was a lot to choose from. Cinnamon spice lattes, hot chocolate, tea... it took you a while, but you finally decided. After digging around in your wallet, you walked up to the front counter. The monster at the counter smiled warmly when he saw you. He had a small scar across his cheekbone and looked behind him constantly as if he was expecting the kitchen to burst into flames. You ordered your drink, and he was about to take your money when the kitchen behind him... literally burst into flames. The skeleton - Cross, his nametag said - sighed. "I'll be right back. NIGHTMARE!" A second skeleton, this one with multiple limbs, popped his head from behind a row of coffee machines, where he had been multitasking like a pro. "I swear, if Horror started another fire-" So apparently this happened often. You watched in surprise as they expertly put out the fire, and told off a third skeleton, who had been trying to make what looked like pie. Cross quickly headed back to the counter and took your money with an apologetic expression. You sat back down at the table, and watched the skeletons at work. After a while, you figured out that they were five of them, and a sixth who showed up every now and again to steal something, usually chocolate flavoured. From their talking in the kitchen, you started to pick up their names. The one that served you was Cross, and he mainly did the baking. This consisted of mainly pies. The tentacled one was Nightmare, and he seemed to be more or less in charge. He mainly did drinks, as his multiple limbs made it easy for him to do several at once. Dusty and Horror, who tried to bake every now and again but mainly cleaned or started fires. Then there was the server, whose name you hadn’t picked up yet. He was... really cute. It didn’t take long for your order to arrive. Despite their chaos they were pretty fast. The mystery skeleton dropped your drink off. You thanked him and he smiled brightly. The drink was really good, and you scrolled on your phone as you watched the rain go past. There was a clink of a plate, and the skeleton dropped a slice of pie on your table. “Oh uh- I didn’t get this...” ”on the house.” ”You smiled and ate the pie as the rain eased off. Thanking the skeletons, you left, the roads still wet from the storm. You came the next day. Then the next. And you kept coming back, getting to know them better until one day Killer - you had actually learnt his name - left a phone number by your plate. Then, after more visits, you became friends. Today the two of you were walking through the cold, autumn wind to the cafe for his shift. They didn’t exactly run the place, but most of your friends worked there. You shivered as another breeze cut through. He turned to look at you. “wait, here.” Killer removed his jacket and slipped it over your shoulders. It was extremely cozy, and you tried to fight back the blush that was fighting onto your face as you thanked him. “is that… okay? with you? ”You nodded and wrapped the hood around yourself tighter. You almost didn’t want to arrive at the coffee shop and your heart sank when you saw the shop. Which then sped back up when he walked right past it, pulling you with him. “Uh, you missed the shop…” “oh, I got horror to cover for me. i thought we could do something different today maybe..? it’s fine if you can’t, i just thought…” You quickly agreed. Together you walked as the buildings turned to houses and trees, the orange leaves of autumn scattered around on the path. You talked about school, home, shows, anything and everything until you reached the lake. The lake had always been almost special place for the two of you, other than the coffee shop. You often walked around it and spoke about anything and everything. Other times you would have picnics, or sit together on the wharf. Now the lake was frozen, leaves littered under the surface. You walked up the wharf and over looked the lake. “It’s really beautiful…” you said. “mmm, like you. hey, come sit here.” You sat, swinging you legs over the edge, tips of your shoes tapping the ice. Wait, did he just call you beautiful? He sat by you, and started to rummage through a bag he always carrying. After a short while, he pulled out two pairs of… ice skates? “do you wanna..?” You nodded quickly and grabbed a pair. Once you were ready, he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the lake. Almost immediately, you nearly fell over. He quickly slipped his arm under your waist and pulled you back up. “alright, just follow my lead.” He started with basically how to move around, then figure 8s. It didn’t take long for the initial panic of being sudden pulled into ice to fade away into laughter. You spun around together, him pulling you. He was pretty good at leading, but you did slip every now and again. Small flecks of ice flicked up as you skated more smoothly now. You would come together and flow out, spinning and weaving on the frozen water. He would try to slip his freezing skeletal hands onto your back, and you would push him away laughing. Expect one time when he snuck up behind you. As you tried to push him away, you overestimated the amount of force you needed, and slipped, pulling him with you. And now, through the power of simping and fanfiction, you had both fallen over and he was right on top of you. Your faces were close and you could feel his breath. “would… you mind if…”You cut him off by gently leaning up and pressing your lips to his teeth. He froze for a second, before returning the favour. After a while you had to breath, you you gently pushed him off and sat up. “do you wanna do this again sometime?” He asked, a small smirk on his face. “What,” you asked, “the skating or…”The look on his face said it all. You both shakily skated back to the wharf, and melted the skates. He unfroze the lake quickly as you grinned uncontrollably. “so, wanna get drinks?” You agreed, and grabbed his hand and walked together along the path lined with the crinkled leaves.

#undertale #killertale #killer sans #killer sans x reader #long post #from my quotev #hope you enjoyed

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sierraraeck · 3 years ago

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Bad Liar

Moreid (Spencer x Derek)

Masterlist

Summary: Ever since his first day at Quantico, Spencer has had only one thought on his mind: SSA Derek Morgan. He knows that any sort of relationship would be inappropriate, but that doesn’t stop the constant stream of fantasies from flooding his mind.

Category: Spicy fluff, smut alluded

Warnings: Non-graphic descriptions of sex, fantasizing, suggestive touching, kissing, very light cussing.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This was inspired by the song “Bad Liar” by Selena Gomez. If you wanna give that a quick listen, go for it, if not, that’s chill too. I know that I haven’t been very active and haven’t posted anything in a while, but sometimes life just happens. Hopefully this was worth the wait…

Spencer had heard the phrase “I never stop thinking about you.” He’d heard it in reference to love and relationships when people were apparently so madly in love they couldn’t stop thinking about the other. He never really bought that. Love was just a bunch of feel-good chemicals that couldn’t affect the amount of time spent thinking about another person. Plus, how could anyone ever constantly think about a person? There were so many other things to think about like surviving high school, getting into college, graduating, of course his mom, and then getting into the FBI, and how he would surely not be able to make it all the way through Quantico training. No one could ever think about one person all the time. No, definitely not.

But Spencer wasn’t known for being a good liar.

His first day at Quantico he saw Derek Morgan, and he realized that he was wrong. He was so utterly and outrageously wrong.

Because after he saw him, heard his voice just once, his exceptional mind kept those interactions on constant repeat.

He was lucky he was so good at multitasking otherwise he would have definitely failed by now.

Not like he still wouldn’t.

He couldn’t sleep, not with someone like Derek Morgan intruding his every thought, every midnight desire. On top of that, they were about to go into the hardest week of physical training yet, and Spencer knew that this was the one challenge that his brain could not overcome.

The one redeemable thing about the humiliating experience he was sure would come during the following days was that he’d get to see SSA Morgan again. Sure, it'd be more embarrassing to fail in front of him, but at least he’d get to see him a few more times before they kicked him out for being the scrawny kid he’s always been.

The feelings of excitement and anxiety twisted his gut into a wonderful knot, keeping him from yet another night of sleep. Somehow that made it both harder and easier for him to get up when the clock hit 4:45.

Spencer looked between two blinds covering the window on the right, allowing him to see that the sun was still about an hour from rising. Slipping on his given shirt and pants, he hoped that there would be some source of caffeine at breakfast, preferably coffee.

He trudged into the bathroom to find his roommate already awake and dressed. “Big day. You excited?” Jeff, a man about a head shorter than Spencer but at least twice his width in pure muscle mass, asked.

Spencer just grunted in response.

“What? You’re not excited to get pitted against someone else so that you can flail around in an attempt to spar?”

“I’ll stick to teaching you the technique,” he quipped.

Jeff laughed. “It’d suit you better. Unfortunately your wizard brain and forbidden library won’t help you in this one. But dammit if you aren’t the smartest guy here.” Jeff shook his head as if it were a shame.

Once they were ready, along with the rest of the NATs, the group was directed to jog across campus to the building they’d be training in. The day was off to a bad start.

Spencer did his best to distract himself from the actual running bit, trying to analyze the people in his group and those they passed as they went.

Bored, hungry, important, invisible… Derek?!

He turned his head to follow the tall man with short black hair and dark eyes as the group passed him on the sidewalk.

No, that wasn’t him. Of course it wasn’t. Agent Morgan is waiting for us at the facility.

Spencer tried to hide the slight disappointment that came over him. He felt so stupid for looking for him everywhere, but he couldn’t help it. Even his own knowledge and logic was failing him when it came to this man he knew next to nothing about expect for his shining smile and intense eyes and toned biceps and amazing abs and powerful legs and delicious stamina and strong hands that could grip his neck and hold him down and his defined hips bones that Spencer knew would dig into his thighs and certainly leave bruises if he were to…

What was his issue? He couldn’t be thinking that way about one of his trainors.

Although it helped the jog pass by faster. Time flies when you’re having fun, right? Or at least imagining having fun.

When they arrived at the other facility, they were provided a quick breakfast, unfortunately no coffee today, and then led to the top floor with an entire wall traded out for floor to ceiling windows.

The room they entered was massive, large mats rolled out edge to edge, and the smell was musty. It felt humid, sticky sort of, and Spencer hated to think about why that was.

He quickly scanned the room and found his target immediately. Across the way, Derek had his opponent mid flip, landing harshly on his back with a thud. He helped the poor guy up, laughing a bit as he did so. His pearly whites were on full display when he looked up and caught Spencer’s eye. Spencer quickly diverted his gaze, opting instead to look down at his twisting hands.

“Today we will be focusing on hand to hand combat,” Derek announced once the group had wandered closer. “You never know when the perpetrator will decide not to run and instead to attack you, or when you will find yourself without any weapons other than yourself to protect you. The first thing we are going to practice are some basic jabs. Grab a partner and follow our demonstration.”

Derek and the man he’d thrown on the ground earlier, Grant, demonstrated the seemingly simple movements that Spencer and the rest of the NATs were supposed to replicate. Of course, everyone else made it look easy, but Spencer just couldn’t wrap his head around what his arm was supposed to be doing where and when. It was frustrating, even more so than he’d prepared himself for.

“Keep your shoulders here,” that velvety deep voice said, accompanied by his large hands on either of Spencer’s shoulders, adjusting them to more of an angle.

All Spencer could do was swallow hard and nod. He didn’t even dare to look back at him.

“And spread your legs,” Derek said. His breath seemed to get closer to Spencer’s neck with every word, and quieter as he went along. But surely that was all in his head? Right?

Spencer’s startled eyes turned to look at the older man. The edges of his mouth twitched before resuming that stern, professional demeanour. “It’ll help you balance.” With that, he nudged Spencer’s foot farther backwards with his own and walked away, leaving Spencer feeling unnecessarily exposed and confused.

The guy across from him, Harold, one of the only people who had been genuinely nice to Spencer from the start, was watching the whole interaction with suspicion.

The day trudged on with not much change. Spencer’s skin was still on fire from where Agent Morgan had touched him, but he tried to convince himself it was because he didn’t really like being touched. He knew that was a lie, especially in this instance, but it didn’t stop him from telling it.

After lunch, training continued. But at least it got more interesting.

“Grant just got called out on a case, so I’ll be needing someone to help me with this demonstration.” Derek waited just about three whole seconds before smirking, the mischief written all over his face. “Come on? No one wants to volunteer? It’ll be fun, I promise.” When he was met with more silence (even the guys like Jeff didn’t want to be thrown around by Derek), he was forced to choose someone. “How about… Reid.”

Spencer’s head shot up from the back of the group. No, no, this is not good.

Spencer had been dreaming about getting thrown around by Derek for a few months now, but this was definitely not what he’d had in mind.

The crowd slowly parted and Spencer had to face the music; he was going to be humiliated in front of everyone, like nothing had changed since high school.

Sighing, Spencer forced himself to the front of the group. “Lay down for me, knees bent, would you?”

I’d do anything you asked, was Spencer’s initial response in his head. What he really did was shrug and follow instructions.

“The reason we practice this move is because at some point or another, you will find yourself in either position.” Spencer wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that until Derek legitimately stood over him, a leg on either side, then proceeded to get down on his knees, essentially sitting on top of Spencer.

He couldn’t even focus on what Derek was explaining anymore. Breathing didn’t exist. There was no way this glorious man was sitting on top of him right now. All he could think about was how prominent Derek’s ab muscles were through his tight shirt and how he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and run his tongue over them. Spencer could almost imagine what they would feel like; the rise and fall of his muscles, the small hairs covering his body… Spread your legs, he had said to him.

“So then Reid would grab my wrist…” Derek’s use of his name brought him back to reality. If only he could live in his fantasies for longer.

Spencer looked up at Agent Morgan confused. Derek’s eyes got wider and looked at his right hand and then down at his own left wrist. Spencer somehow got the message and reached his hand over to grab a hold of Derek’s wrist. “Good,” he declared. “After that, he would hook his left foot on the outside of my ankle.”

Spencer quickly followed orders, trying to force his brain to supply him with the information he’d missed.

“Then, he’d use my weight against me to flip me over.” Spencer’s eyes got big when Derek said that, mentally panicking that he could never be strong enough for that. Derek nodded at him, so Spencer tried to roll over, and to his, and everyone else’s, surprise, he actually could.

Within seconds Spencer was sitting on top of a very pleased Derek. “It’ll work every time. Of course, if your unsub is skilled he’ll lock you in and flip you back over and potentially pull your arm out of your socket,” Derek explained while doing just that to Spencer, minus the arm-out-of-socket thing, “But we’ll take this one step at a time.”

Derek was back on top of Spencer with his legs wrapped around him in a vice-like grip, but quickly let go to help him up. Spencer gladly accepted the help.

Spencer doesn’t exactly have what one would consider a “big dick.” He always thought that was something to be ashamed of but standing there, getting hard in the middle of an FBI training academy, he couldn’t’ve be more grateful.

The NATs were sent back to work on the newly demonstrated move with their partners. Just as Spencer was about to flip Harold over for the third time, he looked over his head and rolled his eyes.

“What?” Spencer asked.

“What is it with you two?” Harold asked in return.

“What?” Spencer repeated. Harold nodded in the direction he was just looking, and Spencer followed his gaze. Derek was walking by, but nothing else seemed of import. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh please,” Harold snorted. He was a lanky man like Spencer, but just a bit shorter and with glasses. Sometimes Spencer envied his glasses, as his contacts often got on his nerves. He continued, “The touching, the constant eye contact, the word choice that could be inherently sexual, and then literally sitting on top of you? When there were plenty of other men and women he could have picked for that demonstration? Tell me you don’t see it.”

Spencer mulled over these words for a few seconds before flipping Harold over. Looking down on him, he said, “I don’t think that means anything.”

“Then maybe you need to get a new prescription,” Harold said, pointing to his eyes.

Spencer shook his head. “What do my eyes have to do with this?”

Harold sighed. “God, your gaydar is so broken.” He flipped Spencer over, stood up, and walked away.

Shortly after, class was called and they were all let go for the remainder of the evening.

“Reid, can I speak to you for a moment?” Agent Morgan called out as the first of the NATs started to leave. A few caught Spencer’s eye with unanswered questions in them, but no more than the mound of questions Spencer had been asking himself.

Without answering, Spencer walked over to the corner of the room that Derek was standing in. He could tell that he was waiting for every single person to leave the room before speaking.

Spencer thought for sure he was getting kicked out because of how horribly he performed throughout the day.

To his surprise, that’s not at all what the outstandingly attractive man had to say. “I wanted to let you know that you did a good job today during the demo. Not many people handle that so well.”

Spencer waited for him to say more, but nothing more seemed to be coming. Derek actually seemed a bit nervous if Spencer could read him right. He replied cautiously, “Thanks.”

Derek cleared his voice and said, “Yeah. And if you ever want to stay late and work on some moves I’d be happy to help.”

Spencer just got more and more confused as his interactions with this god-like man increased. “Thanks,” he repeated. “Why are you offering to help me like that?”

Agent Morgan shrugged. “You’re one of the smartest people in FBI history to come through here, and definitely the youngest. There’s absolutely no reason you shouldn’t become an agent, and I want to see you succeed. That’s all.” He shrugged again, and if there was anything Spencer had learned from the profiling section of his training, someone being over-casual was usually a sign that they were stressed about something they viewed with extreme importance, and were trying to play it off. Why would he be stressed to talk to me?

“I guess I’ll take you up on that offer. Will you be here tomorrow?” Spencer asked, trying to mask the hope in his voice. Who was he kidding; Derek was already one of the top profilers in the Bureau.

“I will be. You can plan to stay after then.”

Spencer nodded and walked away, but not before glancing back one more time. Harold was right; they did make a lot of eye contact.

The next day couldn’t go by faster. Spencer had spent practically the entire night thinking about everything that had happened, trying to figure out if Harold was right or not. There was no way. Spencer was just Spencer, a NAT, and Derek Morgan was, well… Derek Morgan.

He probably just thought that Spencer was a hopeless case and needed extra help. Yeah, that was it. It had to be.

When the day was over, Spencer wasn’t just relieved like he usually was, but he was excited too. It no longer mattered to him what the reason was for him being there late, he just wanted to spend more time in the presence of SSA Morgan.

“I was thinking I’d help you with that second move we learned today, the cross-punch jab combo,” Derek announced. His voice echoed just a bit off the walls of the training center now that it was completely abandoned.

He walked over to one of the punching bags lined up just a few feet from the wall, and Spencer followed him in a manner that could only be described as a lost puppy. Spencer could keep track of all sorts of numbers, but the sheer amount of repeating memories morphing into new thoughts morphing into full blown fantasies was even too high for him to count. He’d never known of a drug so powerful.

“I’ll show you the move again, then I want you to try and copy it.” Derek stepped closer to the bag and executed a textbook one-two combo, the muscles in his arms and back contracting in perfect unison. God, Spencer wanted so badly to just reach out and run his hands all over this pristinely sculpted man, but he denied himself, letting his hands tremble in place instead.

Spencer stepped up to the bag next to Derek’s and attempted to do the same thing. Derek watched with a sharp eye.

After a few reps, the skilled agent took long strides that landed him only inches away from the younger man’s back. “Keep tension here.” His hands engulfed Spencer’s waist and twisted them to the side with the ease of swatting a fly.

The feeling was so overwhelming Spencer thought he might never be able to move again, and honestly, he didn’t want to. Standing there in the grip of that man was really all he’d been wanting for months now.

The only thing that pulled him out of his trance was the way Derek’s fingers lingered as he walked around to Spencer’s front, drifting down far enough to send a clear message, one that even Spencer couldn’t miss, but not far enough to be completely intrusive.

But Spencer wanted intrusive. He wanted nothing more than for Derek Morgan to invade his personal space to the point of no return.

He looked at the older man with shock and a burning question, but didn’t flinch or move back. Derek simply bit his lip and scanned Spencer up and down at what felt like a snail’s pace. He felt like a helpless deer being sized up by a lion for his next meal.

Spencer swallowed hard.

He’d been wanting nothing more than to be in this very same situation, or one of the multitudes of variations he’d created in his mind, but now that it was here could he really go through with it? Was it really the best idea? Did he really want this? No, he couldn’t.

But Spencer wasn’t known for being a good liar.

The only signal Derek needed was the simple nod of Spencer’s head.

And he got it.

Like a snake ready to strike, Derek brought his lips to Spencer’s in an instant. His questioning fingers had an answer, returning to their strong hold over Spencer’s hip bones.

Spencer knew what was happening was completely inappropriate, but couldn’t find the will to care. The man he’d been dreaming about, spending every waking and non-waking moment obsessing over, was actually interested in him too.

All his fantasies were flashing before his eyes, Derek’s muscles now completely exposed to him. He frantically pawed at him, trying to feel and memorize every millimeter of the beautiful body before him, like every inch was another drop of water in his achingly dry mouth.

“Hey, hey,” Derek whispered. “Patience. Not everything can happen at once, remember, one step at a time.”

Spencer took a moment to breathe and look into the warm eyes he’d been drowning in. Only for a moment, though, as he had a lot he wanted to do, starting with kissing his way down this man’s chest.

Derek laughed a little at Spencer’s impatience when he placed his hands on his broad shoulders and lips on his burning hot skin. He didn’t mind, though. Unexpectedly, the young man knew how to use his mouth. He couldn’t wait to explore that particular skill set some more.

Within the next few minutes, bodies were slammed into walls, forced to the ground, and pushed further down into the floor than was previously thought possible. The echo of the room only amplified the intoxicating sounds and the wall of windows overlooking the campus only increased the arousal.

Spencer would have a new appreciation for the musty smell and sweat induced humidity in the room from now on.

The tension for the remaining month before the NATs graduated was unbearable. Harold made sure to point out the nauseating amount of glances passed between the two men, but was respectful enough to not point it out to everyone. He tried to deny anything had happened, but Harold wasn’t having any of it and let Spencer know he was a lousy liar, something he definitely needed to work on.

Come graduation day when all NATs would be receiving their department assignments, Derek made sure to personally hand Spencer his.

He carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the sheet of paper with one bolded line reading: “Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Spencer immediately looked up and locked eyes with Derek. He simply smirked in return.

Maybe his fantasy of having something more with the agent would become a reality after all.

Taglist

@90spumkin

#criminal minds fanfic #derek x spencer #moreid #dr spencer reid fanfic #derek morgan fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #spencer reid #reid #derek morgan #morgan

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sproutsgcrden · 3 years ago

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sentinel of naruhata | chapter three

koichi's very bad, no good day

warnings: descriptions of violence, manga spoilers for my hero academia: vigilantes

previous chapter | masterlist | read on ao3 | next chapter

want to be tagged? send in an ask and let me know!

“So… you’re Haimawari Koichi, age 19, freshman at Hitonami College… I’ll just call you Koichi, then. Unless you like the sound of Nice Guy better.”

Izuku laughed at Haimawari’s sputtering reaction, clutching his stomach as he leaned back against the cool floor of Koichi’s little one-room apartment. After the incident with the return of those thugs, Izuku and Knuckleduster followed Koichi back to his home. Knuckleduster was determined to recruit the both of them, and Izuku just… didn’t have anywhere else to be. He was sure that Eraserhead was already done with patrol by the time their skirmish ended.

Luckily, Koichi didn’t seem to mind too much when Izuku mentioned dying his hair. He felt the black suited him nicely, even if it was still a little damp. He didn’t need Tomura or Kurogiri making a surprise appearance and immediately picking out his green curls from the crowd.

“Don’t go through my stuff, crazy old man!” Koichi reached over to grab his student I.D. and his wallet from Knuckleduster’s grasp.

The veteran vigilante ignored him as he turned to face Izuku. “And what should we call you, kid?”

“Izuku.” The young boy had stopped laughing, but he was still laying on the floor.

“What, no last name? Running away from home?”

“What’s it to you?”

Koichi leaned over him, glancing down with concerned eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to live off of the streets… No wonder you bought a weird amount of junk at the store.”

Izuku grimaced, sitting up and pushing the older kid out of his space. “I’m fine. Can we change subjects?”

Knuckleduster nodded, sending a small smirk Izuku’s way. “Okay. Why are you looking for Eraserhead?”

Koichi blinked, ignoring Izuku’s frustrated groan. “Who’s Eraserhead?”

“He’s an underground hero. He can erase quirks, barring any mutations, and he practically fights quirkless. He’s a badass.” Izuku was talking animatedly, moving his hands around wildly.

“Oh. Wait. Is he your dad?”

“Why would he be my father?!”

“You have the exact same quirk don’t you?”

Izuku slumped, flitting his gaze towards the floor. “It’s similar. I want him to train me how to be a hero. Plus I need his help with something, not that I’m gonna tell you losers what that is.”

Koichi let out an offended grunt while Knuckleduster heartily chuckled.

“Anyways. The two of you will be calling me Master.” Knuckleduster moved from the table to the small mini fridge in the corner of the room, opening it up to find it full of beer.

“Didn’t we tell you that we weren’t going to be your apprentices?” Koichi glared as the man opened a can of beer and began to chug it. “And would you get out already? This is my house!”

The old man ignored Koichi’s protests in favor of grabbing another can of beer. “The drug is called Trigger. It’s a quirk-booster; it also weakens the user’s ability to reason. Basically, this drug turns regular folk into instant villains.”

Izuku glared at the table, clenching his hands into tight fists. He knew all too well what Trigger was capable of. He shuddered as he dared to think what could happen if his father forced Tomura to take the drug. Japan would be completely decimated.

“So, why not just let the heroes do something about it? Or call the police.” Koichi let his head drop to the table, bored and frustrated at the fact that Knuckleduster was refusing to leave him alone.

Knuckleduster barked out a short laugh. “Ain’t gonna happen, kid. These pop-up villains on trigger can emerge from any crowd, at any time. Cops and heroes are always forced to play catch-up.”

“Oh. So they blend in with everyone else?”

“Exactly. And that’s where we come in!” Shocking the two boys into backing up, Knuckleduster hopped to his feet, hand clenched into a fist.

Izuku shook out of the state first, glaring at the older man. “Did you just say ‘we’?”

“That’s right, kid! The three of us are gonna go out, stop suspicious looking characters, and check their tongues!”

“Okay, even if we wanted to go with you, why are you allowing a nine-year old to accompany you? That seems pretty crazy to me.”

“Oh please. He’s more advanced in quirk usage and hand to hand than you, just based on last night. Plus, if he’s hiding from his parents, he’s got nothing else to do. He’s already a deviant in the law’s eyes.”

Izuku could do nothing but reluctantly nod his head at that.

“Trigger turns the user’s tongue black, so we’re gonna give those losers a beat down and make them spill the details on their dealer. That’s the only way to put an end to this whole drug trade.”

Koichi sweat dropped, shaking his head. “So you just want us to go around punching people?”

“Exactly!”

“I thought you were just joking! What the hell, man!” Koichi screamed as he hung off of Knuckleduster’s left arm. Izuku laughed maniacally as he hung off of the vigilante’s neck. He was punching people with his right hand and checking their tongues.

Koichi could admit he was a great multitasker. But holy shit, this man was insane.

The three of them were causing quite the commotion; people were screaming and running away from a man carrying a college student and a little kid who was also throttling everyone he was in range of. It wouldn’t be too long before a hero showed up to stop whatever was happening.

In a desperate attempt to stop Knuckleduster’s shenanigans, Koichi called out to the group closest to them. “Please! Give us a peek at your tongues! Stick ‘em out a little and this will all be over!” The guy closest to them stuck out his, thankfully, normal looking tongue. Koichi tried not to be too offended when the man also flipped him off.

It was hard to hear over Izuku’s laughter, which only increased in volume after getting the finger, but Koichi’s ear perked up at the sound of boots hitting the metal above them. With a glance upwards, the hoodie-clad vigilante felt his eyes soften in relief. “Pop Step!”

“What the hell are you losers doing?” The pink haired idol-in-the-making jumped down to the ground as soon as Kunckleduster threw both Koichi and Izuku on a nearby bench. They landed harshly, Izuku’s laughter tapering off within an instant. Koichi immediately shook it off, and stalked over to a nearby vending machine, selecting a coffee for himself and a juice for Izuku.

“Why don’t you ask the old man? He was the one chasing after innocent bystanders like a lunatic.” Koichi mosied back over to the bench, tossing Izuku the juice as he plopped down beside him.

“I’m nine, not a toddler. What if I wanted a coffee?”

“If they cooperated, I wouldn’t have to look like a lunatic now would I?”

Koichi ignored the both of them as he opened his coffee, taking a well-deserved sip after lowering his mask. He leaned his head back in a rare moment of reprieve, trying to block out the weirdness he somehow chose to surround himself with. He only blinked back into the present when Pop Step aggressively leaned on his arm.

“So you’re looking for junkies and dealers, huh?” Her thoughtful expression drooped into a grimace as she looked away from Knuckleduster. “Thanks for showing up last night, pops. Provided me with a distraction so I could slip away from that idiot.”

“Whatever.”

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me?!”

Pop Step shrugged, stepping back and throwing her hands on her hips. “Why’s the runt still following you around?”

Izuku, who was absentmindedly sipping on the juice that Koichi had gotten him, slowly looked up at Pop Step with narrowed eyes. “I’m not following them. I’ve just got nowhere else to be at the moment and it’s entertaining to see these two create chaos.”

“Right… and that Eraserdude you were looking for?”

“I won’t even be able to start searching for him until night falls. I’m just passing the time.”

Pop blinked a few times before turning back to Koichi. “So, Nice Guy!”

“You can just call me Koichi.”

“Koichi? Is that your real name?” Pop Step hopped in place, her large grin very apparent. “Why are you going along with this, Koichi?

The college student paused, the can of coffee held up to his lips as if he was ready to take another sip. He slowly moved it down, allowing it to rest against his thigh instead. “I just… if I don’t keep an eye on the guy, he’ll beat up every last person on the streets.”

“Nah. I start with the most suspicious ones… like youngsters who can’t stop messing around.”

Koichi ignored the statement, along with Izuku’s snort, as he continued. “And who knows what kind of trouble the kid’ll get up to without a responsible adult nearby!”

“Responsible? Says the dude who’s only item in his fridge is a case of beer!”

“You all are morons!” Pop stomped her foot against the ground. “Going at it so randomly is never going to work. Why don’t you use your heads!!”

Koichi looked up at the girl from his spot on the bench, eyes blank in confusion. “Our heads?”

Pop Step rolled her eyes, sitting on the edge of the bench and pulling out her phone. “Whenever a villain shows up, someone’s bound to snap a pic!”

“That’s right!” Izuku shot up, bringing his phone out as well. “The hero forums are always swimming with pictures of recent attacks.”

“All you need to do is refine the search to ‘unknown’ or ‘sudden’ villains. That’ll mean less legwork for you clowns!”

Koichi blinked, “That’s clever.”

“The photo search or calling you clowns?”

Izuku’s cackle rang out, echoing in Koichi’s ears as he glared at the girl sitting next to him. The three of them nearly missed it when Knuckleduster shot up from his seat in pursuit of a new target.

“Hey! Stick your tongue!”

“Oh, not this again!!” Koichi ran out in front of Knuckleduster, coming to the newcomer’s defense. “C’mon man, this guy is clearly just your average salaryman! He’s not even bothering anyone!”

In his rush to save the seemingly innocent man from getting punched in the face, Koichi barely came to a stop before nearly running into the newcomer. In shock, the man dropped his briefcase, crying out when hero themed action figures came tumbling out.

“See! I told you the guy was fishy! What kind of adult carries around dolls in a briefcase!”

Izuku and Pop Step had just caught up, exchanging concerned and bewildered looks. The young boy pulled his mask over his face and bent down to help the man pick up the toys.

“I- I’m sorry! I work at a toy company, these are just prototypes.”

“See! Nothing suspicious about that! He’s just a hardworking guy!” Koichi’s voice rang out as he tried to push Knuckleduster back.

The elder vigilante wasn’t having it, however, and pushed forward to grab onto the man’s lapel. “That’s what I’m trying to prove! So cooperate, or else.” His free hand cocked back, gloved fingers positioned into a tight fist.

Before Knuckleduster’s fist could land a hit on the poor businessman, a white cloth wrapped itself around his arm, effectively preventing his attack. Knuckleduster grunted as his arm was pulled back, and his eyes narrowed at the figure behind him. Izuku gasped, eyes widened as he took in the hero before them.

“Violent acts in full view of the public… you’re hardly a model citizen.” A gruff voice, harsh from sleep deprivation, sounded out from behind the group. Pop Step and Koichi backed up behind Izuku and Knuckleduster, shocked looks on their faces. “You must be one of those instant villains of late.”

Knuckleduster guffawed, “Hey kid! Looks like it’s your lucky day, huh?”

The newcomer’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, locking on to the young boy who seemed to be hyperventilating out of excitement.

Izuku’s green eyes sparkled in delight, holding his hands up in hopes of proving he wasn’t a threat. “You’re the Erasure Hero: Eraserhead! You lead the underground in both villain captures and civilian rescues, but you never stay long enough to actually gain any credit! Your fighting style is incredible! I always wondered if your capture weapon worked in tandem with your quirk- your hair floats when you use it, yeah? Does it negate small amounts of gravity near you? That would explain why your scarf seems to deny the laws of physics!” His voice carried on, causing those around him to stop and stare.

“Did you know the kid was so…”

“I’ve never heard him speak more than necessary. This is definitely new.”

Eraserhead was the first to snap out of the trance, tightening his grip on his capture weapon as he lowered himself into a battle stance. “I’m not sure how you got such vital information- I work very hard to make sure there isn’t much coverage on my exploits.”

Izuku nodded, standing in place. “There are only two clips I was able to find- but I’ve been looking for you for some time now! We’re not here to cause trouble, promise!”

“Either way, I’m off duty today. Just being a good samaritan.”

Knuckleduster grinned, turning to face the hero fully. “So we got that in common.”

Koichi backed away further, hands high in the air. “No way does he think we’re villains, right?”

“Hey, hey! Don’t lump me in with these guys!” Pop Step jumped, using her quirk to land a few yards backwards.

There was a tense moment of silence before disaster struck. Izuku, sensing trouble out of the corner of his eye, cursed as Knuckleduster rushed towards Eraserhead. The hero, now fully prepared for battle, dropped the sack he was holding. Cat food and jelly pouches flew out of the bag, bursting open against the hard pavement. Knuckleduster chose to go high, fist ready and aimed for Eraserhead’s face.

Izuku sighed, ignoring the shouts from Koichi and Pop Step as he jumped into the fray.

Yeah… this is the most idiotic thing he’s ever done.

#sprout's fics #bnha vigilantes fanfic #bnha vigilantes #bnha fics #koichi haimawari #midoriya izuku #kazuho haneyama #aizawa shouta #iwao oguro #the crawler #deku #pop step #knuckleduster #eraserhead #vigilante izuku #vigilante deku #izuku has afo #dad for one #afo is hisashi midoriya

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thr-333 · 4 years ago

Text

Mismatch- Part 15

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Time for Batman to regret all his life decisions!

First< Previous > Next

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“Are you sure you're ready for patrol,” Marinette presses, Marion tries not to roll his eyes once again.

“Yes Nette my ribs are perfectly fine, I can manage,” Marion pulls up his mask, hiding away in an alley not far from the hospital, “besides I need to let off some steam from yesterday,”

“Punching people is no way to deal with your emotions,” Marinette scolds, hiding the Kwamis away in her small bag.

“Of course not,” Marion makes sure the miracle box is in place before swinging his satchel over his back, “Kicking can do far more damage,”

“You don’t deserve an answer for that one,” Marinette sighs, handing over his glasses, “Just make a portal already,”

“Absolutely not,” Kaalki flies out of her bag, “I refuse to be a taxi you can easily get there on your own,”

“Kaalki, the meeting point is halfway across the city,” Marion pleads, the Kwami only turns her nose up at him, “What are we meant to do? Take an actual taxi?”

“I can't believe we’re taking a taxi to meet the Batman for patrol,” Marinette mutters, as Marion tries to hail a cab.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marion scoffs, another cab surprisingly passing up the opportunity to drive two masked figures late at night, “We’re taking a taxi to a block away from the meeting point, only amateurs give away their position like that,”

“Really not my point,” Marinette adjusts her bag strap.

“Maybe we can ask Batman if we can keep the grappling hooks?” Marion suggests, a cab pulling up to the curve.

“We’d still have to go a long way, it’s not like our suits where we get increased stamina,” Marinette opens the door, sliding into the car before it can’t leave without them, telling the driver the destination.

“Oh the days where we could get across the city in five minutes,” Marion sighs dreamily, ignoring the balding drivers' sideways glance as he pulls away.

“You mean yesterday?” Marinette teases, sitting behind the driver.

“Really? Feels like a week,” Marion leans back in the seat, cringing at the smell of cigarette smoke.

“You two heroes, rogues or villains?” The driver interrupts, sizing them up in the mirror.

“Is there a price difference?” Marion questions, quirk to his lips.

“Sure is,” The driver grunts, eyes still uncertain if there were any ill intentions.

“Do I have to guess which one?” Marion gets elbowed by Marinette.

“Stop that,” She digs her elbow in further, “We’re vigilantes passing through town, running with Batman for the time being,”

“So he’s gone and picked up new kids?” The driver snorts, finally taking his eyes off them.

“We’re not his kids,” Marinette assures, nope no more surprise parents for them thank you.

“Not more Robins? you’ve got the colors,” The driver says gruffly, sharp corner sending them both off balance.

“Unfortunately only Sparrow here wears tights,” Marion gestures to Marinette, “I just don’t fit the bill,”

“Sparrow?” The driver repeats cynically, he should have heard the ones Batman shot down.

“Yeah she has a codename, but I still can’t decide mine, any ideas,” Marion leans over the passenger seat in front of him.

“You’re asking me?” He snorts, Marinette just shakes her head.

“Always looking for public opinion,” Marion shrugs, only getting a sideways glance his way.

“Bat boy,” The driver decides, Marion stifles a laugh.

“Wow, that's terrible,” Marion doesn’t catch himself in time to stop, but adds, “No offence,”

“You’re going to have to look elsewhere for creativity, boy,” The driver shrugs, not seeming bothered by his bluntness.

“What do you think of Shelley?” Marion does get a look his way this time, grinning at it.

“Shelley?”

“Yeah as in the Shelley Starling, small, blue and orange, from Africa,” Apparently Marion's extra details do nothing to convince him.

“You want to be called Shelley?”

“Yeah can’t you just picture it, ‘Batman and Shelley save the day’,” Marion gestures to an imaginary headline.

“And you thought Bat Boy was bad,” The driver shakes his head, trying to hide his amusement, “Do whatever you want kid,”

“Can I tell Batman I got your approval?” Marion grins, leaning further into the drivers space.

“Don’t bring me into this,” His gruff tone doesn’t hide his smile as he slows to a stop, “Now get out,”

“Thank you very much sir, sorry about him,” Marinette pushes Marion out of the car, handing over what they owed him

“Just call me Norris, see ya round, Sparrow... Shelley,” Marion beams at him, Norris shaking his head but smiling none the less.

“Bye!” Marion waves as the car drives away, “I like him, what are the chances we see him again?”

“Zero,” Marinette predicts, walking towards the meeting point.

“Where have you two been?” Batman demands more than asks the second they land on the rooftop.

“Hospital,”

“Family business,”

“....”

“Well, we’re clearly not telepathic,” Marion bumps their shoulders, moving to stand next to Batman.

“Sorry, about missing patrol, it's been… hectic the last few days,” Marinette explains, both hoping they won't pry further.

“Right... Sparrow you’re with me on a stake out,” Batman declares, turning to Marion, “You’re with Nightwing and Robin,”

“You got it,” Marion does a mocking salute, turning on his heels towards them.

As he reacquaints himself with the grappling hook, he gets the run down from Nightwing on where their patrol will go. Marion suspected it wasn't their regular patrol route as they start swinging across the city. He says hi to Oracle and Spoiler on the comms. Disappointed that Red Hood wasn't there tonight, but on the plus side he was less likely to get stabbed… or crash through another window.... or fall off a building.... or-

“There's a mugging three blocks to the east,” Oracle informs, the three of them immediately changing their route.

“We still need to decide on your codename,” Nightwing pipes up, once they start a steady pace towards the mugging.

“Not again,” Robin mutters, Marion grins catching himself in free fall.

“I have a few ideas,” And then because he can’t help himself, “Robin what do you think?”

“Tt, you should take this more seriously, so as not to seem like a complete fool,” Robin scoffs, landing perfectly on the edge of a building, a mugger holding another man at gun point just below.

“Hm, it's a bit long for a codename,” Marion drops down into the alley with them, landing on a garbage skip without a sound, “How about just Fool?”

The mugger turns around, startling at Marion and Robin blocking his exit, Robin scowls, hand twitching towards his katana. Either because of the mugger raising his gun or Marion is undecided.

“Maybe not,” Nightwing stands between the Mugger and the victim. Concerned look apparently deciding Robin’s scowl was aimed at him after all. “What were you thinking?”

If he was trying to redirect the conversation away from murder, boy did he choose a bad way to do it.

“Pterodactyl,” Marion grins as the mugger can’t decide who to point his gun at.

“Why!” Robin spins to him, catching Marion's full attention.

“I don’t know,” Marion shrugs, unconcerned with the mugger pointing at him edging forward, “Their closest living relatives are birds, right?”

“That doesn't mean-” Robin lunges forward as the mugger tries to escape.

“-You act like an immature child,” Robin insults, moving to disarm the gun, “Completely lacking professionalism, you actually sang while apprehending criminals,”

“I see it as more a testament to my skill that I can multitask,” Marion dismisses, coming up behind the mugger as Robin distracts him.

“You were almost stabbed several times,” The whites of the domino mask narrow, removing the gun from the mugger's grip.

“And yet I won without a scratch,” Marion sends back a smirk, grabbing the hand that goes to punch Robin taking the mugger off guard, Robin kicks him to the ground.

“If you like singing, how about Songbird?” Nightwing attempts to interrupt Robin’s likely plans to change his ‘without a scratch’ claim.

“I don’t know, there's a taxi driver I met who’s really attached to Shelley,” Marion tries not to give away his excitement at how perfect the name is.

“I’m sure he’ll survive,” Robin deadpans, zip tying the muggers hands as he struggles.

“Hm… sure sounds good,” Marion shrugs, almost bouncing with excitement, This is gonna be fun .

“Then I guess congratulations are in order, Songbird,” Nightwing slings an arm around him, ruffling his hair.

“You hear that?” Marion looks down at the mugger, “Now you get to tell the Police who took you down,”

“Robin?” The man asks, smug smirk on Robin's face.

Songbird steps out of Nightwing's hold. Picks up the mugger easily, as he shouts and struggles in his grasp. It takes slightly more effort to throw him into the open garbage skip next to them, letting the mugger land on the piles of trash.

“Tt, are you a complete child?” Robin scoffs, having to look up at him.

“Really? What are you like nine?” Songbird smirks at his irritation, ignoring the crook yelling.

“ No I am not ,” Robin hisses.

“Sorry, eight,” Songbird’s instincts tell him to take a few steps back, he doesn't listen.

“That wasn’t very professional,” Nightwing’s disapproval showing through his expression, Marion can’t quite shake off the feeling of a disappointed big brother.

“Hm? What? Oh!” He looks towards the mugger that's still shouting at him, whatever, professionalism was for Ladybug, “Oh no I dropped them! I was carrying them with the utmost care then I went and accidentally dropped them!”

Songbird smacks his forehead, schooling the grin off his face. In much the same way Nightwing is clearly trying to.

“I’m such a klutz- let me try and get them out,” Marion slams the lid shut with an echoing bang, “Oh no! My bad, how can I be so uncoordinated? Whatever will I do now!”

“You are strange,” Robin informs, sending out his grappling hook.

“Thank you, it’s a goal of mine,” Songbird bows, sirens can be heard in the distance now.

He double checks the victim that Nightwing has been covering. Smiling brightly at their slight smile. With a little wave he swings out the alley, following Nightwing and Robin.

After continuing on route for a while longer, stopping minor crimes they stop for a mid patrol snack.

“Number one rule don't stand on a ledge, I have poor impulse control and I will push you,” Marion warns before they sit down on the rooftop.

“What are you a cat?” Robin scowls, in the danger zone.

“Absolutely,” Marion’s grin is feral, Robin’s scowl deepens as he comes to join them.

“What is that?” Marion gasps in horror at the boring grey brick Robin unwraps.

“An energy bar, it’s more effective than your trash,” Robin scoffs, tucking the wrapper away.

“What do ya mean,” Nightwing and Songbird mumble out through mouthfuls of baked goods.

Robin presumably rolls his eyes under the mask. Leaning in to take a bite of the energy bar. Marion slaps it out his hand.

“Hey!” Robin shouts, as it drops to the ground.

“It touched Gotham, it’s contaminated now,” Marion shrugs, giving Robin pause before he picks it back up.

“I am resistant to a few germs,” Robin says condescendingly, picking the bar back up.

“In Gotham ?” Marion stresses, making him pause again, looking consideringly at the before throwing it away.

He brings out another identical one. Marion doesn't even let him unwrap it before he makes a grab for it. Robin’s expecting it this time and jerks it out of his reach. However years with the miraculous has enhanced his reflexes, Marion’s other hand snatching it. With a little enhanced strength Marion throws it over the edge of the building into the street.

“So what I can’t eat?” Robin bites, hand moving towards his katana.

“Of course you can,” Marion holds out a macaron, “Here,”

“Absolutely not,” Robin glares, Nightwing leaning back to watch the exchange.

“It’s good,” Marion goads, shifting closer.

“I’ve had enough of Nightwing's overly sweet patrol snacks to know that is not true,” Robin scoffs, even as Marion moves close enough that he must be able to smell the treat.

“Yes but this is mine and I know for a fact it’s good enough for the gods,” Except for one particularly picky god who once made him attempt camembert macarons. Needless to say, no one else liked them.

“You overestimate yourself,” Robin scoffs, turning away from Marion, he’d bet to try and avoid the tantalising smell.

“Prove me wrong,” Marion challenges, and can tell from the shift in body language he had him.

With one last glare, Robin snatches the macaron. Regarding it skeptically.

“How do I know it’s not poisoned,”

“Oh for the love of-” Marion takes it back, breaking it in half rather than biting.

He hands one half back and eats the other. Robin doesn't take a bite before he stops chewing. Marion opens his mouth to show the mushed up food for good measure.

“Tt, disgusting,” Robin sneers, turning away to eat the last half, “... this is not,”

“Not what?” Marion teases, despite having a soft smile at Robin's expression, before it turns to a scowl.

“It is better than the trash Nightwing eats,” Robin concedes, too late, he had already given himself away.

“Hey!” Nightwing exclaims, but Marion moves quick as a cat to stuff a macaron in his left open mouth. He startles, before chewing, “... alright… never mind…. Wow,”

Marion hands Nightwing another before he has to ask, getting a downright envious look from Robin. With a smile Marion breaks another macaron in half, handing the bigger half to Robin. He takes it, biting it in half again, clearly trying to control his features to seem indifferent, and failing.

“It’s so good to see you actually enjoying something,” Nightwing pulls Robin into a hug, the latter scowling but not moving away. Marion grin widens, getting Robbin to narrow his eyes.

“What?” He demands, completely failing at being threatening while getting cuddled.

“Nothing,” Marion’s smile suggests otherwise, “Are you two brothers?”

The both startle at the question, shifting slightly away from each other. As if they were about to give away their identities.

“... yes,” Robin admits, faint blush would probably go unnoticed by someone without pseudo-night vision.

“Awe! Little D!” Nightwing brings him back into a much tighter hug, that Robin does try to get out of.

“Lets’ go,” Robin stands, blush probably visible even without night vision.

Marion grins, apparently teasing enough that Robin feels the need to defend himself. They argue and tease as they swing off into the night to resume patrol.

Marinette shifts, joints popping after being crouched for so long. Stake outs weren’t her typical affair as Ladybug but it seemed Sparrow will need to get used to them. She and Batman don’t talk, both focusing on the building below watching for activity. The silence makes the chatter on the comms all the more louder.

“We still need to decide on your codename,”

Marinette tries to hold back a laugh when Batman reaches up to turn off his comm faster than even she ever could as Ladybug. She follows suit, not wanting to burst out laughing when they were meant to be hidden. Marinette tries to stay focused on the warehouse in front of them but the architecture of nearby buildings has her itching to grab her sketchbook.

“Why did you ask me to join the stake out?” She asks Batman, before she gives into the urge to vent her designs.

“Do you honestly think he would sit still,” The avoidance of any codename doesn't go unnoticed by her.

“No he wouldn't,” She smiles, mischief dancing in her eyes, “You just didn’t want to put up with codename again did you?”

She only gets a grunt in response, making her smile widen. Before long she's bored again. That short exchange can only sustain her for so long, sitting still on a cold Gotham rooftop. This wasn’t what she wanted to do tonight, it was meant to be a way to release energy not gather it sitting still all day and night. Marion was out in the city forgetting about his problems, letting them fall as he leapt from building to building. She was meant to be doing the same. In free fall, focusing on the next building to catch her rather than how to adjust to her new chaotic family.

“Who trained you?” Batman questions, halting Marinette's fidgeting, “Robin wouldn’t stop talking about it after your last patrol,”

That was strange. At the time he had seemed mad she took down all the gang members before he got the chance. Maybe that was just his default state.

“I was trained by master- my master I was trained by my master,” Marinette breaks herself out of her thoughts, stumbling over words.

“Was?” Batman prods, Now looking towards her, and thankfully ignoring her stuttering.

“Yeah, he… left about four years ago,” Marinette considers her words. It’s not that she didn’t trust Batman, but secret identities were so for a reason and any detail could reveal them to the worlds greatest detective.

“When did he start teaching you?” At least it didn’t seem like he was directly trying to figure out her identity, and it was nice to have a distraction. Even if it was just more talking, at least it was talking about something else.

“He never really taught us, per say, our city needed us so we stepped up,” After some hesitation on her part, but Marion had dragged her along anyway, not letting her give up for even a second, “He guided us from afar for a while until we needed to meet him,”

“You were protecting a whole city alone?” Batman's concern is not easily ignored.

“Not alone, we have each other,” Marinette corrects, plus sometimes other miraculous holders, but that would be giving away a bit too much, “We’re still protecting it, that's why we missed patrol, it’s not like we could have just quit, our home needs protection,”

It was partly true, they did leave to protect paris last time.

“.... It seems I’ve underestimated you,” Batman admits, glaring at the skyline “Clearly you are more…. Responsible than I assumed,”

You don’t know the half of it , Marinette thinks, smiling to herself. The silence they fall back into is a peaceful one. Marinette tries to ignore her thoughts, clearing her head to focus on the task at hand. She is just starting to master her thoughts when trucks pulls up, several people jumping out, working together to carry crates stacked in the trucks.

“I’ll call in the others,” Batman whispers, as more people come out to meet them, about thirty people so far with possibly more inside.

Marinette clicks her comm back on to hear the echo of Batman’s voice telling Marion's group to head their way. Within ten minutes Marion, Nightwing and Robin have joined them on the roof, studying the last of the crates being carried inside.

“We'll go in ahead, Sparrow you and your partner wait for my signal and be prepared as backup,” Batman instructs, preparing to jump across the street.

“Songbird,” Marion interrupts, Batman’s gaze snapping to him, “Decided on a codename,”

“That's… acceptable,” Batman concedes, Marion's grin growing manic.

Without another word the three bats swing across the street, crashing through the warehouse windows. She turns off the communicator so they can’t hear them but they can still hear Batman.

“I’m surprise you went with something- at least for you- normal,” Marinette doesn't take her eyes off the flashes of gunfire and shouting coming from inside, “I mean I know singing is your thing and everything, but still,”

“Dear Sister you underestimate me,” Marinette doesn't need to look at him to know what kind of face he’s making, “For you see I have a master plan, so grand it will make my name known to all,”

“And make Batman regret inviting us?” Marinette guesses, eyebrow raised.

“And make Batman regret inviting us,” Marion parrots, smile evident in his tone, “Do you have a speaker?”

Batman knocks the gun out of the nearest criminals hand. An uppercut sending them to the floor for a while. He’s right in the thick of the crowd, back to back with Nightwing, while Robin picks off those on the outer edges.

“I’m going to bring them in,” Batman alerts Nightwing, His communicator off so they don’t come in early.

“Are you sure they can handle this?” Nightwing hits his attacker over the head, disorientating them, “Red Robin will be here soon, there's no need to put rookie’s at risk,”

“They are very capable,” Batman defends in both senses, blocking the oncoming punch.

If Sparrow was telling the truth, which he was sure she was, they had single handedly been protecting an entire city for years. Even if it wasn’t as crime ridden as Gotham it was clear from what little they have said that there is something more going on, perhaps a few villains. What is worse is how young they are. Not even Robin, who has been training all his life, was allowed to patrol by himself. From the sounds of it they could have very well been protecting an entire city single handedly at his age. They could certainly handle a thirty something gang members.

“Sparrow, Songbird, now,” Batman flicks on his communicator, getting confirmation.

Not a hint of fear at the prospect of barging into a heavily armed base. They certainly didn’t seem cocky, confident yes, but they have the skill to back it up. Despite everything, they knew how to take the job seriously and are responsible enough to treat it with care and respect.

The sound of glass shattering is almost drowned out by the sudden blast of music. Eerily familiar tune to a pirate movie Dick had once insisted they all watch together.

“Captain Jack Sparrow is here!” Sparrow hits the ground, landing a punch on the way down.

“Yo-ho Yo-ho A pirate's life for me!” Songbird… sings… of course. As he swings into the room disappearing into a cluster of criminals, not that anyone could mistake where he was as he keeps singing at the top of his lungs. "We pillage we plunder we rifle and loot!"

Batman pauses to watch like many other criminals. "Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!"

Allies are standing, as confused as enemies at the strange scene. "We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot!"

Gunfire is drawn to Songbird, grinning ear to ear. "Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!"

Batman catches Sparrow's eye, getting a cheeky grin and saluting in response.

“Um…” Nightwing trails off, taking down a thug that had the wherewithal to attack them as most criminals head towards the new… disruption.

“No Nightwing, not now,” Batman grits out, Nightwing backs off to go help Songbird who was getting surrounded. And. Still. Singing.

Batman just stands in the middle of the remaining crowd surrounding him. Absentmindedly taking down anyone who attacks him. Gaze practically locked on the two.

This behaviour... is completely unbecoming of any hero or vigilante.

Sparrow takes down a criminal with a flip that immediately had Nightwing next to her. Chatting as they continued the fight, seemingly experimenting with different styles with the others instructions. With all the criminals around him down he slowly approaches the few remaining that surrounded Songbird and Robin. The latter of which was telling him to stop singing to no avail.

"Um... whats going on here?" Batman doesn't jump at the sudden appearance of Red Robin no matter how much it caught him off guard, he must be more distracted than he thought.

“Just like you to show up when all the hard work’s done,” Robin sneers over at Red Robin.

“I wasn't the one that called for backup,” Red Robin says cooly, “Couldn’t you handle a few thugs?”

“Of course I can your presence here is unwanted as always,” Robin snaps, even as Red Robin takes down the last remaining criminal.

“Oh you two are definitely brothers,” Songbird grins, cutting off Red Robin's retort.

“Tt You are completely- How do you even come to such a inane conclusion,” Robin surprisingly falters, Songbird grinning wider.

“So you’re not?” Songbird pesters, not waiting for further denial, “Cause you seem to really like each other,"

They both start arguing with Songbird. The latter just listening and adding provocation whenever necessary. Easing them both into a teasing atmosphere, playfully more than hurtfully sending out insults.

Nightwing was now showing Sparrow a particular kick flip. All the criminals around them wisely staying still if they were conscious. The two stop to laugh wherever the others say something particularly ludicrous.

Batman watches them, training his years of discipline to keep a smile from tugging on his lips.

I suppose it can be a good thing.

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

Taglist:

@technicallyburninggarden @fusser90 @misslenamooney @superbwhispersconnoisseur @biodad-bruce-month

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #bio dad bruce wayne #Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020 #Mismatch #Marinette #marinette is mdc #twins au #vigilante au #pop star au #bio dad au #bio! dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b!dbwm2020 #Maribat #ml fic

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just-come-baek · 4 years ago

Text

get in, loser 2

Pairing: Taeyong x female!reader

Themes: smut | mafiaboss!taeyong | carthief!reader | streetracer!reader

Word count: 8.3k

Summary: As controversial as it is, it’s Taeyong’s order for me to participate in the most prestigious race of the underground. As one may expect, it is frowned upon by other gang members.

A/N !REUPLOAD! sorry I fucked something up. Next parts shall be posted on Tuesdays every two weeks.

***

Getting up early in the morning isn’t really my thing. I was the most productive during late evenings and nights, and the fact that I had to be ready unusually early fucked up my sleeping schedule. Hopefully, it was the first, and the last time my presence was requested at such an unholy hour. Right after getting introduced to my new workplace, they had to be flexible enough to let me adjust the work schedule to my preference.

Unfortunately, Taeyong didn’t specify how early Lucas wants to see me the next day. I guessed it was around 7 o’clock in the morning – it was late enough for an early bird, yet early enough for someone who doesn’t really fancy getting up at sunrise.

Having parked my starling Fiat500 in front of the building, I saw a man. He was leaned against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. It must’ve been Lucas. Who else could’ve been? It was the asscrack of dawn, for crying out loud!

“You’ve gotta be kidding me… that’s your car?” the man asked as he flicked the butt of the cigarette, stepping on it, grinding it against the ground, visibly galled by my cute feminine vehicle.

“It’s inconspicuous,” I commented, trying to make my point. Blending in after hours was one of the most crucial things in this profession, I didn’t want to go on and scream that I steal cars and race for a living.

“You’re late,” Lucas whispered. Under any other circumstances, I would roll my eyes, but right now, I just couldn’t. I was just staring at him, slowly checking him out. He was ridiculously handsome, and I tried my best not to drool. “I’m Lucas,” he said, sending me a playful smirk.

Politely, I introduced myself despite him already knowing who I was.

“That’s impressive,” Lucas commented, and I shrugged, not wanting to go through this once again. “How did you do it? It’s not that easy to steal Taeyong’s car, let alone Yuta’s,” he added, and I sighed, trying to come up with a vague and equivocal answer.

“What can I say? You’ve gotta have charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent.”

“Alright, I get it, keep your secrets,” Lucas voiced, biting his lips as if in deep thought. “Sooner or later, I’ll figure this out,” he promised and smiled, willing to take this secret with me to the grave. (I had a bad feeling in my gut, telling me Taeyong would be pissed if he found out the truth about the theft, and I was too cowardly to admit the facts.)

“Are we gonna stand here the whole day, or are you gonna show me around?” I challenged, and Lucas took a step to the side, gentlemanly letting me enter the car repair shop, following closely behind me.

“Ladies first,” he added, chuckling.

It wasn’t a typical car repair shop. The space was huge, and it could accommodate at least fifteen vehicles. On the inside, it resembled a car factory, but instead of assembling the cars, people were taking them apart.

What surprised me the most was the fact that I was the only female inside. Though I knew it was a stereotypically a male profession, men to women ratio was astounding. I didn’t mind it, though. I knew I could beat every single one of them. Gender didn’t matter at all.

“Let me introduce the guys you’ll be working with,” Lucas mentioned, and a few men stopped what they were doing to look at Lucas and me. “Please, meet Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Chenle, Jisung, Jaemin, and Mark,” Lucas introduced them to me, but they didn’t seem very happy to see me. If anything, they seemed a little bit hostile.

“Hi guys,” I said, smiling and waving at them, but their intimidating auras didn’t change. It was awful, and I couldn’t imagine how difficult it was going to work with them. They obviously didn’t like me and didn’t respect me as if worthy of the same position. And it was especially weird because I knew I was better than all of them combined.

Ignoring their angry glances, Lucas explained their roles in this division. Renjun, Haechan, and Chenle were in charge of tuning up the cars, making sure they’re up to the racing standards. Mark and Jaemin were stealing the cars and bringing them here, and Jeno and Jisung were racing. Later on, Lucas revealed I was assigned to both – car theft and racing, and of course, the boys had to voice their objection.

Apparently, they had never heard of multitasking.

According to them, it wasn’t fair for a rookie member to participate in the street races. This position had to be earned through hard work, and they just couldn’t comprehend how much effort I had put to prove my value to Taeyong.

Well… to be honest, I didn’t suspect any of the boys to ever personally talk to Taeyong. I highly doubted they had an idea of what I had to go through to get recruited. They probably had never heard of Yuta, let alone been to his area and stolen one of his vehicles.

“I hope we will work together just fine,” I declared, though deep inside, I knew it wasn’t going to be a smooth ride. I was sure the boys were to make my time there miserable.

And, oh boy, I was right…

***

Somehow, I managed to survive a week at my new workplace without quitting. At some point, I was really close to doing so, yet then I remembered what I had gone through to work here, and this thought alone kept me going. The boys were an enormous pain in the ass, but it would definitely take much more than juvenile bullying to make me leave.

I was a lot of things, but definitely, not a quitter.

Having acted tough the whole week, I needed something to help me chill, and the only person I thought of was my best friend – Doyoung. I was a gang member now, but I knew it wouldn’t matter to him – it wouldn’t have any impact on our friendship.

Within an hour, I was already at his car repair shop. Not bothering to announce my arrival, I strolled inside, looking for him. It was already weekend. All of his employees were recharging their batteries for the upcoming week, so the slim pair of legs under the Nissan Maxima must’ve been Doyoung’s.

Smirking, I slammed my hands against the hood, startling him in the process. Swiftly, Doyoung rolled out from under the car, staring at me angrily, as if refraining himself from murdering me with bare hands.

“Jesus Christ,” he yelled when he saw my face, apparently relieved it was me. “Ever since I helped you with that gig, I have terrible anxiety,” he confessed, and I couldn’t blame him. I felt the same, fearing that someone might want to get rid of me with violence.

“Good thing I stopped by,” I mused, excited to reveal my amazing plans. “I was wondering if you would like to go on vacation with me – my treat. We haven’t spent all the money Taeyong gave me that time, and he hasn’t mentioned anything if he wants the rest of it back, so I thought we could go to the beach. What do you think?”

“More like Mr. Bad Boy’s treat… It does sound tempting, though. Where is the catch?” Doyoung asked suspiciously, knowing me all too well. “Are you on another stupid assignment?”

“Well… not exactly,” I answered, looking away, nervously playing with my fingers. “They’ve accepted me as the newest addition to the family, though some of them gotta warm up to me yet,” I explained, shrugging at the thought of the relentless bullying. “But that’s not the point. Taeyong told me to get rid of the car, and I thought of kindly returning it to Yuta. It’s only logical I send him back the car plates, yet far from home because I don’t want anyone to trace it back to me.”

Judging by the look on Doyoung’s face, he wasn’t completely sold on this idea.

“It’s like killing two birds with one stone. We’ll go to the beach, post the plates to Yuta, and then enjoy the rest of the weekend, sipping drinks by the sea. It’s a two-minute risk-free adventure. What do you say? We both deserve some leisure…”

Staring straight ahead, Doyoung must’ve weighed all the pros and cons of my proposition. Ultimately he decided he deserves some alcohol drinks with cute little umbrellas in the glasses.

“What about the other car?” Doyoung asked, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“I’ll give it back as soon as we return.”

“Fine.”

“Great! Pack your suitcase, the plane takes off in four hours.”

As soon as we arrived, we made a short stop to mail the package to Yuta, praying for him not to trace it back to me. The parcel contained the Ferrari’s plates, a key to the storage room in Japan where Yuta’s vehicle had been kept, and a tiny piece of paper with a sorry written on it. Hopefully, once Yuta gets it back, he will forget about the car ever being stolen.

Later in the evening, we checked into the hotel I had booked, left the baggage, and hit the SPA. Having taken all available services, I was calm, I felt like a lotus flower. Doyoung, however, still was anxious and whiny.

“You need some vitamin D, my friend,” I told him, and he grimaced at me in disgust. “You know… there’s this man, his name is Jaehyun. He’s a guy from work, and I’m pretty sure he could help you let off some steam,” I offered, and Doyoung shook his head, sassily wrapping his lips around the straw, sipping on his third drink of the evening.

To be honest, I doubted Jaehyun swung for the same team, but both of them needed to get laid. Jaehyun because I was really close to start believing his gaze could be literally lethal, and Doyoung because he was so whiny and intractable to be around. I knew it wouldn’t ever work out, but I had to, at least, try.

“I appreciate the proposition, but I don’t hook up with gangsters,” Doyoung said, setting his drink on the counter. “You know what…” Doyoung started, and I rolled my eyes, knowing his further statement will be both funny and hurtful.

When tipsy, Doyoung would often state things harshly without even thinking about running around the bush. “Being your friend has become really stressful recently. It’s a matter of time until I go completely bold, and it will be exclusively your fault.”

“I know…” I agreed, sighing in helplessness. “I’ve been a terrible friend, I’m sorry,” I whispered, resting my head on Doyoung’s shoulder, reaching out to hold his hand. “I’ll never put you in danger again, I promise,” I added, acting way out of my character. Usually, I wasn’t this emotional, but I suspected it was coming from pretending to be badass all the time.

“OK, enough of the weeping, let’s buy some alcohol to go and go get drunk on the beach, waiting for the sunrise,” Doyoung pushed my off of his arm and jumped off the barstool.

“That’s the spirit!”

***

“Gather round people,” Lucas yelled as soon as he entered the car repair shop. As always, he looked like a complete snack, yet I chose not to comment on that. Though we barely spoke with one another, everybody knew how big his ego was, and I didn’t want to inflate it even more.

��What is it?” Haechan whined at Lucas, being annoyed by the interruption.

“The color festival,” Lucas revealed, and everybody grew silent at the mention of the event.

Though a regular person wouldn’t understand what’s that big of a deal, to a car racer, it was an event of the year. It’s an annual the most prestigious car race in the country – participation alone is an honor. It’s every racer’s dream to take part and win, earning a shit load of money and fame. The participation fee is 50 grand per head, after all. Every year the date is different, and only the best racers are talented enough to be a part of it. No wonder Taeyong’s gang will have its representative.

“It takes place this Friday, and Taeyong has already decided who’s gonna represent us this year,” Lucas announced, and the boys started to guess whether it would be Jisung or Jeno. If I had to nominate anyone, it would be Jeno – his drifting skills were no joke. “As I was saying, it’s Taeyong’s direct wish that our special snowflake represents us in the competition,” Lucas specified, and the boys looked at me the way Jaehyun did – with hatred and disgust.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” I chuckled drily, but the boys didn’t change their attitudes.

No way! Taeyong couldn’t… he wouldn’t. Well... I expected him to respect me after what I had done, but this… it was too much. Some drivers worked their entire lives mastering their techniques to participate, and right now, I felt as if I had my chance served on a silver platter. The boys must’ve felt the same way.

I deserved to participate, but Jeno and Jisung did as well. I wouldn’t mind sitting this one out. Their bullying was giving me a headache as it was, another reason to pick on me was the last thing I needed at the moment.

“It can’t be,” Jaemin stated, too perplexed to voice a longer statement.

“Well… it must be, Taeyong’s orders,” Lucas added with a smirk on his sexy lips, ignoring all complaints. “Guys, behave, it’s not my decision to make. You can always try next year,” he tried to console the whining boys, but it didn’t seem to work. If anything, it only multiplied the anger they felt towards me.

“It’s impossible,” I muttered, but the boys didn’t pay any attention to what I was trying to say, “I’m pretty sure it’s not final. I’ll talk to him, I think I can change his mind,” I continued, but once again my words were muffled by the loud white noise of complaining.

“You can’t just call him,” Lucas remarked, trying to remind me of my position in the hierarchy. Now, when I was a valid member of the organization, I had to follow the rules, and Lucas was my superior to whom I was obligated to report everything back. Talking to Taeyong would be highly unprofessional; I had to stick to the code.

“Can you try to persuade him?” Jisung asked, full of hope.

Lucas laughed at Jisung’s question as if it was one of the funniest things he heard in years.

“To be honest, I don’t give a fuck who’s gonna ride this year,” Lucas started truthfully, and I gasped at the harshness of his words. He didn’t sugarcoat nor beat around the bush. “It’s Taeyong’s decision, and I am in no place to question his choice, so beat it.”

His words successfully shut everyone up; Lucas was mean and straight-forward, but it had to be done. Perhaps his leading skills were a little bit rough around the edges, but they managed to get the work done.

“You,” Lucas exclaimed, looking at me. “Meet me here before the race; we’ll pick up the car,” he added, turning around, leaving me alone with the boys, so they could take out all frustrations on me.

“Fantastic.”

***

As expected, the boys, Jeno and Jisung in particular, were giving me hell. It was obvious they were unhappy with Taeyong’s decision, yet I shouldn’t be the receiving end of their relentless bullying. If I could, I’d pay Taeyong a visit and persuade him to change his mind, but just like Lucas said, I was on the very bottom of the gang hierarchy.

At this point, I’d call it quits. Unfortunately, I was too far in the game to bow out. Right now, I could only endure their harassment in hopes of quickly getting promoted, leaving them far behind. It wouldn’t be the most challenging thing I had done for the gang’s sake.

It was a Thursday night. Within 24 hours, I would compete in the most infamous race of the year, and I was beyond mortified. I had drunk half a dozen mugs of double lemon balm, yet the stress was still eating me from the inside out.

It was oddly quiet. Usually, at this time of night, something was going on, but tonight, it was silent. Without any white noise, one could hear a pin drop.

Everything suggested I was alone in the car repair shop. Having slammed down the hood, I wiped my hands in the cloth and looked around. Where was everybody? Did they forget to add me to their group chat? Did they go out for a drink without telling me?

I strolled through their stations, yet I didn’t find anybody. They really left me behind. That wasn’t cool. We weren’t best friends, but I deserved to know if there was a staff outing. Maybe this time around, I’d pass, given the plans I had for tomorrow, but any other time, I’d be down to have a beer with them.

Perhaps, they would warm up to me if we could spend some quality time together.

Once again, I looked around the space and decided to call it a day. There was nothing urgent that I had to finish, so I closed up. I really wanted to come back home, relax, and psych myself up for the upcoming race.

Yawning, I slowly made my way to my car, which was parked two blocks away from the car repair shop. Lucas had suggested it was for the best if the boys didn’t see my vehicle, since it would definitely become another reason to pick on me. Though I didn’t care what they thought of me, I ultimately decided to follow Lucas’ advice. He was my superior for a reason.

The narrow street was barely lit, yet I made my way through it with ease. I had the route memorized by heart, even though I wasn’t completely familiar with this city district.

Once the car conjured in my line of vision, I reached into my backpack, fishing for the keys.

Unfortunately, before I managed to find them, somebody grabbed me by my shoulders and pushed me onto the ground. Stupefied, I looked up and saw half a dozen of persons, each of whom clad in a black hoodie and a face mask.

I was being mugged in a dark alley.

The survival instincts kicked in. The adrenaline rush hit me in a matter of seconds. Just like mothers who can lift cars to save their children, I was in a combat mode, ready to fight off all of them. I was outnumbered, but when driven on hormones, I thought I stood a chance to defend myself and kick their asses.

Quickly, I got back on my feet and took a few steps to the back to distance myself from the attackers and strategize my next move. My first idea was to run away, but that wasn’t going to work out. Two men with crowbars crept out of the shadows, depriving me of the only escape route I could think of.

“OK, think,” I whispered under my breath. There were seven of them, two of whom had crowbars, while one of them pulled out a knife. Seven against one, it didn’t sound fair. Back in the day, I had taken some self-defense lessons, but it was a long time ago. If I had some skills unconsciously memorized, they would surely be rusty.

Perhaps, I could bullshit my way out of it.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, but none of the men even flinched. They were frozen in their spots, probably waiting for the best moment to attack. “I don’t have any money on me, but I can give you my wheels,” I proposed, but once again, I didn’t get any reaction. “It’s a measly car, but I got it checked by a mechanic a few days ago. It’s as good as new.”

It was like talking to a wall. I could run my mouth, yet I would never receive any reply.

Plan A didn’t work out.

They weren’t cooperative enough for me to implement plan B.

I had no choice but to go with plan C, which consisted of fighting back, hoping they wouldn’t beat me to death. It wasn’t the most optimistic scenario, but it’s what my mind came up with after doing the math. It wasn’t a fair fight, what were the odds of me winning?

Close to zero.

When I was about to pick which guy I should attack first, the one in front of me made a cutting throat gesture. It did freak me out, but on cue, I ran up to the one with the crowbar and kicked him in the nuts before he managed to smack me with the metal. Instantly, he crumbled down on his knees, dropping the weapon on the ground.

It was my opportunity to try to even the chances.

Everything happened so fast. One second I was wiggling my body from side to side in an attempt to dodge the attack, while a moment later, I was swinging the crowbar like a baseball bat. In all honesty, I wasn’t that bad, I managed to omit most of their punches.

Unfortunately, there were too many of them. At this point, I knew I wouldn’t win. The least I could do was to try to minimize the damage.

Though I could feel a couple of bruises on my thighs forming up and my blood oozing from my shoulder, I gathered enough strength to swing the crowbar at the man, hitting him straight on the neck, knocking him out. As soon as the man’s head collided with the ground, everybody stopped in their tracks, trying to register what just happened.

They couldn’t believe that a woman successfully fought back. It was a small victory, though. Six more angry men wanted to mug me. Or rape me. Or worse.

“You bitch,” one of them yelled, going towards me with a knife as if he wanted to gut me.

I saw everything in slow motion. He ran to me, screaming, and I tightened my grip on the crowbar, getting ready to knock him unconscious, too.

Before he managed to get close enough for me to hit him, we all got blinded by the lights. There was another car in the alley, scaring the men away. In an instant, they picked up their stunned friend and ran away, disappearing in the distance.

My vision couldn’t accommodate this amount of light, so I couldn’t precisely see my savior. Unfortunately, I was unable to see the person behind the wheel, but the vehicle looked like a Ford. Too bad it drove off before I could have a better look.

Worrying the thugs might return, I limped to my car and locked myself in. My pulse was slowly getting back to normal, and the adrenaline was wearing off, making me feel the pain. Each bruise and cut was hurting me, but I inhaled, flooring the accelerator.

***

When I woke up around noon, I was sore all over. Though I had taken some painkillers and put on ointment on the fragile skin, I still felt like shit. I wasn’t the best at treating wounds, and I discovered this fact about myself in the worst timing ever.

How was I supposed to win the most meaningful race of the year when I felt excruciating pain when I had to stretch my arm? How was I supposed to operate the gearbox in this state?

By the time I had to leave my apartment, I felt only slightly better. High on meds, I drove carefully to the car repair shop, expecting Lucas to already be there. It was typical Lucas – giving vague instructions, yet at the same time, demanding precision, or in this case, punctuality.

Gingerly, I parked the vehicle outside the garage, noticing Lucas leaned against the wall, smoking what I hope was just a cigarette. Putting a smile on my face, I undid the seatbelt and exited the car, waving at my superior.

“What the hell are you wearing? Are you going to a race or Lazytown?” Lucas yelled, amused by my outfit. I could bet it wasn’t a typical outfit for street-racing.

Tonight, I chose to wear a pastel pink wig that reached down to my shoulders, a mini dress in the same shade of pink, and a pair of white combat shoes. I had my reasons to wear this type of clothing, though.

First of all – diversion; I hoped the other contestants would underestimate me upon seeing my eccentric outfit. Looks might be deceiving, and at this point, I couldn’t wait to bask in the glory of their judging stares. In this outfit, no one would think of me as a threat.

Second of all – bruises; no one paid them any attention because all the curious gazes were focused on extravagant clothes. Moreover, I could apply another layer of ointment if needed because the skimpy outfit allowed me easy access to my bare skin.

Third of all – Taeyong; pink was his favorite color and it matched his current hairstyle. It was a bold statement to demonstrate whose gang I was representing in the race.

“The outfit is going to serve its purpose, so let me live,” I murmured, not in the mood for friendly banter. Lucas was ridiculously hot, and I respected him, but right now, I didn’t feel like joking around. “What car do you have for me?”

Lucas pulled the sliding doors to the side, letting me in, following right behind me. Though I tried to control my walk, Lucas quickly caught on.

“What’s happened? Why are you walking like that?” Lucas asked in concern, and I told him everything about the men, their attempt to mug me, and the savior. I didn’t even fail to mention how I knocked one of the guys out with a powerful hit in the neck. “I don’t really think it was some random dudes,” he concluded, taking a closer look at my bruises and cuts.

“Huh?” I mused in confusion.

“I think someone wanted to make sure you’re not participating in the race,” Lucas stated. I creased my eyebrows, unable to make sense out of his suspicion. It was ridiculous. Though I knew how to race, my name wasn’t widely known in the illegal underground racing circle. “It can’t be a coincidence you’re getting attacked one night before the event.”

Well… Lucas had a point.

“Can you race?” Lucas inquired, his voice coated in worry.

I did not expect that, but it felt nice. Lucas, being my superior, looked after me, and it was the first time I felt like a legitimate member of the gang.

“I’ve taken a lot of pills, I can pull through,” I stated, smiling half-heartedly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed, though I could already feel the medication wear off. This insignificant setback wasn’t going to stop me. I had something to prove.

“Alright then,” Lucas said, following me to the back. “Taeyong has personally chosen these cars. You can pick any of them,” he added, and I looked at the beautiful machines in amazement. “Oh, before I forget, he also said you get to keep it if you win.”

“For real?” I asked, and Lucas nodded, smiling at my reaction. “Sweet.”

Now, I really had to win.

Taeyong had selected three vehicles for me to use: BMW M2, Toyota Supra, and Porsche 718 Cayman. The three of them were white and shiny, and it was a real dilemma.

“Tough choice,” I whispered, struggling to make the ultimate decision. Each vehicle had incredible features, and it was impossible to pick the best one. It felt like having a birthday on the same day as Christmas.

“Be quick, we’ve got to go,” Lucas urged me, tapping his foot against the concrete floor impatiently. “Make up your mind, woman.”

“OK, fine, fine, let’s go with Toyota,” I answered, and Lucas put his hand into the pocket of his jeans, fished out three sets of keys, and threw one for me to catch.

“Let’s go, then,” he added, quickly making his way to the passenger seat.

“How does it feel like to win such a race?” I inquired, breaking the silence inside the car. I was speeding to the abandoned airport, while Lucas was texting with somebody, completely ignoring me. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to bond with him, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. Three years ago, being the youngest participant, Lucas had won the race, and I really wanted to know how it felt to make history.

Who knew? Maybe I’d be the first woman to win this race this year.

“Fine, I guess,” Lucas answered dismissively, not wanting to engage in the conversation.

“Oh,” I sighed, deciding not to pry further. We would have other opportunities to talk about it.

Once we arrived, Lucas told me to park the vehicle on the start line. The race would start in an hour, and until then, I had to mingle with other drivers and make my presence known. It was time for the rich men to make their bets.

“Hmm… that’s strange,” Lucas commented when I turned off the engine. “Taeyong’s here.”

“Is that strange?”

“He hasn’t attended such an event ever since he had won it five years ago,” Lucas explained, and I nodded my head, registering the new information. When Lucas put it like that, it really seemed out of character. “Interesting,” he added, deep in thought.

When Lucas got out of the car, I searched for Taeyong in the crowd. Thankfully, it wasn’t that difficult. This time around, Taeyong was wearing a green tracksuit set, thick-rimmed black Fendi sunglasses, and a pair of simple white sneakers. With his pink-ish hair and a custom-made Dior purse loosely hanging off his shoulder, he did not fit in this picture packed with gangers. Taeyong looked like a stray 4-year-old who got lost in a dangerous alley.

Following Lucas’ example, I exited the vehicle, and leaned against the hood, posing as a confident yet quirky driver. Though I expected everyone to underestimate my skills, deep inside, I wished to be recognized as a serious competition.

Looking around, I stared at Taeyong and deliberately ignored Jaehyun’s death glares. Even from afar, I could sense he hated my guts. I suspected I was the reason why Taeyong was here right now, and Jaehyun was unmistakably displeased by it.

With my eyes locked on Taeyong, I noticed Lucas joined him and whispered something into his ear. Whatever Lucas had told him, it made Taeyong visibly angry.

“Attention racers,” a female voice spoke through the speakers, obtaining everyone’s attention. “The race shall begin in thirty minutes. We ask all racers to pick up the GPS device box at the judge’s lounge. Thank you for your attention and good luck.”

Every participant had to install the device in one’s car. Once set in the vehicle, the racer could see this year’s route and all checkpoints. The fastest one to clear all the checkpoints and come back to the airport would win the competition.

Following all the instructions, I got ready for the race. In a few minutes, twelve cars would leave the airport in an attempt to chase their dreams of fame and success.

I was sitting comfortably in my seat, and though on the outside, I seemed calm, the courtesy of painkillers, I was freaking out internally. I didn’t even notice someone knock on the window, making me jump in shock.

“Jesus Christ, Lucas, you scared the shit out of me,” I cursed, rolling down the window.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck,” he added, smiling genuinely. “I spoke with Taeyong, and he would like to talk to you after the race in his mansion.”

“Oh.”

And with that, Lucas walked away, letting me relax some more before the race. I just had enough time to turn on my playlist, which consisted of Britney Spears’ biggest hits. It always helped me to uplift my mood, and I really needed that.

“Three,” the woman counted out loud, and all participants turned on their engines.

“Two.”

“One.”

At once, all the cars surged forward, and people cheered enthusiastically, not even muffling the loud engine roars.

The route had seven checkpoints in total, and since the race was called the color festival, each stop was named after the rainbow color. There was no specified order in which the contestants ought to clear them, yet most of them chose to drive east, toward the indigo checkpoint.

I, on the other hand, decided to head west. The more drivers in one area, the more chances of dirty tricks, and I didn’t want to end up getting pushed out of the route into the gutter.

Only four racers mirrored my actions, and out of the five of us, I was leading. With ease, I cleared the green checkpoint, but one Britney song later, the driver of the red 2020 Lexus SC caught up to me, driving straight into my back left lights, making me lose control of the vehicle for a second. Thankfully, I managed to get a hold of the situation before I drove into the dangerous turn.

This bastard scratched my car and cleared the yellow checkpoint before me.

I couldn’t let him get away with it.

Flooring the accelerator, I quickly found myself on the right side of the Lexus, staring at the driver. I recognized him in an instant. It was Felix, and he was infamous for dangerous driving. It didn’t matter how many drivers he had to send to the hospital to win the race.

Perhaps, it would be reasonable to let him be, but I was high on meds, and the logical solution fled my mind before I managed to memorize it. The only sensible reaction I could muster in the heat of the moment was hitting him before he hit me again.

Sticking my tongue out for Felix to see, I abruptly turned to the right, pushing him out of the road. Unfortunately, I didn’t hit him hard enough. Before I drove into another sharp turn, I saw him in the rearview mirror. He was back on the lane, trying to catch up with the rest of the participants.

“Too high, can’t come down, losing my mind, spinning ‘round and round, do you feel me now?” I sang along with Britney, driving through the blue checkpoint.

I was almost halfway through the race, and it was about the time when I ran out of luck. I could hear a loud siren ringing in the distance, followed by red and blue lights. It couldn’t be a good sign. Competing against lunatics was challenging, yet on top of that, I had to lose the police.

My first thought was to let the other drivers catch up to me, and then hope the police would chase them, but I quickly realized it was a dumb idea. The racers would out-speed the police cruisers anyway; it was stupid to purposefully slow down.

The next checkpoint was near, and it was my priority. I’d deal with the police by the end of the race. Of course, only if the police cruisers could handle such speed. It was doubtful, but I chose not to underestimate them.

“Fuck, it can’t be,” I cursed when I noticed the red Lexus again. “He is stubborn,” I added, once again flooring the accelerator, trying to keep as much distance from Felix as possible. This car would be mine if I won, and I didn’t want any more damage.

Then, a few seconds later, another car appeared a couple of hundred meters behind me.

Too bad the police were too incompetent to catch them. The sirens were still ringing in the distance, so it only meant they didn’t give up yet. I didn’t think they stood a chance against any of the sports cars in the race, but it was admirable that they still tried.

The red checkpoint was a couple meters ahead, and I reasoned I needed to step up my game. In order to win, I had to think out of the box. I had to do something they wouldn’t dare. I couldn’t play it safe if I really wanted to win.

Having cleared the red checkpoint, I made a U-turn without slowing down. If it wasn’t for the breaks, the force would pull me out of the lane, sending me flying off the cliff. Felix and the other guy were visibly confused when I started driving right at them.

Going over 180 km/h, I passed them and the police cruiser before I made an abrupt turn, driving through run-down, abandoned properties. Very few people knew this short-cut, and I hoped it would give me the advantage I desperately needed.

With no problem, I cleared the orange checkpoint.

Only two more to go, I told myself, trying to uplift my mood.

The violet checkpoint resembled a war zone. Three cars were sitting on the side of the road, all scratched and damaged. Compared to this psycho who had done it, Felix was a harmless kitten. Thankfully, he hadn’t chosen to follow the same path as me. It made me sick to think I could be inside of one of these wrecked cars.

Or it was the meds overload in my system.

I couldn’t be sure.

Having passed the final checkpoint, I noticed a sports car. It was heading the same direction, so I concluded it was one of my rivals. The neon green Porsche Boxter was behind me, but it was catching up incredibly fast.

I had to get my shit together, or I was going to lose.

I could see the finishing line in the distance. Unfortunately, the green Porsche was right there, on my left side. Neither of us wanted to lose, and almost at the same time, we turned, smashing against each other. Sparks were flying everywhere, the sound of scratching metal was ringing loudly, yet no one dared to let go.

If I didn’t push him out of my way, we would tie, and this result was unacceptable. With my foot on the accelerator, I turned the steering wheel to the right as hard as I could. The vehicle barely moved to the side, yet it was still making progress.

Maybe it was pure luck, but the Porsche ran over something on the road, and its driver lost control of the car. It was my time to shine, so once again I turned to the right. The vehicles made a 90-degree turn, which resulted in me being the first one to cross the finishing line.

Oh my god, I won.

These guys could suck it because I beat them!

When I got out of the car, Taeyong and Jaehyun were gone. Lucas was the only familiar face in the crowd, and he actually ran up to me to congratulate me. “You won,” Lucas said, beaming. His smile quickly faded away upon seeing how wrecked the car was. “It was a new car,” he cried, calculating the damage.

“It’s still new,” I remarked, but Lucas didn’t find it amusing. Well… I could relate. After all, it was my car. I knew the second the painkillers wear off, I was going to in pain because of what I did to the vehicle. Hopefully, Doyoung would help me get it fixed.

A lady in a deep-cut bikini and sun-kissed tan walked up to me to hand me a bag of cash and a bottle of champagne.

“Everybody, make some noise for this year’s winner,” she screamed into the microphone, making the crowd go crazy.

I was smiling like a lunatic. People were cheering, and it was all for me.

Though I was craving champagne, I knew it wasn’t the best idea to drink it. The pills mixed with alcohol would kill me, so I opted for an alternative celebration. Swinging my arm, I threw the bottle at the car, smashing it against the scratched doors.

“Christening the car seemed appropriate,” I commented when I saw Lucas trying to process what I just did. “At this point, one more tear doesn’t make a difference.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Lucas said lifelessly, staring with concern at the vehicle. “You better go. Don’t keep Taeyong waiting. He’s not a patient person.”

***

Having parked in front of Taeyong’s big ass mansion, I made my way to the main entrance and rang the bell. The doors opened a few seconds later, and Jaehyun looked at me from head to toe, stepping to the side, letting me in.

It was my first time in Taeyong’s palace, and the interior was breathtaking. Everything looked expensive, and everyone must’ve felt the wow effect during their first visit. Though I knew he had a shit load of money, witnessing his wealth first hand was an unforgettable experience.

“Stay here, I’ll get Taeyong,” Jaehyun ordered, and I smiled sheepishly, not wanting to mess with someone who could easily murder me. “Don’t touch anything,” Jaehyun added as he turned around, catching me red-handed on trying to brush my fingers against the sculpture, which was set on a coffee table.

Two minutes later, Taeyong joined me in the spacious living room.

“Lucas told me you won,” he spoke as he plopped down onto a leather couch, putting his hands into the pocket of his disgusting green tracksuit. “Good job.”

“Is that why you wanted to see me? To congratulate me?” I asked out loud, wanting to smack myself the moment the words left my mouth. Of course, Taeyong didn’t want to congratulate me; he had invited me to his mansion before the race even began.

“No,” he replied shortly, and I smiled sheepishly, trying to forget this incident. “You know what I will never tolerate?” Taeyong asked, and I sighed in thought.

“I don’t know… Hmm… it’s a wild guess, but is it Hawaiian pizza?”

“No,” Taeyong denied, smirking at my random guess. “I will never tolerate treason, doll.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to figure out what he meant. I hadn’t done anything to betray him, yet he still somehow found something to punish me for. No way, it wasn’t possible. Had he figured out how I really had stolen Yuta’s car?

Fuck.

“Come on, doll. Let me show you,” Taeyong whispered, standing up. With his eyes on me, he smiled and stretched his hand. Anxiously, I let him hold his palm around mine as he led me to the basement.

It wasn’t a good omen.

Despite all of my achievements, Taeyong was going to kill me.

“The pink really suits you,” Taeyong spoke out of the blue when we slowly made our way downstairs. “I really like this hair on you,” he added, playing with the ends of my wig.

“Thanks, I was hoping you’d like it,” I answered, trying not to show how intimidated I was.

“Oh, I do, doll,” he smirked, pushing a pair of big pine doors open, stepping to the side, letting me in first.

Inside the room were seven men tied to the chairs with a piece of cloth wrapped around their eyes. Since there was only one light bulb, it took me a while to recognize them.

They were my colleagues from the garage. What the hell were they doing here? Why had Taeyong imprisoned them? What had they done? It was them who had betrayed Taeyong? No, it didn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t have invited me if it was about them.

“I don’t understand…” I commented, my eyes focused on the tied men in front of me. The moment when I looked at Jisung, I saw a wound on his neck.

Then it hit me.

It was them.

They had tried to kill me last night.

“As I said, I cannot tolerate treason,” Taeyong voiced as he began to rip the makeshift blindfolds off their faces. “Working against the gang is unacceptable, and you dared to hurt one of your own,” he spoke, and I trembled, afraid to witness what’s going to happen next. “Who came up with this stupid plan?”

Silence.

“Alright then,” Taeyong concluded through gritted teeth. It was the first time I saw him this angry, and I was scared. I’d shit my pants if I were the reason for his wrath. “Come here, doll,” he ordered, wanting me to join him. “Pick your weapon,” he told me, and I looked at him in confusion. What did I need a weapon for?

I looked to the right and saw pegboard tool storage on the wall. It was an impressive collection of torture weapons, and Taeyong wanted me to use them on the traitors. It was wrong on so many levels, and I really didn’t want to do it, but the perspective of wronging Taeyong seemed even worse. I would rather hurt them than let Taeyong hurt me.

“We don’t have a whole night, doll,” Taeyong urged me, and I grabbed the first thing which was in my arms’ reach. It happened to be a hammer. “Excellent choice; who should we punish first?” Taeyong asked, resting his arm over my shoulder, smiling like a maniac. Without any doubt, it was to bring him a lot of pleasure.

“I don’t know…”

“Alright, then,” Taeyong smiled in amusement before he started to sing the eeny, meeny, miny, moe counting rhyme to select the first victim. At first, I didn’t look, but once Taeyong stopped singing, I opened my eyes to see that his finger was pointing at Haechan.

“Do what you gotta do, doll,” Taeyong ordered happily, leaning against the wall, making sure he had the best view at the scene unfolding in front of him.

I wanted to cry, but I tried my best not to. As a part of a gang, it was inappropriate to show vulnerability. I didn’t want Taeyong to revoke my membership, especially when the only way to leave the gang was through excruciating death.

“Where should I start?” I asked myself under my breath, having no idea how torturing worked. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a way of inflicting the least amount of pain, while maintaining the expected level of Taeyong’s satisfaction.

Having closed my eyes, I swung my arm, hitting Haechan’s palm with the hammer, making him groan in pain. “You bitch,” he cursed, and I repeated the blow a couple of times until his hand looked like a smashed pomegranate.

Haechan was yelling in pain, Taeyong was chuckling in amusement, and I tried my best to refrain myself from crying. Though I didn’t particularly like Haechan, and he had been a real pain in the ass with the bullying, he didn’t deserve such punishment. How was he supposed to work at the garage without his dominant hand? His career was basically over. It was a dick move to attack me, and though I was awfully petty, the punishment was too severe.

“Who came up with this stupid plan?” Taeyong questioned again, yet none of the boys dared to speak. Not even Haechan, who was in a tremendous amount of pain. “Here, hold this,” he added, handing me a baseball bat, “I got bored of the hammer.”

Obediently, I grabbed the baseball bat and hit Haechan in the stomach until he started coughing blood on my pink dress. “What the fuck?” I cursed, getting angry at the minor inconvenience.

“Stop it, you’ll kill him,” Jisung yelled, trying to shimmy himself out of the ties. “I did it. I told them to beat her up. She didn’t deserve to ride in this race,” he carried on, and Taeyong sighed, walking up to Jisung nonchalantly with his hands loosely tucked in the pockets.

“It wasn’t that hard, was it?” Taeyong asked as he bent a little and caressed Jisung’s chin. “I really appreciate your honesty,” he added before he pulled out a gun and shot him in the head.

It was hard to process, but he really did shoot Jisung.

“Good job, doll,” Taeyong congratulated me with a smile before he fired his gun once again, this time shooting through Haechan’s forehead. “What? He was useless without his hand anyway,” he commented upon seeing my shocked reaction.

“You’re not gonna kill them, are you?” I quietly asked as I leaned against Taeyong’s frame, clinging to his chest. None of them deserved to die, yet I hoped Taeyong would spare the remaining five.

“No, I think it was enough for them to learn their lesson,” Taeyong revealed, and I sighed in relief, glad the bloodshed was over. It was the first time I saw somebody get killed, and it was a morbid sight. I wouldn’t mentally handle the situation if he decided to murder them all.

“Can we go now? The blood makes me sick,” I confessed, and Taeyong once again wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulled me to his side, and led outside. Surprisingly, regardless of what I had seen a while ago, his hug felt genuine. “I have a question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“How did you know it was them?”

Taeyong smirked, “who do you think was in that car that scared them off?”

“You?” I asked, cocking up my eyebrow, trying to process the newfound information.

“No, what I would be doing there?” Taeyong denied, making me even more confused. “I told Jaehyun to pick you up and bring to my mansion. However, when he saw you were attacked, he drove off and hunted them down.”

“I guess I owe him big time.”

#taeyong smut #neosmutcollective #nct smut #nct angst #taeyong angst #taeyong #lee taeyong #mafia boss taeyong #nct scenario #taeyong scenario #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #taeyong fanfic #taeyong fanfiction

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cancerfairy · 3 years ago

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Hi love! Here for your ask game of best & worst qualities <33 My initials are AJ, and I'm on pc right now so I hope this <3 is a good enough emoji! Your blog feels like slipping into a lucid dream. Everything feels off, just enough so that you know it must be a dream. As it progresses, you realize your thoughts have more power than you believed, and you begin to reshape the world into your own idea.

hi my love! ofc i'll count that as an emoji cause i use it all the time too hehe. your description was so beautiful omg thank you so much <33 are you a poet or something damn

☁︎︎ your best qualities:

so one of your best qualities is that you're able to be very assertive when you speak. it's apparent that you're someone with great communication skills and you're someone who speaks quite eloquently. i see that you might also be good at multitasking probably because you like to solve/finish things quickly. sometimes you can be very competitive, talkative and opinionated. you might also be a truth seeker since your mind works in mysterious ways. you might be an activist or you're just someone who fights for what you believe is right so you're keen on fairness. along with your brilliant mind, you're also a deeply spiritual person. you definitely follow your intuition and i think you're a family person. do you have a good relationship with your family? maybe your home life is very important to you? i feel that you're someone who works hard to make others happy and you're really positive. perhaps you're someone who seeks a stress free and harmonious life and i see that you work to ensure that. you're someone very aligned with your true nature and you have idealistic values. you might like everything to be perfect and organized too. i feel like you keep your home and yourself very secure. i also feel that you're very supportive of others dreams and very protective of your home. you're optimistic about the future and you're not one to give up or lose hope.. it's simply not in your agenda. you're someone who is grateful for all that they have and so the universe constantly rewards you. idk why i keep feeling like you have kids.. i could be wrong but maybe it's because you radiate a sort of childlike innocence. you're not afraid to try new things and you can be playful when you want to be. you're kind of a blissful person who believes everything will work out for you in which case it probably will since you're a resilient person! you probably like taking risks or doing things you've never done before. you have boundless potential to achieve your goals and desires! :)

☁︎︎ your worst qualities:

because you dont trust yourself enough you may have a fear of failure or your afraid of making the wrong decisions so it leaves you stuck in your own mind. you probably struggle to see the bigger picture as your thoughts leave you with severe tunnel vision. you get fixated on non important details or issues. when you can't find a solution to a problem you most likely just sit in that mindset for too long. this leaves you with feelings of anxiety and worry. you might also be someone who at times can be filled with regrets or overwhelmed with guilt. i feel that there's something you hold on to from the past that you're unable to let go of. this could be jealousy or something else. your past wounds need healing/ work on your self love because you are greater than you know. recognize that this situation causes you more pain the longer you hold on to it. stop reliving your bad memories and letting them constantly play over and over in your head. it might leave you unable to sleep at night and you probably worry about the future sometimes. you're stuck in the past and you need to learn to let go of control. let go of wanting to exert power over someone or a situation in your life. you might need to work on your self esteem. see life from a new perspective, learn from your mistakes and let go of your position to obtain peace. you will miss many opportunities if you stay in this mindset. try not to be selfish and wrapped in your own desires. try looking and caring about the needs of others. reinvent yourself and believe in yourself. you have everything you need right now so realize your potential and use your talents to your greatest advantage! there is a need for a new beginning in your life. stop holding onto what doesn't serve your highest good. forgive the people from your past who have caused you these internal wounds and try to get enough rest. don't be so difficult with others and try to see things from their perspective. not only that but you also need to let go of fear and worry, they don't suit you. if you want to travel somewhere, travel! if you want to start a business, do that! figure out what you want and conquer it! be strong minded and confident in your abilities to succeed <3

#tarot game #AJ <3 #thank you for joining ♡︎

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years ago

Text

Good Together

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 9,300 (sorry!)

Summary: You and Bucky have a very tumultuous relationship -- but you’re good together.

Warnings: Smut!! Angst maybe.

A/N: Inspired by “Good Together” by SHY Martin. This is my first time writing smut, so please let me know what you think and I’m so sorry if this is terrible!! Just let me knoowwww also sorry for making it so long!

...

I've been working on myself and on my patience But sometimes that shit don't come easy And I see you've been tryin' your best to give me explanations But words don't really cut it lately

“Buck, would you just listen to me,” you spat, emphasizing the last three words, shaking your hands in significance. He continued calmly putting the dishes away; you knew it was a façade: his relaxed shoulders, plain face, raised eyebrows – all a ruse to make him look like a victim. “Turn around.”

He spun quickly on his heel, still holding the clean plate in his hand, facing you with a strong tone of expectation: expectation that you had something really fucking good to say if you had to interrupt him putting the dishes away, especially since you ask him every day to help out with the chores. “Yes, dear?”

You rolled your eyes almost immediately as the term of less-than-endearment slipped off his tongue. “Listen to what I’m saying – ”

“I can multitask, (Y/N), thank you very much.” He continues on his merry way unloading the dishwasher, turning his back to you once again.

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. An inhale and exhale through your mouth; so quiet yet you’re sure he heard you. Focus, you thought to yourself, shutting your eyes and finding your peace. He wants you to snap. You took another deep breath, craning your neck in a circle, listening as the top of your vertebrae cracks with a loud pop! “All I’m saying,” you begin smoothly, “is that you need to stop acting like a baby.”

He scoffs, eyebrows raising in doubt. “What part of this is being a baby, (Y/N); enlighten me.” Patronizing fuck.

You swore that talking to him took more patience than raising a puppy – hell, at least the puppy would learn to listen to you. “You’re always like acting like the victim; such a martyr. I try to bring up one thing with you – have an adult discussion – and suddenly you act like it’s all my fault and that I’m crazy? Like I’m the bad guy here.”

You can feel him roll his eyes through the back of his head. He shrugs. “Look, (Y/N), all I was saying was that you were bitchin’ over nothin’ – all I did was apologize.”

You actually laughed arrogantly, reminding him what he stated earlier, laying the sarcasm on as heavily as he did: “oh, I’m so sorry, (Y/N). Sorry that I have eyes and like to use them to look around.” You narrowed your eyes at him, finally gaining his full attention as he fisted the cutlery. “Sorry, how does having eyes justify you eye-fucking the girl behind me?”

“I wasn’t even staring – ”

And you snapped. In his defense, you maybe sounded a little shrill when you flipped out at him; your voice did, in fact, raise about twelve octaves. “You were literally undressing her with your eyes, James.” You threw up your hands in the air, exaggerating a groan as your head dropped back. “You probably have x-ray vision, don’t you?” You accused, almost jokingly. But as he narrowed his eyes as he hesitated to say something back, searching his mind for the proper response – but you were too fast. “You fucking do, don’t you, you piece of shit. Of course – ”

The sound of shattering glass cut you off immediately. You opened your eyes and straightened your stance to be faced with Bucky, butter knife in his hand, and a plate, split perfectly in half, sitting on the counter beside him. His blue eyes were squeezed tight in control, his flesh hand gripping the knife so hard that his knuckles had gone white. You stared at the porcelain dinner plate, feignedly wondering if that’s what he wanted to do to you.

Deep down, you knew he would never lay a hand on you; he always insisted on throwing or breaking something when he became so frustrated with his anger – with you. He’d gone so far as to throw a lamp at the wall (in the opposite direction of you, of course); thus, showing his intention to release his anger and not an intention to hurt you. The two of you had been working on different ways to channel his anger; however, as he stated: he was used to a life of destruction, so that’s how he vented. He found that it got the job done: it got you to shut the fuck up.

“I don’t have x-ray vision, don’t be a child about it.” His voice was surprisingly calm, especially considering how he still hadn’t put the knife down. “I wasn’t even starting. I glanced at her – in her direction.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, though. That’s the issue that he didn’t comprehend. You let out a sigh, speaking calmer than you had all night. “Bucky, I’m just sick of having this same conversation, please,” you pleaded, taking a step closer. He remained silent and still, eyeing you as you approached him. “I feel like I’m not asking for much.” Stop staring at other girls while you’re on a date with me: not much. It was not only infuriating, it was embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, putting the knife on the counter beside the pieces of plate, turning his head down. “I didn’t mean to be doing it. I just get distracted.” His voice was quiet, almost child-like as it rose in inflection.

You were torn. You could believe what he was saying, hoping that this time he’d actually be telling the truth: you knew he had a short attention span, and he did have a tendency to space out a lot. But you were caught between believing that and the fact he had spaced out in the direction of a girl with a significantly low-cut blouse. These other times, he liked to play the victim-card, blaming his less-than-appealing tendencies on his poorer qualities that, technically, nobody could refute him having.

You’d learned to read through his words, though. And this time, it was the latter.

Remember when our love was precious We thought what we had was the best, yeah Now every answer's a question Like every night is one of us is getting aggressive The other one's acting possessive Guess it's the way that we do shit now

Your fights had grown frequent.

Your relationship had grown volatile.

Not that it wasn’t based on your tumultuous roots – but it had just gotten so much worse lately.

This relationship started off fairly normal, however, the cherished affair the two of you shared quickly became tainted through the media. Countless news outlets had gotten word of the coupling instantaneously, leaving the two of you swamped with paparazzi and yelling passerby’s every time either of you left your houses. It was quite the shock that James Buchanan Barnes had a girlfriend – a regular girlfriend, too; a non-Avenger. People were quick to sell you out, too. Close friends and even some family selling information about your relationship (and even just material about you) to make a quick buck.

It had gotten the best of the both of you early on. Bucky was tired of being constantly followed and photographed. He was a man who had grown used to solitude and, while he was slowly but surely adapting to twenty-first century life and everything that came along with that, all of the flashing lights and constant yelling made him want to climb into a hole and live in the dark forever.

You, similarly, were extremely unaccustomed to this. Suddenly, you were on the cover of magazines, reading articles about yourself in People & Us magazines, scrolling through stories of yourself on Snapchat. Old friends, people from college, even some work colleagues sold stories about you to the tabloids. Maybe some of the resentment that you held towards them reflected upon Bucky. You didn’t think about it often, but maybe there was a correlation – an unfair correlation, obviously. Your hatred on the outside world didn’t equate to hatred towards Bucky, but you still aimed it towards him quite a bit.

Bucky, never slow to defend himself, returned said animosity right back at you. The two of you picked each other apart until you were both bloody and raw.

Tonight was no different.

The entire evening, meant to be romantic, turned into a fight. You both intended for event at Stark Industries to be uneventful: a night of mingling with friends, reminiscing in old stories, and drinking expensive champagne. It started off halfway decent, that is, until you started meeting more of the people that worked at the Tower.

You had no problem hanging out with the rest of the Avengers – especially Sam, who you bonded with through teasing Bucky (nothing but love, of course), but when it came to meeting a couple other supporting agents, you were a little out of you element.

Take, for example, Agent Toller, who came up to you and Bucky early on, greeting him kindly with a hug and introducing herself to you with a handshake. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N)! Bucky’s told me so much about you!” You smiled genuinely at her statement, responding and continuing the conversation. It, of course, came to a point where she slung her arm around his and stated matter-of-factly: “You better keep him locked up. I know a lot of ladies wanting to get their hands on him.”

Your lungs deflated. Including herself, apparently. “I’ll do my best,” you reply through gritted teeth.

Then there was Agent Rivers, who straight off the bat ignored you. She came up to Bucky telling him she finally mastered the thigh-grip, a move, she later clarified, made notorious through Black Widow. “All that time in the gym finally paid off, huh,” Bucky teased.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she beamed back, touching a hand to his arm.

He rolled his eyes playfully, chuckling. “Please, just playing the dummy – as usual.”

She merrily smacked his arm, grinning. “Don’t say that, Buck.”

You stood next to Bucky, staring up at the man blankly. Rivers trotted off once she caught wind of you glaring at Bucky. Plucking another glass of champagne from the passing server, you took a long sip, finally asking: “So, Buck, what would be your part in her mastering this thigh grip?” It was a bit condescending, a little irked, and extremely sarcastic. The image of her perfect legs around your boyfriends neck did not sit right with you.

Was he more of a flirt than you remembered? It had been ages since he’s properly flirted with you. It was nothing to get angsty about; its not like you had anything to truly worry about. He came home every evening, spent the night in your bed with you; save for when he went on missions, but surely, he wasn’t accompanied by any women you had to worry about, at least – Natasha and Wanda had your full confidence. But it wasn’t the women that bothered you; you shouldn’t have to worry about Bucky. No matter how many beautiful, strong, talented women flirted with him, he should shut them down – not flirt back literally in front of you.

A few more introductions played out exactly like that, so a few more glasses of champagne were necessary for you to get through the evening. At one point you actually started having a good time. You’d left Bucky to chat with the boys while you found sanctuary in your girlfriends off to the side. You were able to air out your grievances, confidential information falling onto open ears. They took your mind off it by bringing up their own drama, in which you all openly made jokes and critiques, the liquor now fully streaming through all of your bloodstreams.

Once the party started to clear out and even some of the Avengers began to leave, Bucky swooped by your pow-wow and wrapped his arm around your waist, whispering a quiet “ready to go?” in your ear. You and Bucky walked out with Sam and his girlfriend, chatting casually.

As you expected, as soon as the pair spilt off from you two, everything fell silent. Not the good silent: the silence that swirled around you two as your gazed at stars together, the silence as you laid napping in each other’s arms on the couch, the silence that comforted him after a nightmare, accompanied by your fingers curling through his hair. No; this was the silence filled with tension; it was the kind of silence that you’d rather die than have to ride home in the car with him not talking to you.

You bit your lip when you brought it up.

He actually laughed, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other resting loosely on his lap. He turned his head to you momentarily, a glint in his eye as his smile mocked you. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“They’re all throwing themselves at you!” You clarify, exasperated, throwing your hands in your lap, turning towards him underneath your seatbelt.

“I can’t help that, can I?” He shrugged it off, turning back to the road, reclining farther in his seat, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. Smug bastard.

“Yes, James. It’s called personal space and we all have it.” You spoke slowly, enunciating each work clearly. “It would really kill you to tell these girls to stop touching you?” He pulled into a parking spot in front of your apartment and got out of the car without even letting you finish. You followed suit, trialing him up the few steps to the front door. “Every single woman you talked to had her hands all over you.”

He shoves the door open, leaving it wide open for you. “I wasn’t touching them, was I?” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back. He groaned and pulled at the tips, acting as if any sort of physical torture would be more preferable to this conversation. “No, my hand was on you the whole entire time, (Y/N). It’s not an issue.”

You slammed the door, crossing your arms over your chest. “Really?” You questioned, tone and volume raising significantly. “So, you don’t care about them touching you in front of your girlfriend? It’s not an issue? Forget it just pissing me off – you don’t think that was fucking embarrassing for me?”

He shrugged earnestly, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips.

Taking a page out of his book, you pick up the closest thing in arms-length: the half-empty wine bottle you’d left on the table from earlier. You don’t intentionally aim for Bucky, but maybe you weren’t seeing as clearly as you thought you were. It narrowly swipes past him as you drive it into the wall, only marginally missing him because he took a step sideways. His eyes are wide momentarily, turning his head from the large red splotch dripping down the white wall back to focus on you. Instantly, his posture changes: he’s standing upright, more alert – no longer seeing you as annoying instead of nonthreatening; his chest puffs out, his eyebrows knit together, lips pressed into a firm line as he glowers at you. “What. The. Fuck.” His teeth are barred, the words coming out bitterly.

“Oh,” you scoffed, unable to hide the smirk forming on your lips. “You don’t like it when I do it to you?” If you were in his position, you’d want to slap yourself. You were only taunting the beast, speaking to him in such a patronizing tone. You couldn’t help yourself, though; it was finally a taste of his own medicine: to be treated like a child. You bit your lip, trying to smother the smile pulling your lips as you watched with half-lidded eyes as he strutted towards you.

“You don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

You raised your eyebrows in challenge. “Says who?”

He stares down at you, another stride forward, consuming all the space left between the both of you. Taking one more step, he backs you into the wall. Your shoulder blades make contact with the cold plaster. “I do.” His voice was rough, about six octaves lower than usual, volume barely above a whisper, yet so much anger in his tone. You laugh, breathing out, sneering at him. “You better wipe that smile off those pretty little lips.” His voice did not waver; there was no inflection nor cadence of amusement.

Your smirk does not faulter. “Make me.” His metal hand snakes around the base of your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck. He watches in amusement as your smile quickly drops into an open mouth, gasping as you struggle to take in a sharp breath in shock.

His hips press into yours, hip bones jamming into each other’s. His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he leans in closer to you, chest against chest. “Not so funny now, is it, baby?”

You and me we never say we're sorry Hands around my body Fucking 'til we're good Fucking 'til we're good And we promise we'll do better Both go down together Fucking 'til we're good

You stare up at him under your eyelashes and focus all your energy on inhaling and exhaling through your nose – this wasn’t your first rodeo.

He watches you, jaw tense, flexing at the sharp contour under his ears. You feel his angered breath as it warms the air over your nose. He grinds his hips up against yours, just moving ever so slightly, pushing his thigh in between your legs. You narrow your eyes at him, clenching your own jaw and huffing out a sharp breath. Your hands flew up to his metal forearm to have something you could hold onto as your oxygen left your lungs.

He leans in once again to whisper in your ear. “What’s that, baby?” He coos condescendingly. He kisses the spot just under your earlobe, the sensitive skin sending a jolt through your body. He trails a few more kisses under your jaw, just above his hand; each kiss becoming progressively longer and sloppier. He makes his way to your other ear, now pressing his lips right up against the cartilage. “You got more to say to me?” His metal fingers and his left leg. His thigh hitches farther up, you’re now practically sitting on his leg – trying to stabilize yourself on your tiptoes. His fingers squeeze your throat, causing you to shut your eyes as you release the breath from your lungs with a whine. He hums in response – you can feel his smile pressing into your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes open at the sudden loss of contact as his grip loosens and he shifts back in front of you, face-to-face. He stares at you through the dark strands of hair that had fallen loose in front of his face, his eyes dark and clouded over with lust. You imagine you looked the same way, completely disheveled, staring up at him with nothing but desire. Your legs clench around his thigh, pulling yourself farther down onto his muscle-bound leg.

Bucky leans down, slowly diving in for the kiss.

But he stops too soon, his bottom lip just brushing yours. You try to meet him halfway, struggling against the sturdy grip on your throat. You can’t help but groan, eyebrows pulling together in need as he beams down at your joyfully. “You wanna tell me what you need, baby?”

“Touch me,” you whine, hips now moving ever so slightly against his thigh. You couldn’t move much, considering you were barely balanced on there, but you could manage.

“Touch you?” He questioned, quickly swooping forward, pressing his lips to yours chastely. As soon as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss, he tore himself far enough from your lips to speak in a hushed tone: “Touch you like those girls were touching me?”

Fuck. Immediately without thinking, you release his forearm where your hands previously rested, pushing back on his chest as hard as you absolutely could. He stumbled back a couple steps, completely taken off guard. God, you were so hot when you were aggressive like that. He loved pushing you to your breaking point: to the point where you’d begin to assert yourself towards him. He loved when you stood up to him, reeling in anger, just so he could take charge and show you who was boss.

It was an adrenaline rush for him.

For you, too.

You stood before him, fists clenched in rage, staring at him. He was just barely smirking, eyelids half shut, a hungry look on his face. Ever the challenge, he would conquer you.

You nearly jumped when he pounced, taking him up against you, legs twined around his back, arms locked behind his neck. His tongue was hot on yours, meeting in a seething hot kiss. His hands immediately palmed at your ass underneath your cocktail dress that had now ridden up to pool at your waist.

As he began up the stairs towards the bedroom, you broke the kiss – with a displeased groan from Bucky – and laid a sloppy trail of kisses and licks along his throat and to his ear. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw (his weak spot), touching your tongue to his hot skin, following it with another kiss. His steps stuttered, his knees buckling as he took the next step. He groaned deep somewhere in the back of his throat, pinching your ass, a quick slap ensuing afterwards as he regained his footing and kicked open the bedroom door.

He tossed you on the bed, wasting no time in grabbing the back collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head and onto the floor in one swift motion, completely disregarding the row of buttons sewed along the front. You took the hint, shimmying off your tight dress while laying on the mattress. He followed suit with his pants and underwear off next. As soon as the cool bedroom air hit his body, he was throwing himself on top of you, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and unhooking your bra. He discarded your underwear next, pitching it over his shoulder, fingers immediately finding your pussy and sinking in.

He took you by surprise, eyes squeezing shut and knees involuntarily closing together. Bucky used his hand to hold one leg down, prying them apart completely. He looked between his hand – his fingers pushing in and out of you completely soaked – and your face – eyebrows knitted together and mouth hanging open. He didn’t know which view he liked better. “Shit, baby, you been this wet the whole time?”

That was the thing about Bucky – he was a talker. If he wasn’t egging you on, then he was filling the room with his vulgar commentary and dirty talk. He added another finger, pumping in and out of you faster, obscene sounds blocking out anything and everything he said. He moved his metal hand from your knee to your clit, rubbing in slow circles, contrasting to his other movements. His metal hand was great – sensitive, temperature resistant; better than his flesh hand – but, god, there was something about feeling your wet cunt on his own skin drove him crazy.

You gasped, quickly biting your lip in anticipation of your orgasm. “Oh yeah, baby? That feel good?” He huffed, thumb whirling on your clit faster. He hunched to lay a kiss on your breast, meeting you hallway sitting-up to capture his lips with yours. You released the sheets you’d been clutching, instead opting to fist his hair, pulling his mouth hungrily to yours. As your body throbbed and your pussy clenched around his fingers, you moan into his mouth, falling back onto the bed.

Bucky sat upright on the bed and watched you as you laid on the bed completely blissed out; hair splayed across the mattress around your head, chest heaving up and down, legs shut – shaking – but knees pulled together, arms once pulling taught at his hair now limp on either side of you.

He waited patiently for about forty-five seconds for you to open your eyes. As soon as you did – without enough time for your eyes to even focus on him, he grabbed your waist, flipping you on the bed, gripping your hips to pull you ass to his face. He truly was a face-down ass-up kind of guy. Not that you minded.

You squeaked, burying your face in the sheets as his hand slapped your ass; his palm following to rub away the burning hot sensation it left behind. You felt his tongue drag a long line up from your clit to your tight hole, taking extra note to curl inside your leaking pussy.

Bucky wasted no more time in straightening up and giving his cock a few pumps, smearing his precum all the way down to the base. He grabbed your hip in one hand, guiding his dick to drive into you with the other. He sighed, your soaking wet, tight cunt squeezing him as he pounded into you from behind. He took hold of both your hips, balancing himself on his knees, pulling you backwards on his dick as he rifled his hips forward.

His momentum drove him forward, nearly folding on top of you, your ass pushed dangerously high in the air, tits and face pressed firmly into the mattress, muffling the sounds that escaped you every time the tip of his cock drove into you. His metal hand remained gripping your hipbone, his other palm pressing flat into the curve at the small of your back, pressing your arch deeper and ass further up as your ribcage met the top of the mattress.

He pounded relentlessly into you, the tiniest change in position making your pussy even tighter around him. “Take it,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Take my fucking dick, baby.” You couldn’t help but release a short breathy moan every time his dick brushed against the very edge of your cervix.

Bucky gathered a fistful of your hair in his metal hand, half slipping out, the other half tangled dangerously in between the death grip of his fingers. He hauled you up, causing you to yelp as you tried desperately to push yourself up. He never let go of your hair, instead using it as a vice to keep your back pressed firmly against his sweaty chest, yelping as he did so.

The pain subsided quickly as his other hand found your still sensitive clit, rubbing it with fast, loose circles. You dropped your head, no longer resisting him pulling it back, falling against his shoulder. “That’s my good girl,” he cooed, driving his dick upwards into your wet cunt; the soft pants you made egging him on.

He waited until he could sense your orgasm – feeling your muscles clench, your body stiffen, temperature rise – before he let himself cum, pumping thick ropes of his cum deep into you. His fingers didn’t stop working on your clit – in fact, they moved even faster even harder. You came with a shriek, his hand finally releasing your hair, allowing you to drop forward onto the mattress.

You didn’t move – couldn’t move – but Bucky followed suit, hovering lowly over you, pressing kisses down your spine, reveling in the feeling of his cum dripping out of your pussy around his dick still warm inside of you.

We don't do no, we don't do no conversations We don't talk the way we used to You act like we're all good sometimes, you know I hate it 'Cause it's so obvious it ain't true

“Hey, Buck,” you called from the kitchen as he walked through the front door. He didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t even look in your remote direction. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his keys on the table, and walked directly past you to grab a snack from the fridge. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen,” you mention, watching as he already began devouring the left-over chicken legs from the other day.

You gave him the benefit of the doubt: maybe he had a bad day. You continued chopping the onion, minding your business, silently cursing him out. He can’t even give you a simple hello back? Yes, a bad day makes anyone want to come home and eat a whole meal, but does it really give him the excuse to eat a whole meal right as you’re working on dinner in front of him? If you knew his plan was to eat cold chicken for dinner, you would’ve gone out to eat by yourself instead of making supper for the both of you.

As you started working on mincing the garlic, you mulled over last nights’ events. The two of you had it out, sure, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. You’d fought, made up, even cuddled when you went to sleep. Now today he was going to flat out ignore you with no rhyme or reason. Unless something did happen – something regarding his coworkers? It wouldn’t be impossible, you thought to yourself, bitterly slamming the knife on the cutting board.

“Can you chill with that?” Bucky grumbled, finally looking in your direction, mouth full as he spoke to you in an irritated tone.

“I’m chill,” you mumbled, scraping the contents of the chopping block into the pan, a sizzle filling the silence that now washed over the two of you.

“What’s your problem?” He muttered, mostly to himself, as he took another bite.

“You’re my fucking problem.” You earnestly didn’t mean for him to hear it; if it weren’t for his goddamn super soldier hearing, he wouldn’t have.

He sighed heavily. “What did I do? I’ve been home all of two-minutes.”

You abandoned your pan, turning on your heel to face him. “You’re always ignoring me.”

“What?” He questioned, dropping the container on the counter and raising his hands up. “I can’t enjoy silence anymore? Do you want me to hate every aspect of my life?” He bit his tongue, immediately regretting what he said, but lacking the filter to be able to stop himself. He just wanted for once to be able to have a conversation – actually, he wanted for once to not have to have a conversation – but to have one without arguing would be a gift from god.

You lay the wooden spoon on the island counter between the two of you, the smell of burning onions and garlic now very fragrant in the space between you. “Damn, I wish I knew you hated your life earlier,” you sigh. He rolls his eyes, preparing a refute about how you always seem to blow things out of proportion, but you cut him off before he can open his mouth. “I would’ve left a long time ago.”

He’s the one who was always incapable of talking. One small thing ticks him off and suddenly the only thing he’s capable of doing is shutting himself in a dark room alone. He’s always shutting you out and pushing you away; and all you every try to do is something nice for him – making him dinner, offering an open ear to ramble off some steam – but he always ends up throwing your good deeds back in his face.

Not anymore.

You simply walk out the door. You took your purse, your keys, put on your shoes, and left him standing alone in the kitchen with his chicken.

Maybe it was an overreaction. However, you felt that it was fine based on how he acts like this every day. Was he doing it so you’d fight, and he could just have angry sex with you to make it okay later? Did he genuinely not want to talk to you – ever? If he really hated his life – and you in it – he would surely let you know? Unless this was the actual way he was letting you know? He didn’t call out after you, he just rolled his eyes and let you walk out the door.

Not extremely surprising, but it did hurt your feelings a bit. How could it not? The man you loved for the past two years, put up with this tumultuous relationship for, dealt with his mood swings, waited for him to come back home to you – all that for him to tell you he hated his life? His life that you entered and made so much better; at least, that’s what you thought.

So, you gave him a day. If silence and peace was what he truly wanted, you’d give it to him. You crashed at your friend’s place that evening, taking that bumpy couch so Bucky would have his time alone.

The only issue is that he didn’t call you the next day. He didn’t call or text.

He was waiting for you to come back to him. Understandable but annoying – aggravating. You (and your friend) hatched out a plan. You waited until he left for work before you returned home, grabbing a few necessities: clothes, toothbrush, the works, and heading back out to her place. There was no doubt that he would know you were gone. This happened twice before. That you became so irritated with him that you left for the night. But you went back the next day, coming home to him lounging on the couch with not a care in the world, hindsight told you that much. You’d simply laid on top of him, his arms snaking around your waist and your face buried in his neck. He waited for you to come back because that’s what he knew you’d do.

This time, you wanted him to reach out. To see if you were okay. To see if you were coming home. You felt like the only one putting in effort and you were so tired. That effort, of course, was shown in the fights the two of you had. You might be able to pin 75% of said arguments on you; but yelling at him was the only way to get through to him. Boy, he loved to fight. You’d honestly never seen him show off such emotion. You brought everything up – the other women all over him, his attitude problems, everything that bothered you. But he never said anything to you. He was so apathetic towards you that he barely spoke to you anymore. He didn’t ask how your day was, he didn’t get jealous when another guy flirted with you, he didn’t even respond to you saying hello – he was completely apathetic.

You waited four days: Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Monday, actually, you called in sick for work. You were caught between sobbing to your friend about how much Bucky didn’t care about you and wanting to show up to the Avengers Tower with your fists clenched and a certain red-headed Russian spy to back you up. There was no word from him. He obviously saw some of your things were missing; hell, he probably knew exactly where you were, too. He just didn’t do anything about it.

He obviously didn’t care, so you wouldn’t either.

So good together Maybe I'm crazy Maybe we're crazy No one loves me better Than you, you, you, you

It was clear that you were broken up. Neither of you said anything, but you slowly started to move out of your shared apartment, taking small amounts every day while he was at work until you were fully moved out and into the spare bedroom at your sister’s place on the other side of the city. It made your commute to work a little harder, now having to take two trains and walk a couple blocks; but you learned to appreciate the city, the architecture, the weather. Living with her was great – she was a built-in friend; but it wasn’t living with Bucky.

You were a little heartbroken – maybe more bitter. He just let you go without a fight.

Without a single word.

It was four months of binge-eating, wine-drinking and moping around about Bucky before you had a date. The date itself was fine. The guy was cute enough, funny enough, sweet enough. Your sister convinced you to go out with him again. You almost used him just to take your mind off Bucky. You felt bad about it, but he technically knew you and Bucky dated not long ago.

Everybody knew. It was in the tabloids. They photographed the two of you separately. They connected the dots after they hadn’t seen you and him together for a few weeks. Instead, they only got photos of you or him doing mundane things: you grocery shopping, Bucky going for a run around Central Park; you sitting on the train on your way home from work, Bucky saving the world.

Although you never grew to like having paparazzi take photos of your every step, you’d grown accustomed to it. You never made the front page or headline news, more reserved to as a style-guide or just a few Buzzfeed articles about yourself. Bucky, however, made headlines a lot. You had to speed walk past the newspaper and magazine stands around the city because you didn’t want to see him: whether he was decked out in armor, fighting bad guys, or simply smiling alongside Steve and Sam as they enjoyed one rare night out – you didn’t want to know about any of it.

You continued to see Oliver, almost seriously now, but trying to see past the whole using-him-as-a-rebound mentality. You’d gone on a few more dates, and, before you knew it, he had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. He was awkward in a cute sort of way – couldn’t be more of the polar opposite of Bucky.

Bucky had a demanding, intimidating presence; Oliver stood lanky and slender. Bucky was every bit of tall-dark-and-handsome; Oliver was fair and pale. Bucky’s attitude read toxic, masculine, and provocative; Oliver read like a nerdy-teenager, meekly quiet.

While there was nothing wrong with Oliver, he just wasn’t Bucky.

There was another aspect in which Oliver didn’t hold a candle to Bucky.

In. The. Bedroom.

You may not have been in love with Oliver, but, damn, after six months a bitch gets horny. It was fine at first, you were going to throw a dog a bone and not judge him too much the first round. After all, he was genuinely nice and seemed to care about you a lot, so you weren’t about to crush his heart just because he couldn’t make you cum the first time.

You’d grown to a certain level of intimacy with Bucky. One minute you could be making love – softly, sensually; the next minute he could be choking you and fucking you senseless. A long time was spent building the light affection between the two of you, before either of you even got comfortable with the toxicity and animosity that surrounded you – that egged you on, riling each other up until it was too much and you’d just explode. And maybe that was your problem. Each of you had too much pride and hidden hostility that it engulfed you. You’d lost touch with your younger selves. That became your downfall.

You tried not to think about it too much. Especially when you were in Oliver’s bed and he was kissing your neck. Exactly the position you were in at that exact moment.

His lips were sucking a hickey on your neck as he fucked you slowly. You laid flat on the bed, his elbows bent on either side of your ribcage, head tucked under your jaw. “You like that?” He whispered, dragging his hand down your stomach, fingers desperately trying to find your clit.

You laid there like a dead fish. There was no way you were going to be able to stand this for any longer. You stopped him, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him off your body. “Let’s switch,” you suggested.

He laid down in your place, allowing you to hop on, reverse cowgirl, fucking yourself the way you wanted.

Bucky liked it when you did that. And you liked the way that Bucky would’ve let you use his dick to get yourself off, smacking your ass along the way, spurring you on. “Fuck, I love it when you ride me like this, baby,” he’d groan, snapping his hips up to match yours.

Oliver stayed quiet, breathing heavily as he watched your perky ass bounce up and down in front of him. You were just getting into rhythm when he began to groan behind you. No, no, no, please. One more minute, you begged, cadence not faltering. Before long – before you came – Oliver finished, leaving you with no other choice than to lay on the bed beside him. He pressed a breathless kiss to your lips. “That was amazing,” he mumbled against your lips. “Did you cum?”

Yeah fucking right. You kissed him again, humming in neither confirmation nor opposition. He got up and shimmied to the bathroom to dispose of the used condom. You shut your eyes and nearly face-palmed yourself.

God, Bucky had ruined you.

Ruined your emotions, your life, your perception of love.

Ruined you for any other man.

So, laying in Oliver’s bed, unsatisfied, you couldn’t help but think about how much you’d want to off yourself if Bucky slept with someone else – especially Toller or Rivers. You were broken up. It had been months – nearly a year. Hell, even you were technically sleeping with someone else.

But just the thought of him treating someone else the way he did you – pulling her hair, fucking her, eating her out, making her scream his name like it was the only word she knew – it devastated you.

You promise yourself not to ask and never to find out.

If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good? If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good together? If it isn't love, tell me why do we feel so good? If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good together? So good together

You broke up with Oliver that night. It was better for everyone.

You felt it best to take this time to focus on yourself. Hell, you spent your whole past relationship focusing on Bucky, you spent all of your time with Oliver focusing on how he wasn’t Bucky.

This was about you. It was about your career, your health, your sanity.

Your broken heart.

No matter how hard you threw yourself into your work, how much you worked out, how much you refined your cooking, how many self-help books you read – you felt empty.

You got promoted at work, you built your confidence up, your pallet refined, you loved yourself more than you ever had – something was still missing.

And that’s how you ended up with your phone ringing against your ear, Bucky sitting silently on the other end.

He agreed to meet you. As you walked up the stairs from the subways station, your heartstrings tightened as you walked around your old neighborhood. It had been a year since you’d really been back here; you’d passed through occasionally, but never wanted to take your time travelling down the streets, as it was too painful. There were too many memories of you and Bucky walking hand-in-hand down these streets.

You strolled down your old block, stopping in front of your old apartment. Books and plants cluttered the front windowsill, CDs stacked along the side, bright lights shining across the windowpane, a shadow cast over the glass.

Of course Bucky sold the place. You left. He had no reason to keep it. He had a place at the Tower. He had people there. He had a life there.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pushing the collar of your coat higher around your neck, shielding yourself from the cold New York winter evening. You turned the corner at the end of the block, seeking shelter in the coffee shop. Bucky agreed to meet you here; it was neutral ground for the both of you. You’d had plenty of dates there, Sundays spent catching up on work and getting coffee. There were no bad memories here, no fights, no fowl words, no animosity. Only hand holding, hot coffee, and shy smiles passed from over the small tables.

You pulled open the door to the shop, sighing in relief as the warm air hit your cheeks. You stopped suddenly in your tracks, breath hitching in the back of your throat.

There he sat, fifteen minutes earlier than you planned, wrapped in that navy-blue sweater you loved – you loved to wear – waiting for you. You couldn’t feel your legs. You couldn’t take a step forward.

You barely recognized him. Obviously, you’d never miss him. He just looked so different. His hair was cut – short. He was clean shaven. He was a completely different man.

He stared you up and down. You looked good, he could tell even with your thick winter jacket and tall boots. He missed your face, your eyes, your lips, your hair, your smell – everything. He waited for you to walk over to the table; it took about two more minutes of you staring at him before you even made your first step closer.

You finally took a seat at the opposite side of his table, a large latte already waiting for you. Your hands were shaking as your held it against the porcelain cup. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. His handsome blue eyes. His chestnut locks brushed back nearly away from his face, showing off his chiseled cheekbones and jawline. You loved his long hair, you loved grabbing it, you loved the way it hung in his eyes, contrasting his blue eyes; it made him look so edgy. But this Bucky. Ladies’ man, charming, mesmerizing. You’d only seen pictures of Bucky like this, but you couldn’t believe how alluring he actually looked in real life.

Bucky with long hair would fuck you raw until you screamed yourself raw – Bucky with short hair would smile while doing it.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice failing you as you dropped your eyes to your latte.

You saw him nod at you from under your eyelashes. He lifted his own coffee to his mouth, taking a long sip before clearing his throat, gaining his full attention. You bit your bottom lip, staring at him wide-eyed. “So…” he began softly, giving you a half smile. “You’re the one that called me here.”

You stared blankly at him. He was right. It had been over a year and you’d called him up. Why? The answer escaped even your own mind. You didn’t know what compelled you to call him or what your plan was going to be once you actually sat down in front of him. “I guess…” you sighed loudly, dropping your eyes again. “I – I was wondering…” You lost your voice again.

“Why I never called?” He finished for you. He looked sad, once you finally gained the courage to raise your head again. He stared blankly at you, very matter-of-factly. You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He confirmed your nod with one of his own, taking another sip of his coffee. “I didn’t think I should drag you down anymore.”

You rolled your eyes. Just like old times. “Stop playing the victim, James. That’s why I walked.” You took the first sip of your latte, cooled now after it had been sitting out.

He narrowed his eyes at you, but you were right. Just like old times. He shrugged casually, trying to keep his cards close to his chest. “I just thought you’d be better off without me.” He stops himself from reaching across the table and taking your hand. “And that’s being honest.”

You nodded, processing his words. “We weren’t good for each other, huh,” you muttered over the rim of your glass.

“It was kind of toxic,” he admitted, a nervous chuckle following after. He tugged his knit sleeve farther up his arm, flexing it behind his head and pulling at the tips of his hair at the top of his neck.

“You hair looks nice,” you throw in, filling the silence that had fallen between you.

“Thanks. Just needed a change-up,” he replied, dropping his hand to the tabletop.

You nodded softly. You leaving his life wasn’t enough change? “I just wanted you to want me to come back,” you blurt. That’s the change you were waiting for.

He slowly let out his breath, shifting in his chair. His eyebrows raised at the accusation. “I don’t know how you could think that I didn’t want you back.”

“Buy you didn’t say anything,” you protested, laying your hands on the table, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. “Every time I left – you never tried to call, text – nothing.”

He brought his hand up to his chin, rubbing his jaw firmly. It was his old habit dying hard; back when he had a beard, he used to scratch at it all the time, you used to run your fingers against it, used to revel in the feeling of it brushing roughly against your thighs. “(Y/N),” he sighed. “I didn’t know what I was doing – I was stupid. Look, I thought about what I said to you for days; Every day that you’ve been done, actually. I treated you like shit.”

“Well,” you interjected. “It goes both ways.”

Neither of you could hold back your smiles. God, you treated each other like shit. But that didn’t stop either of you from loving each other as much as you did. “A little pain with the pleasure,” he mumbled, drinking his coffee. “So, you called me just to ask me that?”

You sighed, now your turn to awkwardly scratch the back of your head. “I missed you.”

And that’s how you ended up at the Avenger’s Tower, Bucky throwing you on his bed. He laid on top of you, bringing his lips to yours. You fisted at his sweater, trying to tug it off of him, Bucky breaking off the kiss just to pull it off his back, his lips finding yours once again. You kicked off your boots as Bucky unbuttoned your jeans, making quick work pulling them off your legs. You sweater followed suit, lifting your torso off the bed so he could peel it off you. As soon as your skin was exposed, Bucky’s lips attached to your warm flesh.

He trailed his tongue and wet lips against your collarbone, trailing it down your chest, then between the valley of your breasts. He quickly pulled off your bra, throwing it on the ground beside the bed. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking softly, flicking the tip of his tongue over your nipple. He continued downwards, kissing the underside of your breast and down your ribcage.

Your breath hitched as his tongue dragged across your warm slit; he let out a low moan, reveling in the taste he’d been missing for so long. His hands found your inner thighs, pushing them apart, pinning them to the bed. Your hands slid through his hair, grabbing handfuls of his chestnut locks, short strands slipping through your fingers.

He laid his tongue flat against your slit, pointing the tip to curl between your lips to taste your juice. He circled his tongue gently at your clit, his hand finding your lips, spreading open your pussy and spreading you open with two fingers. He pumped in and out of you slowly, indulging himself in your velvet cunt.

He hummed against your clit, kissing it softly before groaning into your folds. He added a third finger, joining them with his tongue as he stretched you open, licking his fingers clean afterwards. He ate you out with vigor, rapidly fucking you with his tongue and fingers.

As he continued tongue-fucking you, he pulled his fingers out, holding them up to your face. He looked up at your from over your pussy, holding his fingers to your mouth. “You taste so good, baby,” he whispered against your clit.

You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. You shut your eyes, swirling your tongue around his first two fingers as you sucked of the salty taste. You moaned around his fingers, Bucky’s face burying itself deeper into your pussy. As he sucked your clit, you sighed, dropping your head against the mattress and shutting your eyes tightly. You were surrounded by darkness and a sudden bright light.

He kissed your sensitive clit, kissing up your pubic bone and making his way up to your lips. “I missed your sweet pussy, baby.” You moaned, something about his low voice whispering against your lips, talking about how good you tasted that made you melt.

“Bucky, please,” you whimpered, fingers dragging through his hair, pulling at the ends. “I need you.”

He sighed, staring down at you. You were glowing. Sweat beading along your hairline, eyes glazed over and shining, skin luminous. “I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered, gazing into your eyes in admiration. “And I want you to know that I’m not letting you leave again – ” he pressed a firm kiss to your lips, his tongue running against your bottom lip. You parted your lips to accommodate his tongue, although he pulled away from you. “And I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”

Your heart was heavy as it leaped into the back of your throat. Your breathing shallowed – and it wasn’t because of Bucky’s bodyweight laying on your chest. You blinked the tears away from your eyes, willing for them to not fall in this exact moment. “I love you, James.”

After two chaste kisses to your lips, he buried his head in the crook of you neck, lining up his cock with your entrance. As he pushed into you, he sighed against your collarbone, his hot breath tickling your skin. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He bit into your shoulder, you eyes rolling to the back of your head as he bottomed out inside of you.

You hadn’t been stretched like this in so long. You felt like you could be torn in two as he impaled you. It hurt in all the best ways.

You gasped as he pulled out of you, quickly shoving back in – he bit his lip, nearly cumming in that exact moment. You were so tight, so wet. Nobody could fuck you like this – nobody could make love to you like this.

He took hold of your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders, calves resting against his collarbones. He took a hold of your upper thigh with one hand, intertwining his fingers with yours in his other hand, pressing it into the mattress. He angled his hips directly on top of yours, pounding straight on top of you. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the hot, steamy room, your sounds muffled by Bucky as he swallowed your moans.

He kissed you sloppily, his cock pulsating in your pussy, you writing underneath him – it was driving him crazy. It had been over a year since he had you under him: a squirming mess. You almost had to push him off of you – out of you – it was nearly too much. His wet lips on yours, his hot breath on your skin, his words whispered in your ear, you overly sensitive clit. This is what you’d been missing: all the pleasure that made the pain so worth it. The endless fights, the ruthless words, the meaningless fights.

Unbeknownst to either of you, it was the moment in which you both came simultaneously, in which you both silently promised each other to love each other forever – to never make the other hurt that badly again.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #captain america #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfic #bucky x you #angst #smut

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