#he knows wille loves to hear him sing y’all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jvngkook97 · 2 years ago

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OMG

pairing; tattoo artist!jungkook, twin!jungkook x tattoo artist!reader, college student!reader, female!reader

genre; fluff, angst, humor, smut, f2l, pwp, tattoo artist au, college au

warnings; cursing, angst if you squint, mentions of blood, handsy koo, emotional koo, whiny/horny reader, reader seems to harbor a tattoo/vein kink, jungkook lives to please you in all senses of the word, light exhibitionism in the form of being tattooed topless (this is where handsy koo comes in) but it’s in a private area, soft sex, rough sex, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), breast play, body worship, ring clad fingering (yes, that’s a warning), squirting, hand job, cum play, cum swallowing, switch!reader and switch!koo, penetration without a condom (y’all know the drill though), wholesome family moments where (i’m not crying, you are)

rating; 21+ MINORS DNI

w/c; 9,143 (143 I la la la love you hehe sorry)

a/n; this is hands down my fav piece of work so far. y’all ain’t ready for this one 🥵

networks; @ficscafe, @thebtswritersclub, @btsgoldnetwork, @kflixnet

Read Part One {Here}

Jungkook tried not to flinch in fear of psyching you out from your task of etching a small, dainty tattoo of your choice on his skin, not even when you pressed down a little too hard into his skin. He could feel the smallest trickle of blood slide down the area you were tattooing on the inside of his left hand ring finger. His choice, not yours.

You tried not to get distracted by Jungkook’s various tattoo’s that littered his other hand, knowing that yours was going to join them permanently on his body, or that your tattoo was going to be the only tattoo on his left hand. It shouldn’t even be legal for his long, slender, fingers to be this heat inducing. Or the way the veins in his hand and arm became more prominent when you felt him tense up from when you accidentally pressed down a little too hard into his skin with the tattoo gun.

If it bothered him, he didn’t say anything. And for that, you were grateful. The only thing you could hear was the light singing he did. His AirPods were secured into his ears as a distraction from the pain, which you focused on as you more confidently went back over the lines to make them darker.

Pausing for a brief moment, you changed tips on the tattoo gun in order to emphasize on the smaller details and shading. The buzzing of the tattoo gun reverberated throughout the private room that you were both occupying in the late after hours since it’s been long closed — your father’s tattoo parlor, ‘Inkphoric’.

Jungkook watched you from his sitting position on top of the tattoo bed, your figure was hunched over in regular fashion as your supple booty was planted onto the saddle stool that the tattoo artists frequently used. Besides the lone lamp in the room that served as your source of light, the rest of the room was dark. Neither of you wanted to risk your father finding out that you two snuck in so you could practice on the willing participant by the name of Jeon Jungkook.

Bless his soul, he had it bad for you. Your skin was still bare of any tattoo’s, but you agreed you would get one if you found one that you really loved. ‘It has to have meaning’ you told Jungkook one day, who respected your wishes. As long as you promised him that he could be present when you got your first tattoo, when that day ever came — ‘deal’.

His eyes softened as he watched the way your tongue poked out between your closed lips, brows furrowed in focused determination. As if the universe was trying to tell him something, the song in his ears switched to a more slow and sensual one. He involuntarily let out a low snort, causing you to speak up from your bent over position, eyes still not leaving your work.

“What’s up?” Your voice was light, since there was no reason to be loud, it was just you two.

“Nothing. Just thought of something that happened earlier with Ji-hun.”

It was a lie, but he wasn’t ready to say what he truly wanted too. Not the right time. Nor would he even know how.

“Oh, right! I meant to ask, he had that date with Tsuki recently, yeah? How did that go?”

“It went well, I think. He didn’t come back home until the next morning, so–,” his voice trailed off suggestively, implying exactly what you think he meant.

“Ah. I see. Good for him! She seems like a really sweet girl, they’re a good match.” A smile was on your face, and it made his heart warm at the sincerity of your words and how much you cared for his brother’s well being.

“He’s already saying that he believes he’s in love with her.”

You paused in your work, lifting the tattoo gun away from his skin to give him a look of sheer disbelief. He just clicked his tongue in agreement with you.

“Yeah, I know. I was just as surprised as you are to hear it.”

“I mean, I guess you can’t pinpoint an exact time to saying–,” you waved your unoccupied hand in the air as a way of saying ‘you know’. “When you know, you just know.”

“Right.” His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your toes curl in your shoes.

“Mhmm.” You were thankful for the low lighting, not wanting him to witness how easily your face speckled with a red tint from your own wishful thoughts on the matter.

Deciding to switch subjects before things got too tense, you asked him a serious question.

“Do you want to keep it black and white? Or is it okay to put some color in it?”

“Which color?”

“Purple.”

You saw the way his eyes lit up at the mention of his favorite color other than black. You let out a small giggle at his reaction and immediately twisted your torso in order to grab the small container that housed the purple ink that you made sure to set aside earlier, just incase he did agree to it.

Dipping the tip of the tattoo gun into the ink, you repositioned yourself into a more comfortable position and began to fill in the tattoo with color. As your focus once again shifted, so did his train of thought.

Did he love you? He knew he had strong feelings for you, that much was certain. However, when it came to love, he was clueless in that department. Like he told you before, he’s never been one for serious relationships. Usually, they lasted a couple of dates or just ended up being a random hook up for the night.

The only idea of love he was aware of was from scripted movies and tv shows. So, those would be of no help. Maybe he could try finding an answer in books? YouTube videos, maybe? Though those could just as easily be fabricated and not real either.

Or — and this was a far fetched way of going about it — he could bite the bullet and humor his brother who currently believes he’s in love. Not that he personally believed that his brother actually is. They’ve only been on a few dates after all, but that’s just how hopeless of a romantic Ji-hun was.

Before he knew it, you were done. The buzzing from the tattoo gun no longer present, as you carefully set it aside on the tray next to you.

“What do you think?” You asked him excitedly, but honestly you were nervous as hell on what his opinion would be.

You pushed yourself further back on the stool in order for more light to hit the side of his ring finger for him to see it clearly. You watched as he twisted his hand around, getting different angles on it. His face was serious, and it had you worried.

Your leg started to bounce from the silence he still held. Was it that bad? You thought it was good. Really good, even. Not trying to toot your own horn or anything, but having a well known father like yours came with it’s perks. It meant being able to get a first hand perspective on multiple techniques he utilized with his clients that always produced more than excellent results, considering he’s known worldwide.

“I love it, y/n. You did a really good job. The lines are neat, not too chunky. The shading is well done, and the coloring looks natural. I’m impressed, but not surprised. You would be as talented as your father.”

Your hand came up to playfully smack him on his thigh, the closest body part you could reach in your sitting position as you rolled yourself between his legs that he opened wider unconsciously to slot yourself between.

“Ow! Hey! No abusing the clients!” He feigned a hurt look, his own hand coming to rub the area you just hit.

“Way to keep the suspense! I thought you hated it or something.” You whined childishly, arms crossing over your chest as you pouted.

“I could never hate anything you do.” You blinked owlishly, cheeks once again reddening at his sudden sincerity.

“Thanks, Jungkook. Same with you, you know.”

“I know.”

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Ji-hun whistled lowly, as he inspected his brother’s latest tattoo you did for him.

“Damn, she’s good. What flower is that?”

“It’s called an Aster. She said it’s specifically meant for me since it’s my birth flower. Goes with the whole Virgo and being born in September thing.” Jungkook shrugged casually, offering the same explanation you gave him when he asked.

“And it’s purple? The color looks really nice.”

“Yeah, she said the flower can bloom purple, another reason why she chose it for me.”

“Isn’t her birthday in September as well?”

Jungkook gave his brother an odd look.

“How do you know that?”

“Since you two became….whatever it is you are, we’ve hung out every now and again on campus. Played twenty questions to pass the time and that question came up.” Now it was Ji-hun that eyed Jungkook with a look. “Do you seriously not know her birthday?”

“I–,” Jungkook’s ears reddened at his brother’s judgemental but equally as amused tone.

“Dude.”

“Fuck you.”

Ji-hun snorted at his brother’s response.

“Alright, why are you really bothering me right now when you know I’m studying?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but obliged his brother by telling him the real reason he interrupted his study session, unceremoniously plopping his bottom on the edge of his brother’s bed that faced the desk his brother was currently studying at.

“You said you were in love with Tsuki, right?”

Nodding cautiously, Ji-hun eyed Jungkook with an apprehensive look.

“Even though you haven’t been dating that long?”

“Yeah.” Shrugging his shoulders, Ji-hun just bluntly replied with no shame. Why should he?

“How?”

“How what?”

“How did you know that you were in love with her?”

“Ah.” Ji-hun snapped his fingers, a wide smile appearing on his face.

“You in love with y/n, dear brother?”

The question was harmless, yet Jungkook still felt defensive.

“What if I am?” Jungkook sharply replied back.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Ji-hun’s hands rose defensively as his eyes grew wide from the sudden hostility. “Chill, bro. It was just an honest question to your sudden interest in my relationship.”

“You’re right, sorry.” Jungkook fell backwards onto the bed, rubbing his hands over his face dejectedly. You had no idea what you did to him. He had no idea what you did to him.

“I think you are genuinely in love with her, if it’s any consolation. Even Tsuki thinks so.” Ji-hun offered sincerely, hoping to help rather than further agitate his brother with his words. In any other situation, he would’ve, but this was serious.

His head lifted up to look down at his brother who sat on his desk chair, legs spread, elbows resting on either knee, hands clasped and dangling between his legs as he was hunched over. His face was serious, he meant what he said. It made Jungkook’s defense wither away instantly, and he suddenly felt vulnerable.

He hated feeling vulnerable.

“Really?” His voice was cautious, but hopeful. It made Ji-hun smile warmly at his brother.

“Really. You should tell her. You never know, she could be feeling the same way.”

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Well, that was easier said than done.

“Wanna play twenty questions?”

Once again, you both were holed up in your father’s tattoo parlor, but this time no tattoos were being done. Another way you two passed time was to look through the tall stack of your father’s past portfolios.

Some of the material his clients requested was really out there, to put it mildly. That’s what you loved about your father, he wasn’t one to judge, to an extent. Least, not when it came to pleasing the client. No matter how overdone, overused, controversial, or otherwise — he would get the job done with an air of professionalism.

That same mindset was how you wanted to be one day.

“It’s so crazy to me exactly how many name coverups he’s had to do.” You were so deep into your own thoughts, you failed to hear when Jungkook asked you a question.

He was used to it though.

“Y/N–,” he tried again. No luck.

“I mean, who in their right mind would tattoo someone else’s name on them when you never know for sure that they’re always going to be with that person?” Your eyes widened comically as you pointed aggressively at yet another name coverup your father did that was in the current portfolio you were thumbing through.

When your eyes flickered up to gage Jungkook’s own reaction and thoughts on the matter, you noticed he was already staring at you.

He coughed awkwardly once you caught him staring and his eyes shifted back down to his own portfolio he was skimming through, though this time you could tell he had a suspicious aura around him. His knee was bouncing, he was playing with his lip ring, and he was flipping through pages mindlessly.

Your eyes narrowed in on him as you spoke next.

“Did you get someone’s name tattooed on you, Jungkook?”

His whole body stiffened, and that’s when you knew.

“Holy shit–,” you started with an airy laugh.

“Y/N, please–,” Jungkook tried and failed to end the topic of conversation, hand rubbing his forehead with dismay, him already feeling the headache he knew was going to come from having to beat this story dead, again.

“Who?!” You leaned forward in your saddle stool, unconsciously scooting your own stool the short distance to his figure, your knee knocking against his lightly. The portfolio you were once looking through, now lay closed on your lap, long forgotten.

Jungkook shut his carefully, and set it behind him on the counter next to the others that either of you haven’t had the chance to see yet. He threw his head back with a loud groan, eyes closing in hopes of when he opened them up again, this would all be a nightmare. Of all people he had to explain this story too, he never thought it would need to be you.

Opening his eyes, head back down and eyes staring into yours with a pleading look, you clicked your tongue at him and shook your head.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. You’re not getting out of this one, Kook. Spill the tea, sis.” Having set aside your portfolio next to his on the counter, you were able to splay your hands on each of his lower thighs with a soft, yet firm grip. You wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to bolt and leave you hanging.

“Her name was Lisa.” He relinquished, sighing in defeat.

Your mouth opened in a small ‘o’ shape as you wracked your brain trying to think of someone, anyone, you knew with that name. You couldn’t come up with anything.

“I was young, I was dumb, I was stupidly whipped for her, okay? It wasn’t even professionally done — my buddy, Jimin, did it. So you already know, it wasn’t the best quality. But it was for–,” he pursed his lips, dreading the next words about to come out of his mouth. When he saw how engrossed you were with the story, mixed with the feelings he got with your hands so dangerously close to his crotch, he relented. “–our anniversary. It was meant to be a surprise. I was going to show her it the next day at her place, shower her with gifts. The whole shebang, you know?”

You nodded enthusiastically, fully immersed.

He chuckled humorlessly, and continued. A solemn look appeared on his face.

“In the end, it was her surprising me. The surprise being that I found some guy fucking her.” You gasped loudly.

“That’s not even the worst part.”

“How is that not the worst part?!” You questioned incredulously.

“It wasn’t even in her bed, it was her parents.”

If your jaw could’ve dropped and hit the floor like in anime, it would’ve.

“Yep. My thoughts exactly. Safe to say, the name lasted barely 24 hours before I got it covered up — this time, professionally.” He pointed down at the spot right next to his crotch, on his right upper thigh. You slid your hand up to the spot he was pointing, not realizing the kind of effect it would take on the poor unsuspecting male.

He sucked in a sharp breath, praying to whatever gods existed that you don’t notice the slight bulge that occurred from you doing so.

You heard him, you saw him, but pretended not too.

It took all you had as you sat back up straight, not to throw a sly, seductive, comment at him.

You wanted him bad. Very bad.

The only reason stopping you, being that you had no idea where you and Jungkook currently stood. You like each other, yes, that much was certain. However, other than hanging out on a daily basis for the better part of eight months and getting to know one another better, he hasn’t gone any further.

No hand holding, no hugging, no kissing.

You were going mad from touch starvation.

Something you never thought you would feel being in a — whatever this is with Jungkook. The guy practically oozed sexual tension the moment you locked eyes with him, your ovaries screaming at you on a daily basis how you haven’t once had sex with him yet.

It was then you came to the only logical conclusion. If he wasn’t going to make the first move, then you would. But not right now. Soon. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, the loud vibration breaking you from your inner, sexual, turmoil.

With you being distracted by your phone, Jungkook took the opportunity to stand up and fake interest at the various, random, sketches that were hung and framed along the walls made by loyal fans and customers alike. With his back to you, he slunk deeper into the shadowy part of the room and attempted to discreetly adjust his erection and make it less noticeable.

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when his efforts worked, turning back around to see your eyes glued to your phone still. You were typing away to your father, if he had to guess, knowing your mom would definitely be asleep at this hour. Once you were done, you lifted your gaze off your phone to lock onto his.

Giving Jungkook a small smile, you pocketed your phone.

“We should probably get going, Dad said he’s on his way home from the tattoo convention. He should be here within the next 20 minutes.”

“Okay, cool. No worries.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Actually—,” Jungkook’s hesitation made your already small smile falter considerably, now looking more like a grimace.

When he noticed your expression drop, he back tracked on his words quickly.

“I was wanting to–I mean would you–,” the way he stumbled over his words now had you eyeing him with worry.

“You good, Kook?”

“Will you go on a date with me? It won’t be anything fancy, I’m a broke bitch if I’m being honest—,” he grinned sheepishly, scratching his cheek nervously. “–but we would still have a good time, I’m sure.”

Your radiant smile came back full force, and his heart about leaped from his chest. Stupid feelings.

“Yeah. Okay. Sounds good.”

“I’ll text you the details when I actually know what we’re going to do.”

“Sweet! Can’t wait!”

“Awesome.”

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?

You were sitting at the kitchen island, watching your mom run through the motions of making a late breakfast. You liked to visit home every now and again when you had time. Now that you had a break until the next and final semester started, you took advantage of it.

“You remember that guy I’m seeing?”

“The handsome and tall one? What was his name?” She paused briefly to put a finger to her lips in thought.

“Jungkook, mom.”

“Right! Yes. Such a sweet boy, that one. What about him, honey?”

“I think I’m in love with him?”

The smell of slightly burnt pancakes could be smelt with the way your mom’s full attention was suddenly on you and not the gas stove that was turned on behind her.

“Mom! The pancakes!” You gestured wildly to her, making her eyes widen in sudden clarity.

“Oh, shit!” She exclaimed loudly, shutting off the stove and shoving the burnt pancakes into the sink.

“Language, love.”

Your father walked in with the days newspaper underneath his arm, giving your mom a kiss on the forehead as he walked past her and towards the stool next to you to sit down. Once he was situated, he gave you a kiss on the forehead as well.

“Hey, bug.”

“Hey, daddy.”

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company today?” He jested playfully, bright smile adorning his face that matched yours when you smiled at anyone.

“Uhm–,”

“She was telling me how she believes she’s in love with that boy, Jungkook, right dear?”

“Yes, mom.” You gritted out with a fake smile, eye slightly twitching.

“You know I never keep secrets from your father, y/n.” Your mom slotted herself against your father’s side, his arm open in invitation, immediately wrapping itself around her waist. She threw an arm around his shoulders and squished her face against the side of his innocently, making your father chuckle at her antics.

“So, you’re in love. Seems kind of soon, don’t you think?” Your father questioned with a hypocritical tone.

“Honey, you confessed you were in love with me not even two weeks after we began dating. You have no room to talk.” Your mom chided in with a loving scoff.

You rolled your eyes at how disgustingly in love they were, no still are. Even after so many years together. You could only hope to share that same kind of love with someone — a certain someone, if you could ever be so lucky.

“Alright. You got me. I’m happy for you, bug. Don’t get me wrong. And he seems like a good kid, good head on his shoulders.” You knew he wasn’t done, so you stayed silent, listening. “But, if he breaks my little girl’s heart–,” he trailed off, eyes narrowing into almost slits.

“I’m 24, let me remind you.” He heard you, but didn’t care.

“You’re always going to be my little girl.” The sad smile that he wore seemed foreign, misplaced, like it shouldn’t even exist on someone who is normally so positive and happy. It made you feel terrible.

“I love you, daddy. You’ll always be my number one, you know that.” You offered him a huge smile, his favorite coming from you, and that seemed to do the trick.

“You should tell him.” Your mother softly said, hand rubbing your father’s back, a warm smile on her face. Your father just nodded in agreement, face happy, yet eyes still sad.

His little girl wasn’t so little anymore.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

When you cancelled on your original date, to say he was bummed was an understatement. When you texted him not even two hours later to meet you at Inkphoric, he felt a little better. Maybe things were still good between you two and the weird pit in his stomach would go away as soon as he saw you. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was for your father to be there.

“Mr. Y/L/N, sir. Good to see you.” Jungkook smiled at your father politely, heart racing at the unexpected meeting.

Your father just gave a knowing smile back that mirrored yours, and a gentle, yet firm pat on his shoulder as he walked by and out the door. Jungkook thought he was off the hook, but your father threw one last word at his back.

“Take good care of my daughter, Jungkook, and there won’t be any problems. Have a good night!” The smile on his face seemed contradictory to his words. It wasn’t until he let the parlor door shut tightly behind him, did Jungkook let out a sigh of relief, body sagging before he straightened himself back up.

His brows furrowed in confusion though, what did he mean by ‘take good care of my daughter’?

“Jungkook, back here! I have a surprise for you!”

Your cheery voice yelled at him from behind the black curtain that led to the back half of the tattoo parlor. He followed it with long strides, wanting to see you as soon as possible. When he pushed open the usual door of the room you two normally occupied at night, did his eyes widen and jaw go slack from the scene in front of him.

You were laying on your back on top of the tattoo bed, topless, with just your hands shielding your nipples from his hungry eyes. A tray was set up next to the bed along with the usual saddle stool, tattoo gun plugged in and ready. Were you wanting to get a tattoo?

Nope. This can’t be real. Something’s up.

He took one large step back into the hallway, and made an ‘X’ with his arms across his chest.

“Is this is a trap? Is this a prank? Is this a test?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened comically, his head whipping in both directions, more than positive that cameras were hidden somewhere or worse — your father.

“What?” You brows scrunched cutely in confusion, as you sat up, one arm now covering your chest in modesty.

“Is your father waiting around the corner with a shotgun ready to blow my brains out if I come anywhere near you?!” His words came out rushed, if you listened close enough, you might even hear a little fear in his voice.

You started laughing, hysterically. Like, tears began to roll down your face as your chest heaved, and boobs bounced due to the actions of you laughing so hard. Jungkook now gave you a look of confusion, before promptly looking away from your bouncing breasts that we’re doing things to him he needed to repress.

“You think—My father—A test?” You attempted to control yourself, you really did, but trying to talk only made things worse.

Tongue in cheek, foot tapping impatiently, Jungkook didn’t see what was so funny about the situation of him possibly getting murdered by your father.

“Okay. I get it. Haha. Jokes on me.” He let out a humorless laugh, pursing his lips.

Closing your eyes, you slowly breathed in and out until you were able to regain control of your body. Wiping your tears with your free hand, you looked over at a clearly annoyed Jungkook and grinned widely.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. This isn’t a prank. This isn’t a test. I swear to you on your leather jacket that my father will not burst in here with a shotgun and blow your brains out.” He breathed a huge sigh of relief, about to step into the room, until you spoke up again.

“But–He might blow your dick off.” You shrugged casually, feigning indifference.

His foot paused mid step, not fully hitting the ground. His eyes narrowed into slits at your shaking form that was on the verge of spewing laughter yet again.

“That’s it. I’m out. Deuces.” He threw you a peace sign and acted like he was going to leave.

“Wait, wait, wait! Okay, I’m done joking, I’m sorry, Koo! Really, please. Come back?!” You shouted at his back pleadingly, full on pouty face at work, big eyes and all.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he turned back to face you.

“Bible?”

“Bible.”

“Okay, so what’s really going on here? Why are you half naked right now?”

“Is that all that’s registering in your man brain right now?”

“Yes, cause like you said, I’m a man. I can’t help but hone in on the fact that an extremely attractive woman is half naked in front of me and not address it.”

Rolling your eyes, but chest warming at his confession of finding you attractive, you gestured around you.

“Look around, what do you see?”

His eyes surveyed the room inch by inch, and he’s thankful for once that the light is on, his vision no longer obscured by the usual lone lamp that you both would use. Like before, he noticed the tray that was set up, looking like you were going to get tattooed. What had him confused though, was there was no one else around to tattoo you, but him.

“I can see that you’re about to get tattooed, but my only question is–,” you waved him on with your hand, encouraging him to put the pieces together. “–who is tattooing you, y/n?” He tried not to sound too hopeful that it would be him. Just incase it wasn’t, and the actual tattooist, or your father, would come in at any second.

You smiled warmly at him, and pointed at the saddle stool, silently telling him to sit down.

He cautiously stepped into the room for the first time, pausing briefly to double check that you were telling him the truth about this not being a test. You rolled your eyes at his caution.

“Sit your ass down, Jeon.”

He promptly sat said ass down on the saddle stool, his eyes now perfectly aligned with your chest while you sat up. His Adam apple bobbed as he gulped quietly. His hands covered his crotch area, as he willed himself to think about anything other than the fact that your fingers were dangerously close to revealing one of your nipples and he could see the start of your areola if he angled his head, but then that would be a little to obvious that he was checking you out, so he didn’t.

“No need for surnames here, Y/L/N.”

You stuck your tongue out at him in good fun, then proceeded to explain to him what was happening.

“You’re going to give me a tattoo.”

“For real?” His tone was one of disbelief, yet excitement.

“For real.” You confirmed with a smile, excited as well.

“I’m—I don’t even know what to say—,” he chuckled lightly, face flushing from all the stupid butterflies in his stomach going haywire. If you were letting him give you your first tattoo, that meant you had a lot of trust in him. It touched him, more than he thought it would.

Dumb, good for nothing, feelings.

Annoying, heart pulsing, cheek warming, love.

You gasped lightly, cooing at Jungkook.

“Aw, koo. Don’t cry. You’re going to make me cry.”

Wiping at his eyes furiously, he feigned indifference.

“I wasn’t crying, something flew into my eye.”

“Of course.” You smiled softly at him, his vulnerability touching something within you, chest blossoming with a warmth you’ve never felt before.

Is this what being in love felt like?

Clearing his throat loudly to rid himself of his emotions, he asked you a very important question.

“What are you wanting to get?”

“Can I see your hand?”

“Sure.” No hesitation, no thinking, he just gave his hand to you. His right hand.

“Other hand.”

“Okay?” He gave you his left hand.

Turning his palm face up, you carefully spread his middle and ring finger apart, then ran your fingertip lightly along the purple aster flower tattoo you gave him.

“This one, please.”

If he thought he was emotional before.

He had to bite his lip, his only way of preventing the low whimper from escaping his lips at your choice of tattoo.

You wanted to get a matching tattoo? With him?

“Are you sure, y/n?”

“If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s this.” You nodded at him resolutely.

“Let’s get started then.”

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

The buzzing reverberated inside the room, shortly coming to a stop as he sat back up straight from his once bent position of him hovering over your topless form in order to reach your tattoo area of choice, along the curve of your left breast. He wasn’t surprised that’s what you chose, considering you were already topless and all when he walked in.

“Alright. We’re done.”

He set the tattoo gun down onto the tray next to him as he helped you sit up on the tattoo bed. You winced lightly at the push and pull of the now tender area around your breast. Grabbing the hand mirror that also lay on the tray next to him, he held it up for you in confidence you could see the tattoo clearly.

Your eyes shone with so much awe and happiness as your eyes began to water.

It was perfect.

“It’s beautiful, koo. Truly.” Your eyes flickered away from the mirror and directly into his. The praise he received from you making his chest swell with pride.

“It is, but you’re more beautiful.” He stated casually, making you let out a low exhale as you prepared yourself for what you were about to say.

“You know why I chose this tattoo?”

“To be tattoo buddies?”

“Yes, and no.”

His confused silence had you pressing on.

“I told you that if I get a tattoo, it has to have meaning, remember?”

“I remember.” But he still wasn’t following.

“I–,” he saw the way you shied into yourself, and it had him beyond baffled.

“Hey. It’s just me. You can talk to me.” His words were gentle, sweet, encouraging.

“That’s the issue.” You admitted quietly.

Before you could lose your nerve, you decided it was best to just rip the bandaid off, and whatever happens, happens.

“I’m in love with you, Jeon Jungkook.”

Shut the fuck up.

“Excuse you?!” You angrily poked at his chest with your finger.

That’s when he realized he verbalized his inner thoughts on accident.

“Sorry, not you. I just–,” he fumbled nervously over his words, and no matter how hard he tried, he kept failing to say those words back to you.

“I’m not going to force you to say it back, I’m not that cruel. I just wanted you to know.” You assured him with a small smile, misreading his fish out of water expressionism. “This tattoo means a lot to me, and that’s the reason why I wanted you to be the one to ink it. So, regardless of what does and doesn’t occur between us, you realize just how much I truly mean it.”

His bottom lip trembled at your honesty, at your blatant vulnerability in all senses of the word — as you bare your heart, soul, and body (even if it’s only because you were just tattooed) for him alone.

If his brother was here, he would be entertained by the way you have Jungkook wrapped around your finger, and you being none the wiser.

Seeing that he wasn’t going to be able to audibly express his feelings, he opted to show you instead. Setting aside the hand mirror on the tray, he places both hands on either side of your figure on the tattoo bed, pushing himself up using his arms until he’s face to face with your surprised one at the sudden, abrupt movement.

“Can I kiss you? Would that be okay? I’m not good with words.” He rushed out breathlessly, restraining his lips from getting closer to yours until you gave him permission.

“Yes.” Your reply was barely audible, but he heard it within the silence of the room.

His lips crashed into yours with a fervor, the intensity of it making you let go of the grip on your breasts in order to lean back against your hands on the tattoo bed. He whimpered within the kiss, feeling how your nipples instantly hardened both from the air and rubbing against the material of his cool, leather jacket.

You let out a light hiss into the kiss, your upper body instantly recoiling from rubbing against the leather material. Jungkook immediately came back to his senses and pulled away from you with a worried look.

“Shit. Y/N, I’m so sorry. I forgot all about your tattoo.” His head dipped dangerously close to your breast in order to inspect if there was any damage to your tattoo.

You blinked owlishly at the sudden loss of his lips on yours, your brain still registering what just occurred, as the pain dulled to a low throbbing. You flinched as his fingertips ghosted over the tattoo, but didn’t touch it. It’s only then that both of you came to the same thought, his body stiffening once concluding that your tattoo was perfectly fine, yet his head refused to move from its position.

His hand that was close to your breast, lightly caressed the side of the boob where your tattoo lay with utmost care, as if he was afraid that touching you would break you. Unbeknownst to you, he was currently lost in a lust filled haze, his other hand coming up to caress your other boob with just as much care.

You sucked in a sharp breath at his actions, feeling your own lust start to build within you. The way he touched you, so gently, so carefully, his eyes taking in your figure with nothing but sheer admiration and, you wishfully think — maybe even love? — had you pushing your chest closer to his face, your body wanting more.

Reading your body movement, his hot breath fanned over your already hardened nipple, his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously, and his neck vein becoming more prominent at the action, had you letting out a low whine. You tried squeezing your legs shut, but stopped when instead the inside of your thighs hit the sides of his leather jacket clad waist, your body shivering upon the cool contact it provided from the shorts you decided to wear today exposing your legs.

Hearing your whine, shot straight through his body and down to his slowly growing erection inside his pants. He gave an experimental kitten lick to your nipple and you let out a low gasp at the feeling. He continued with his short, yet firm licks until he dubbed your nipple hard enough, now securing his entire mouth around the bud, suckling on it like a newborn baby.

You threw your head back in pleasure, one hand coming up to lay on the back of his head and push him further into your breast. His other hand tweaked at your other hardened nipple that wasn’t getting the attention from his expert mouth and your legs clamped around his waist as an anchor to keep your body from falling back onto the tattoo bed.

Soft pants is all he heard in the silence of the room, the low moans he gave around your nipple, had you feeling needy and greedy for more that he had to offer. You noticed how he discreetly was palming himself on the outside of his pants, and felt bad that he wasn’t getting any kind of pleasure.

“Jungkook.” His name came out brokenly when he switched his attention to your other breast, lightly nibbling on the nipple. He grunted, his way of saying ‘yes’, and you lightly laughed.

“Do you need help with your—,” your lust filled voice trailed off, as he let your nipple go with a wet ‘pop’, the lewd noise making you even more wet. You knew for a fact, your panties were soaked at this point.

“Not yet. I want to focus on you.” His blown pupils bore into yours, and you’re sure your eyes held the same glaze his did. “Is that okay? Can I?” He let go of your boobs to stand up straight and hooking one finger into one of the belt loops on your shorts, tugged on it with emphasis. He wanted them off, like yesterday.

Nodding your head, mouth parted slightly at the way things were escalating quickly, you decided to help him by unbuttoning your jeans. When he deemed you as taking too long, he pulled down your zipper for you, patting your thighs as his way of telling you to lift your butt off the table so he could swiftly pull your shorts down along with your underwear in one go.

The exposure of the cool air on your nude body had you slightly shaking with nerves, it’s been far too long since you were last intimate with anyone. You feared you were out of practice, and didn’t want to disappoint Jungkook, who you know is an expert in this field.

He could feel the slight tremble in your thighs and gently ran his hands up and down them, mistaking it as you being cold. He came up with an idea, a brilliant idea. One that only spurred on the continuous growth of his erection.

“You want to wear my jacket?” He was already shoving it off his broad shoulders before you even agreed, shortly securing it around your shoulders and helping you slide your arms into the sleeves that were far too long and hung over your hands in an extremely cute way, Jungkook thought.

As he stepped back to fully take in your nude form, wearing nothing but his leather jacket, he knew.

He was yours. His heart was yours. Always.

Another thing he found out, had him instantly dropping to his knees in front of your parted legs. Hands clutching your inner thighs in order to keep you from closing them, knowing how shy most girls get when guys get close to their pussy, he let out a shaky exhale.

“Shit. You’re soaked.” His head unconsciously leaned in further, which made you begin to get anxious, and you could feel his hands on your thighs tether you in place, preventing you from closing your legs against his head.

Not yet, at least. He thought, already anticipating what’s to come. He couldn’t wait.

Without much warning he dove in, his mouth immediately latching onto your already swollen bud, resuming his kitten licks in a pattern of firm and soft. His pace was relentless, as you moaned loudly. And his lip ring? My god.

“Fuck. Give a girl a warning next time, won’t you?” You laughed breathlessly, more moans following shortly after. He grunted, but didn’t let up. Instead, he slid his right hand from your inner thigh to your glistening wet folds. Not having much restraint, he inserted his middle finger up to the hilt, and you let out a wanton moan at the indescribable cold, yet arousing way you could feel his ring tease your opening as he thrusted his finger up to the knuckle.

Thighs parting wider to allow him more room, he inserted his ring finger, that, you guessed it, adorned yet another cool, thick ring. He could feel the way your pussy clenched around the second invader, it only fueling him to finger you with fast, deep strokes. It wasn’t until he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that spongey spot that made you a whiny mess, did your legs instantly clamp around his head at the overwhelming urge to pee.

You knew it wasn’t pee, yet you felt the need to warn Jungkook, not yet having experienced pleasure like this before.

“Jungkook—Shit—I’m going to—,” your arms wobbled from the intensity that was building quickly, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up for long. With one last hard suck, the knot in you instantly uncoiled and you screamed his name, arms finally buckling as you fell back onto the tattoo bed, hips arching into Jungkook’s awaiting opened mouth that switched from your clit to your gushing pussy.

His fingers didn’t let up as he allowed you to ride your euphoric high, mouth firmly attached to your wet folds as he tried to secure your arousal inside his mouth with the best of his ability. Much to his displeasure, it only leaked out the corners of his mouth and down his chin, his white shirt getting drenched in the process.

When your hips fell back against the bed, and your legs loosened their strong grip around his head, did he finally pull out his equally as drenched fingers from your still pulsating pussy.

“Fuck me, that was hot.” His words made you want to laugh, but your strength was lost, legs feeling like jello. When you didn’t respond, he stood back up to hover over your form until his face was above yours.

You could see your arousal on his chin and your cheeks inflamed as you came down fully from your orgasm. Your hands attempted to come up and shield your face from embarrassment, but Jungkook wouldn’t let you. His hands grabbed yours, efficiently stopping you, and with your arousal still on his lips and tongue, he kissed you deeply, before pulling away.

“You don’t need to hide from me, y/n. I love you, okay? I’m in love with you. Nothing will ever change that.”

“Do you actually mean that or is it because I just let you go down on me?” You gave him a wary look, but you already knew he wasn’t that kind of person.

He gave you a ‘are you serious right now?’ look, and you couldn’t help the bubble of a laugh that escaped past your lips as your facade cracked.

“I’m just kidding. Lighten up, kook.” You playfully hit his chest, but recoiled when your hand came back wet. You made a face. This time it was Jungkook who let out a boisterous laugh of his own at your reaction.

“That’s all you, baby girl. You did so good.” He cooed at you playfully while peppering kisses all of your face. You squirmed underneath him as his soaked through shirt clad chest rubbed against yours. His cross necklace dangled in between your breasts, and you grabbed it with your hand, fingers rubbing the cool silver.

The small, innocent act made him stare lovingly at you. When your eyes locked with his again, you forgot that you were nude with his clothed crotch against your core. It wasn’t until you attempted to push yourself up on your elbows to kiss him, did your actions cause you to accidentally grind your pussy against his very prominent bulge. He let out a gutteral groan into your mouth that had your toes curling.

“Your turn, koo.” You spoke against his still parted lips.

He shook his head vehemently.

“No. I can’t. Like, I’m so close already you have no idea. I wouldn’t last.” He spoke factually, and it made you whine sadly. You wanted to show him the same amount of pleasure he just showed you.

Once again, he peppered your pouty face with kisses.

“Next time, baby girl. I promise. But right now?” He ground his hips against yours, creating a delicious pressure on your still sensitive bundle of nerves. “I need to feel you. If you’ll let me?”

“God—Yes. Undress. Now.”

He smirked at your impatience as he stood up straight. Your hands flew to the bottom of his shirt as you helped him tug it off his lean, muscular, sexy, figure. His toned abs glistened with your arousal that soaked through, and you leaned forward in order to poke your tongue between your swollen lips from kissing to lick what you could off while he busied himself with shimmying his tight jeans off.

You maintained eye contact, even when he was fully nude along with you, as you licked up the last of your arousal with a low hum of approval.

“You taste good, yeah?” He grinned cheekily at you, thinking it would get you all hot and bothered. And it did, just not in the way he was expecting.

“I bet you taste even better though.” His eyes darkened with your statement, as he sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth with restraint.

“Nice try, but you’re still not giving me a hand job.”

“Who said anything about a hand job?” You questioned innocently, and it just about had him relenting in his resolve so he could see the way that pretty little mouth of yours looked around his swollen cockhead. He bet you looked divine. Another time though.

“Compromise, okay? How about this?” He sat his bare ass back on the saddle stool and patted his thick thighs, his penis swollen, curved and erect in between them had you licking your lips in anticipation. “If you want to show me pleasure, then by all means, baby. I’m yours.”

Scooting yourself closer to the edge, Jungkook gave you his hands to hold onto as your feet hit the cool, hardwood flooring that ran throughout the entire tattoo parlor. He guided you closer to his sitting form, and watched as you swung one leg over him so your core made contact with his curved shaft while still standing due to how big he was.

His attention immediately went to his other head upon the delicious contact with your pussy when you began to slowly grind your wet folds against him in long strokes. The ministrations causing beads of pre-cum to leak from the swollen, red, bulbous tip of his cock that you didn’t miss. Swiping your thumb across the tip, you gathered up his cum and placed it into your mouth, making a show of sucking it off your thumb with loud, closed mouth, moans.

“I knew you would taste good.” You grinned wickedly at him, and he lightly smacked your ass at the way you somehow still found a way of being able to taste him.

“You little vixen.” His eyes narrowed at you playfully, hands finding purpose at the junction between your hips and thighs, as he pressed your core more firmly against his throbbing shaft in order to create more heavenly friction. It was taking all he had not to just shove his cock into your pussy, something he could’ve easily accomplished at this angle if he wanted too, but instead he wanted to wait until you were ready.

“Only for you.” You leaned down to whisper onto his parted lips, one hand placed firmly on his shoulder as your other hand gripped the base of his cock, giving it a few hard strokes that had him moaning into your awaiting mouth.

“Baby. Please.” He whimpered lowly, gazing at you with nothing but lust and love.

“Please, what?”

“Please, I need you.”

“Tell me what you want, and you’ll get it, koo.” You cooed at him softly, your hand now starting to pick up pace with fast, short strokes that had his abs tightening.

“Fucking hell, woman. I need your tight, little pussy wrapped around my cock. Please, y/n. Please.” His words were a garbled mess as he refrained himself from blowing his load right then and there. He inwardly reeled over the fact you had a hidden dominate side behind closed doors, not used to being the submissive one. But fuck it, you could take control all you wanted.

Wordlessly, you aligned his swollen, leaking head with your dripping wet folds and sunk your lower body down until your thighs hit his with a loud ‘smack’, and he was balls deep inside of you.

“Fuck.” Your voice broke at the sudden full feeling that you weren’t expecting and that you’ve never quite experienced before.

“You feel so fucking good, y/n.” He praised you in between broken moans, his head falling in between your breasts as his eyes closed and he got lost in the feeling of all that is you.

“Yeah?”

The sound of your thighs continuously slapping against his was all you could hear besides the mutual moans and gasps you both let out as you rode him with all that you’ve got, both hands placed firmly on his shoulders as leverage, the heels of your feet never meeting the cold floor with every bounce you made.

The tall tale sign of your impending orgasm began to show as your pace started to slow down, your energy rapidly decreasing as your walls clenched and pulsated around his own throbbing member as you dug your nails into his shoulders, no doubt leaving marks in their wake.

His grip on your waist became bruising when he began to notice you were close, your tight walls making him dangerously close as well. He planted his feet firmly flat against the hardwood floor and began thrusting his hips up in order to meet yours and help you to your mutual highs.

“I love you so much, koo.” A broken sob and confession is the only warning you were able to give as your body stilled, your walls clenching around him, enticing him to come undone with you, so he did.

With one last final thrust, he stilled inside of you, his cock twitching as he spurted rope after rope of his warm cum inside your awaiting pussy, your arousal as well as his leaking from your abused pussy in lewd streaks that he could feel coat his thighs.

You collapsed against one another in heavy pants, both trying to regain enough oxygen in your lungs and will your hearts to beat at a normal pace.

He pulled away from your chest enough to find you already looking at him.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

You both broke into a random fit of laughter, something you’ve never done before after having probably the best sex of your life. You already couldn’t wait until round two. But that would have to wait.

His hands caressed your back, as he lazily rubbed it. Your own hands began to lightly massage his scalp and he let out a content sigh at the miraculous way your fingers worked.

“You may need to touch up my tattoo.” You said, eyes no longer on his, but rather honed in on the spot right below his shoulder blade where you could see the blending of both purple and black ink that didn’t get a chance to fully set in, lay.

He glanced down at the ink on his skin, then immediately looked to where your tattoo was. He gently moved your boob with his hand in order to inspect it better and gave you a mixed look of being guilty and sorry.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll definitely have to fix it.”

“Don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“I can fix it right now if you’d like? It would only take like 10 minutes.” He offered, still wracked with guilt.

A swivel of your hips, had him biting his tongue. He was still sensitive from his orgasm.

“I’d much rather spend that time doing something else.”

He admired your enthusiasm, but needed a minute. Giving you multiple pecks on the lips, he spoke in between kisses.

“I—love—you—but—give—me—a—second—to—recover—woman.”

“Fine.” You whined childishly. “But I’m giving you a blow job as soon as you’re not too sensitive.”

“Oh my god — Deal.”

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

a/n; uh. yeah. so, this happened. i have no words. but hope you enjoyed. sorry in advance if there’s any errors, this is all unedited. like + reblog if you want to support my work. feedback is always appreciated and helps keep this writer motivated. if you want to see more of this couple, let me know.

send me an ask if you’re interested in being in a taglist for anything pertaining to this series or all of my future works in general (or if you wish to be removed). be sure to specify when you apply.

taglist; @mwitsmejk, @betysotelo18, @outro-kook

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flower-of-zaun · 3 years ago

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Silco with a Witch/Wizard Significant Other

Silco wants to get ahead of Piltover with their HexTech. Shimmer has its own magic like qualities but is still unstable.

He finds them deep in the undercity, hearing rumors of mage that heals people, even bringing someone back from the dead after a mining accident.

He’s actually well read on the history of mages. Thinks a lot of them were demonized. Political things, such as war, aren’t always black and white.

Understand why they are so timid and scared. Not because he’s a crime lord, but because they will be hunted if anyone topside finds out they exist.

Gains their trust slowly, never pushing them or threatening them…but he thinks they are very sweet and endearing.

Mage is VERY awkward. Always hiding in their robe. Has a cute little stutter at first.

While trying to earn their trust, he buys them rare herbs and books to help heal people. Banned books are something Silco is fond of, so he has an extensive collection he’s willing to let them borrow.

On off days he goes down and watches them work, finding their cluttered little workshop so quaint and relaxing. Mage finally showed their face one day, Silco found them to be absolutely stunning.

When they finally decide to work with Silco, he provides a wonderful workspace/home filled with EVERYTHING they could imagine. Books, plants, and all sorts of supplies.

They work with Singed a lot. They don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but they never raise their voices and argue. They both try and see it from their point of view. Best believe there’s name calling tho. Y’all make some SICK shimmer tho.

While they are working one day, Silco finally asks them to dinner. They’ve never been on a date before, they are shocked and confused but say yes.

Silco takes them to a quiet dinner, some where private because he knows they deal with anxiety if too many people are around. He does too and enjoys getting to know them more.

They really hit it off. They share a quick kiss at the end of the night, leaving the mage blushing uncontrollably. More dates happen, the both of them enjoy time together.

The mage isn’t that touchy, always pulling away from Silco’s affection. Kisses are quick. They always hide under their cloak and hair. Silco’s seen their face and thinks they are beautiful so he doesn’t understand what’s wrong.

Finally the mage pulls him into the workshop, closing all the doors and windows. They take off the cloak to reveal their body, tattooed in runes. They seem to almost glow.

They explain they had to hide from people for so long and hide under layers of clothing, they freak out when feeling any sort of touch. Silco understand and let’s them initiate any type of affection. If he does want to touch them, he asks first.

Silco surprises them with clothes that cover their tattoos, so they don’t have to hide in that big ass cloak anymore. He does find a beautiful, huge hooded cowl they can wear, knowing that’s what made them feel safe. The mage loves it, they feel…normal.

“You don’t have to hide anymore, I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let them hurt you.”

They finally feel comfortable enough to do magic around Silco. Making things float over to him when he needs it, summoning fire from their finger tips to light his cigars, soothing his eye pain.

Does cute little magic tricks for Jinx. Filling the room with bubbles, making things disappear, and creating beautiful illusions.

Silco has seen how TERRIFYINGLY POWERFUL this small little mage is. It’s nothing like the books he’s read or the paintings he’s seen. How are you so small and so…dangerous?

Then he remembers his daughter is 5’ foot and pure chaos.

He loves buying his “little mage” new plants all the time. Their face lights up and they actually take their hood off for a bit to get a better look at it.

They read together all the time.

He could listen to them talk about a new spell for HOURS and never get sick of it.

The mage has made many protective items for Silco and Sevika to wear. The inside of Silco’s coat is adorned with runes, hand stitched, if anyone tries to stab him, the blade will shatter.

Their hate for Piltover has bonded them for life.

They both hate Jayce with a passion.

Silco hates when they have a gut feeling about something, because they are always right.

Mage is his most valuable asset but also…becomes a big part of his heart

If you’d like to use this idea, please credit me

#Silco #silco fanfiction #silco headcanon #Silco x oc #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n #silco arcane #arcane #arcane headcanon #arcane league of legends #oc #jinx #jinx arcane

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vidalinav · 2 years ago

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Y’all I totally forgot about Nesta’s Love is Quiet (part 3, which I named something else but it’s so long), but damn I stopped at the good parts. So here’s a snippet because... well I like using this fic to procrastinate other fics.

Rhysand sits in this room, his nose raised high and Nesta knows this look well--has seen it on her own face plenty. “You shouldn’t mess with other people’s lives.”

Nesta tilts her head and she can practically see the words hypocrite written right across his cheeks. “I don’t remember you saying that when you told me to leave.”

“I told you to leave,” Feyre interjects swiftly, “it was my fault.”

“Does admitting it make you feel better?” Nesta spits.

Cassian straightens at the blatant hate in her words and Nesta can’t feel his warmth or hear his heartbeat enough to calm her. She only hears all of the noise in this restaurant. Clanking and laughter and heavy applause.

Nesta clenches her fists and wills herself not to crash. She’s always been so good at breaking things. Wine glasses could shatter, and dangling lights could hit hardwood, and all of it would sing a high strung note. Would the rest of these patrons applaud a woman gone mad?

But Nesta breathes in and holds it there, holds those nasty thoughts and those horrid words in her throat. Cassian reaches for her hand, but she doesn’t want to feel his palm. She doesn’t want him to calm her.

She wants to bleed and roar and ache because that pain belongs to her. That pain is more honest than any of the people before her now and it whispers truths. Her heart tells no lies.

But this need to defend... it’s getting tiresome, she thinks.

Nesta looks to Cassian and her body can’t help but slump. He sits there with that concern in his gaze.

What has she done? What has she ruined?

Running away has never been her way and yet, Nesta finds herself wanting to go home. A cabin where the pictures on the wall move. A blanket of slush crunching beneath her feet. Her friends, who would undoubtedly let her wallow until she opened her arms, ready to relieve the pain.

There’s hardly any pain there. It’s not so hard to exist. There’s no one fighting her every move.

“I liked it better when it was just the two of us,” she mumbles and Nesta doesn’t look Cassian in the eye as she pushes out of the booth.

Nesta doesn’t let Cassian reply, before she’s heading toward the door. There is no straight spine, no scorn. No pride exists here today.

Nesta aches and there’s nothing she can do, but feel it.

#nesta archeron #nessian #nessian fanfiction

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ptergwen · 3 years ago

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favorite crime

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood / death, lots n lots of angst

summary: you convince peter to go on the run after he’s framed for murdering mysterio, but he doesn’t want to drag you into his mess

a/n: this was completely based off the song by olivia lfmbsjfhs it’s so beautiful and i’ve wanted to write something for it for a while now so yee i hope y’all like ! pls lmk what you think <3

“we have to get you out of here, peter! come on!” you shout back to your boyfriend and tug his hand that’s laced with yours.

peter doesn’t budge. even when your grip on him tightens, when you pull him forward with all your might, he remains stoic.

there’s something he needs to do, and he’s been contemplating it since the day he met you.

it’s time to let you go.

“please, peter. i’m begging. i know you’re tired of running, but if we don’t leave now… they’ll find you,” you desperately choke out. peter squeezes his eyes shut, dreading what’s to come. “i can’t do this to you anymore, y/n. i… i’m sorry.”

emergency sirens and flashing lights approach the old apartment building serving as yours and peter’s latest hideout. the whole world is on the lookout for him, so you two stowed yourselves away in brooklyn for a bit.

you were hopeful the rumors would pass eventually — about how peter shot the beloved mysterio and left him to die in cold blood. they’re merely talk, of course. you’d personally seen the events of that day unfold on the tower bridge. hell, your class was right at the center of them.

quentin beck was pure evil, so rotten he defamed both peter and spider-man with a charge as cruel as murder. he’s wreaking havoc on him from beyond the grave, over a complete misunderstanding that peter had nothing to do with.

beck’s true source of anger is stark industries. yet, once again, peter ended up the collateral damage.

he was deemed a wanted murderer. posters revealing his name and face were plastered up around the city, a reward even being offered to whoever who turns him in.

you’d proposed the idea of skipping town until things settled. the way you saw it, it was peter’s only option other than prison for twenty-five to life. peter was panicking and couldn’t think straight, so he went along with your getaway plan.

a few weeks later, he’s regretting it.

you’ve been the one person he could trust through this madness. you’re right there to console him, to protect him just like he does you. through sickness and health, life and clearly death, you stick by peter’s side. you left everything behind without a second thought, for him.

peter loves you more than you’ll ever fully be able to comprehend, which is why he can’t ask you to do that. this is his battle to fight, not yours or anyone else’s. his.

you suddenly freeze in your tracks, turning around to look at peter. “what are you talking about? you’re fine, pete.”

his eyes roam everywhere except to yours as they water. blinking back tears, he fixes his gaze on your intertwined hands. you notice a stray tear fall down his cheek and use one of your thumbs to wipe it away, then press a reassuring kiss to his lips. peter lets himself reciprocate momentarily before jerking back.

“please just… stop being so nice to me. you’re making this way harder than i wanted to to be,” he rasps and squeezes your hand tighter. you’re still lost, absolutely clueless about what he’s referring to.

“look, pete. i wanna hear you out, baby. but… i think it should wait until we get to jersey.” you keep your voice as calm as possible, though you’re terrified for both of you. since the feds know your location, they’ll have the place surrounded any minute.

hopping cities isn’t cutting it anymore, so you’ll have to change states this time. new jersey is next on your list.

using his strength to his advantage to hold you in place, peter seizes both your shoulders. his bloodshot eyes lock with yours. a stern expression coats his features, one you’ve seen from him yet never been on the receiving end of.

“we’re not going to jersey, y/n/n,” he declares, the sirens starting to grow louder. you feel a pit forming in your stomach. “we have to!” you immediately protest. “it’s not gonna be easy finding our way, but it’s the last-“

peter cuts you off, voice softer now. “no, no. that’s not what i meant.” he waits a beat and inhales a deep breath, aiming to settle his nerves. it doesn’t.

“i’m going to jersey. you’re staying.”

tears cloud your vision the second those words leave his mouth. you shake your head furiously back and forth, willing him to take them back.

part of you was always afraid peter would get second thoughts. not only about running away with you, about ever being with you. you’re both so young. your entire lives are ahead of you, and peter won’t allow you to risk your own because this isn’t worth a single bit of it.

he’d warned you how dangerous it was to be associated with spider-man. it’s why he held off on telling you about his alias for the longest he could. you naturally began asking questions whenever peter bailed on dates and showed up to school covered in bruises. he hated lying to you, using his stark internship as an excuse, so he finally came out and said it.

peter sometimes wonders if you’d be better off not knowing at all. it’s too late now, though.

“wait, what? why- why can’t i go with you?” you plead, peter’s fingers coming up to cup your cheek. his fingertips lightly caress your skin. “i’m a criminal, y/n. you’d be my accessory.”

it takes everything in him not to break down and sob along with you.

you lean into his palm, already missing his touch. “i don’t care... i don’t give a fuck. i just wanna be with you, peter.” peter literally has to bite his tongue to fight the urge to cry. hands grabbing either side of his head, your fingers twist in his hair roughly. “i’ll do anything, pete. i really will, i swear. name it.”

peter threads his own fingers through yours again, bringing your hands to his chest.

“i’m so sorry, angel. i never should’ve gotten you involved,” he murmurs out and pecks your forehead. “you have nothing to prove to me, okay? you’ve done more than enough. i’m gonna return the favor.”

you let out a strangled whine, your knees buckling as you come to terms with the gravity of your situation.

this is it. this is the end of yours and peter’s story.

“hey, none of that. it’s okay,” peter coos, neither of you convinced. the tastes of salt and metal flood both your senses. he helps you back up and hugs your waist, peppering your cheeks in more kisses. you’re bawling now, arms wound around his neck, clutching at his tattered jacket.

free tears escape peter’s eyes at last. “i love you. i love you so goddamn much, y/n. never forget it,” he nearly whispers. you sniffle and push your forehead against his. “i’m not saying it back ‘cuz that feels like a goodbye, and i- i can’t say goodbye to you yet.”

“it’s not a goodbye,” peter reassures you, rubbing circles on your lower back. “it’s, uh, it’s a see you later. i’m gonna figure something out and be back to you before you know it. can’t get rid of me that easy.”

that earns a faint giggle from you, peter managing a grin. you two attempt to ignore everything happening beyond these walls, only focusing on the other.

“then, um…” you clear your throat. “i love you.” his smile dwindling slightly, peter nods and meets your gaze. “i love you too, baby. you should probably get going soon.”

affirming his advice, a booming voice that sounds from a microphone commands peter to come out with his hands up.

your worry spikes, instinctively drawing peter in closer. he forces himself to put on a brave face for you.

“i’m scared, pete. where… where am i supposed to go?” you rush to ask him. “home, y/n/n. go home,” peter decides, pressing a final kiss to the top of your head. “just don’t get caught, and you’ll be fine.” carding your fingers in his undone curls, you sigh. “easier said than done, but i’ll try not to.”

you’d never pictured that the sweet boy with a heart too big and brain even bigger, who sings you to sleep even though his voice sucks and spends his last dollar buying you flowers, would be accused of first degree murder. it isn’t true or fucking fair.

what’s worse, he has to bare this storm alone now.

you lift your heavy backpack off the cold ground, slinging it onto your shoulders. peter stares out the window and down at the assembly of swarm troops crowded together.

“are you gonna be okay?” you catch his attention. he snaps back into reality, pulling your hood up so it covers your head. you’re wearing a sweatshirt of his, after having gone through all your own clothes. “i hope so. are you?” peter repeats your question. “i hope so,” you echo.

tying your hoodie strings tight, peter offers a smile. “say hi to may for me. ned and mj, too.” it’s going to be tough to face his family and friends after this. “i will. i’ll let them know you’re alright.” you kiss his cheek, placing a hand on his chest. peter lets your touch distract him from the mess he’s about to be hit with.

“thank you, y/n. i’ll see you soon, baby. you have my word,” he promises, stepping back so you two can go your separate ways.

you watch him with fresh tears threatening to spill.

“i’m gonna hold you to it. be safe, spidey.”

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whoree321 · 3 years ago

Text

the bad batch + what romance/rom com movies they watch with you

each of the bad batch x gn!reader

ok first and foremost i really truly believe to the pits of my soul that every single one of these fuckos loves romances and you cannot under any circumstances change my mind

ALSO it’s a gender neutral reader except kinda in echo’s theres like a very brief quote regarding breasts but like i still think even that is pretty gender neutral tbh

so anyway

Hunter: Pretty Woman

this is not the first time that i have publicly declared that i think hunter has a deep rooted connection to the movie pretty woman and it will not be the last

first of all this movie is incredibly soothing to hunters overwhelming savior complex

second of all hunter is literally richard gere (debonaire but emotionally distant gentleman that learns to love) and julia roberts (hooker with a heart of gold) at the same time

he was a little skeptical the first time you put it on but he instantly fell in love with it

the humor, the sensuality, the class divide, the glamour, the unconventional cinderella story of it all. it just really butters his bread

after the first time, when you suggest watching a movie and you pick this one he’ll act very aloof about it (“whatever you want cyar’ika, it doesn’t matter to me”) but secretly he’s really really happy bc it’s one of his favorites (you def know this and def pick it more often)

he absolutely hates the scene when stucky the lawyer hits vivian. like it doesn’t matter how many times he watches it he will fully turn his head away from the screen and say “I don’t like this part” and when it’s over he nuzzles a little closer into you and very tenderly kisses your forehead

he loves the soundtrack too. like he fully exposes how much he likes the movie when you catch him singing or humming “pretty woman” or “it must have been love” absently to himself (you kept it to yourself for a while but eventually you just had to tease him about it. he just smiled a little sheepishly and admitted he liked the songs before promptly changing the subject)

hunter also lowkey definitely wants to recreate the ending where richard gere shows up to her apartment in the white limo with you bc he thinks it’s such a sweet gesture and he wants to treat you like royalty

Crosshair: 10 Things I Hate About You

if there’s one thing about crosshair it’s that he’s a sucker for the enemies to lovers genre

maybe its just him projecting (spoiler alert it most certainly is) but he really enjoys watching the drama conflama of a miserable bastard be tricked into love

and really that’s the true essence of 10 Things I Hate About You

he will grumble and bitch and moan about not wanting to watch a ‘chick flick’ when you put it on, but 15 minutes in and he’s hooked

he has strong negative opinions on literally every single character except for kat and patrick

(crosshair really really wants to think he’s patrick but when it comes down to it he is katarina stratford in every single possible way)

he doesn’t say a word throughout the entire movie but you can tell when he’s annoyed at like bianca or cameron or joey bc he will openly scoff at them

will absolutely hum along in your ear during the “can’t take my eyes off you” scene and make out with you during the paintball scene

(seriously he wants to be patrick verona so bad)

when it’s over and you ask him what he thought he’ll roll his eyes and say “i guess it could have been worse” but his little smirk let’s you know he enjoyed it a lot more than he’s willing to admit

Tech: 50 Shades of Grey

ok hear me out on this one

tech is a huge movie talker. like subtitles are a non-negotiable if you wanna be able to take in any of the movies dialogue bc tech is most likely gonna make commentary over it the whole time

this makes him absolutely indescribably so much fun to watch bad/corny movies with

he will go off about EVERYTHING. the plot, the dialogue, the acting, the costuming, the music, the production quality. nothing and no one is safe. whether you just enjoy letting him talk at you or you join in on the roast, cheesy movies are a hoot between you two

and honey. 50 shades is one of THE cheesiest movies ever

you and tech will literally spend the entire duration of the movie tearing it to shreds

and the thing is tech is a very sarcastic, funny guy when he wants to be (and when it comes to you he definitely wants to be) so by the end of it he will have you in absolute stitches from laughing at the ridiculousness of both the movie and him

with any of the other batchers watching a movie like this either turns into a shy, slightly awkward experience (wrecker, echo) or an incorrigibly horny experience (crosshair, hunter)

but in this context tech literally has no shame or squeamishness about sexual things (why should he it’s a natural biological process?) so to yall the sex stuff is just another thing to roast

literally christian grey could be fully tying dakota johnson down and flogging her and tech will be like “in the last 3 minutes they have panned up to her nipples 4 times. this is criminally shoddy cinematography”

even tho he’s busy giving a detailed play by play critique, he never fails to keep some sort of physical contact with you (wrapping an arm around you and running his hand up and down your skin, playing with your fingers or your hair) so you know he’s enjoying spending this time with you despite his nasty words about the movie

also 1000% after you watch it tech will do extensive research on the ins and outs of bdsm and will have lots of hypotheses he wants to test out (as long as you’re willing and able ofc) ;)))

Wrecker: 13 Going On 30

of all the bad batch members, wrecker is the only one who unabashedly loves any movie that could be considered a chick flick

like he doesn’t even try to hide it or act like he’s too masculine for it. he loves romance and he’s proud of it

this man will have full marathons with you. rom coms, regular roms, tragic roms, hallmark roms, you name it and he’s game

his absolute favorite tho is 13 Going On 30

i feel like he has a huge soft spot for childhood best friends to lovers stories like he finds that type of lifelong partnership so endearing (and he loves to live vicariously through jenna since that type of romance was obviously never an option for him)

wrecker is also very childlike at heart and i think the idea of a 13 year old sweetheart trapped inside the body of a 30 year old cut throat magazine exec is so amusing to him (and maybe makes him feel just a little bit represented in the media)

he is definitely the type to completely engulf you in a cuddle for the entirety of the movie and he DEFINITELY cries into your shoulder at matty’s wedding when jenna is crying on the stoop with her dream house

he wants to try razzles so bad. like so bad. i think if he ever came across them somewhere he would barter at least one of his brothers for them

wrecker really just loves love and watching movies about it just reminds him of how lucky he is to have his own love story with you <3

Echo: The Princess Bride

i feel like it’s glaringly obvious why echo loves this movie

pirates. sword fighting. decades long revenge plots. the value of an honorable, loyal man. true love that never wavers even in the face of devastating tragedy and the darkest of hardships. clever but goofy humor.

echo considers this an action/adventure movie and NOT a romance movie (even tho it 100% totally is a romance movie) and requests to watch it very frequently

he can quote the whole thing. i’m seriously telling you echo loves the princess bride with his whole chest

even tho he refuses to admit it’s a love story above all else, he really does try to model himself in your relationship after wesley

like especially given what happened at the citadel and all the time you thought he was dead, the cinematic parellels are alive and present in y’alls relationship and he strives to be even half the man to you that wesley is to buttercup

literally in your day to day life he will sometimes respond to your requests with a smooth “as you wish ;)” (it doesn’t matter how many times he does it it still gives you butterflies)

when you watch the movie, he snuggles as close to you as possible and does his best to make youre comfy the whole time (he’s insecure about his prosthetics hurting you no matter how much you reassure him they don’t)

he just loves to be able to feel your heartbeat and your laugh when you giggle at the funny bits

every single time without fail at the part when buttercup is about to stab herself he leans down, ghosts his lips against the shell of your ear, and whispers the line in time with wesley: “there’s a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. it would be a pity to damage yours”

every single time without fail you wind up making out until he pulls away and tells you to watch the next part when wesley challenges humperdinck to a duel to the pain

echo just loves you to bits and wants you to know he’d endure a thousand fire swamps for you

Omega: Clueless

i have this really specific obsession with omega being a total girly girl and having very traditionally feminine interests as she keeps experiencing the universe and being exposed to a spectrum of gender expression beyond clone (masc and boring) and kaminoan (ugly)

so with that headcanon of her in mind, it’s vital to me that she sees clueless as soon as possible

clueless is an essential piece of media for a girl entering adolescence and i will die on this hill

it has literally everything you want and everything you need to develop into a well-rounded young woman

it’s so deliciously 90s and glamorama and valley girl humor and camp. its got meaningful female friendships and valuable life lessons and paul mf rudd

if there’s one thing you should encourage a burgeoning hetero teen girl to do, it’s to stick to dating guys like paul rudd in clueless. the earlier this message can be broadcast the better

the second you’re able to steal omega away from hunters watchful eyes (“hunter we’re just gonna watch finding nemo i swear!”) you show her this movie

at this point omega is not really a girly girl, but omega also has absolutely zero feminine influence in her life

the first time she sees clueless she is absolutely obsessed. like seriously she is so enamoured with the glitz and glam of cher horowitz

she asks you questions the entire time. she wants to know about EVERYTHING. the makeup, the clothes, the hair, the slang

(she definitely goes around saying stuff like “i’m totally bugging” for long enough afterwards that almost all of the boys have slipped up at least once with some ridiculous valley girl slang. you thought you were gonna die of laughter when you overheard tech say “as if!” to wrecker in the middle of an argument)

it just really introduces her to this whole world of femininity that she didn’t even know existed and she absolutely loves it

she makes you watch clueless with her seriously once a week at minimum. she begs you to style her hair like tai’s and you can’t help yourself when you happen to run across a little yellow plaid dress and buy it for her on sight

(hunter was gonna scold you for recklessly spending credits until he saw how omega almost cried from how happy she was for the gift)

honestly she enjoys the romance of it all and paul rudd is def her first celebrity crush but she enjoys more that you and her now have this special thing of hair and nails and pretty dresses

she loves how confident and beautiful and special you’re able to make her feel, and you love that you get to bring her that small sense of normalcy and happiness

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chaotic-kitty · 3 years ago

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Hi!! I actually dont know but Can u do Main 4 on Ctc Nsfw headcanons?😅 Its ok to ignore this!!😅

Hey!! Sorry this took so long, I had writers block.😭 Anyways, here’s the first part. I’ll upload the second part later….later could literally be in 5 minutes or a few days. I’m having a bit of trouble getting a good grasp of Maeve and Theo for this. But I’m working on it! Thank you for the request, hope this is what you wanted! Have a good night/day/evening and sorry for any mistakes!💕

Courting The Crown Main 4 NSFW Headcanons!! Part 1

Warnings: explicit content

Part 2 | Part 3

Rian:

As soon as your relationship reaches the s*x level, y’all cannot keep your hands off of each other. He will constantly be wanting to steal you away for a hot rendezvous or two whenever and wherever he can.

S*x on his ship.👀

You two have been known to hookup in the captain’s quarters, as well as every other nook and cranny on the ship.

Throne s*x!

He likes seeing you sitting on the throne, he finds it so hot. But what he likes even more is the idea of taking you on the throne.

Rian is very passionate and loving to begin with (at least when it comes to you), and those are traits that extend to physical intimacy.

He is VERY into body worship! It doesn’t matter if you’re just having a quickie or taking your time, Rian will try and kiss and touch every part of you he can while telling you how much he loves you and praising you.

He also has a thing for marking you. Not in a possessive way though! He just likes leaving hickeys in places where only he (and you) would know where they are. (If you’re okay with it)

Rian is far from being a selfish lover. He loves making love to you. He relishes in making you come undone. He will spend more time pleasuring you than he will chasing his own release.

He is also the biggest tease.

Will spend the whole day sneakily coming up and touching you in all the ways he knows will turn you on. He’ll also whisper the dirtiest things in your ear, not caring who could hear. At the end of the day he’s wound you both up so much that the minute you are both alone, neither of you can hold back any longer.

Definitely into oral. Both giving and receiving.

Rian enjoys pleasuring you on the throne, but he also LOVES when he’s sitting in the chair at his desk (in this captain’s quarters) with you on your knees getting him off.

He is into sensual lovemaking as well as rougher s*x or even BDSM. As long as you’re both comfortable and enjoying yourselves, he is up for and willing to try anything and everything.

Great aftercare!! Depending on what sort of s*x you had and how worn out you are the method of aftercare differs. If you’re really worn out, he’ll clean you up and cuddle with you and he sings/hums you a nice lil song to calm you. If you’re not as worn out, he’ll suggest a bath to wind down.

He is not shy when it comes to showing his affection for you in public. Rian loves you and will show you off. He will wrap an arm around your shoulder or waist. Hold your hand. And even give you lil pecks on the cheek or just full on make out with you. Of course he is respectful! He will not do anything you’re uncomfortable with. He also knows when he shouldn’t be too touchy.

Gwydion:

Gentle s*x.🥰

He is also really into body worship. He loves every part of you and will spend time showing you just how much.

He also loves praising you and complementing you during the deed. He’ll hold you close as he kisses a path down your body, only ever stopping to tell you how beautiful you are and how your doing such a good job.

He’ll also tell you how much he loves you and will whisper in your ear every reason why as he pleasures you.

Gwydion will incorporate his magic. By doing this it will naturally heightened any feelings and emotions you’re both experiencing. He can also use his magic for specific purposes in order to make the experience more pleasurable for the both of you.

Please count his freckles!! And Trace his tattoos!!🥺

He loves it so much!! Especially if you’ve just finished making love. It’s something you’ve both incorporated into your aftercare. Gwydion finds it to be grounding and soothing. He also relishes in the feeling of you touching him and teasing him.

Lovemaking under ✨the stars✨

It’s no secret that Gwydion loves the stars. It’s even less of a secret that he loves you! So why not combine those two things together?

He definitely has a secret little hideaway where he goes to stargaze, so he will often take you there and you both end up making love under the stars. It’s an experience he cherishes so much.

While he loves touching you, he isn’t as big on pda as some people. So he doesn’t usually whisk you off into storage rooms or dark corners unless he is really needy. But in those cases he still prefers to wait so he can ravish you in privacy of your own rooms.

Prefers positions where he can gaze into your eyes 👀Like the lotus position.

#fictif #fictif ctc #fictif courting the crown #fictif rian #fictif gwydion #courting the crown gwydion #courting the crown rian #fictif fanfic #fanfic #fanfic writer

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coulson-is-an-avenger · 3 years ago

Note

kisses 21 jm!

For the prompt “we’ll face this together” kiss. TY SAHAR!!! OKAY I accidentally had one (1) jonbinary idea and then it ended up being SO FUCKING LONG (like 2.5k long) so uh. yeah. Warnings for descriptions of dysphoria, mentions of kidnapping and self loathing, and Jon getting pretty close to a panic attack. Also disclaimer, although I am nonbinary, I’m not transfem, so if there’s any critiques surrounding that, don’t hesitate to let me know. Stay safe y’all!

Jon’s face itches as he faces the mirror like an old foe. It’s long held an image that hurts him to see; aged by unfathomable horrors and dotted with marks like a canvas before a child’s paint tipped fingers, and these days he can’t even be sure that his reflection looks away from him when he turns his head. But, the devil it holds at the moment is the simple reflection of his short beard, and his face itches at the reminder of it.

It isn’t a physical itch. It lurks under the skin, poking and prodding at his senses, rubbing him the wrong way as he lays his cheek on his pillow, leaving a distracting echo when his chin brushes against Martin’s during a kiss, scraping at the inside of his skin as he stares at himself and takes in the sight of it covering his chin.

He scrubs his fingers over his eyelids. He isn’t ignorant, he realizes the discomfort he feels is most likely somewhat gender-related, but it’s… his relationship with his gender is complicated. In a lot of ways, it’s been such a mundane concern recently that he’s somewhat lost track of where he stands with it, but he remembers how it felt to first wear a skirt into the archives, all those long years ago. How gentle Sasha had been with him back then, even if the memory pinches the back of his head and grins with too many teeth and a short haircut that he knows now was wrong. But the Stranger cannot take that act of kindness away from her, even if it took away the face he remembers sharing it with.

He had felt like he was becoming something new, then, staring at a new path, freshly paved in his life, open to the possibilities of self discovery and certainty. Then his life had been riddled with worms and his friends had been carved out, one by screaming one, and he was on the run and set alight and kidnapped and disabled and nearly killed and kidnapped again and nearly killed and—

Jon remembers, vaguely, a flash of what had happened in the month he was… gone. He doesn’t remember most of what happened in that place. Probably for the better, he tells himself, but he does recall one thing. One very simple thing, really; that he hadn’t been able to shave, and he remembers the itch being all he could focus on for days at a time.

One of the first things he had done after stumbling through Michael-now-Helen’s door-not-deathtrap was drag himself to a sink and shave his face raw, burned hand be damned. His skin had suffered afterwards, nicked and irritated beneath its smoothness, and he had taken some strange, morbid comfort in the blemish he was able to inflict, after so many days of hearing hollow voices sing of its beauty.

This is a dangerous line of thought, he realizes, hands pressed against the bathroom sink, his heartbeat starting to pound in his ears. He desperately does not want to think about that, not here, and preferably not ever again, if he can help it.

He tries to bring himself back to the here and now, grounding himself in the feeling of porcelain under his palms, but the victory over his mind is a hollow one, unfortunately, as it brings him right back to the itching under his skin.

He’s not sure if this itch is exasperated by his own self consciousness, or by the lingering sting of the Lonely that threatened to separate him from himself, but it builds until its all he can feel in his skin, on his face, and he finds himself lunging across the counter, knocking things over in an attempt to hunt down Martin’s razor.

Jon had lost his own somewhere in the chaos of living in the archives, but he’s sure he saw Martin trim his own short beard when they first arrived at the safehouse, so it must be here, he thinks, ripping open drawers, it must— aha!

His fist closes around the razor, hidden under the sink next to a small bottle of shaving cream and Martin’s testosterone shots, and he barely gives a thought to what he’s doing before raising it to his dry cheek, just needing this thing off, and—

“Jon? You know that’s not how to do that, right?”

Jon whips around like lightning, his back to the sink and the razor clenched in his fist against his chest like a talisman, breathing heavily.

Martin had been smiling slightly as he entered the bathroom, but the expression quickly falls from his face as he takes in the panicked look on Jon’s face, and the erratic motion of his free hand, clenched into a fist at his side and twitching in an attempt to calm himself. Martin steps forward quickly, outstretching a hand.

“Jon, love? Are you alright?”

Jon fixes his eyes on Martin; kind, beautiful Martin who still goes a bit grey at the fingertips and the eyes when anxiety seizes him, Martin who has always been there, always been there, ever since the beginning. Jon anchors himself as he looks at that familiar, beloved face, and tries to take a breath.

“I-I don’t know,” He manages, because this all feels very silly now. He’s a grown person standing in the center of a bathroom, clutching his boyfriend’s shaving razor like it’s a weapon, for God’s sake, all because of what? Some facial hair? Good Lord, he’s being ridiculous. “Probably, I just… um.” He trails off, gut sinking as emotions spiral through him, too fast to pin down and name.

“Okay,” Martin says gently, shuffling a step closer. “Why do you have that?” He gestures to the razor in Jon’s hand, and Jon twitches, holding it closer.

“I need to borrow it,” He explains, stumbling. “I can’t- I need-“ He makes a frustrated noise and tries to get his thoughts to align. He inhales deeply and tries again. “I need to …shave. This-“ he gestures jerkily towards his face. “This is too much.”

Martin nods carefully, eyes glued to Jon’s face. “Too much?” His question is as gentle as his eyes, and Jon has to glance away for a moment, overwhelmed by being seen.

“It’s… complicated,” He begins, the fist pressed to his chest beginning to lighten up. “It… it just itches, all the time. Like- like a thousand ants under my skin, w-which is ridiculous because it doesn’t actually hurt or itch or- or anything, it just…” he glances back to Martin’s eyes, furtive and desperate for him to understand. “I need it to stop.”

“Oh,” Martin softens even more before Jon’s eyes, his face melting with understanding and sadness. “Oh, Jon. I didn’t realize you were having dysphoria.”

At the word dysphoria Jon glances sharply up, uncertainty fraught on his face, and Martin backtracks quickly.

“Or- s-sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. Is it-”

“N-no, Martin, it-it’s fine.” Jon waves Martin’s nerves aside and finds that he finally has a decent enough hold on his own to lower the hand that had been pressed against his chest. He turns around in the bathroom and sits down on the edge of the bathtub, sighing heavily. “It might be dysphoria, I don’t…” He hesitates, chuckling slightly. “I’m not quite sure I know it well enough to place it. Gender hasn’t exactly been… a priority these days.”

Martin nods and follows him deeper into the bathroom, setting down the lid of the toilet so he can sit on it and listen to Jon blunder through his feelings.

“It might be? I mean… I know I’m not a man, per say, but it… I mean, it could also be so many other things at this point. It’s just- I know it’s stupid to overthink, but—“

“Hey, hey,” Martin cuts him off, extending a hand to brush against the side of his knee. “It isn’t stupid, Jon. You don’t have to have a label or a reason in order to be uncomfortable. It’s- you’re allowed to call it just that; uncomfortable.”

Jon nods, looking down at the hands clasped in his lap.

“I know. It just hit me so suddenly, I-” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead, careful to avoid brushing any of the hairs on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Martin murmurs, and his hand rests more solidly on Jon’s knee. “Is this alright?”

Jon nods mutely, and lets himself expel some more of the tension in his shoulders as he focuses on the motion of Martin’s thumb sweeping softly over his knee.

“It reminds me of the circus,” Jon breathes after a moment of silence, and Martin’s hand stills against him, attentive and horrified. “When- when they…” He inhales sharply, willing his voice not to break. “Well, I couldn’t very well shave it,” He clenches his hands into fists again, still holding the razor tightly in his right. “Got it off as quickly as possible once I could.”

Martin exhales. “I remember that. I thought you just… I dunno, just really nicked yourself. I didn’t think about… yeah.”

“Yes,” Jon agrees, keeping his gaze on the hand on his knee. “I-I mean, I definitely did, nick myself that is. I wasn’t really thinking about doing it properly, I suppose.”

“Like just now?” Martin asks, kindly, gently, not judging. Jon feels his chest pinch anyways.

“Yes.” He admits quietly. Martin leans down to press a careful kiss to Jon’s knee.

“Okay, well, this time we’ll do it properly,” Martin raises himself from the toilet seat, reaching down into the cupboards to pull forth the shaving cream and a towel, and holds them out towards Jon.

Jon blinks, looks at the objects and then up at Martin, unsure of what’s being offered. “Sorry?”

“You still want the beard off, right? Let’s just make sure you don’t upset your skin,” He cracks a humorous smile. “Then it’ll actually start itching.”

Jon takes the can from his hand, but still frowns. “Us?”

“I- yeah,” Martin shifts his weight, fidgeting with the towel. “I can help, if that’s alright with you. You don’t… always seem to handle mirrors the best? And I’ve helped shave another person before so… yeah. If you want.”

Jon’s world stutters to a blushing halt. Martin’s right, he doesn’t like to linger on his face in mirrors even on the best days (of which today is certainly not one) and as much as he’s accustomed to doing this himself, what Martin is promising is intimate; an extension of vulnerability and the promise of a care that he hardly takes with himself. The more he considers it, the more finds himself tentatively wanting it, and he nods carefully. He trusts Martin, he’s decided a thousand times by now.

“Alright,” He agrees, and smiles.

Martin smiles in response. “Alright. Do you want me to um-” He gestures with the towel in his hand, and Jon nods.

Martin makes quick work of running the towel under the tap until it’s warm, and then wringing it out so it’s ready to actually use. He takes his seat again and tips Jon’s head back with a hand to lay the towel gently overtop, letting the warmth seep into his skin. It’s more effort than Jon usually puts in, or used to, when he did this more regularly, but he finds it’s a nice feeling, and he almost misses it when Martin takes the towel away again.

“Right,” Martin continues, looks pointedly to the can of shaving cream in Jon’s hand and Jon hesitates.

“Ah. Maybe not that part? Th-the actual shaving is fine, but-”

“Oh! Yeah, of course,” Martin nods, not questioning, and reaches forward instead to gently take the razor itself from Jon’s fist so he can use both hands to get the shaving cream on his face. Jon surrenders the razor, forcing himself to trust it in Martin’s hands, to trust that Martin won’t just leave him hanging.

He tries not to think too hard about the feeling of the cream on his skin. It’s a far cry from lotion, so it doesn’t bring up any sense memories, thankfully, but it’s still an uncomfortable texture, and he focuses on the sound of Martin’s breathing to keep himself from slipping.

Fortunately it doesn’t take long; soon enough Jon’s finished, wiping his hands on his trousers, and then Martin’s shifting closer, taking Jon’s face in his hands like it’s something precious, something to be loved and cared for. He is very close, his dark brown eyes nearly black with focus as he gently reaffirms that Jon’s sure about this, and then the cool razor swipes across Jon’s cheek.

Jon’s heart lurches in his chest, a messy combination of nerves and gratefulness, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move at all, and just watches Martin focus with gentle certaintly as the blade passes over his cheeks again and again in careful, confident strokes. His fingers whisper at Jon’s chin when he tilts up his head and swipes the blade carefully up the top of his throat, brow furrowed and tongue poking out of his lips in concentration.

Jon holds his breath, wills his heart to still, but it’s alright, with Martin it’s always alright. His hands are warm as they cup his cheeks, tilt him this way and that, thorough in their task, and his fingertips are gentle as they lift his chin and brush away foam and ghost over his throat. He never even comes close to nicking him, and Jon feels a great warmth unspooling in his chest, stinging his eyes.

“All done,” Martin finishes triumphantly, his face breaking into a grin as he hands Jon the towel again, lets him wipe off his own face.

There’s no coarse texture as the fabric touches his face, no itching or discomfort as it drags over his chin, and the steady drumbeat of wrongness that had pervaded him for weeks finally, finally dissipates, unblocking his lungs and releasing the tightness from his shoulders. He runs a hand over his chin, and finds a shy smile quickly taking over his face, affection and relief filling him up from the inside out and spilling onto his features.

“Thank you,” He breathes, and Martin matches his smile with one of his own, and nods, nothing but respect and affection in his eyes.

“Any time,” Martin says seriously, before reaching out to take Jon’s hand and slowly bringing it to his lips, giving Jon ample time to pull away. “You don’t have to struggle with this stuff alone,” He murmurs against Jon’s knuckles. “It’s easier together.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jon’s response is quiet, and Martin kisses his hand then; gentle, and full of reverence. Jon finds that he could melt right into the floor and be happy for the rest of his life.

He reaches up to pull Martin down into a kiss, gentle and insistent and grateful, lacing his hands in his hair and sighing against his lips at the sensation, noting how nice it feels to kiss his boyfriend without his itching skin pressing at his thoughts.

The kiss stays chaste, and eventually Jon pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together, keeping his eyes closed, reveling in it. “Together, then.” He affirms, and Martin smiles.

“One way or another.”

#sorry this took forever but in my defense im insane so here we are #the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #tma fic #jonmartin fic #jonbinary #nonbinary jonathan sims #gender dysphoria #YES it’s a shaving fic ok listen. listen. im 🥺#my writing #answered #set in the safehouse!!

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jeankirschteinswifey · 4 years ago

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Love Like You (Hunter x Reader)

Words: I have no clue. It’s a somewhat short one shot.

Warnings: FLUFFFFFFFFFFFF JUST TOOTH ROTTING FLUFFFF (maybe a BIT of Self-doubt from Hunter)

Summary: Hunter always knew you were the one for him. But he always wondered, was he the one for you?

A/n: LITERALLY ALL INSPIRATION COMES FROM LOVE LIKE YOU FROM STEVEN UNIVERSE. THAT SONG IS AMAZING. (And this is another apology for my Crosshair fic) (ALSO, SHOUTOUT TO MY GC FOR HEARING MY TEDTALK OVER THIS FIC @mqgriett @kailavaldes13 @elizabeth7567 @badbatchbecca and Grace. SHOUTOUT TO Y’ALL)

“Come on y/n! Let’s go!” Omega said as she dragged you onto the grass to play with her.

“Okay, okay!” You laugh. Your laughter sent such a warm feeling through Hunter. He smiled. He knew you were the one he wanted to spend his life with. But what about you? Was he good enough for you? He must’ve been zoning out or staring cause you asked is he was okay.

“Hm, oh yeah, I’m fine.” He responds.

“Okay, just making sure.” You said with a smile and continue to follow Omega.

If I could begin to be, half of what you think of me. I could do about anything. I could even learn how to love.

You were having so much fun with Omega. She was still getting used to having a “normal” childhood, so you showed her your favorite games when you were a kid. She loved them. It made her laugh, which made you laugh. Hunter was still off watching you two play the games you taught Omega. Then you called him over.

“Come on Hunter, why don’t you come over here too!” He initially shook his head no, but Omega also asked, so he sighed and finally gave in. You showed him what to do and he seemed to enjoy it, spending time with you and Omega. He laughed, for the first time in a while, he felt happy. All thoughts about everything that’s been happening, all of them were gone. The only thing on his mind was you.

When I see the way you act, wondering when I’m coming back. I could do about anything, I could even learn how to love like you.

It was already sun down, the game long done, and Omega ready to go inside. You bring Omega in, Hunter still standing a bit further back.

“You coming Hunter?” You ask.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He responds. You nod your head and smile. You’re the person he will spend his life with. It’s been decided. He loves you. He loves how you are with Omega. With the rest of the bad batch. He loves you for you.

Love like you...

As Hunter walks back into the ship, he hears you humming a soft melody to Omega. She was tired, and you obviously were too, but were willing to stay up with her until she fell asleep. And she was. You slowly get up, leaving a featherlight kiss on the top of her head as you walk towards Hunter, who was sitting on the couch. You sit next to him and kiss him hello.

“She’s tired.” You say with a yawn.

“You seem to be too.” He says back, you just smile.

“I’m not that tired.”

“Well, your disposition seems otherwise.”

“Fine you caught me, I’m exhausted.” You say back, he smiles.

“Sleep then.” He says, taking his top armor off, so you can lean your head on his shoulder.

“Okay.” You say, leaning on his shoulder. You felt his arm go around you to make you feel more secure and he starts to play with your hair. You smile. You start to fall asleep and then you hear Hunter singing a soft song (him probably thinking you’re fully asleep.)

“I always thought I might be bad now I’m sure that it’s true cause I think your so good and I’m nothing like you. Look at you go I just adore you I wish that I knew, what makes you think I’m so special-.” The song is cut off by a yawn from Hunter. I guess I’m tired too. He thinks. He hugs you once more and kissed your head after. You felt the kiss on the top of your head and tried not to smile.

“I love you y/n, good night.” He says, not knowing your awake still.

“I love you too Hunter.” You say back. He gasps. He was shocked. He wasn’t expecting you to be awake. Right after that, you did actually fall asleep.

“Y/n?” He whispers. No response. He sighs, and falls asleep with you in his arms.

Love like you.

@freddieflower3129 @eyecandyeoz

#bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #bad batch hunter #starwars x reader #Star Wars #fluff

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empty-masks · 2 years ago

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Book Four, Chapter Five

CW: Strong Language, Sexual References, Graphic Violence, Fantasy Bigotry, Smoking, Alcohol Use, Light Body Horror

There’s no small amount of dedication needed to maintain a backyard the way that Samson Parrish does. Firstly, the yard has not been cleared of its trees. Normally, this would only be a seasonal problem, as the deciduous trees native to the Eternal Autumn usually only drop their leaves during certain periods of the year, but as the name might suggest, the Eternal Autumn has a unique environmental effect on the local forests that makes them drop leaves year-round, slowly but surely. Some say it’s the soil, some say it’s magic, but regardless of what it is— it’s a labour of love to keep a yard clear of leaf cover year-long. Sam’s yard is, as noted by Azariah as soon as they show up, almost completely clear of leaves and creeping underbrush in favour of some natural species of clover and moss that would normally make their home on the sides of rocks and trees. And while there is no lack of small boulders in the yard, there’s a sense that they’ve been moved to the edges of his property by the efforts of a couple large folks and a case of beer, rather than a backhoe.

Nearest to his freshly painted split-level, Sam also keeps a rather impressive row of neatly trimmed perennial bushes and a well-loved vegetable garden, both marked off with simple iron fences. Heads of painted pumpkin and crimson cabbage poke their way through their thick foliage and vines, and the pink leaves of pigmentine carrots sprout feet above the soil they originate from, though the carrots haven’t been as good this season since he switched off his usual fertilizer, according to Sam.

This, with the well-washed grey brick, hickory wood porch, and the ambiance of a cool afternoon, sets quite an impression for the group as they gather around a picnic table to eat their first proper home cooked dinner in a good, long while. Charred painted pumpkin soup filled with veggies and a sprinkle of cured bacon— excepting in Azariah's serving— alongside a fresh, local loaf of brown bread. Evening peeper toads have begun to sing in the distance, and during the course of the dinner, things almost feel normal between the six of them. It certainly feels normal for Sam.

“Now, I’m glad y’all are appreciative of the hospitality, but I believe it’s due time that you learn what Pickman’s Hope really all about,” he starts, raising his glass. “I’m gonna give y’all a little history lesson, so long as Azariah’s willin’ to let me venture forth uncensored.” He winks at the Hare, who gives him a brief nod. Then, he begins to weave his tale for everyone to hear. Everyone who’s willing to listen, anyways.

In the beginning, when this place was still called Gutter’s Glade, it was about as peaceful as the town you see today. The bakery I got your bread from was there. The bar you showed up at was there too, just under a different name and management. Most importantly though, there were a lot more craftsmen around, see. Lots of jewelers, mystics, the kinds that’re attracted to shiny stuff that comes out of the ground. People like that would find Gutter’s Glade on their radar thanks to it being a mining town, but not a mining town as y’all know it— we were independent, and we cared for one another.

Everything was connected, and we all understood that so we looked out for one another’s backs. The artisans would teach the miners what to look for, how to crack geodes to damage the least amount of product. The miners would teach the artisans their methods of dowsing the ground for product, and would keep them updated on finds and prospects. Medical folk would work with the both of them to keep’em happy and healthy, and everyone else in town provided what they could to keep the gems flowin’. I remember days when guys would come up from the mine coughin’ up their lungs and full of soot and dust and completely empty-handed, no product to speak of. And even on those days when you could see how pathetic they felt, they were still taken care of by everyone around ‘em. In fact, one of my old friends who, well, passed away, had developed some kinda apothecarial gas that’d get into your lungs, clean ‘em out, and ‘bout thirty seconds later, it’d come right back out as black gunk. We’re still tryin’ to find out how she did it, but the point is, the town was dedicated to itself and we were dedicated to each other.

Now, while I spawned back in Kiln with Azariah and a few of our old buddies, I found myself makin’ a home in Gutter’s Glade soon after. I was never cut out to be anythin’ but a miner— I didn’t have any particularly useful technical skills, and my hands were too big for those tiny jeweler’s tools anyways. I took to it naturally, in a way. I swung picks around for a couple years, made myself known to the locals, and soon enough I was bein’ treated like family. It made me the man I am today to have had such dedicated people lookin’ out for me, and I don’t dare to think who I’d be without them.

Though, I didn’t stay with ‘em forever. Miners around this region know that there’s an untold number of caves sittin’ just below a certain footage in the stone, and that if you dig too deep, there’s a good chance you’ll wake up some beasties you didn’t know existed. Now, I’m gonna be frank here, this is somethin’ that happened pretty often. Guys would have to take their weapons down into the mines if they knew that they’d hit a deep vein. I was no exception to that rule! Back in the day I had a cheap sword that looked like it’d been a fence post in a former life, and I always took it with me on dives.

And I did my fair share of Monster killin’. Skitterbears, a heap’a those mushroom things, a few of those boulder serpents, and near the end of my career, I had the displeasure of runnin’ into a Cave Shadow. If you’ve never heard of one, the first thing you should know is that they’re beasties basically made’a magic. They hide in the darkest spots of caves, and ambush ya’ when you’ve got yer’ hands busy. They barely even make sense’ta look at, all eyes and teeth and claws— and one decided to jump me while I was with an exploration party. Gave me a big nasty scar on my belly, but I killed the damn thing, and lemme tell ya’, the adrenaline kept me alive for days while the medics patched me together. I was ridin’ high on that and while I was bedridden, I decided that it was time to put down the pick and take up the sword for a living.

So, after I made a full recovery, I left to adventure on my own. I went beyond these mountains, headed west for fame and fortune. And though I found some of both, lookin’ back on it? I would say I had let my success go to my head. I was self-absorbed to a point where I’d given up on the people who’d saved my damn life, and all because I was obsessed with the idea of seein’ how far I could take my heroism. Maybe it’s the guilt talkin’ there, I dunno. I’ve yet to talk ‘bout that era of my life with my counselor.

But while I was gone, Gutter’s Glade was havin’ the life choked out of her. Somewhere along the line, one of the miners found themselves a plot of land near the foot of the mountains, called it the “big one”. Now, since we were a minin’ town, we attracted the attention of many mining conglomerates who wanted to move in and run shop in our stead. Most of them, we told to beat it. Emphasis on “most,” ‘cause this miner received a massive lump sum of cold, hard cash for the plot of land from, you guessed it, Shepherd Gemstone. And from there, things went downhill.

While I can’t give ya’ specifics since I wasn’t there while this was happening, I trust in my friends enough to give ya’ a summary. The company established itself by hiring off a bunch of our miners at a pretty penny, since they knew that the vein was going to pay back tenfold. From there, they installed foremen and company stores, which respectively completely alienated the rest of the miners from their pals, and began keepin’ the local businesses from their cash with their prices. It hardly took a year before the entire town was workin’ for Shepherd Gemstone, breakin’ their backs strippin’ those mountains of everything they were worth. Everyone, even those artisans who’d never been the blue collar types to begin with, had to grab a pick to survive. That company was fast, efficient, and real goddamn thorough in the way that it destroyed our lives and our land. It got to a point where even if we wanted to, tryin’ to go down into those mines again would cause cave-ins like we’d never seen the likes of prior.

It was three years of adventuring before I came back to Gutter’s Glade. I had seen enough of my life flashin’ before my eyes, but as fate would have it, it wouldn’t be the last time it’d happen. I saw the life I once knew shattered into a thousand pieces, the people I loved stripped of their health, dignity, and freedom. And my old adventurin’ buddies, the people I’d suffered and strived for greatness with, saw it too.

It awoke somethin’ in me, somethin’ that I hadn’t even had while I was out there chasin’ the Dragon’s tail. I vowed that day to free that town from the company, even if it were to cost me my own life. And from then forth, I dedicated myself entirely to the organization and proliferation of the union that you saw runnin’ the town today.

Now, if you think I make it sound like a piece of cake, I don’t know what kinda cake you’ve been eatin’, cause I don’t think I’ve seen more misery in my entire life than that point there. I put my heart and soul into these people, and there were times where I was afraid that they didn’t have any left to give back. There were times where I had to put my body on the line just to relieve some of the fear that they had toward the foremen.

God, the first fight I got into with a foreman was a guy who they’d hired specifically ‘cause he was the unhinged type. A real sadist, the kind that you’d see and think that they picked up outta banditry work. He was beatin’ down one one of the miners real hard, and in response I knocked the everlovin’ shit outta him. I made that motherfucker eat his own goddamn teeth for breakfast, but I was lucky, since there weren’t any other foremen watching and I knew nobody present would speak a word about it. Not even him, since his pride was too hurt. Not long after the vindictive bastard tried to sneak a knife under my ribs while I was sleepin’, which didn’t work, and I ended up puttin’ him six feet under with the little number I carry on my hip.

Point is, whether by conversation, union pressure, or by force alone, we worked our way up the corporate ladder, dismantling each pawn on the way up. It took years, but by the time I was just startin’ to turn grey ‘round the chops we had forced the company to pull back entirely from the town. Their profit margins were in the red, and so they abandoned everything where it stood, movin’ on to wherever the fuck snakes like them move on to.

Buildings upon buildings of corporate supplies and spoils, ours for the takin’. Though they left a little product around, it wasn’t enough to sustain ourselves off— and so, we had to get creative with our reconstruction. We also abandoned those mountains, as we learned quickly that there was nothin’ left for us either. At first we tried to invest in breweries, since the valley tends toward cool, dark weather. But, brewin’ takes time, so we did everythin’ else we could to bring the town back on its feet.

Odd jobs for nearby towns, sellin’ and movin’ stuff made by the artisans who still knew how, doin’ a little protection work for passing-by caravans; we were the handymen of the ridges, and our plan B turned into our plan A by accident. After a certain point we were on-call anytime a neighboring town needed somethin’ built, somethin’ torn down, somethin’ reconstructed, designed, you name it. Money flowed in the direction of our blue-collar labor force, so we leaned into it and let it carry us wherever it led.

It led to us renaming the town; “Pickman’s Hope”, the name you know today, was what we agreed upon. We’ve helped Fusillade rebuild itself a dozen or so times since our independence, we’ve helped carve out the hills of Kiln for their expansion project, we’ve helped build the road from here to Honeysett and further. And while our brewin’ work’s only now startin’ to pick up some traction, we’ve got a nice, healthy community goin’ now, and that’s what matters the most.

And that’s how Pickman’s Hope came to be, folks. Don’t listen to the folks ‘round here who refer to me with these nice titles, they did this, all this, themselves. All it took was me showin’ them they could do it. The only reason I’m the head of anythin’ at the moment is ‘cause I’m old, and ‘cause I’m good at diplomacy, even though there’s plenty’a fresher spawns here who’re lookin’ like they’ll surpass me someday.

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell ‘em more about your shotgun, Sam,” Azariah chuckles, having finished his soup. “Practically gnawed the rest of my ear off with that earlier.”

“It ain’t all THAT important to the story. But if you insist,” he says.

In one swift motion, the sawed-off shotgun is pulled out from its holster, and set gently on the picnic table. “She used to be a little longer in both directions, but I found that she was harder to carry ‘round. I’ve turned quite a few of those nasty foremen inside out with ‘er, and I’ve never found somethin’ I couldn’t handle with her in my hands.”

“She?” Judith asks, frowning.

“Don’t be disrespectful, now, Judith.”

“I was just making a comment.”

“You just ain’t human if you don’t attach a pet name to somethin’ you love. Ain’t that right, Charlene?”

“I guess I’m not human, then. I’ve never gendered my gear before.”

Sam lets out a hearty laugh. “Oh, I’m just pullin’ your chain, don’t you worry. ‘Sides I knew you weren’t human from the moment I saw you.” He points at his nose, sending a pang of realization toward Judith. “You got the werewolf smell whether you like it or not. Was worried too, since most of our werewolves don’t smell the same as anyone from Shepherd Gemstone.”

“Anyway,” he says, sliding his gun back into its holster. “I’m glad to have given y’all a little bit of history. I hope it means somethin’, considerin’ y’all are on the run from the same company we beat.” He stands up from his seat, bowl in hand. “If we did it, y’all can do it too. Remember that.”

==============================================================

“You’re a buzzkill, L. I think it would’ve been funny.”

“And I think the fact that I’m still awake is bad enough, Piper. Jules needs his rest, don’t aim for potholes.” Hypocritical, she knows, but Jules is really in a bad way even if he’s faster to recover than just about anyone when he’s had his fill. Lucille’s not in the mood to have to climb into the back of the car— again— to help fix the Vampire’s bandages after a particularly nasty bump or dip in the road just because Piper might get a kick out of jostling him.

Piper’s eyes roll, then settle back onto the road ahead, lit only by the now faint lamps at the head of her car. Her car, her car. It feels delightful to roll that around in her mind, settle on it for a while longer, and enjoy the smooth finish of the thought. She leans back a bit in her seat, easing on the gas. It’s long past being late and has breached into that strange territory where it’s beginning to become early, though the sunrise has some hours left before it claws its way over the horizon. It’s a long ride between Fusillade and Pickman’s Hope, but one somebody can make if they’re willing to take about most of their waking day to drive it, and Piper is nothing if not deeply and entirely dedicated to her work.

Lucille’s eyes, dark as the night itself, linger on Piper’s shoulders, drifting to her throat and then to the snake’s features. Her gaze narrows. Since the ride started, there’s been something eating at her, something about Piper she can’t place, and after a lengthy, engine-noise filled silence, she feels obligated to attempt to place it while she has the time.

This isn’t her Piper. Not the one she had spoken to uncomfortably often over the matter of stolen product back on site for some years during her tenure as head of security; no, this Piper is someone vastly different. It’s hard to notice, but this line of work leans heavy on information, and unless you’ve got someone to handle it, you either do it yourself or you die. She learned that lesson well enough on her way out of the frostbitten shithole she calls home, she learned it well during her traveling freelancer nights, her job as security head, and it seems she’s learning it all over again right now, in the passenger seat of this disgustingly lavish fuckmobile. Survival in a world of snap decisions and split second deaths depends upon power and honed senses, and if you don’t have one, pray you have the other.

Jules on his good nights is a powerhouse. Jules on his bad nights is a piece of cardboard recently soaked in rainwater. Lucille is always attentive, or at least believes herself to be. She’s attentive enough that, after a certain point, she begins to reach conclusions passively, without thinking, as the thoughts coalesce somewhere in the back of her skull, pooling close to where the base meets her spine, before they spring as fully formed ideas into the forefront. It’s a highly developed and effective collecting process that utilizes every scent; it’s that sixth sense that screams in the back of her mind when there’s enough external stimuli to tell her that, despite not seeing any direct signs of it, she is being followed by some monumentally skilled sneak. It’s what tells you you’re being watched. Her gut instinct, in time, has been honed to a razor’s edge. It’s what saved Jules when they first hauled up that corpse. It saved her on her way out of the frozen wastes. She thinks it might save her again, soon, but only if she’s right.

It’s rare she wants to be wrong. Much as she might complain about Piper, she’s not one to want to see her develop like this. The gloves would be a sign on anyone else, but she knows Piper to have been a mining foreman and a Weresnake, gloves with thick material leave little trace compared to bare hands but when one has claws and doesn’t wish to knick anybody, they’re practically a necessity unless you file often, a problem those with simple fingernails don’t run into. Largely it’s the coat, because she knows it.

She’d never really gotten all that chummy with the guy during his brief passes through, but she knows well enough that the coat belonged to Blondie at some point. Hard not to when she once had to endure the constant complaining Gilroy had in store when it comes to Blondie’s ideas regarding the structure of the whole operation top to bottom, especially when near the tail end of her time there many such ideas involved liquidating her own part of it. It’s not an easy coat to miss, it’s a custom job and it’s made to be wrapped around already large lycanthropes and hopefully survive a shift in the heat of battle. Aside from that, there’s an identifiable shape against the snake’s ribs— a weapon.

Piper’s tail shifts and runs against Lucille’s side before curling back behind the seat again. The driver smiles, offering a brief glance at her fangs alongside a sidelong look, the gold in her irises unsettlingly vivid amid the reflecting moonlight. Piper has some height on her, even sitting; she has to look up for her own dark eyes to drink in another change.

Posture, attitude, expression. Surprisingly, you learn to read people pretty well when you fight them for a living, just another set of information for her gut to digest. A person’s face can tell you when they’re about to punch you if you can really get it down pat, or it can tell a lot more. Piper reminds her, in this moment, of those idiots back north who wear their enthuse on their sleeve, or more aptly, on their faces.

The sun burned high in the sky behind cloud cover as Lucille wrapped her arms with rough leather straps, sitting in the back of a ramshackle pickup truck-sled monstrosity as it screamed across the ice. Half of her face was painted with vivid red, some crushed plant, as was what bits of her torso could be seen beneath patchwork leather and metal. Her feet were bare, but they were not cold.

Too recently had she stepped through the smoldering embers of burned tents, rendered to ash by the torches of crazed warriors, raiders and fiends. Those tents which were not crushed by the stampede of motor vehicle abominations were put to the flame by the wilder fighters on foot, those who’d leapt from their rides in pursuit of battle and plunder, taken by the throes of absolute and total war. Many of them wore less than her, painted from head to toe in a myriad of flaming colors, claiming that their flames would warm them so long as they were worn. She found no warmth in the paint, not like the fanatics did.

Across from her sat three other women and a couple men, all of whom also bore the paint and symbols of the gang, though unlike Lucille they were clawing at one another, screaming, laughing as they tossed around trophies from the latest excursion against a small sect of a larger rival gang. The trophies, when not stained by blood, were marked with blue smatterings and swirling symbols in contrast to her group’s sharper, geometric flame-based design ethic.

Between her feet sat a set of knives. Simple knives meant for tossing, they weren’t large or ornate, nor were they particularly expensive, but what drew her to them was the simple fact that they were still in a package marked with an actual brand. Like a cutlery set for throwing knives, though Lucille would not come to know what a cutlery set is until she headed down south.

Her hands balled into fists as she noticed the stares of her companions lingering dangerously on her prize, her lone and simple treasure. She had taken no trophies from her fights, taken no trinkets from the burnt tents, save for this single knife set. It was a set of six, marked with a title: “Crescent House — Daggerist Starter Kit.” A brand name. It did not confuse her, as some might think. It fascinated her. In this place if something had a name it was that of its creator, often in memoriam, so it was strange to see something named as such. After all, she’d never heard of anyone called “Crescent House.”

A man of chalky white skin and of wild hair, half-dyed with the red paint, grabbed the set from between Lucille’s legs. All the while he smiled, casting her only a passing glance, offering little but the derision one shows to someone unfortunate enough to be forced to give tithe. Though he was merely the single largest person on a single truck among a sea of such vehicles bearing the banner of their gang, a no-name like the rest of them, he held himself as the king of this tiny, metal realm, standing amidst his subjects as treads beneath them hauled it all alongside tens of similar machines, with many such similar men claiming many such familiar fantasies.

Lucille crushed his nose beneath the heel of her palm with a shout, pouncing upon him as she swung her leather-wrapped arms. The tall man went down, and she was on top, and the others were screaming with her, beating their sides, stomping their feet, the wind whipping around them as she continued to bring her hands down on him. They’re screaming words, but she heard none of them over those of her own, those of her normal mouth and the ungodly noises of that maw below her ribs as with every raising of her fists into the air it opened wide to let loose a battle yawp the likes of which none of her companions could have dared to match.

Her arms didn’t stop moving until she heard the whimpering admittance of submission, and the smug expression she so detested was ripped from his features by way of might, as all things were, as all things are.

Lucille blinks. Piper’s got that look, that “you owe this to me” look, the sort of entitled expression only backed up or put down by quick and decisive force. Her gut instinct is to strike her now, car crash be damned, but she’s been wrong about plenty lately. She had no clue Jules was working for the Carnevale, and even at this moment holds some reservations that he might start working for them again almost immediately after he recovers. Not to mention she hadn’t been able to predict any of what happened in Kiln, and Fusillade in near totality was an absolute shitshow. She’s been wrong a lot lately. She’s probably wrong right now.

“You’re staring, L.” Piper’s forked tongue slips between her fangs to extend the soft c in the shortening, a play to lighten the mood. It’s flagrant, as though taunting Lucille to question, to urge, to press and poke where she shouldn’t. It’s the rattle of a snake ready to bite, her guts scream. Kill her now, before she can take initiative.

Lucille settles with her head against the window, her arms wrapped around herself as though to shield her body from a chill far, far away. “The new coat looks good.”

“Thanks. It’s a Quilting Club custom piece, you know,” Piper replies.

Lucille’s head turns only slightly toward the dark, faintly moonlit dashboard. “Quilting Club? You can afford Quilting Club with this new job? Even Jules and I haven’t gotten a catalogue…”

“Hey, when you’re on the rise the major players take notice. Get on the ground level, invest in your big spenders. I didn’t buy it, instead just got it from the last guy, but that’s just being cost effective.” A laugh escapes the driver, but she calms herself quickly enough as her eyes drift along the road ahead. “Maybe sometime later on I can forward a letter of recommendation, but I don’t see you guys doing too many jobs that need this tier of gear in the near future.”

“I suppose you’re right, bounty hunting doesn’t need heavy ordnance. Usually just prep time and a decent execution.”

“Yeah.” Piper nods. “In my line of work we don’t only handle random miners, even if that’s my job right now.”

“Of course.” Lucille’s jaw refuses to settle. She needs to keep talking, but the words are awkward. Forcing her gut instinct down alone is enough to give her trouble, but the fact that it’s Piper doesn’t help. “Haircut?”

“Nope.” A grin is offered again. The smooth scales of Piper’s tail rub against Lucille’s hip once more, only to settle right back into position behind the driver’s seat as Jules turns over in the back, as if caught.

“This really isn’t the time to talk about this,” Lucille says, largely to herself.

“Just messing with you, L. Teasing.” Piper’s shoulders roll as she speaks, voice low. “I’m spoken for now anyway.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Seen the beautiful brunette on the big makeup signs down south?” Piper asks with raised brows, expectant.

“Yes,” Lucille admits. It’s hard not to considering they’ve been up for years. Makeup’s apparently big in cities as far as she can tell, but there are some things a bit of foundation really can’t make look nice. Aside from that, any man or woman interested in her, ignoring the snaggle of fangs she calls a mouth and the maw in her torso, probably isn’t the type to be enticed by the prettier, more human looking sorts. “Hard to miss, considering anytime you enter a big city around here they’re up everywhere. Really? What’s her name?”

“Janet Campbell, and she’s even better looking in person.” Piper nods in faux humility, her smile widening. “Nice place. Wonderful kids. Her boy’s really taken a shine to me, L. I might take him hunting one day, if she lets me, like my daddy used to take me out hunting. The driveway is great, and the backyard—”

Lucille clears her throat. “I didn’t ask about her kids or what she has, I asked about her. What’s she like?” There’s no hint of jealousy, really, it’s just curiosity. “Let’s talk, Piper. We haven’t talked in a long time.”

“What’s there to talk about?” The tail wraps a little more firmly around her seat. “She’s beautiful and caring, that’s fine enough. There’s nothing to talk about, L, that ship’s sailed, the offer’s off the table. I’m seeing somebody. A model.”

“I wasn’t trying my luck,” Lucille mumbles. “You don’t have to repeat yourself.”

“Look, Lucille, I’m sure there are plenty of folks out there looking to get into all of… That. Plenty. Lots of people who’d adore to sort out your icicle hellhole baggage. Just not me, of course, because I’m a bit busy getting all up in—”

“I said I get the point, Piper, I get it.” Lucille sits up, away from the window. “Don’t be an ass.”

“If I find any nice guys, any decent fighter types without the fear that they’re going to wake up bitten in half, I’ll send ‘em your way, promise. Well, if they’re pretty enough then Jules might get to them first. Women too, if I meet any good matches, I’ll send ‘em on over. If anything that might be the safer bet, what with how Jules—”

Lucille lightly but sharply punches Piper’s tail with a rumbling growl not from her mouth but from the maw beneath her clothes before saying, in no uncertain terms, “Do not finish that fucking sentence.”

The pain’s enough to cause Piper’s grip to jerk as she hisses, said jerk subsequently translating into a much larger, more dangerous jerk of the car’s trajectory, sending them dangerously close to the right edge of the road before she compensates and brings them back to the center of the right half as the soon to be conscious Jules tumbles into the floor of the car. “Alright, I won’t. Bitch,” she spits.

Jules raises himself with a groan, using only his left arm, as the two women lock eyes. He blinks, then points out ahead between the both of them. “Sign.”

It’s a big, well carved and well tended wooden sign off the side of the road, with large text lifted out of the carving and painted white for reflection’s sake: “PICKMAN’S HOPE.” Beneath it is the sweet and simple statement, “Welcome home.” On either side of these statements are carvings of wild roses, painted yellow, and plentiful local vegetables painted onto the flat space beside.

Piper and Lucille both collect themselves as Jules settles back into his spot behind them.

“They’re not gonna like us in there,” Jules mumbles from beneath his drooping mustache.

“Of course they aren’t, we’re pretty obviously not your run of the mill migrant workers. You’re too prissy, she looks like she’s ready to kill anybody in the room, and I like to dress for the job I want— which means I’m not going to bother with a disguise. It’s why we’re riding in now rather than later.” Piper straightens herself out, narrowing her eyes at the town far, far ahead. “There’s a Shepherd connection in here that’s been feeding information to us for years, apparently. I’ve got an address, that’s our new base for the time being. Don’t screw it up by starting any random fights in bars over that stupid hat of yours, Jules. Keep civvie casualties to a minimum, ‘kay?”

“You think we’re idiots.” Lucille scoffs.

“No, I know you’re idiots, but you’re my idiots. World of difference. Both of you get ready to get your shit out of the car when we get there, we have to get in fast.”

==============================================================

AH, ONYX. I EXPECTED YOU TO REQUEST A VISIT EARLIER IN YOUR JOURNEY, BUT IT APPEARS AS THOUGH YOU HAVE BEEN DOING WELL FOR YOURSELF. HOW IS YOUR EGO?

Azariah, opening his eyes to the wall of fog before him, rubs his head and laughs. “Well, if I’m bein’ honest, on top of the world. What kinda question is that?”

ONE OF IMPORTANCE TO CITRINE, AS WE BOTH KNOW.

“You’re right.”

I KNOW. WHAT IS IT YOU NEED? the voice booms. The Hare can see something massive rotating into place from beyond the fog wall.

I’d like to know when I can expect this all to end, he thinks to himself. Things have been going a little too well for them recently, and while he’s enjoying himself, he can’t shake the feeling that it won’t last. They discovered both Judith and Leons’ powers, they got in and out of Fusillade without a hitch. Sam’s still alive and kicking, which is a great bonus, and the only person he’s worried about right now is Roxanne (even if she is one of the hardest people to kill he knows). As far as he can tell, he’s sleeping with the guy right now— things are sweet as candy, and as everyone knows, too much sugar causes problems.

I MUST APOLOGIZE, BUT I AM NOT A SEER, ONYX. I CANNOT TELL YOU YOUR FUTURE. the voice booms again, much to Azariah’s confusion. I UNDERSTAND YOUR SENSE OF DREAD, AS IT IS WHY I CHOSE YOU TO BEGIN WITH. BUT MAY I PROPOSE A QUESTION IN RETURN?

“Of course,” Azariah responds. “Ain’t like I’m gonna refuse you in your own… home?”

OFFICE. REGARDLESS. The shape shifts in the dark again. WHEN DO YOU WANT THIS HAPPINESS TO END, ONYX?

“Well, that’s easy. If I could, I’d want it to keep goin’ ‘til I drop.”

ARE YOU PREPARED TO FIGHT FOR THAT FUTURE?

“Depends.”

I MEAN WHAT I SAY. SO, I SHALL SAY IT AGAIN, IN THE CASE THAT YOU DID NOT UNDERSTAND— ARE YOU PREPARED TO FIGHT FOR YOUR HAPPINESS, ONYX? THERE IS ONE WAY FOR YOU TO SECURE IT, AND THAT IS FOR YOU TO ACT WHEN THE TIME COMES.

Azariah wants to answer right away, yes, of course yes, I’d do anything for it. But something stops him before his mouth can carry him away. It’s a feeling, an old, gripping feeling that had recently slipped away from his conscience. That fearful trap that he had built for himself, the idea that while he can’t stop things from getting worse, the best he can do is enjoy himself while he can in the now. It wants to pull his tongue back down his throat, wants to keep him close in its overwhelming feeling of resignation.

He knows it’s there, he knows it’s a demon of his own design. And for the first time in his life, he realizes just how pitiful it is. The fire inside him had been replaced with a skittering, cowering little beast of burden, willing to carry the weight of his sins so long as he didn’t dare light the flame again. And now that there’s fire once more in his belly, it begs with him, pleads him to just let the future go, as it’s out of his grasp anyways. Something he knows to not be true in the slightest.

The Hare looks back up at the fog wall. He can feel It staring at him, knowingly. It did this on purpose, didn’t It. It put these rocks in his bones for the sake of helping him kill this imp in his gut. All those cryptic messages, all that painful adventuring. It was out to test him, to see if he could make it through this. By god, he certainly did.

So, he folds his arms and looks back at It through the fog. “Yeah. I’m prepared to do anythin’.”

THAT IS GOOD TO HEAR, ONYX. I QUESTIONED WHETHER YOU’D BE ABLE TO OVERCOME YOUR CRACKS, IF I AM TO BE HONEST. BUT, YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF ABLE TO FIX THEM YOURSELF, GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY.

“Opportunity is a pretty light term, considerin’ you single-handedly changed my life,” Azariah chuckles. “I’d say you handed me a one-way ticket to something new.”

THINK WHAT YOU PLEASE. KNOW THAT MY GIFT WAS SIMPLY THE NUDGE, AND NOT WHATEVER FOLLOWED.

“Landslides gotta start somewhere.”

It is silent for a moment. PERHAPS I SHOULD INVEST IN A BETTER ANALOGY. REALLY, IT WAS YOU WHO CRAFTED YOUR FUTURE, NOT I.

“I suppose so. Thank you, by the way. Is this somethin’ you do often?”

YOU ARE VERY WELCOME, ONYX. YES, THIS IS MY JOB. YOU WOULD BE SURPRISED AT HOW FEW BEINGS ON THIS PLANET GIVE EVEN A SIMPLE THANK-YOU FOR MY SERVICES. OF COURSE, DESPITE MY SERVICES NOT TECHNICALLY BEING FOR THEIR GAIN.

Is this thing like, an HR employee? he thinks to himself, without remembering who might be listening.

I AM NOT ENTIRELY CERTAIN WHAT “HR” MEANS, BUT I BELIEVE I HAVE ALREADY OVERSTEPPED MY BOUNDS IN THIS CONVERSATION. IT HAS BEEN GOOD TALKING WITH YOU, ONYX. I WISH YOU THE BEST IN YOUR CONTINUED JOURNEY.

“It’s been good talkin’ with you too, uh. What should I call you? I don’t think I ever got your name.”

THAT IS INFORMATION I SADLY CANNOT SHARE— BUT IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, KNOW THAT YOU WOULD NOT BE CAPABLE OF HEARING IT WITHOUT SUFFERING A PARTICULARLY PAINFUL HEADACHE. OR, SO I HAVE HEARD.

Chapter End.

==============================================================

[ Table of Contents ]

#empty-mask #b&tsm #writing #oc #fantasy #adventure #serialized fiction #b&tsm-judith #b&tsm-azariah #b&tsm-piper #b&tsm-jules #b&tsm-lucille

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