#i might need to plan yet another fic just to give him the attention he deserves >_< | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jeonstudios · 7 months ago

Text

fontana di trevi | 01

you seek out a vampire to help you with something.

pairing: vampire!jk x sadgirl, blood donor!reader

genre: vampire au, angst, fluff (really a sadgirl fic lol)

word count: 7.6k

warnings: blood, needles, talking about how you euthanize cows and such? suicidal thoughts (not graphic or elaborated? very straightforward?)

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/2

It’s a freezing cold December night when you step into the dark alleyway, your thighs having gone numb under your jeans a while ago. The sun set hours ago, and the only light present is that of a few scattered streetlights.

Your pulse quickens as you take another cautious step. Something moves further in, where the light barely reaches, and since there’s no snow yet, you hear the slight crunch of frozen fall leaves under… footsteps. From the dark, a tall figure approaches slowly in a way that would have anyone’s blood chilling.

“I have a proposition,” you state, trying to stand somewhat tall.

"A proposition?” a low voice inquires, and you have to tilt your head up to look at the face that emerges from the shadows. “I’ll fuck you, but I’m not turning you for sex.”

“That’s not what—I don’t want sex or to be turned.”

He directs his full attention to you, and in turn, you get a better glimpse of his features. He looks like a man; incredibly handsome with jet black hair, eyebrows, and eyes, but his skin is paler than anything you’ve seen, and there’s the tiniest smudge of something red tinting the corner of his mouth. Though his eyebrow is raised, he doesn’t look very entertained.

“You can have my blood. All of it, if you just take it quickly.”

He lifts his hand to slowly wipe the red from his face. The outfit he wears—a black leather jacket and black pants—looks human but is definitely too cold to wear this time of year.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t simply take it if I wanted to? Why would I need your permission?”

“I’m just saying. Take it if you want it?”

He looks at you, seemingly at least a little intrigued by the odd human in front of him. You definitely understand that most people run the other way at the sight of this big, intimidating being.

“You realize ‘all of it’ means you’ll be dead, right?”

You nod. “Do we have a deal?”

“Regardless of if I wanted to or not, I literally just… ate, so I physically can’t. Not for another week or so.”

You feel your shoulders drop slightly, and you blink, trying to improvise a plan.

“Okay, well… Do you want to meet here in a week, then?”

At that, he tilts his head. “You want to die here, in a dirty alleyway?”

“I don’t care. So yes or no?”

“If you want me to do this, give me something in return first, okay?”

You look at him in confusion. “You’re getting my blood?”

“Who's to say your blood is even good?”

Trying not to let his words discourage you, you look around, thinking. Maybe you should’ve played harder to get? At least in the sense of giving him a hunt? You don’t want to waste any time, but he might not be your best option.

“Fine, do you know if there are other vampires around here? How do I find them?”

It took you three weeks to even find this one, and maybe it was more luck than anything, so setting off on another search doesn’t sound too exciting. These creatures really do live in the shadows.

“No, listen. Whether your blood is delicious or not, it would certainly be helpful to have it. But…”

“But?”

“Let me stock up on it first. Meet me at my place and let me take some every week for two months and then I’ll take the rest.”

You look around again, unsure if you should just try to find someone else. Two months is not ideal; it’s too long, and you’re sure you could manage to find someone else in the meantime.

The vampire senses your hesitation and takes a step closer.

“You want it to be quick, which means you’re scared of pain. People around here, my kind, tend to drag it out. Pain and fear equal adrenalin, which gives the blood a certain… flavor that some enjoy. Agree to my compromise, and I’ll make it quick and practically painless.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles, barely a hint of one, but it feels wicked and makes a cold shiver run down your spine. You know he’s not trustworthy, but he’s getting a lot out of the deal, and you have nothing to lose, really.

“Okay. What’s the address?”

In the middle of the day a week later, you find yourself in front of a big two-story house. It’s nice, looks pretty expensive but… like a regular house? It’s painted white and definitely not blood-red or even black. Aligning more with your expectations is how the house is partially obscured from the road by huge, towering spruces and how it seems to lie just a little bit further from the neighboring houses. There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground now, but you’re not sure whether it’ll stick.

After confirming that no, there is no door bell, you lift your fist to knock on the door. Vampires have crazy good hearing anyway, right? You’d assume so, given the fact that they’re always portrayed as super fast, super strong, super… attractive, and with super hearing, super vision, just… super all around. The mythical creatures don’t officially exist to the world, but in your little town, everyone knows they do. And they do. You found one. So if they drink blood and are super attractive—at least this one—it’s not too weird to assume there’s more truth to their pop-culture portrayal.

You can see how the town’s vampire believers and enthusiasts shake their heads in disappointment at your relative indifference, but truth be told, you’d probably be more curious about the vampire whose home you’re about to step into if the situation was different. Or maybe you’d have some self-preservation and run the other way?

The door opens almost soundlessly, and when you look up, you meet those black, bottomless eyes. It really is his color, you think, your gaze drawn to the short-sleeve, black button-down he’s wearing, the top three buttons or so left undone. With it, he’s wearing black pants on the looser side. He looks incredibly handsome, and very effortlessly so. His hair is shiny and looks soft, and like it naturally falls into that slight side-part.

“Are you gonna come in or just stand there and ogle me?” He isn’t smiling teasingly; he just looks at you, unimpressed.

“Sorry.”

He turns to retreat back into the house, and you’re left to enter through the open door. There are no lights on inside, and when you close the door behind you, cutting off a majority of the daylight, you start to feel like you’re truly inside a vampire’s home. Still, it’s light enough for you to follow said vampire’s back after hastily removing your coat and folding it to leave over the boots you step out of. Since you assumed he needs access to the veins in your arms, you picked out a gray t-shirt and a black zip-up hoodie that’s a little too big on you, paired with jeans. Nothing fancy—you’re not there to impress him.

With quickened steps, you catch up to him as he wordlessly leads the way into his kitchen, a place you doubt he uses much. Vampires don’t actually eat, do they? Either way, the room is clean and feels almost... sterile, despite the walnut cupboards and dark gray countertops.

On the short end of a wide, matching walnut dining table, a bunch of supplies are laid out. He gestures to one of the two chairs positioned around the corner of the table, but as you sit down, he turns to leave.

“Uhm, I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, pulling the zipper of your hoodie down and slipping one arm out. “I mean, I’m sure it can’t be that complicated in… theory, but I don’t think I can do it on myself.”

“I’m just gonna wash my hands,” he explains, and there seems to be a very slight trace of emotion in his voice and on his face that you interpret as amusement. He thinks you're dumb.

Oh. Well… does it really matter if his hands are squeaky clean or not?

Water hits the sink with a familiar sound as you focus on the table, inspecting the supplies. There’s a needle with a tube attached to it, a tourniquet, some syringes, antiseptic wipes, and a few empty blood bags. A voice in your head wonders if maybe he changed his mind and will simply take everything at this moment because those bags look pretty big, and you’re not sure you can fill them and still walk out of this place.

The water stops, and you sit pretty and wait until he positions the other chair in front of you, a little to the side. You’ve never been a fan of needles or having your blood drawn, so you focus your eyes the other way, to a specific part of his kitchen window and the overcast outside. You hear the sound of paper and plastic ripping, and you feel his cold fingers place and tighten the tourniquet around your upper arm and feel for your veins before he wipes the area clean.

“Scared of needles?” he teases arrogantly, and you see how he reaches for the sharp object on the table.

“Bodily reaction. I can’t help it,” you explain before holding your breath and waiting for the poke.

It comes soon after; an uncomfortable but not too painful prick. With one hand, he moves some things around on the table, and you try to keep as still as possible, loathing the feeling of a needle jolting around in your vein.

“You’re not curious as to why I know how to do this stuff? Or worried that I don’t?” he wonders, releasing the tourniquet and seemingly fastening the needle to your skin with some tape.

“No. I guess it doesn’t surprise me; blood and vampires seem to go hand in hand.”

He surprises you by letting out a quiet chuckle before placing a red stress ball in your hand. “Squeeze this. I’ll be back to change the bag in a few minutes.”

Nodding, you watch him rise from his chair and leave the room.

Left to your own devices and with the filling blood bag taped to the chair’s armrest by its thin tube, you close your eyes.

The house is entirely silent, and you have no idea where the vampire went. After he moved the stuff around on the table, you were able to count exactly three blood bags with a printed 450 ml on them. That adds up to somewhere between one and one and half liters and around 30% of your blood volume if you’ve calculated correctly. According to your brief research, a human doesn’t typically survive losing more than 40% of their blood unless given emergency medical attention. You probably won’t feel too great after today, but you most likely won’t die. You think.

Slowly, the minutes start to tick by, but you feel okay so far. You’ve got a good rhythm going for the stress ball, squeezing, holding, releasing. Squeezing, holding, releasing. The silence has your mind wandering.

“You can stop for a bit.”

The vampire’s sudden voice has your eyes flying open. He hadn’t made a single sound, returning to the kitchen. Catching your breath, you nod, keeping the ball still in your hand. You don’t look at the needle in your arm, but you see the bag full of dark red that the vampire sits down and trades for an empty one, attaching the tubes before he fastens them in the same way to the armrest.

When he’s done, he lifts his hand, and you spot one of his fingertips covered in red. For a split second, he observes it, and then he puts the finger to his tongue. At first, it’s weird to see, and you almost want to tell him that it’s not hygienic to taste other people’s blood. That is before you remember that other people’s blood is what sustains him.

He looks to be assessing something, and suddenly, you’re worried he might not like it.

“B positive," he focuses on you, but you give him a slight, confused shrug because you have no idea what blood type you are or what it means in this context.

“Is that… okay?”

“It’s… meh. Not the most common but also not the rarest. Most of my kind prefer A or even AB, though.”

“Oh."

Of course, your blood is substandard. You nod toward the filled bag on the table. “Will you have any use for this then?”

Truly, it would be just your luck to not even have the scary creatures, who roam the night in search of victims to drain, want your blood.

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter. I can always use it as a backup if I don’t get the chance to feed in time. Squeeze.”

Per his order, you resume squeezing. The rest of the process goes relatively smoothly, although you’ve started feeling a lot… weaker by the time the second bag is full and the vampire is about to switch it for the third.

There’s a lot about blood and the human body that you don’t know, and you’re silently wondering what the recovery rate is and if you can really give him this much every week. Does he plan on taking less next time or has he not taken it into consideration?

“Why do you want to die?”

You blink at his bluntness, looking at his uncaring face. He obviously doesn’t care to hear the longer story, and you don’t care to tell it, so you settle for a shorter, more condensed version.

“There’s something wrong with me. I don’t belong here.”

“Didn’t taste like it.”

“Maybe not physically.”

He doesn’t dig further, but when your blood starts trickling into the third bag, the vampire stays seated. You still close your eyes, afraid that you’ll stare at his face otherwise, and he didn’t particularly seem to like that.

You’re not sure if it’s just the blood loss or a combination of having slept poorly for the last few weeks and being in a calm, silent environment, but you’re feeling tired. Really tired. And cold.

“Squeeze harder,” his voice instructs, void of emotion. You do your best to follow his instructions, squeezing the ball tighter even though it’s getting difficult.

“We’re done.”

You open your eyes, finding the vampire much closer than before and his fingers swiftly removing the needle from your arm.

“Okay, so… uh…” you start, finding it hard to choose words or even think of what you want to convey in the first place. “Do I come back… same time… next week?”

“No. Make it two weeks.”

You look at him, confusion written across your features, but it’s hard to focus your eyes on his face. It’s blurry, and there are dark spots infiltrating your vision.

“I took as much as I could, and while you won’t have time to replenish everything in two weeks either, I’ll at least get more out of you than in just one week.”

He smiles, and if you had the energy and maybe (mostly) the common sense, you’d be scared by the way he truly looks so wicked.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

The vampire takes the stress ball from you and rises from the chair with the used supplies in his hands. You grip the armrests best you can, but your right hand slips, and you stumble a little, trying to stand. It’s so incredibly cold, and you feel dizzy, nauseous, and weak, putting your hoodie back on properly.

Very quietly, you hear him move around the kitchen, and while he hasn’t explicitly told you to leave, you’re very much assuming he wants nothing else. So on unsteady legs, you make your way back to the front door, where you grab your coat to haphazardly put it on, and you step into your boots, unable to bend down to tie them properly.

You’re able to make it to your old but trustworthy car that you parked on the street, but when you sit down in the driver’s seat and close the door behind you, you realize that you definitely can’t drive as it’s proving more and more difficult to even keep your eyes open. You can’t walk home, you have no one to come pick you up, and even if there probably is a bus stop somewhere around here, you don’t think you’d make it there.

So with your last burst of energy, you pull the lever under the seat to push it back a little, leaving your boots on the floor as you bring your feet and knees up. Your coat finds a new purpose as a makeshift blanket, and you cover as much of your body as you can with it. Fully knowing that as you close your eyes, you might never open them again, you don’t care that much. Dying is what you want, anyway.

Surprisingly, you do open your eyes again. It’s dark when you do, and it’s so, so cold. Your heart is beating hard as it tries to circulate blood that just isn’t there anymore, and it’s with a low groan that you move, trying to reach for the phone in the pocket of your coat.

It’s seven p.m.. You met with the vampire at two p.m., and the visit took less than an hour, which means that you got into your car at maybe a bit before three, and so you’ve been passed out for four hours. It takes you a while to come to properly, and even when you do, you feel weak, groggy, and stiff. Ideally, you shouldn’t drive, but you have no other means of getting home, so you decide on a route consisting of smaller roads with lower speed limits and less traffic.

It’s no wonder you feel like you’re on death’s doorstep because when you do some further Googling on blood donation and blood volumes at home, you calculate exactly how much someone of your size would have. And you find that the vampire took 38% of that.

Three weeks later, you’re knocking on his door again. He opens it, an eyebrow raised and looking even more unimpressed than last time.

“I’m sorry I didn’t show last week, but I was sick,” you inform, hoping he’ll accept your apology. “Didn’t think you would’ve wanted to see… that.”

“You’re right.”

That’s all he says before he turns, leaving the door open for you just like last time. Well, you take that as a sign that you’re forgiven, and so you follow him inside.

Trying to keep up with him, you’re feeling even smaller and weaker around the tall vampire than before, and truth be told, you are. Because according to those Google searches, while it takes the body only approximately 24-48 hours to replace the blood plasma, it takes four to six weeks to replenish the red blood cells and recover fully. And that’s from having one bag of 450ml donated; you left three and it’s only been three weeks since. Essentially, the vampire is taking your blood a lot faster than you can produce it.

Like last time, you sit down on the same chair in his kitchen, but since he wasn’t expecting you, he has to retrieve the supplies from elsewhere. You remain quiet while he organizes everything, stealing a few glances at him in the meantime. This time, he’s wearing a black t-shirt and black shorts, and you’re amazed at just how… ordinary he looks. In the best way possible, of course.

Without being too tight, the shirt does a very good job at showing off his physique: it hangs wonderfully off his shoulders and dips slightly between his pecs. It exposes the prominent veins stretching across both his arms and hands, and you wonder if vampires also ‘live’ in the way that he has a heart that pumps blood around his body. Or if he’s really ‘dead’ or ‘undead’ like some media describe them?

“What?” he questions, having caught you staring.

“You look very human,” you say quietly. “Like a college guy.”

An athletic college guy. The one who’s just a little too handsome to be exact.

The trace of amusement that flashes across his face is so faint that you’re not sure you didn’t simply imagine it. He doesn’t respond to your observation, only sitting down and reaching for your arm. His large hands feel a little warmer against your skin than you remember them doing last time, and you turn your head when he prepares the needle. There’s a pinch and then the immediate relief when he loosens the tourniquet.

“Here,” the red stress ball is placed into your hand again. Looking down briefly, you watch your own hand squeeze it, but the red fluid flowing through the transparent tube is too off-putting, and so you close your eyes again.

A minute or so passes while you keep squeezing the ball to some sort of rhythm tied to your breaths. It won’t be long. Soon, everything will be over.

Somewhere, you lose track of time, and to regain some sense of reality, you flutter your eyelids open. Only to see the vampire stare coldly at you. You freeze.

“I thought you left,” you admit, the surprise clear in your voice.

“I’m keeping an eye on you,” he explains, face still stoic.

You look at him dumbly. “No offense, but why? The point is to kill me, anyway?”

“No, it’s to take as much as possible,” he corrects you. “To a reasonable extent. And then kill you. Here, let me change the bag.”

You close your eyes once more as he switches the full bag to a new, empty one. The dizziness comes a lot quicker than it did three weeks ago, but then again, you’ve been feeling more or less weak and faint ever since that first donation.

“Okay, we’re done.”

You look at him, surprised. “Already? But you didn’t even fill the second bag fully?”

“I took too much last time, and like I said, I want to get as much out of you as possible.”

For the first time, you think you see a hint of a discreet fang when he gives you a blood-chilling smile.

The process of removing everything is quick, and before you know it, you’re putting your feet into your boots again. You feel faint, like your knees might buckle under you any second, but you don’t feel weak to the point of passing out for hours in your car; you do that when you’re home in bed instead.

Suffering from what you gather is immense anemia, you don’t have the energy to really do anything between your visits to the vampire besides lie on the couch and watch TV. You quit your retail job the Monday after finding him in that alleyway, confident (and correctly so) that you wouldn’t be able to handle really any job at all.

Even rotting away on the couch with your eyes glued to the screen, you can barely understand what the shows are about. Your brain struggles to place the people and remember the plot lines, and you find yourself almost daydreaming instead. Though it’s mostly just flashing images of the vampire whose name you still don’t know.

If your heart wasn’t already so strained, it would beat harder for him in some kind of fear-filled attraction. He’s absolutely gorgeous—and there’s definitely something almost drawing you to him—but he’s also so, so intimidating. If the end goal wasn’t to die, you’d for sure be running for the hills and looking over your shoulder late at night.

Next time, there’s a slight smile pulling on the vampire’s lips when he opens the door.

“Still alive?”

You chuckle quietly, looking down at your boots. “Unfortunately.”

Taking off your coat reveals another simple outfit with no other purpose than granting the vampire access to your arms while keeping your freezing body warm. This time, it’s a thick, brown cardigan over a t-shirt, paired with somewhat baggy jeans.

The contrast between your clothes is almost funny. Even indoors, you’d be freezing in the half-open thin, white dress shirt he wears messily tucked into black, also thin-looking slacks. The gap in his shirt makes you want to reach out and touch his pale chest, but of course, you keep your hands to yourself.

Once again, you follow him inside, and while you don’t need him to, he guides you to the same spot in his kitchen where the stuff is all laid out.

Sitting down, you slip your arm out of the cardigan and place it on the armrest. The vampire washes his hands and then comes to sit down in front of you, reaching for the tourniquet to position it around your bicep. With the elastic band tightened, he rips open an antiseptic wipe to clean the inside of your elbow, and then, he prepares the needle like always.

You look away, holding your breath until the pinch comes and for a few seconds after.

“The whole thing about vampires losing control around blood… I take it that’s just storytelling?”

“Depends,” he answers, and despite not looking at him, you just know he’s got one eyebrow raised and a hint of a cocky smile on his lips. “If we’re hungry and someone happens to bleed around us, yeah, it can be more… tempting. Also depends on what sort of blood we prefer.”

“And you don’t like mine,” you state, your foggy brain concluding it the reason he seems to not care about the vulnerable blood right in front of him.

He laughs this time, a really nice sound that has your strained heart almost skipping an important beat. “I changed my weekly feeding to Thursdays, so I’m still quite full. And your blood isn’t vile, it’s just not what I personally go crazy for.”

“Oh,” you let out, looking at him before something dawns on you. “Wait. You eat once a week only? How much do you eat then? Or… drink?”

He nods toward the bag he just secured to your arm. “Someone of my size typically only needs about two of these a week to survive and not maniacally hunt and kill, but to really thrive? Between two and three liters, so four to six bags. I usually go hunting Friday or Saturday night when most bars and pubs are full. It’s surprisingly easy to find a few drunks stumbling around who won’t even realize what happened the day after.”

“So you don’t… kill?”

“Not if we can help it. There’s been… an increase in vampires around here, and if people drop dead? No, it’s less suspicious and only a little more work to find a few victims instead of draining one dry.”

“Makes sense.”

“Mhm. I typically don’t have to beg women to come with me, either.”

Something ice cold travels through your body at that last sentence. You wonder whose blood was on his lips that night when you found him.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this, though? You seem like you’d tell me to mind my own business.”

Even more, you can’t believe you asked.

He smiles. “I don’t know. Like I said, people will occasionally find out what I am, find me fascinating, and ask a thousand questions. I’ve always thought it to be incredibly annoying, and I’m not really supposed to tell them anything even if I wanted to—which I don’t—but it’s been… odd, not being questioned by you. At all. Almost boring, like I’m not interesting to you.”

His answer surprises you, and for a moment, you imagine teenage you, not bubbly per se but at least a bit more naive than the current version. Would she be the type to annoy him? You don’t think so.

“Objectively, you are interesting, but I can’t believe how brave people are? If things were different, I wouldn’t have gone out looking for a vampire in the first place. And if I somehow stumbled upon you, I would’ve run the other way because you’d terrify me.”

Slowly, he smirks at your honesty.

“I scare you?”

You’d be lying if you claimed the cold, calculating aura around him didn’t.

You’re not sure if he has any super powers like in the movies, but honestly, he wouldn’t need to be able to lift a bus to kill you. The scariest thing about him isn’t how he could end your life in a hundred different ways either way, it’s how he could drag it out and extend your suffering before doing so. Of course, your body and instincts find him scary, but in a way, your mind… doesn’t? Then again, you’re here because your mind wants him to kill you.

“I don’t know.”

“Hm,” is all he says, his eyes falling to the blood bag. “I have to change it. Hold on.”

“Okay,” you mumble, finding it hard to concentrate. Your heart beats so hard it hurts, but at the same time, your breathing is slowing down. Closing your eyes, you feel him move stuff around.

“How are you feeling?” he suddenly asks, but it doesn’t sound like he cares too much.

“Honestly? Terrible,” you admit, keeping your eyes closed.

You keep still when you feel his hands on your arm, but then you hear a little… rip.

“Fuck.”

Curiously, you open your tired eyes, seeing the vampire hold the empty bag up to inspect it.

“This was the last one I had. This brand is fucking terrible quality; how do you make blood bags so weak they rip?”

“You don’t have anything else to collect it in?”

He sighs defeatedly, “No, it needs to be in these kinds of bags so I can store and freeze it properly.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll have to stock up on them and maybe take more next time.”

You nod slowly and understandingly. That will probably be the last time, then.

About a week and a half later, you find yourself on a bench downtown, your hands in the pockets of your coat to keep them warm. It’s Saturday, and on the other side of the street, a few people are standing in line to be let inside your town’s best version of a nightclub. You’re not certain what exactly brought you here, and you’re sure that if the happy, club-dressed people took the time to observe their surroundings, they’d notice you staring and look at you weirdly in turn.

“Hello?”

Registering the almost rude-sounding voice, you blink as you turn your head. It’s a guy.

“Huh?”

His face looks skeptic, and he’s got his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He’s not wearing a jacket or coat of any kind over his white t-shirt, so you gather he’s in the middle of a night out. Probably left a bar for a smoke and spotted you.

“I asked you what your name is? Like three times?”

He’s good looking with black hair and dark eyes, but the tone of his voice is very unattractive, and you have no interest in him whatsoever, knowing he isn’t just looking to be your friend.

“Oh. Uh…”

You don’t say it. It’s not that you don’t remember your name or that you’re making a conscious effort to deny him the information, but it’s like your thoughts are at a standstill.

“Beat it.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. His lips didn’t move.

“And who are you?” he asks, irritation dripping from his words, and this time, his lips are moving. However, his eyes are not on you but on something behind you.

Just as you’re about to turn around, the man in front of you leaves. His steps are quick, his mission abandoned.

“What are you doing here?”

Of course. It clicks the moment the vampire comes into view, and you’re surprised you didn’t immediately recognize his deep voice. He’s wearing that same leather jacket and some black pants, an outfit still very much inappropriate for winter. Though, something about him feels… wilder, almost a little uncontained? You can’t put your finger on what exactly.

“Uh, people-watching,” you inform as he rounds the bench, sitting down next to you.

Because he’s beautiful like no other, you glance discreetly at his face. He’s so masculine, but in certain lights, you glimpse something softer. You particularly like his nose and its rounded tip. It gives him such an attractive profile, you think, gaze traveling over his features and lingering on his dark eyelashes.

“Why? Isn’t it cold as hell for you?”

“Uhm, I don’t know? And I guess?”

From looking straight ahead, he turns his head, redirecting his full attention to you. The light from the closest street lamp reflects in his dark eyes.

“Is there any truth to that whole ‘vampires are designed to lure humans in’ thing?”

He grins. “I lure you in?”

“You’re more intimidating than you are attractive, actually,” you admit earnestly, wincing a little on the inside at how it came out a bit like an insult. He’s definitely attractive, and maybe the fact that he is so attractive is part of why he’s also so intimidating. “I’m just wondering what you looked like before.”

“I’ve always looked like this,” he explains casually, once again peering out over the cold, dark street. “Vampirism doesn’t change anything besides, like, skin impurities and conditions. I would’ve shown you a picture, but there were no cameras around when I was human,” he smiles cheekily.

“Anyway, you should go home. It’s really cold and not really safe at this time either,” he encourages.

You nod, realizing that he wants to protect his backup supply. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll see you next week.”

“Mhm.”

You expect him to get up and leave, confused when five seconds pass and he hasn’t moved. The feeling seems to be mutual because he turns his head to look at you again.

“So, are you leaving or not?”

“I am.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You look away, clearing your throat a bit awkwardly and realizing that you might just have to tell him, since he doesn’t seem to be leaving before you. “I don’t think I… can. I walked here, but I think I overestimated myself.”

The vampire looks you over briefly, probably just to be sure, but you both know that your main health concerns aren’t visible.

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, not that far. Like less than a ten minute walk, but I…”

“What’s your address?”

“124 Conch Street.”

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

Puzzled, you follow his instructions and slowly rise to your feet. Though you’ve been sitting stranded on the bench for almost two hours, the dizziness returns the moment you stand.

But the vampire isn’t satisfied. “Get up on the bench and undo your coat up to your waist.”

This time, you give him a skeptic look.

“Just do as I say,” he holds his hand out for you.

Slowly and still confused, you take it, and with his aid, you step up onto the bench.

To your surprise, he lets go, and before you know it, he’s unzipped your coat from the bottom up to your waist, positioned himself in front of you, and grabbed your thighs. Instinctively, you place your arms around his neck as he hoists you onto his back and starts walking.

“What are you doing?” you breathe quietly.

“Taking you home in an inconspicuous way. It looks like we’re a couple, does it not?”

“Definitely an odd and unexpected couple if so, but I guess?”

“You’re a pretty girl, you know?”

Your lungs hold your breath for an extra second before slowly releasing it, and then you hum, but it’s only to actually provide him with an answer. You definitely don’t think you’re anywhere near pretty enough for someone like him. He doesn’t call you out on your vague answer.

You’re not the most common sight, couple or not, and people still watch you as you pass them. Unsure as to how to meet their curious gazes, you don’t; turning your head forward instead. When you’re so close, you inevitably catch his scent, only to find that he doesn’t smell like a whole lot. There are traces of soap, laundry detergent, and maybe a hint of cologne, but not much else. No lingering smell of sweat or anything like that.

He walks you through the city and past the alleyway where you first found him. It’s quiet, except for the muted sound of his footsteps as well as those of a man a bit ahead, evidently hurrying to get home and away from the cold.

“Are there more vampires here?” you wonder, looking around the silent street and thinking it might not be as empty as it seems.

“Yes,” he confirms casually.

It has your brain working, and the surroundings reminding you of why you’re with him in the first place.

“How are you going to kill me?”

If he’s caught off guard by your straightforward question, he does a good job of not showing it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. But I’d rather not bleed out,” you say, body aching at the mere thought. Although you’re certain there are much worse ways to go, you really don’t like the feeling of severe blood loss.

“It’s the easiest way though,” he explains. “It’s not as easy to drain a body without a heartbeat to move the blood around.”

“Are you familiar with livestock?” you ask, thinking back to what your three-year-older cousin once told you as you biked past a field of cows one summer when you were ten. “You can kill the animal and then ‘deblood’ them by hanging the body upside down and cutting their throat. The blood will drain easily. Do you have a bathtub?”

“You’re… a person though, still,” he says, and though he doesn’t falter in his steps, you can tell your words don’t sit quite right with him. “There’s no dignity in an ending like that. And don’t you care what happens to your body?”

To say you’re surprised is an understatement. You thought vampires were all bloodthirsty monsters, only biding their time until they can rip someone new apart. The messier, the better. The vampire, who’s carrying you on his back, made no effort to appear nice either. At least not at first. Now, you don’t even know.

You shrug slightly. You’re not a spiritual person, and you’ve never believed in something like an afterlife. “It’s just meat and bones. I won’t be here anymore, and no one’s going to be looking for me, anyway. There’s no use in keeping things ‘pretty.’”

He doesn’t say anything in turn, and you wonder how much about you he knows. How much about your life he realizes.

The vampire’s smooth movement lulls you further into relaxation, and you lean your head partly against your own arm, partly against him. He doesn’t say anything.

Way sooner than if you would’ve walked with your own two legs—if you would’ve made it home at all—he puts you down in front of your apartment complex. You search your pockets, locating your keys in the left one.

“Going home now? Since you can’t enter without permission,” you joke tiredly, unlocking the front entrance with the key fob.

The vampire raises his eyebrows. “I might as well make sure you don’t somehow trip and spill all my blood on the way to your apartment,” he smirks, grabbing the door and opening it wide without breaking eye contact. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you see or read.”

The smile he’s wearing as he makes a show out of stepping inside the building is another chilling one. You can’t say that you expected him to hit an invisible wall or anything, but for some reason, it would’ve almost felt… nice if that were the case. Considering your situation, you’re not sure why.

The elevator is empty and waiting for you, and after getting inside, you press the button for floor two, the vampire coming to stand beside you.

“Is there anything that is true regarding vampires?” you ask quietly as if someone would hear you inside the elevator.

“Besides the fact that we drink blood?”

“Yeah. Are you like, immortal and stuff? Super old?”

He chuckles. “Kinda. I don’t think anything’s truly immortal, but we do have a longer life span, yes.”

“What about senses? Can you hear my heart beat right now?”

“Yes. It sounds like it’s about to burst through your chest.”

Yeah, because it’s strained to hell and back, trying to keep you alive even in the condition you’re in.

“And super speed, super strength and all that?”

“Mhm, although we’re not so fast we go blurry. Are you impressed?”

“I don’t know? What do you use it for? I can’t think of even one thing having those powers would improve in my life.”

“Tough crowd,” he chuckles, avoiding your question as he follows you out of the elevator.

You understand that being physically superior is helpful when you’re a literal predator, and yeah, maybe being able to walk a tiny bit faster to work every morning would’ve saved you some time, but what else? Oh, yeah, one time, you had to throw away a jar of pickles because you simply could not get it open. Being stronger would’ve definitely helped you then.

Reaching your door, you’re quick to unlock it and pull it open to head inside, ignoring the two envelopes lying on the floor in your hallway. The vampire stays at the door, watching as you start to remove your coat two or so steps away from him.

“Are those… bruises?”

Turning your head as you make your way to the wardrobe to put the coat away, you see the vampire looking almost worried. You look down at the skin on your arms.

“Yeah.”

“Let me look at them,” he urges, holding his hand out.

“Why? They come with anemia; why does it matter?”

“Still, I want to see. Come over here.”

Despite looking oddly insistent, he makes no effort to actually enter your apartment.

Your eyes widen as you look at him. “You really can’t come inside without an invitation, can you?”

He sighs exasperatedly. “Technically, no, I can’t step inside unless you give me permission.”

It makes you laugh a little in wonder. “Wow.”

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell it amuses him a little too.

“Listen, I’ll be fine until we meet again and if the bruises are still there, you can look at them then. I kinda don’t actually want to invite you in, is that rude of me?”

“No, it’s not. Very reasonable, actually.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you Friday?”

He nods politely and steps back. “See you.”

You watch him leave, his footsteps sounding through the hall as you bend down to pick up the envelopes you’ve been ignoring for days. They’re probably bills, and you’ll be dead soon, so who really cares if you pay them or not?

Mindlessly, you approach the door to close it, your focus on the white paper in your hands. You put your finger under the fold to rip the first envelope open, wincing when the paper cuts through your skin instead.

Holding your finger up, you inspect the damage and the little bead of red that’s forming next to the invisible cut. You look at it, furrowing your eyebrows at how you feel like something’s… missing? A moment later, you realize what it is, and your body freezes.

The footsteps have stopped.

It dawns on you, as you look at the blood, what the vampire was actually doing tonight and why he looked wilder than usual. Early Saturday night, lurking around the clubs until he found you and had to abandon his plans.

He was hunting.

Your eyes widen and your heart stops as you hear it. One footstep. Then another. And another. They’re speeding up, and soon enough running toward you.

Before you’ve had a chance to shut the door, it flies wide open. Panicked, you move farther into the apartment, but you fall backward and by pure instinct, crawl back as quickly as you can.

Despite claiming that he couldn’t enter without your permission, the vampire falls to his knees, then all fours, to reach you. You’ve never seen anything as scary as the bloodthirsty creature grasping the air, trying to get you. He moves so quickly, and his hand is just about to grab your foot when it’s like… he’s held back by something.

You're breathing heavily, trying to understand what’s happening. Why doesn’t he just move another three centimeters? He licks his lips in frustration, exposing fangs that are definitely longer than you remember. Meeting his eyes, they’re cold like never before, and he exhales angrily. He’s still reaching for you, and frozen in your spot, you look over at him, briefly wondering if his feet got stuck or something when it hits you.

He can’t step inside.

You sit there, your feet mere centimeters from his grasping hand when there’s a sound down the hall, and in a split second, the vampire seems to snap out of it. He looks at you, appearing to realize what he’s doing and somehow gaining control over himself. Looking around, he gets up, and he leaves. Quickly and without a word.

Wide-eyed and with your heart beating painfully, you remain on the floor, wondering what the hell just happened. Even when his footsteps are long gone, you’re too afraid to get up and close the door, worried that he’ll return and be able to reach you.

You’d like a very serious word with whoever established the ‘no entering without permission’ rule but also decided that the vampires could cheat it by keeping their feet outside and crawling inside.

You sleep a little uneasy the following nights, thinking a lot. Of course, your thoughts are mostly occupied by those cold, black eyes, thirsty for your blood.

<previous | next> happy halloween <3<3

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sqgeism · 2 months ago

Note

On a roll with the Anaxa fics! (i love him so much i cant even)

so, a bit specific; sometimes i bottle up emotions and get so anxious i might even get physically sick from it. what would phainon and anaxa do for reader when that happens? +anyone else you like

Thank you for reading. Don't do if this crosses boundaries

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | anaxa and phainon (seperate) x gender neutral reader

love mail — hellooo anonnie!! thank u i try my best w him and the others ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ i hope you're alright!! i hope this request is up to standard and u enjoy also erm anaxa's is more nausea n stuff.. phainon is like. actual sickness. like you're unwell.. sick and stuff... sorry i wasn't sure so i did both ゜゜(´O｀)°゜

long before you got into a relationship, you understood how to handle yourself when your stomach began to churn in nausea. your own steps to stop it, or to recover afterwards.

anaxa watches as you fidget quietly, today was another experiment regarding his pursuit for knowledge- but it involved something physically violent for him. he knows you're more morally intact than him, more human, but he's not going to act above those feelings. he cares for you, even if it's hard to see upon first glance.

"sorry." you see him staring, and force yourself to hold it together. but anaxa isn't having it.

he puts away whatever he was focused on, but the confrontation makes it worse. you don't wanna ruin his experiment, so you abruptly stand. "please excuse me. don't wait, just continue."

he blinks as you walk off, out of his lab and back to the hallways. it doesn't take long for him to follow, noticing how you frantically down a cup of water.

anaxa puts two and two together. he's not stupid, he knows your habits, he knows you.

before you can even reach out to the cabinets, he's already opening them and reaching for crackers that you leave for moments like this. he pops a bag and passes a cracker to you, his expression stern but caring. "i noticed these help you, please, eat it slowly."

once his hands are free, anaxa opens the kitchen window to let in fresh air. then you notice, that he's noticed. he knows how to help, he's learned how to help, and you've never realized it before. "is there anything else you need?" the utter concern snaps you out of your daze, and anaxa's suddenly looming over you now, his knuckles brush against your cheek and his eye is fixed on your face. studying you for any more signs of discomfort.

"i won't be continuing with the experiment today," he sees how your face shifts and shakes his head. "don't worry, i'll find something else to do. i'm realizing now that my experiment has too many risks, yet the only one i care about is the one that tells me that you'll be upset with me."

the sage brings you into his arms, having you close as he buries himself in your hair. "please, never be upset with me."

phainon doesn't want to scold you, but he really wants to. though you don't need that right now, especially with the fact you've had such a shit week and the fact you're bedridden.

he's cuddling you while you rest, listening to you snore as he's behind you, your head on his bicep and legs tangled together. he'd say it would make it hard to leave, but he has no plans to. so he doesn't care.

you two often had conversations about how you handle emotions. you were still navigating that realm of your relationship after being an independent person for so long, and phainon understood that it would take time.. but moments like this made him worry. had his heart aching, wishing he could do more.

he wasn't able to catch on that you were bottling it up either, you were good, he'll give you that. but you could've gone to him, he knows you don't want to be a bother but he prays that you'd 'bother' him. that you'd choose to focus your attention on him, for anything. because he'll be there, aeon forbid he's halfway across the universe cause he'll do anything to go back home, to you.

"i wish you'd trust me more." he knows you're sleeping, but he doesn't mind. he hopes that these words reach you while you're at least at peace. "i'd never force you to, i promise. but it really does something to me whenever this happens and i feel powerless to help." phainon chuckles in a way that's completely robbed of any humor. "i'm a chrysos heir, for aeon's sake. i can handle whatever outburst you throw at me that you'll think i'll be upset over."

his hand ghosts over your hair, slowly caressing you. "but i'll never be. i'll never be upset, not at you. and not when you're just experiencing stress."

he brings his mouth to your ear, whispering. "i love you. i love you, and you know that. so let me take care of you."

he notices how you shiver slightly.

that's when phainon lets out a genuine laugh, stopping you from squirming away from him.

#ㅤ 𐔌᭥ᩙ༉ㅤnew flower bloomed ! :ೃ࿔𔓘 #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #phainon hsr x reader #phainon x reader #phainon #anaxagoras x reader #anaxa x reader #hsr anaxa #anaxagoras

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blouisparadise · 3 months ago

Text

Upon request, today we have the third part to our heat fic rec list! You can check out the first part to this rec list here and the second part here. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Don’t You Know That I Am Right Here? | Mature | 4,314 words

Louis is proud to be an Omega but his journey hasn’t been exactly easy so far. There’s nothing technically “wrong” with him, or so his doctor likes to remind him when he goes to see him every year since he was 15. His situation is more unusual than a medical problem, but it doesn’t mean most alphas will see it that way. When yet another inconvenient heat threatens to disturb his grad school move-out date, he sets a plan in motion. Enter best friend and gentle alpha Harry Styles.

2) The Knothead Neighbor | Mature | 8,058 words

Prompt 3: Neighbors AU, preferably ABO! Harry works evenings/nights (maybe like a surgeon something that requires him to be gone for long hours) and has a cat. The cat has a little kitty door at the back so that it can explore and such. Louis just moved next door and the cat seems to always end up at his door. Eventually, Louis lets the cat in, as he’s new and he’s feeling quite lonely. They become fast friends, so much so that the cat prefers to stay with Louis rather than go home. Harry gets concerned that the cat starts to stay out all day/night so he eventually leaves a note attached to the cat’s collar with its name and phone number. Louis texts him telling him he’s his neighbor and not to worry, the cat just likes to hang with him as it might be lonely. Harry gets pissed that this stranger is stealing his cat so he goes to confront Louis and tell him to stop stealing his cat. Of course, as soon as he sees Louis, he falls in love with him and the rest is history. (If ABO could be cute that both Harry and Louis like to cuddle with the cat because it holds the other’s scent)

3) Little Love | Explicit | 11,136 words

Louis starts his heat early while his mum's friends older alpha son, Harry, is staying with them.

4) Please, I’m Begging | Explicit | 13,746 words

Louis makes the sudden realization. Well shit. Utter shit. It’s normal to like someone. It’s just human nature. But… Louis cannot like Harry no matter what.

5) Tender Hearts | Explicit | 14,235 words

It’s not that Harry wasn’t aware of Louis’ sickness. For about four mornings now, Louis has been nonstop nauseous. Set off by the weirdest things - eggs, hot sauce, and even strawberry ice cream (which is Louis’ favorite). Louis even called off work because of it - something the Omega never does. And, true, they both work at doctor’s offices and hospitals - it’s not exactly uncommon to bring germs home. Still - Harry figures he should have at least thought about what might be happening here.

6) How Do I Stay Tender | Explicit | 16,870 words

Louis has touch depri and Harry is the alpha neighbor that offers to help.

7) Behind Smoke Stained Curtains | Explicit | 19,054 words

The worlds align when Louis meets an alpha from the road with as many secrets as he holds himself.

8) 12 Days of Courting | Explicit | 22,709 words

They’re friends with benefits and Louis’ heat is scheduled for Christmas.

9) The Evenness I Fake | Explicit | 26,385 words

Harry doesn’t do relationships. He has a perfectly enjoyable friends-with-benefits agreement with a perfectly lovely omega, and he doesn’t see the need to change that anytime soon. The small fact that Louis giving his attention to another alpha makes Harry want to put his head through a wall isn’t nearly as much of an issue as everyone’s making it out to be.

10) Bitter Ends Turn Sweet | Explicit | 27,134 words

Louis is an omega who's just completed his criminal justice degree and hoping to get into the alpha-dominated field of police work. He's spent four years hiding his secondary gender in fear that he'll not be taken seriously, or worse, not be able to continue with his chosen career path. After his summer internship is complete, he has plans to move to a more progressive city, where his secondary gender won't be an issue. He goes home to finally relax and spend the last summer with his mother and sisters before he moves and finds that his younger sister has a new best friend - a gorgeous alpha named Harry. With the singer-songwriter alpha in the house hanging around all summer long, Louis has to work even harder to keep his secondary gender hidden, which means drastic measures have to be taken. It certainly doesn't help that Harry is friendly, flirtatious, and extremely tactile...

11) The Thrill of the Chase (Are You Mine?) | Explicit | 29,920 words

Harry leads a search and rescue team who specialise in capturing feral alphas and omegas and returning them to the Feral Recovery Centre so they can be rehabilitated back to their normal lives. The case of feral omega Louis Tomlinson sparks a fight for dominance between Harry's instinctual inner wolf and his rational human mind, the outcome of which flips his life upside down forever.

12) You’re An Alpha, Harry! | Explicit | 32,900 words

So, yeah. Harry Styles? He’s an alpha. And he has no clue what that entails.

13) Once Upon a Time | Explicit | 37,079 words

Since Louis' mother's death, her book of fairy tales has offered Louis an escape from the tower that he is locked inside for much of the day. However, when his father announces that Louis has been betrothed to the cruel king of a neighboring kingdom, Louis quickly realizes that even the comfort of his fairy tales will not be enough to shield him from the harsh reality of his life. Embarking on a long journey to his new home, Louis is accompanied by his maid and a small group of soldiers, led by Captain Harry Styles. As Louis begins to experience the world beyond his prison and learns more about the people escorting him, he finds himself drawn to the mysterious Captain. But with every step closer to his impending marriage, Louis is forced to confront the life he's being thrust into—and the painful truth that he may never have his happy ending.

14) And When It Rains, You’re Shining Down For Me | Explicit | 37,081 words

“This is Harry, he’ll be your patient,” Liam gestured politely. Harry froze when Louis’ eyes met his own once more. He felt himself getting lost in those eyes, so much so that he didn’t notice Niall and Liam leaving the room quietly but the sound of the door shutting behind them brought him out of the trance. “Hello, I’m Louis,” the omega said, extending his hand for Harry to shake. The alpha could still sense some nervousness in his stance but decided to ignore it. “‘’m Harry.”

15) Hiding Green Smiles | Explicit | 45,227 words

When Louis goes with Liam to a hidden sex shop, he discovers a new sex toy, the BiteMat, and he can’t believe his luck. He loves being bitten, has a biting kink, even, and now he can be bitten over his bonding spot without the fear of anything permanent. He hastily buys it to try with Harry, his friend and roommate, and his regular heat/rut partner for the last eighteen months. They’ve been friends-with-benefits outside heat or rut for eight months now, and Louis’ been desperately in love with Harry for at least five of those months.

16) Lost In The Sirens | Explicit | 53,729 words

ABO fic where alphas and omegas can’t cohabitate as friends and Harry ‘supposed-to-be-a-beta’ Styles presents a few weeks before he and Louis ‘hot/spicy-omega-bestie’ Tomlinson are set to move into their new uni flat.

17) Letters | Explicit | 58,346 words

Louis lost his Alpha and mate in a deadly accident a year ago. Since then he has been writing letters to better deal with the grief and loss. But suddenly he gets answers from Harry Styles, an Alpha who himself is looking for meaning in life besides his career.

18) It’s Golden, Like Daylight | Explicit | 61,496 words

“I actually think you might be onto something.” Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean…” Louis nodded. “As crazy and insane as this, this might just solve both of our problems.” “Are you saying you’re in?” Harry asked. “I’m in.”

19) You Sunshine, You Temptress | Explicit | 88,148 words

A story about a forbidden love & secrets that come to light.

20) Give Me A Way To Breathe (If You Can) | Mature | 152,100 words

When Harry and Louis are forced to breed and give up their child to rich betas among their tribe, they must solve the problems that arise from the fact that, despite spending his heat with Harry, Louis is not pregnant. To make matters worse, it is illegal for unbounded omegas to have sex outside of a breeding session.

21) Don’t Change Me | Not Rated | 157,550 words

Once in every fifty years, the moon shines brightly over the town of Holmes Chapel for 24 hours. The moment it turns red, any alpha pack leader becomes incredibly and outrageously powerful. For approximately two hours until it subsides, the alpha has the power to change any secondary gender. For example, an alpha can turn another alpha into a beta or omega and so forth. It doesn’t matter if the chosen person agrees or disagrees, they have no choice. Once the decision is made, there is no turning back. All it takes to seal the deal…is the alphas howl to the moon, proclaiming their intentions as they stand around a bonfire, where the change will take place immediately. How is Louis going to react when his best friend and alpha leader retracts his alpha status, turning him into an omega so they can mate? Especially when Harry doesn’t talk to him about it first.

22) Only You Can Be My Alpha | Mature | 212,387 words

In a world where one was either an Alpha or an Omega wolf, Louis found himself in a body that could be neither. Born an Omega without the expected characteristics of one, he felt broken, choosing to live as Alpha a lifestyle as he could. Harboring a serious lack of respect for Alphas and their authority complexes, Louis managed to get himself banished from his home, forced to wander the unforgiving woods for years, facing the elements and fighting enemy rogues each time they arose. Unbeknownst to Louis, in a tribe to the southwest of his home, there lived a dysfunctional Alpha, the orphaned pack leader Harry, who had never felt satisfied enough with anyone to settle down and continue his royal line. Living their lives apart thus far, the both of them assumed that they might be alone forever, making the best of things despite this even though it hurt. Chance, luck, or maybe fate brings Louis to this tribe when he’d least expected to receive kindness and shelter from a stranger, and when he arrives, something in his soul pulls him to Harry like a raging river current. The two don’t get off to a good start, but everyone around them can sense the chemistry—and in time they do too.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp fic recs #blp #heat fics #larry fic recs

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froggiewrites · 10 months ago

Note

other request - sanji and face sitting (maybe he really likes it?) OR sanji being a sub and you tell him how he should touch himself idk >///< your sanji & zoro fic made me feel things Lol

I was trying to write your other request first because I was originally planning on writing in the order I received them but I genuinely have not been able to stop thinking about your second idea since you sent it in. Honestly I might go back and write the face sitting later too, I'm soooo obsessed with Sanji I need him so bad 😭

Instruction

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You give Sanji some gentle instruction, and he's more than happy to listen. Warnings: Porn Without Plot, Sub Sanji, Masturbation, Praise Kink (Sanji receiving) Word Count: 1k

“Are you ready, my love?” Your hands hold his cheeks as he stares up at you with something bordering worship.

His lips brush against one of your palms, his facial hair tickling your skin. “Of course, my love. I would do anything you asked of me. I was born to serve you.” His eyes are half lidded, pupils already blown out with lust. His shirt is open, chest exposed, and his pants are unbuttoned and unzipped, his underwear still obscuring what you really want to see. You briefly trace your hands over his happy trail, stopping right before you make contact with his bulge, and he lets out a quiet, shaky moan as his face flushes red. “Please don’t tease me, angel. I won’t last.”

“You’ll last until I say you’re done, sweetheart.” Another quiet noise. “But I’ll be nice. Start slow. Take off your pants.”

He slides slowly out of his suit pants, revealing his thighs and calves to you. He discards them next to the bed before his hands start to reach for his underwear, and you softly tut at him.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” He looks at you with confusion.

“I want you to run your hands over yourself just like I would. Can you do that for me, Sanji?” You keep your voice a sweet coo, encouraging and kind. Only the gentlest words and tone for your beloved. He hesitates a moment, looking into your expectant eyes, before lightly tracing his fingertips up his torso, running over his abs and up to his chest. He traces a path back down, fingers brushing over chest hair and old battle scars, before he reaches the waistband of his underwear. He pauses, looking to you for permission, and you consider him for a moment. He flushes further under your intense gaze, but he doesn’t look away or cower. He seems to soak up your gaze, your attention, no matter how it embarrasses him. You nod at him, gesturing to his boxers, and he eagerly slides them off, exposing himself fully to you.

You take a moment to admire him before giving him his next instruction. “Go ahead and start, love.” He wraps his hand around himself gently, beginning to move a tick too quickly for your liking, and you quietly say, “Not so fast. We want this to last, don’t we?”

“Yes, my love!” His hand slows, moving tantalizingly up and down his length as he shifts to show off better for you. He maintains his pace, but you can see him quickly start to lose willpower as he struggles to keep steady. His eyes linger on your still clothed chest, on your thighs, on your mouth, and you can practically see the images he has in his head: you, pinning him down and riding him hard and fast, tits bouncing, head thrown back with pleasure. When he looks back up at your face, his eyes pleading for you to give him permission, but you simply give him a grin and lean closer, giving yourself a better look at his dick. It’s leaking with precum, and you’re so tempted to tease him with a small lick, but it isn’t time for that now.

“Sanji?”

“Yes, dear?” His voice cracks a little as he struggles to maintain his composure.

“Do you want to move a little faster for me?”

He lets out a small whine of relief. “Yes, please.” He starts palming himself faster, grip tightening, small whimpers leaving his mouth.

“Good work, my love. You’re doing so well.”

Another choked whimper.

“No need to hold back those noises, darling. They’re one of my favorite parts of this. Could you be a little louder, for me?”

“Yes,” he keens, eyes falling further closed. The whimpers and whines grow louder and louder as he continues, loud enough that someone might overhear, but you’re so enraptured by him you can hardly bring yourself to care.

“You’re doing so well, Sanji. So good for me. Such a good boy.”

He makes the most wanton noise you’ve ever heard at that, speeding up even more, head falling back. He starts to beg, though you can’t quite figure out what for. “Please, more. Please, please, I’m being so good!”

“A little faster, Sanji. That’s it.”

His voice starts to break as he grows close, and you can see him really start to lose himself. Even in such a state, he still opens his eyes to look at you, eyes begging for permission.

You smile at him warmly, lovingly, and say in the sweetest voice you can, “Go on and cum for me, my love.”

He breaks instantly, cum covering his stomach and hand. He leans back on the mattress, breathing heavy. You sit in a moment of silence, before he asks in a hopeful and vulnerable tone, “Was that good? Was that what you wanted?”

“Yes, Sanji, that was perfect. You were perfect.”

A pleased smile makes its way onto his face, one that’s just on the edge of smug. You move forward, kissing him softly on the forehead, before standing to grab a towel.

His hand not covered in cum catches you. “Are you leaving?” His eyes are wide and pleading, the look on his face a fragile one you know he wouldn’t dare to wear outside of this room.

“No, darling. I was just going to grab a towel so you could clean yourself up.”

“Can you stay?”

You look at him, looking so small despite his usual bravado, and sit back down. “Of course, Sanji. I’d do anything you asked of me.” You giggle slightly, hands reaching for his face and caressing his cheeks.

He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, basking in it, before sliding his shirt off of his hands and using it to wipe himself up. After he’s satisfied with his cleanliness, he practically dives into you, head against your chest, ear right against your heart. His breathing evens out, his heartbeat slows to match with yours, and his fingers intertwine with yours. “I love you, angel.”

“I love you too, Sanji.”

#sanji x reader #one piece x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #x reader

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the-weeping-dawn · 6 months ago

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This is a normal level of interest in the prism, don't worry about it, you're not being brought along because of a shared need for the free will box.

Nope. Disguised mindflayer.

Easy mistake to make oddly enough.

#shadow has been by comittee #been required to stay the whole time because I cannot escape the comparison. Also she's getting to keep the box in inventory #but also tied with wyll for favourite companion due to the whole getting the prism.#and spends act 1a hoping she actually just kills Lae'zel to make everything easier for everyone...#I do not have him very much egging on the idea of abandoning her if she runs another way in any fic. nooooo.....#a fair offer to deal with not a mindflayer here.#honestly he could have probably been out of the box a lot sooner #since I feel just realeased Shadowheart miiiight be down to help with the honor guard #and with the brain fully restrained still wouldn't need to give it as much attention yet anyway.....#and if Lae'zel doesn't put a gith target on them specifically and they get out of the area being scouted for it fast.....#since she did not get out of hell neither saw what happened. honestly.#I mean this could have been a much smoother plan even doing the roundabout route he did.#(Look this might be an evil run. in act 1a anyway. They're both on a mission here.)#if asking any basic questions #this is a nonsense run mainly to throw two friends in party via hirlings.#(....shadowheart gets to stay as well. there's a reason it's another shadowheart romance save I'll say that.)#the use normal DG look and then the escalation from there is just me running with an idea to it's absurdist conclusion #....what he'd choose to do if actively able to make choices. ANYONE'S FUCKING GUESS HONESTLY #would love to know more seriously......but I don't trust him to do the obvious safety thing and get rid of Lae'zel the second #they're near the healm.#I love her I feel like I've established this BUT ALSO ON A PRACTICAL LEVEL WITHOUT HAVING EMOTIONAL REASON #she is /the/ liablity #shadowheart left to herself would just b-line to baldur's gate possibly even pre-bridge being taken out #and he can jump in *then* before she hands it over....

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505oclock · 1 year ago

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Just Friends (18+ mdni)

rafe cameron x barry x f!reader

where rafe and barry are your best friends, but won’t stop at the first chance to put you to work.

first obx fic so pls be nice !! and lmk if u want a part two!! <3

warnings: might lead to smut?? drugs, a little bit of objectification

you’re honestly not sure how you stumbled into the friendship of barry and rafe. you had grown up around kooks and pouges, but never really fit in with either of them.

you guessed that’s how you ended up here, hanging out with the neighborhood drug dealer and kook prince, the two people you really felt yourself around.

they loved their weed and coke, but you really only stuck to alcohol. you loved getting fucked out of your mind, and coke and weed didn’t really do that for you. barry and rafe we’re the opposite, but all substances had you all in a different head space.

it was a saturday night and the three of you had no plans; this resulted in you on barry’s couch, drinking beer and watching the boys take turns on the blunts barry rolled earlier.

“just one hit princess” rafe begged you to take a hit of the blunt. They had yet to witness you high, and were dying to see it happen.

“you gotta give it another go eventually, listen to country club over here” barry clapped rafes shoulder, the both of them pleading with you. You had smoked before, but it honestly wasn’t your thing. You thought it was cute hwo much they wanted to see you smoke.

“I know i knkw i will eventually, just not tonight”

they both groaned and you smiled wide, since it was your routinely response everytime the three of you hung out.

You were running low on your beer, “Gonna go grab another, you guys need anything?” You asked as you stood up, fixing your shorts that kept riding up.

“Nope” they said in unison, focused on the video rafe was showing barry on his phone. However, their attention drifted from the phone as you walked to the kitchen, your ass looked fantastic in the shorts you were wearing.

While the three of you were strictly friends, there was no denying the underlying sexual tension that surrounded the three of you everytime you guys hung out alone. You thought both of the guys were hot, and when rafe and barry were alone, they couldn’t help thinking about how it would be to spend a night with you. The attractive was naturally undeniable.

And while you three could keep it together normally, something different was in the air tonight.

A few beers later, whilst you were still aware and in control, you were the perfect drunk. This meant you were extra talkative and a little too horny for your own good.

Rafe and Barry were high out of their minds, between the shared blunts and lines they were snorting, and they couldn’t keep their eyes of off you. You were a giggling mess, eyes bright and glossy, and you’re smile so bright it made them feel a way they shouldn’t feel

“Oooh i loveee this song!” you jump up when the speaker starts playing, and start silly dancing. the boys just watch you and roll their eyes, used to this.

With the extra alcohol in you, you start really dancing to the music, swaying your hips, doing a hw most. While it’s completely innocent on your end, the guys change their composure as they watch you.

“Cmon- Cm-dance with me!” you’re a giggling mess, oblivious to your effect over the two men in front of you. You bite your lip in a smile as you grab rafes hands and pull him off the couch.

He smirks at you, then at Barry, as he hovers behind you as you continue to dance to your song. You sway to the music, and before you realize it, Rafe is swaying too, with his hands firm on your hips.

His hands slowly move up and down your waist, completely innocent. you play into it, continuing to dance, feeling his hot fingers trace up and down you.

It hits you what you’ve done, when his hands start tracing up, closer to your tits. Through the fog of alcohol, you can sense him, and decide to make a subtle move. You grab his sliding hands, guiding them to your tits, squeezing on them with his hands. This sobered you up to how close he was to you, feeling the heat of his breath on your neck.

You smiled at Barry through hazy eyes, watching as he used one hand to smoke his blunt and the other resting on his crotch.

Rafe whispered in your ear, “This okay princess?”

Your “mmmhm” was all he needed as he started planting kisses on your neck, his hands moving down to grip harshly on your hips. He found the soft spot on your neck and sucked, evoking a small moan from you.

“Country clubs got ya fucked up, huh, princess?” Barry says, locking eyes with you as Rafe continues to attack your neck.

You vite your lip to suppress a moan, feeling rafe get hard on your ass “mmmf” is all your foggy head can get out, before you realize barry has gotten up and is walking towards the two of you.

“Can’t expect me to sit here and not join,” he smiles as he comes close and kisses you, placing his hands on your waist. Barry doesn’t waist time, sticking his tongue down your throat as he slips a hand down your waistband.

It was all too much. Rafes hard dick on your ass, placing kisses down your neck, while barry kisses you deep and plants his fingers on your pussy

“We’ll take good care of you baby” Rafe slurrs as his hands make it back up to your tits, more aggressively this time.

“Gotta get princess out of her clothes so we can see her pretty tits, hm, country club?” Barry smirks as he rips your shirt over your head, Rafe undoing the claps of your bra to let your breast spill out.

“Fuck” the guys say in uníson, making themselves laugh. It hits you how tucked up you all are right now.

“You’re a pretty girl, princess” Rafe whispers in your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

“So pretty” Barry agrees “Gonna be our girl for the night princess? Can you do that for us?” Barry asks

“Yes, i can be your girl” You tell them, excited to see where this night will take you.

#rafe cameron #rafe x barry #outer banks #obx smut #obx fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #smut #rafe x y/n

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thelarriefics · 5 months ago

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HOLIDAY FIC REC, PART V: Below you’ll find 25 fics that have to do with the holiday season.

📖 Larry Xmas Countdown 2024 by @28goldens (133k)

Different fic prompts posted across 25 days

📖 Twinkling Lights, Fated Nights by @darling-28 (87k)

A story about healing, love and finding home in each other.

📖 Home For The Holiday by @larrysmomfics (86k)

Harry needs to run away. In an attempt to get out of his own routine and his own life for a while and get over his extremely toxic ex, he decides on an emotionally fueled whim to do a house swap with someone in LA who's itching to get out of his own routine and get away from his best friend and business partner for a bit. In a quirky turn of events the best friend Liam was so desperate to get away from happens to be the most lovely, kind, and beautiful man Harry's ever met. What ensues is a self healing journey with the help of a found family, a wonderful man who becomes his home, and above all love. A "The Holiday" inspired AU where Harry meets Louis after agreeing to swap houses with a stranger on the internet for three weeks over the holidays.

📖 Secrets in Winter by @softfonds (82k)

If Harry Styles thought he was going to have a peaceful winter while staying far away from the rake who lived across the street, he was sorely wrong on two fronts. A Victorian AU.

📖 2024 Advent Calendar by @the-larry-way (40k)

25 independent one-shots with wintery/Christmas themes centering Larry Stylinson

📖 Heart Beat by @allwaswell16 (35k)

Hideaway Haven is the place that Louis has always called home. It's also the place that Harry had tried to leave behind him. When Harry returns to start a music academy in his hometown, he finds himself face to face with his high school crush—and his charming daughter who wants to learn to play the drums.

📖 You Should Be Here With Me by @lululawrence (34k)

The festive period is a traditionally hectic one in the world of Premier League football, and this year is no different. A lot is riding on how Manchester United is able to come through the fixtures in the coming weeks. Louis and his teammates know all too well the pressure that is on their shoulders. They need to prove, not just to fans of the club but the entire league, that they still have what it takes to be a team worthy of fighting for the top of the table. Throw in the fact that Louis is all too aware that he's not getting any younger in a profession that demands your peak physical fitness year round and the incredibly fit Harry Styles, who is part of the club's social media team, and this year's festive period might just be the most important one yet.

📖 I Guess I'll Surrender by @bravetemptation (29k)

A lad’s Christmas holiday provides the perfect opportunity for Louis and Harry to prank their friends. They decide to fake date. Feelings kind of get in the way

📖 We Can Roll in the Darkness by @letthemusicmoveyou28 (29k)

Or the one where Louis and his best mate Niall decide to take the plunge and open a pub. The goal is to open Christmas Day, but the building renovations are proving trickier than expected. Insert: a construction company with a questionable name, a certain curly haired builder who catches Louis’ attention, and a little festive chaos along the way.

📖 Your Reign is Free (to give along to Santa) by @londonfoginacup (28k)

It’s Christmas Eve. It’s a totally normal Christmas Eve. Harry and Louis have some friends coming by, and some totally normal birthday and Christmas plans. It’s a totally typical totally normal Christmas Eve. A fic that takes place over 24 (+1) hours where surely everything will go totally to plan. Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

📖 One for the Books by @neondiamond (25k)

Or the one where there’s a bookshop, a cat, OT5 friendship, a budding romance, and all the festive vibes.

📖 Lonely Cards Club by @hellolovers13 (25k)

Harry's life in Cardiff is rather uneventful. Until he receives a strange Christmas postcard. It gets even stranger when he finds another one the next day. 💌 An Advent story about missed opportunities and second chances.

📖 light me up, put me on top by @larrydoinglaundry (24k)

Harry takes Louis back to Northern Europe to experience his first Nordic Christmas in their beloved cabin, surrounded by nothing but peace and snow. So much snow. Short "spin-off" to 'Love is a word, you gave it a name' universe. Takes place after the second part of the main story, but before the final epilogue.

📖 Secrets, Santa? by @indiaalphawhiskey (19k)

Right, okay, so Harry had confessed his deepest, darkest, dirtiest secrets to a stranger who turned out to be his boss. No big deal. This was probably just the beginning of Harry’s own hilariously heartwarming, wildly romantic Hallmark Christmas movie, come to life, right? …Right? -- very loosely inspired by Sophie Kinsella's Can You Keep A Secret?

📖 You Are The Fever (What A Lovely Way To Burn!) by @yoursolosong (18k)

Harry is an alpha who realizes he’s also into alphas and wants to be submissive. He battles between his instincts and what he wants.

📖 Christmas At Cedar Farm by @babyhoneyheslt (17k)

Inheriting a derelict farm with no knowledge on how to look after the land and a farmhouse in dire need of renovations, Harry’s stuck with two options; sell it, or do it up for himself. With the help of his friends and the cute farmer next door, Harry sees the potential and creates a Winter Wonderland at Cedar Farm.

📖 Santa, Baby by @hazzabeeforlou (16k)

Nothing in Harry’s life has gone to plan. From giving up his art dreams in favor of a stable 9-5, to singleness, to a bought with cancer that left him infertile, Harry finds himself wishing for a Christmas miracle. When one seemingly occurs, Harry meets the sperm donor of his dreams and begin to imagine the impossible. But not everything with Louis is as it seems, and soon an elusive art agent is adding to the chaos of Harry’s very unexpected holiday season. Set against the backdrop of New York City, this hallmark-style rom com is filled with a bit of drama, a drop of angst, and a touch of Christmas magic.

📖 knowing you're in love with me is the greatest gift of all by @dreamersdivin-headfirst (6k)

Harry just wants to fall back to sleep in his husband’s arms, wanting to treasure the quietness of Christmas morning before their kids wake up and realize what day it is. That dream is short lived when there’s a small shriek of joy from downstairs.

📖 I'll Show You How Good It Could Be by @lovingstheantidote (6k)

Harry makes Santa a drink and Louis gets naughty.

📖 me without you is like a present without a bow by @wecantalktomorrow (5k)

The reassurance from Louis had Harry grinning and running his hands down his husband’s sides. “I think you’re going to like it,” he murmured confidently, starting to play with the hem of his own jumper when he sat back against his husband’s bent knees. “Sorry you don’t get to unwrap it, though. Knew you’d be more reluctant to be tied up if you saw it first.”

📖 Mistletoe and Eggsnogging by @parmahamlarrie (5k)

Harry has a plan. It involves mistletoe, a night out at a club, and the hope that perhaps he might pull a nice boy tonight. The night does not go in any way like he had planned, but it all works out in the end.

📖 A Man After Midnight by @galacticlarry (4k)

Harry thought kissing Louis on New Year’s Eve would be a one-time thing, but they keep running into each other and it becomes a tradition. What happens when feelings start getting involved? Or the five times Harry kisses Louis on New Year’s Eve and the one time he kisses his boyfriend.

📖 Santa Baby (one little thing I really need) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (3k)

When Louis himself had first heard those words - all the nurses at the A&E have a secret line to Santa’s sleigh on Christmas Eve-, not nearly long enough ago to be considered a child himself, but long enough that he hadn't really felt like an adult all the time, he’d laughed them off. Thought they were sweet, of course, but just a line, something said to appease the kids who ended up having to stay overnight. Something to explain the presents that parents brought to the hospital on Christmas morning, or that were waiting for them at home, if they were lucky not to have to stay any longer. Something that would allow a little bit of Christmas spirit in the sometimes sterile rooms of the hospital. But that was before he’d met him.

📖 Have yourself a larry little christmas by @enchantedlandcoffee (2k)

A plan to exchange presents lead to more than both Harry and Louis bargained for.

📖 Too Many Beds - A Christmas Tale by @silverstuff50 (2k)

Louis was fine to share a room with any of the lads on their Christmas weekend away. Anyone, except the one lad he hates. He definitely hates him. He's annoying and big and gorgeous and, yeah, annoying.

#masterpost #holiday fic rec

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gimmethatagustd · 7 days ago

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you can play pretend | kth + jjk

Very few people know much about fashion model Kim Taehyung aside from the rumors that circulate in the media. Even his new bodyguard, Jungkook, hasn't learned not to judge a book by its cover.

Pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: Bodyguard/model au, pwp

Word Count: 6,485

Content Warning: Social commentary on queer relationships, dom TH, sub JK, power dynamics, blow job, bathroom sex, anal fingering, anal sex, spit as lube, cock stepping (don't look at me), Taehyung is bad at feelings

A/N: Happy Pride~ Here come my kinky gay fics. (Or at least what I think Tumblr can handle jshdfks. We've forgotten the ancient texts actually.) Also, yes, I knowww Seokjin's birthday isn't during the summer, but it fit the story

Soundtrack: Baby - Charli XCX

“Taehyung-ssi! Look this way! Here, look here!”

“Taehyung-ssi, is it true that you plan to pursue film roles in the near future?”

“Give us a pose, Taehyung-ssi!”

“TAEHYUNGIE, MARRY ME!”

Blinding camera lights flash in every direction, illuminating the night with explosions of white.

Taehyung has just barely slipped out of the all-black car with tinted windows pulled up to the curb of an expensive hotel in Seoul's Gangnam district.

It’s a warm night, the summer heat heavy in the still air. Taehyung isn’t particularly interested in standing outside any longer than he needs to. Contrary to what the media may lead you to believe, rich people do sweat, and Taehyung is wearing skintight leather pants and a black blouse heavy with gold adornments. It might not be the best outfit for the weather, but he’s willing to suffer if it means he’ll look good.

Though he always looks good.

Hence the group of photographers lining the sidewalk, using everything from professional cameras to their cellphones to snap the perfect picture of the Kim Taehyung on his way to his agent’s birthday party.

Clearly, someone tipped the paparazzi off about what was meant to be a low-profile gathering.

It was likely Jimin, Taehyung thinks as he puts on a dazzling smile just as bright white as the mini fireworks leaving black spots in his vision. His best friend and coworker has always had a penchant for the dramatics – even if it means inconveniencing his friends.

However, Seokjin will blow a fuse when he finds out. If he hasn’t already. Judging by the silence of Taehyung’s phone on the ride over, he doesn’t think shit has hit the fan quite yet.

It’s all harmless, really. Taehyung hardly minds the paparazzi; he’s accustomed to them. If anything, he thrives when lenses are pointed in his direction.

He’s one of Asia’s most sought-after models, after all. It isn’t just the flash of cameras that’s overwhelming. Taehyung has grown so accustomed to people referring to his beauty as blinding that he hardly registers the supposed compliment when spoken by people who merely want to get in his good graces. Or his bed, but that’s a whole other matter.

Regardless, Taehyung blossoms under the attention like a moonflower under the milky glow of the midnight moonlight.

It’s easy. A tilt of the chin, downward as to force a coy gaze through his blonde bangs, one shoulder shrugged up to force his collar bones to point more prominently. He parts his lips slightly, just enough to show the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner, followed by a quick swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip that leads to another heart-stopping smile. It's even better when he bites the tip of his tongue and lets it poke out between his teeth.

He ignores the paparazzi’s questions and fans’ marriage proposals and doesn’t bother saying anything at all. He knows he’s just a pretty face, snatched waist, and long legs. No one cares what comes out of his mouth except for those fans who go to Twitter to petition for him to start an ASMR channel. Even then, he is merely a sex symbol, something to fuel their impossible fantasies.

That’s perfectly fine with Taehyung. He likes to give people what they want. Working a crowd or even a photographer and his manager is exciting. More than once, photographers have praised him for how easy he is to work with. A certain level of power comes with being able to stir such emotions in another person with a simple look or singular word.

And Taehyung quite enjoys holding such power.

He brings his cupped hand to his face, creating a heart with the apple of his cheek. It’s a delicate dance, flirting with being both alluring and innocent enough to seem attainable.

“Taehyung-ssi, we should keep moving.”

A hand lightly presses against Taehyung’s lower back. He can feel the person’s warmth seep through his shirt. The added body heat makes his skin tingle.

“I told you, you can call me hyung, Jungkook,” Taehyung speaks with a smile, his sparkling eyes never straying from the group of paparazzi scattered along the sidewalk.

Jungkook exhales forcefully enough that Taehyung hears it over the clicking of the cameras. It makes Taehyung’s smile grow wider.

“May we continue this conversation indoors, Taehyung-ssi?”

With a nod, Taehyung finally leaves his spot by the car to head toward the hotel’s front entrance.

Unsurprisingly, the paparazzi don’t get out of his way. They choose this moment to swarm him, now close enough that Taehyung notices some of these people may actually be fans rather than official reporters or photographers.

He’s never been worried about sasaengs; what is a little fan delusion to him, really? Fans are fans. Taehyung has always waved the concerns away. Even Jungkook’s position as his bodyguard is rather ridiculous if you ask Taehyung. Hiring a full-time bodyguard was requested – no, demanded – by Seokjin after Taehyung’s address was leaked on some internet forum. The gifts he subsequently received in the mail were nothing to report on, but Seokjin always has something shoved up his ass.

“Taehyungie, can we take a picture?”

A young man rushes to Taehyung’s side as he takes long strides toward the hotel’s entrance. Taehyung can’t help but notice how tightly he’s clutching his phone, to the point that his hands are shaking.

Jungkook presses harder against Taehyung’s lower back, nearly causing the model to trip from the force. He subtly elbows Jungkook in the ribs in retaliation and turns his attention to the curious fan, ignoring the growing irritation from his bodyguard.

“As you can imagine, I’m late for my engagement, love,” Taehyung says sweetly, batting his eyelashes for good measure.

The fan – Taehyung assumes – is attractive, albeit a little shifty—no shame in that. Taehyung is a bit odd himself, at times, though that isn’t anything strangers or the media get to see. No, the outside world gets a well-manicured version of Taehyung. They get Korea’s It Boy, just the way he likes it.

“Wait, Taehyung-ssi!” the fan nearly shouts. “You don’t understand, I love you so much!”

The abruptness of his loud tone is startling, but Taehyung makes a living off of maintaining an unphased expression.

“I’m very sor–”

Interrupting Taehyung, the fan grabs his wrist and yanks.

This time, Taehyung really does trip. If it weren’t for Jungkook immediately planting himself between Taehyung and the fan, Taehyung would have fallen into the fan’s arms.

Using his forearm, Jungkook roughly shoves the fan in the chest.

“Do not touch him,” Jungkook growls.

The deep, assertive masculinity of Jungkook’s order makes Taehyung shiver, even as his nerves are shaken by the entire interaction.

“I suggest you all give Taehyung-ssi some room, or I will be forced to move you out of the way myself.”

Two security officers working for the hotel deal with the unruly fan, restraining him when he tries to charge at Taehyung again.

“Fucking bottom bitch-ass twink.”

Taehyung spins around to look at the fan over Jungkook’s shoulder even as Jungkook tries to hurry him into the hotel.

“What the hell did he just call me?”

“Taehyung-ssi,” Jungkook murmurs a low warning, “We do not need to cause any more of a scene than what has already occurred.”

With a scoff, Taehyung finally allows Jungkook to usher him through the hotel’s rotating doors. Cool air blasts his face as he steps through the threshold, calming down the heat that spiked across his cheeks from the weather and irritation.

“I’m not a twink.”

Jungkook gives Taehyung a side look as they approach the elevators.

“Is that what’s concerning you? A fan attacks you, and you’re worried about name-calling?”

“Yes,” Taehyung sniffs, jamming his thumb against the elevator button to close the doors a bit too hard. “Nor am I a bottom.”

Jungkook makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. The sound flares frustrated heat in Taehyung’s chest again.

“Do you have something to say?” He whips his head around to look at Jungkook’s snarky expression head-on.

“It would be unprofessional for me to say.”

The elevators open to a wide hallway, across from which are the doors leading to the banquet hall where Seokjin’s party takes place. Music and the sound of laughter burst through the doors. If Seokjin knows how to do anything, it’s throwing an obnoxious party.

“No, I think you should say it,” Taehyung challenges, eyes focused on Jungkook even as he steps into the room.

“Say what?”

Summoned by the potential taste of drama, Jimin appears at Taehyung’s side, hovering near his elbow. Like Taehyung, Jimin is dressed in all black, though his boots have a higher heel. He shakes his head lightly, flicking pastel-pink bangs out of his eyes. He’s in the middle of his comeback promotions, so his appearance seems to change daily.

Taking a flute of champagne from one of the waiters servicing the room, Taehyung gives Jungkook an expectant look.

Jungkook clears his throat and admits, “I… would assume that Taehyung-ssi is a bottom.”

Jimin chokes on the champagne he swallows. A bit of it sprays onto Taehyung’s face, and he makes an exaggerated gagging sound as he pats the moisture away.

“Why are we discussing Taehyung’s bedroom preferences?” Jimin asks, but his eyes gleam enthusiastically rather than look offended, like his words might imply.

A few other guests hover near the trio, wanting to greet Taehyung or speak with Jimin, but they pay them no mind. There are more important matters to attend to.

“A fan assaulted Taehyung-ssi outside the entrance and called him some unpleasant things,” Jungkook says with a stern look that Taehyung knows is meant to chastise him.

“Jungkookie has only known me for a few months,” Taehyung explains to Jimin but keeps his eyes locked on Jungkook’s. “And, therefore, he knows very little.”

Giving Jungkook a dazzling smile and a pat on the cheek, Taehyung turns his attention to Jimin, who has chugged what is likely his third or fourth flute of champagne.

“You talk about being a bottom like it’s a bad thing,” Jimin accuses.

“Yes, well, we don’t all have an ass like yours, Jiminie.”

“That’s for damn sure.” A smug smile lifts Jimin’s lips around his champagne flute. “Would you care to dance with this fine piece of ass, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung lets his eyes trail Jungkook’s rigid posture for a moment. The younger man has returned to the blank professionalism that irritates Taehyung to no end. So obedient and pliant, all for the sake of what?

Perhaps Taehyung should be more disturbed by the fan’s outrageous behavior. Perhaps he shouldn’t care about name-calling because stereotypes mean nothing, and perhaps he should be more concerned for his physical well-being.

This is Kim Taehyung, though. Infallible. Unshakeable.

So he gets his fill of Jungkook’s cold exterior and chooses to wave the whole thing off.

“You can stand down, Jungkook-ah. The only thing here that may kill me is this minx.”

Taehyung reaches out to lace his fingers with Jimin’s. When Jimin tugs him toward the dancefloor, Taehyung sends Jungkook a wink and a smile that has him pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

No matter how attractive Jungkook is, seeing him hover in Taehyung’s peripheral vision at every corner is just short of infuriating. He does not need to be nearly plastered to Taehyung’s back wherever he goes. What danger is he in? It isn’t as though threats have been made against him or something as ridiculous. Sure, he’s got some overzealous – and apparently rude – fans, so what? Jimin does, too, and no bodyguard is dampening his night.

With a long sigh, Taehyung twists to stare pointedly at Jungkook, who stands against the wall near the bar where Taehyung sits. He’s chatting with another guard, one Taehyung recognizes as Seokjin’s. His name is Yoongi or something like that; Taehyung doesn’t bother keeping up with unimportant matters.

He curls his index finger at Jungkook, beckoning him to the bar. At that moment, Seokjin slides into the barstool beside him.

“Two tequila shots,” Seokjin requests of the bartender. His eyes and teeth shine in the multicolored lights flashing in the room.

Everyone has been dancing and drinking for hours. Taehyung is pretty sure there are people here that Seokjin didn’t even invite.

“Having fun, Taehyungie?”

“Is it possible not to in the presence of such an animal?” Taehyung snickers, taking the shot glass Seokjin slides toward him. “Happy birthday, you bastard.”

“Isn’t it lovely that my parents decided to fuck?”

Taehyung holds the shot glass halfway to his mouth and snorts with laughter.

“I’ll drink to that.”

“No, you won’t.”

Jungkook snatches the shot glass out of Taehyung’s hand. He reaches over the bar counter to pour it out into the sink.

“Hey! I could have taken it,” Seokjin gripes. “I’m the birthday boy.”

Ignoring Seokjin’s protests, Taehyung glares at Jungkook and hates that he stares right back.

“What the fuck?”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” Jungkook states calmly.

“I had one alcoholic drink tonight. I don’t even like to drink, and you would know that if you actually paid attention instead of being paranoid all the time and listening to whatever dumb shit you hear other people say about me.”

Taehyung’s irritation flares in his chest so hot that he feels it creep up his neck. It’s true; he isn’t drunk. A little buzzed, sure, but nothing that impairs his judgment. Jungkook is overbearing, and there is nothing Taehyung hates more than authority.

“This is your fault.” Taehyung spins around to glare at Seokjin, who quickly throws his hands up.

“I’m the birthday boy,” he repeats as he stands. “The birthday boy is going to go enjoy himself and not deal with whatever the fuck this is, goodbye.”

With his social buffer gone, Taehyung turns to Jungkook once again. Perhaps he’s being a bit of a diva; it wouldn’t be the first time, according to Jimin. And it wouldn’t be the last – this, Taehyung knows. Still, it doesn’t seem fair that Jungkook seems to have unearned and unreasonable control over Taehyung’s life.

“What are you, my babysitter?” Taehyung asks, unable to stop the snappy comments from rolling off his tongue.

Jungkook is undeterred, as usual.

“I am merely working to keep you safe, Taehyung-ssi.”

Sliding off the barstool, Taehyung wraps his large hand around Jungkook’s surprisingly small wrist and leads him out of the banquet hall. When anyone looks in their direction, Taehyung flashes them a pearly smile and does what he knows how to do best – fake it.

Out in the hallway, away from flashing lights and head-pounding music, Taehyung can get a good look at Jungkook. His eyes are doe-like and sparkly, even when the rest of his face seems impassive. The innocence of his eyes contrasts the metal pierced into his face and the hulk of his muscular body. Jeon Jungkook is full of contradictions that Taehyung hasn’t attempted to understand.

“Just because one fan got too close doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself, Jungkook.”

Taehyung refuses to back down, even when he realizes he has crowded Jungkook against the wall. Like this, he feels power similar to what he feels when he walks through a sea of flashing lights, except this time, the power has the potential for action behind it. It isn’t empty power; it has meaning to it.

“You’re correct, Taehyung-ssi,” Jungkook says softly. “I apologize.”

They’re close now, too close. Taehyung can see the flecks of light brown in Jungkook’s dark eyes and thinks those little pieces must be what makes his eyes sparkle. He stares at the cute little mole that rests beneath Jungkook’s bottom lip and wonders how he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Taehyung-ssi,” Jungkook calls out, but Taehyung is vibrating with power and need.

“Do you know that you’re infuriating?” Taehyung asks, ignoring Jungkook’s call. “Do you do it on purpose because it’s so fucking attractive on you, and you want to make my life hell?”

A flicker of a smirk makes the corners of Jungkook’s lips jump, but he quickly controls his face.

“I do not know what you mean, Taehyung-ssi.”

Taehyung steps closer and realizes belatedly that they’re both breathing far too heavily for people standing in place.

“You know exactly what I mean. Especially after your little comment earlier. What do you make of me, Jungkook-ah? Do you think I’m a slut? An industry whore?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows turn downward, though his mouth doesn’t frown.

“Of course not, but it is none of my business.”

“Just like me being a bottom is none of your business?”

Finally, Jungkook breaks eye contact. His eyes wander to a group of women giggling as they stumble from the bathroom across the hall into the party room.

“We shouldn’t be speaking like this out here where others may hear us,” Jungkook eventually answers but still doesn’t look Taehyung in the eyes. “It is unprofessional.”

Something in Taehyung snaps. It may be because of the arousal that has bubbled up in the pit of his stomach ever since Jungkook dealt with the aggressive fan or the simple fact that Taehyung has been plagued by an attractive yet irritating, unwanted bodyguard for months. Whatever the root cause, it doesn’t matter. Taehyung cannot stop himself from grabbing Jungkook by the collar and pulling him into a bruising kiss.

There are no fireworks. Taehyung doesn’t kick foot up in the air like a princess met with true love. But the embers in his chest are stroked enough to erupt into flames that consume him when the tip of Jungkook’s tongue brushes against his.

“Come with me,” Taehyung commands with a bite to Jungkook’s lips before stepping away. He doesn’t stop to check if Jungkook follows him into the men’s bathroom; he knows he will.

Once inside, Taehyung reaches up to bolt the door, locking it from the inside.

“Get on your knees, Jungkook.”

Dropping slowly, Jungkook follows his orders with a blank expression. The only thing that betrays how he feels is how pink his cheeks and the tips of his ears are.

Taehyung likes that Jungkook’s body betrays him. Jungkook can be as much a rule-following hardass as he wants to be, but Taehyung affects people. There is no denying the blood that rushes to his face nor the blood that rushes south.

“Oh,” Taehyung breathes, “Look what we have here.”

He nudges Jungkook’s crotch with the toe of his shoe. It’s a quick, gentle touch, nothing that could hurt or even be uncomfortable. But the action likely surprises Jungkook, for he flinches at the same time his hips jolt.

“Do you like it when I speak meanly to you, Jungkook-ah? Is that why you’re already hard?”

Jungkook is pretty on his knees in front of Taehyung. He looks up at him through long, curled eyelashes. Taehyung likes how he can make Jungkook’s doe eyes widen when he taps his hard cock with his shoe once again. Like before, the motion is quick and light. It’s also enough for Jungkook’s facade to begin to crack.

“Taehyung-ssi, I–”

“Ah, still with the formal language, Jungkookie?” Taehyung asks with an exaggerated pout. “Will you ever let go of professionalism?”

Reaching down, he runs the tip of his index finger against Jungkook’s jaw, starting at the soft spot beneath his ear, along the edge of his jaw, until he lightly taps the underside of his chin.

Without even needing Taehyung to tell him, Jungkook tilts his head back to expose his throat and maintains eye contact as he licks his lips.

“It would be unprofessional, Taehyung-ssi.”

Taehyung presses down on Jungkook’s clothed cock hard enough to draw a whimper out of him. The corners of Taehyung’s mouth twitch when Jungkook quickly grabs his ankle to stop him from applying more pressure.

“Is this not unprofessional?” Taehyung asks with a tilt of his head.

By now, Jungkook’s hairline shines with a thin sheen of sweat. The moisture weakens whatever product he uses to style his hair, and a few strands fall out of place against his forehead.

“I suppose – I suppose, yes,” he stutters when Taehyung presses down harder.

Whatever else he wants to say is drowned out by the guttural moan that rips through him. His fingers slip underneath the hem of Taehyung’s pants. His thumb caresses the smooth skin, even with his nails digging into Taehyung to hold onto something. The gentle motion contrasts nicely with how roughly Taehyung taps the toe of his shoe against his hard cock.

“Do you know what else would be unprofessional?”

Jungkook shakes his head. That isn’t good enough for Taehyung, though. If his loyal bodyguard wants to be professional, he should address him properly every time.

Grabbing the hair at the back of Jungkook’s head, he tugs until Jungkook’s head falls entirely backward.

“I need to hear you.”

“I don’t know what else would be unprofessional, Taehyung-ssi.”

Taehyung lets go of Jungkook’s hair and straightens his posture. He is silent for a moment, toying with the collection of thin gold bracelets adorning his delicate wrists. Much of Taehyung is delicate and dainty, even when his presence in a room is often described as larger-than-life. He returns his gaze to Jungkook and thinks Jungkook probably assumes that all of Taehyung is delicate and dainty, just like the other people who don’t take the time to get to know him– to understand him.

Jungkook squirms on his knees, most likely uncomfortable from his cock straining in his already tight dress pants. He looks good in his all-black outfit of slacks and a button-up. The red and black bomber jacket is the only bit of color. Taehyung always thought red suits Jungkook. It certainly pairs nicely with his hot ears and cheeks.

“It would be unprofessional for you to choke on my cock, Jungkook,” Taehyung finally offers. He doesn’t miss how sharply Jungkook inhales. “But I am hardly one for professionalism, as you already know.”

“I do know.” No one else is in the bathroom; Taehyung checked when they first entered. Still, Jungkook whispers.

“Then I ask you again: Will you let go of professionalism?”

For a moment, Taehyung thinks Jungkook will deny him. There was always the risk that he would, and Taehyung would finally have chased him off. At first, Taehyung didn’t care about the outcome; what would it matter if the bodyguard he didn’t want quit? Now, though, he has enjoyed having Jungkook to play with.

Jungkook clears his throat and stares directly into Taehyung’s eyes with an expression that makes something feral claw at Taehyung’s insides.

“I’ll let go.”

“Good boy,” Taehyung beams. “Very good.”

His deft fingers unbuckle his belt, letting the ends hang from their loops as he works on the button and zipper. Some news outlets will tell you that Kim Taehyung got on his knees to climb his way to the top of the modeling industry. It’s funny, considering Taehyung only ever has other people kneel for him.

Despite knowing his effect on other people, Taehyung is somewhat stunned by how quickly Jungkook unravels. He places his palms flat on his thighs and parts his lips slightly – so obedient and pliant like he is over his job, except this time, it’s Taehyung calling the shots.

“Wish you could see yourself, Jungkook,” Taehyung murmurs as he dips his thumbs into his waistband, pulling on his briefs enough to take his cock out. “Look so pretty on your knees.”

Jungkook openly stares at Taehyung as he lightly squeezes the head of his cock. He isn’t hard yet, but it won’t take much for him to get there if Jungkook keeps looking at him like that.

Taehyung’s cock is pretty, just like the rest of him. It isn’t arrogance; people have told him before. Thick enough to make the people he fucks babble about feeling full, long enough to hit the sweet spot inside them – Taehyung thinks he has the right to be smug as he strokes himself and watches Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, big boy,” Taehyung bites his lip and pauses for a moment when Jungkook blinks a few times as though he’d been in a trance. “Like what you see?”

“Yes, Taehyung-ssi,” Jungkook rushes to speak. He swallows hard, throat bobbing and lips shining from running his tongue across them repeatedly.

With the hand that isn’t pumping his cock, Taehyung squeezes Jungkook’s jaw. His fingers dig into his skin, tilting his head slightly and coaxing his jaw to slacken. Such obedience gives Taehyung a surge of power through his veins, something electric and addicting. He wants to push Jungkook to see how much he can get away with.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue,” he commands, pressing his thumb to Jungkook’s bottom lip as Jungkook slowly opens up.

Leaning forward slightly, Taehyung spits into Jungkook’s mouth. It lands on his tongue and drips down his bottom lip, but he doesn’t move aside from fluttering his eyes.

“Don’t swallow yet.”

Jungkook moans in response, the sound high-pitched and breathy since he can’t close his mouth.

Semi-hard, Taehyung’s cock twitches when he grips the base and takes a step forward. His breath is caught in his throat as he slides the head of his cock onto Jungkook’s tongue, their spit mixing with the tiny amount of precum beading at the tip.

“Can you make me hard, Jungkookie?”

“Mhmm,” Jungkook moans around Taehyung’s cock as Taehyung gradually feeds it to him.

Jungkook suckles on the head, rubbing his tongue on the underside to stimulate the sensitive nerve endings there. He slurps as he sucks Taehyung’s cock into his mouth, the sound obscene and heightened when it echoes through the empty bathroom.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” Taehyung groans.

The wet heat makes Taehyung shiver, and his cock gradually hardens as Jungkook takes more of him down his throat. He lets Jungkook set the pace, even if it’s slow. Sometimes, Taehyung doesn’t mind that; honestly, it’s sweet. Taehyung criticized Jungkook for believing assumptions about him, but it seems that perhaps Taehyung has made assumptions about Jungkook, too.

Nothing about Jungkook’s behavior is expected, but all of it is welcomed.

With a quiet sigh, Taehyung slides his hands across Jungkook’s temples and digs his fingers into his silky hair to get a good grip on his head.

“Gonna fuck your throat,” Taehyung warns Jungkook, giving him enough time to tell him if he isn’t into the idea.

Jungkook coughs when he pushes himself forward until he presses his nose against Taehyung’s abdomen.

Pulling back, Jungkook opens his mouth wide. He does his best to lock his doe eyes with Taehyung’s as he begins thrusting into his mouth.

At first, the thrusts are shallow, testing the waters. Once Jungkook proves to be capable of holding his own, Taehyung quickens his pace. His thrusts are sharp and hard. Occasionally, he holds Jungkook’s face against his abdomen, forcing him to choke on the entire length of his cock before slowly pulling back to let him breathe.

Even though the door is locked, Taehyung can’t help but get excited at the idea of someone knowing what they’re doing. Perhaps they can hear Jungkook gag on Taehyung’s cock when he thrusts particularly hard, hitting the back of his throat. Maybe they’ll bang on the door. Maybe they’ll gossip about it. Taehyung wonders if they’ll think it’s him getting his throat fucked.

It doesn’t matter. By the time he’s finished with Jungkook, it’ll be clear what happened.

Reaching down, Taehyung wraps his hand around Jungkook’s throat. When he squeezes, he feels Jungkook’s throat tighten around his cock. Every time his throat spasms, Taehyung feels lightheaded.

“Shit, okay, okay,” Taehyung pulls Jungkook off of him. Spit connects the tip of his now fully hard cock with Jungkook’s pink, swollen lips.

Jungkook gasps with drool dripping at the corners of his mouth and tears streaking his flushed cheeks. He looks pretty like this, ruined, though Taehyung supposes most people do. Jungkook especially, though.

Something feels tight in Taehyung’s chest when he brings his hand to cup Jungkook’s face. It feels like affection, but that can’t possibly be it. Kim Taehyung doesn’t feel things like that, not for men who aren’t his dearest friends. Not for men who are pretty enough to ruin him.

And Jungkook could. Even though it’s Taehyung who runs his thumb across Jungkook’s face to wipe away his tears, Jungkook would be the one to ruin him.

Swallowing the strange lump in his throat, Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s chin and guides him to stand up.

Leaning forward, Taehyung presses his lips to Jungkook’s, immediately capturing his bottom lip between his teeth and pulling. It distracts Jungkook from Taehyung’s fingers undoing his slacks. He’s quick to tug his pants and underwear halfway down his thighs, far enough to give him access to the part of Jungkook’s body Taehyung has always admired but never got the chance to experience.

His large hands immediately find the swell of Jungkook’s ass and begin kneading the soft skin, appreciating the firmness of the muscles he finds there. It’s no surprise; Jungkook has the body of an athlete – far different from Taehyung’s slender frame.

“This ass,” Taehyung praises once he lets go of Jungkook’s bitten lip. “God, I wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Oh,” Jungkook sighs, pushing back slightly to encourage Taehyung to keep up with the massage. He fists the front of Taehyung’s shirt, wrinkling the material, but Taehyung doesn’t care. Appearances matter, but not in a situation like this.

“Will you let me fuck you, baby?” Taehyung whispers against Jungkook’s lips when he pulls his face closer to his again.

“Y-Yeah, Taehyung-ssi, please,” Jungkook stutters. Taehyung shouldn’t find it cute.

Now that his neglected cock is free, Jungkook tries to thrust into Taehyung’s thigh, seeking any amount of friction he can find. His cock is pretty, too, with a delicious curve and flushed skin.

Taehyung doesn’t get on his knees for men, but he would swallow Jungkook’s cock. Perhaps one day.

“Up against the counter, baby.”

The pet name flows from Taehyung’s lips easily while he maneuvers Jungkook to face the bathroom counter. A large mirror covers the wall, allowing the two men to watch themselves – and each other – as Taehyung shoves his fingers into Jungkook’s mouth.

“Get them nice and wet for me so I can open you up,” he instructs, but Jungkook already knows what to do. His warm, wet tongue swirls between Taehyung’s fingers, caressing them like he did Taehyung’s cock.

Jungkook’s dark eyes meet Taehyung’s in the mirror. They’re weighed down, heavy with lust. The look alone makes Taehyung’s stomach flip.

Taehyung removes his fingers with a pop once they’re covered in spit. He grabs one of Jungkook’s plump cheeks with his clean hand to spread him open.

“Breathe,” he murmurs as he circles Jungkook’s exposed rim a few times.

Despite his somewhat harsh behavior earlier, Taehyung is gentle and slow as he presses his finger past Jungkook’s rim. He doesn’t want to hurt him, no matter how much his cock aches to be inside of him.

“Fuck, give me more, I can take more,” Jungkook groans. His eyes never leave Taehyung’s in the mirror, even when Taehyung lets his gaze fall to where Jungkook’s ass sucks in two of his fingers.

The stretch must be manageable because Jungkook pushes back on Taehyung’s fingers. He grips the edge of the counter to give himself leverage as he wiggles his hips.

He’s so squirmy that Taehyung has to press a hand to his chest to keep him steady. Taehyung slips his hand beneath Jungkook’s shirt and tweaks his nipples, forcing his back to bow.

Spit isn’t the easiest to work with, but Jungkook is surprisingly stretched already. Taehyung doesn’t bother asking why. Whether Jungkook gets fucked regularly or he fucks himself with toys, it doesn’t matter. Taehyung has no room for jealousy when all he can think about is how badly his cock throbs.

“I want you to call me hyung while I fuck you,” Taehyung says lowly in Jungkook’s ear before kissing just behind the lobe, where the skin is soft and dented. He flicks his tongue against the silver hoop he wears in one ear.

“Okay, hyung.”

A shiver rolls through Taehyung’s body, but he stops himself from moaning.

“Good. Don’t make me have to tell you twice.”

Reaching for his wallet, Taehyung takes out a condom and rips it open with his teeth. Jungkook whimpers when he does it, though he tries to keep quiet by biting his bottom lip. Taehyung winks at him through the mirror and enjoys how pink in the face Jungkook gets.

“You’re cute,” Taehyung murmurs against the nape of Jungkook’s neck while he rolls the condom on.

“Shut up.” Jungkook doesn’t sound convincing. Taehyung isn’t sure if he genuinely meant to be or not.

With a chuckle, Taehyung gives Jungkook’s ass a light slap and enjoys the way the muscle jiggles from the force. It’s going to look so good with Taehyung pounding into it. For now, he looks away and focuses on Jungkook’s utterly debauched face in the mirror.

Bringing a cupped hand just below Jungkook’s mouth, Taehyung presses his chest to Jungkook’s back and whispers in his ear, “Spit.”

Like a good boy, Jungkook drools into Taehyung’s palm until he’s satisfied and pulls away.

Slicking up his cock, Taehyung presses the fat head of his cock against Jungkook’s rim and finally allows himself to let out a shaky breath of anticipation.

“Hyung,” Jungkook whines. He’s nothing like the stone-cold bodyguard who stops Taehyung from enjoying life unrestrained. “I’m ready.”

They groan in unison when Taehyung eases into Jungkook. Despite lacking the type of lube Taehyung prefers, Jungkook is warm and wet and perfectly snug around his cock, sucking him in greedily. Taehyung keeps rubbing Jungkook’s nipples with one hand and uses the other to spread Jungkook open so he can watch himself bury his cock inside of him over and over again.

“Fuck, hyung, oh god,” Jungkook moans.

His knuckles turn white from how tightly he grips the edge of the counter to keep himself up. Taehyung can feel how much effort it takes for Jungkook to keep himself together by how tightly his walls flutter around his cock.

Taehyung is ruthless as he fucks into Jungkook. His blunt nails dig crescents into Jungkook’s ass, and Taehyung thinks Jungkook likes the little nips of pain.

He loves how pliant Jungkook is, loves how his body rocks forward and eases back with each of Taehyung’s thrusts. He loves how his ass and thighs jiggle as his body slaps into them. He loves how Jungkook’s head lolls around on his neck because he’s panting and drooling and too fucked out of his mind to keep himself upright without Taehyung holding him.

“That feel good, Jungkook-ah, hm?” Taehyung purrs in Jungkook’s ear and smiles with his teeth pressed against the side of his neck when Jungkook nods enthusiastically.

“So good, hyung. You feel so good in me,” Jungkook pants.

“Didn’t ever think your bottom of a boss would ever fuck you dumb, huh? Too much of a twink, huh?”

Taehyung can’t help but bring it up. Like Jimin said, there’s nothing wrong with being a bottom – Taehyung loves them, naturally. But god, is there a deep satisfaction in fucking someone who thought it would never happen – all because Taehyung acts a little flamboyant sometimes.

Taehyung’s dangly earrings swing as he fucks Jungkook. When he wraps his elegant fingers around Jungkook’s cock and begins jerking him off, he does so with the flick of a wrist adorned with thin gold bracelets. Taehyung wears dainty jewelry, and his mascara is getting ruined, but he’s fucking big, manly Jungkook within an inch of his life.

It’s just so good.

“I take it back, okay? I fucking, fuck, I, I, fuck –”

Jungkook tries to thrust up into Taehyung’s hand. It throws them off rhythm for a few seconds, but Taehyung quickly picks it back up again so that he is fucking into Jungkook while Jungkook can buck into Taehyung’s hand.

“It’s okay, baby. You know better now.”

“Mhm,” Jungkook whimpers. “I do. Please, I’m gonna–”

“Come?” Taehyung rolls his palm over the head of Jungkook’s cock.

Jungkook lets out a wet moan when he comes that makes Taehyung think he might be crying, but Taehyung doesn’t bother checking the mirror. He’s too busy chasing his own climax now that Jungkook came, watching his cock glide in and out of him.

It’s the thought that this would feel so much better if Taehyung could shove Jungkook’s face down and fuck him into his mattress if they were at home that sends Taehyung over the edge. He comes with his forehead pressed against Jungkook’s shoulder blades and his fingers digging into the fleshy part of his hips.

“God fucking damn it,” Taehyung groans, wrapping both arms around Jungkook’s tiny waist and pulling him flush against his chest. He rolls his hips, grinding against Jungkook’s prostate and making him try to wiggle away.

“Tae, quit it,” Jungkook gasps as he swats at Taehyung’s arms, and Taehyung doesn’t realize how light the casual use of his nickname makes him feel.

With an evil chuckle, Taehyung slips out of Jungkook with a hiss and throws away the condom. Using his forearm, he brushes his sweaty hair out of his face. It’s good that they’re in the bathroom; it makes clean-up easier.

“Okay?” Taehyung asks Jungkook as he tucks his cock into his pants and zips them up. Surprisingly, he hasn’t made a mess on his clothes.

If only poor Jungkook could say the same.

“I got cum all over my shirt,” Jungkook groans. His hands shake as he dabs at his black shirt with a damp paper towel, trying to get out the sticky mess.

“Just zip up your jacket,” Taehyung points out before leaning over the sink to splash cold water on his face. “Everyone will be looking at me anyway.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes but zips up his jacket to hide his soiled shirt.

It isn’t until Taehyung is finished trying to salvage what little makeup remains on his face that he notices the soft look on Jungkook’s.

“What?” he asks, whatever power he’d had earlier suddenly swirling down the drain like the water in the sink.

“You’re right; everyone will be looking at you,” Jungkook says with a slight shrug. “You’re beautiful, Taehyung-ssi.”

It’s Taehyung’s turn to roll his eyes, mostly because he fears the flutter in his chest and needs to distract himself from it. He reaches out to pat Jungkook’s cheek but cups his face and lets his thumb brush over his bottom lip instead.

“I told you to call me hyung,” he murmurs before pulling Jungkook into a kiss.

Maybe having a bodyguard isn’t too terrible.

@remmykinsff @rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap

#bts fanfic #bts smut #taekook fanfic #taekook smut #taekook au #taehyung x jungkook #gimmethatagustd #you can play pretend #ycpp

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loulou-land · 5 months ago

Text

Fuck it Friday

and also first lines of 2025

Thank you for the tag! ✨ @perfectlysunny02

This is a rockon fic I started recently, Deacon takes Rocker with him on one of his security jobs, things go very wrong and our boys need to keep each other alive while ignoring the elephant in the room (they haven’t gotten down and dirty yet in this fic) 👀 I was planning on it being a one shot but uh…I’m thinking it’s gonna turn into a multi-chapter 😮‍💨

Snippet

Deacon sighed, glancing around the room as if someone else might materialize and volunteer. No such luck. He already knew Hondo was busy, so no point asking him. He was about to give up when the door swung open, and Rocker strolled in whistling an off key tune, a towel hung around his shoulders.

“Everything all right?” Rocker asked, his tone casual but curious as he found himself the center of attention.

Deacon hesitated for a moment—not because he didn’t trust Rocker, he’d taken him with him on other jobs before. But, because something had been simmering between them lately, an unspoken tension in every interaction that he couldn't quite figure out. It had been driving him mad. Still, he pushed that aside and said, “Got a last-minute security detail. I need someone to ride shotgun. You interested?”

Rocker raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting into a familiar smirk. “High-profile client? Another heiress?”

“No,” Deacon answered vehemently. “I automatically veto those. One was enough, thanks.” He said, cringing at the memory of the entitled heiress who’d spent the whole drive to Vegas flirting with Rocker.

Of course, Rocker found that hilarious. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls. Deacon’s eyes were immediately drawn to the curve of Rocker’s throat, the way his neck stretched taut with the motion. It was ridiculous—he’d never thought of a neck as biteable before, but now the idea crept into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Before he could chase that thought, he slammed the mental door on it with a force that surprised even himself and quickly glanced away, clearing his throat.

“All right, chuckles,” he said, his voice a touch sharper than he intended. “What do you say?”

“Sounds like fun. Overnight job?” Rocker asked as he resumed shoving clothes into his backpack, still grinning like he knew exactly what had just crossed Deacon’s mind.

Uh I don’t know who to tag for this and I think a bunch of my mutuals have already done it. But if you see this and post something, feel free to tag me in it ☺️💕

#rockon #deacon kay #donovan rocker #swat #fuck it Friday #my writing #my fics: way down we go

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unecoccinellenoire · 6 months ago

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A change of luck extra snippet? it’s still my favorite fanfic of all time 🙏

Ironically this isn't a fic I had anything to hand for, and while it was pointed out to me the Ladrien storyline in it was never really wrapped up and I do plan to do something for that, have a quick unedited post-fic Gabenath snippet.

"Wait-" Nathalie pulls out of his kiss, "Gabriel, wait. I- I think there's things we need to dicuss again before we go any further."

He frowns. Everything had seemed to go well he'd thought. Her health, Adrien, Ladybug's magnimanity so, "Things? What Things?"

"Earlier." She has that cute line he wants to kiss away before her eyebrows, "Ladybug- when you asked about the risks of getting me pregnant, I don't think she understood what you were getting at at all."

She might well have a point. But, "At least if she didn't then Adrien doesn't."

"Much as I agree I'm not sure Adrien is that naive Gabriel. He knows I sleep in your bedroom."

"Our bedroom." He corrects her.

"OK," but her lips tilt into a little smile. "Our bedroom."

"And I'm sure that my son has the sense and the respect not to think about it."

"hmm. He is your son. But on the other hand, god knows what he read on the internet speculating about what Panthera and Shadow Moth got up to out of sight."

He shuts his eyes and pinches at his nose and tries to forget some of the very interesting storylines he'd come across looking for information about Panthera himself. Things he'd never want his son to see regardless of her being Nathalie.

"That's a wonderful thought to have in my head when I see him tomorrow at breakfast Nathalie. Why would you tell me that? And why wouldn't you block any sites talking about that from his computer?"

"I might have looked a little suspscious if I blocked all speculation about Panthera." She points out sounding annoyingly reasonable in that way she has. "I was already lucky Adrien was more worried for me that about me."

"Adrien loves you. Of course he was. You know you've become another mother to him."

"And that's why we should be thinking of him here."

"I don't follow."

"If I- we, did concieve how would that make Adrien feel? It's not as if we've fixed things with him. He just- just isn't ready to lose us. He needs our attention not a baby sibling that would take that away."

"I'm not unware of how complicated it would make things. Especially with how uncertain your health still is. There's a reason we're not letting nature take it's course here." He'd been the one to ask Ladybug after all.

He knows everything she's saying. They'd agreed this. He doesn't want a baby right now.

And yet for some reason hearing Nathalie make the same arguments outloud he had in his own head has him feeling unmoored somehow. Like there's some empty hollow in his body where his stomach should be.

It worsens at how she's frowning more deeply now and drawing back. "Including the fact that we're only just started dating."

Now he's the own frowning. "Do you really still worry we won't work out?"

"I don't know. This still doesn't even seem real."

The scabbed over injury in his heart wants to break open.

"I love you Nathalie Sancoeur." He promises her, taking her face in his hands. "And I'm very hopeful that one day, when you're ready for it that you'll be Nathalie Agreste, and that perhaps we'll give Adrien that little sibling after all."

Nathalie is very still, and then she blinks and blurts, "I'm sorry- you'd actually want to have a baby with me?"

"Why is that so strange?" He can't help but sound a little offended.

"I mean, we're lucky Adrien doesn't hate us. We're hardly parents of the year are we?"

"Mistakes have been made. I concede that. But we're still beating our parent's aren't we?"

She snorts. "Such a high bar to clear."

Carressing her cheekbone with his thumb he says. "I'm not going to force you my dear. But I thought- after this therapy you and Ladybug are forcing on us, it might be a coversation we'd revisit."

"That's...not crazy. But are you ready for if my answer's still no?"

"I have Adrien. He was always meant to be enough, "and that's true," but..."

Nathalie eyes search his face, "But?"

"You wouldn't feel...I wouldn't want you to feel less than Emilie for us not sharing a child."

"I'm not Emilie. I don't have the same desires as her."

"No. That's becoming strikingly apparent. I'm not going to push you if this is something you don't want. Though there's not much I can do if the Ladybug Miraculous decides otherwise for us."

Nathalie's hands return to where they'd been on his hips before they'd stopped. "I'd cherish any child it gave us. I'm just...it doesn't seem like a good idea, but then I've only got so many years I can change my mind in, and- I don't know. Maybe I'll know once I work everything out."

"We'll work it out." He reminds her.

She smilies again but this time it looks forced. "Together this time."

"Yes." He agrees.

She relaxes against him, "And at least I know you won't be angry if our protection fails. That's one less thing to be worried out."

"You thought I'd be angry?"

"Not at me I don't think. But- maybe. I mean you can't have a child more planned than Adrien."

"And as you've pointed out that's hardly worked out perfectly. No, if the past years have proven anything it's that one has to run with the unplanned. Like a beautiful woman in a suit that shows off every contour of her body."

Nathalie groans. "Please don't remind me of that outfit."

"I liked that outfit." And- he'd

"I'm aware. All of Paris is aware."

"Hmm, and I'm sure most of Paris liked it too. But I'm," he says it with a smirk, "the only one who gets to see you in nothing."

"That's true. And...you could go back to kissing me again now. If you want."

"Now that my dear Nathalie is not even a question."

#gabenath #my fic #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur

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alphabetboyluvr · 2 years ago

Text

THROTTLE - JJK | NINE

one/ two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - plans are being set in motion!!! back to busan we go! references to drugs, shitty driving, the usual. no smut! a rarity! plot!! one of my fave metaphors / set of lines in the entire fic is in this one!!

word count - 11.4k

minors dni // series masterlist

"I've been thinking," you tell Hoseok a little after dusk. The sun sets later these days, mid-year sun never wanting to settle. A monsoon has been looming for a few days now, but the grey clouds sit defiant in the air. "You were right."

He looks at you, contemplation sinking into the creases of his frown, the crisp white shirt he's wearing unbuttoned to his mid chest. A pair of thin-framed glasses adorn his eyes as he skims over the notes of a casefile from work.

"What about?"

His voice is soft as he asks.

With your hair like this - top layer in a half-undone bun, the rest wisping around your shoulders - he's reminded of how you used to be.

There's a lot to be said for your relationship, or lack thereof, but once upon a time, you'd cared for another. Would dance in his parents' kitchen when they were out of town, you in one of his shirts, bare feet padding against the ondol heated floor.

You look younger with your hair like this. Like yourself, he thinks. Someone he used to know.

It's part of the reason, you think, that you're so awful to another. You grew up together. He's a part of your formation, and you a part of his. There's a reminder of the innocence that once was.

He knows how much you wanted to get out of the fold. Knows you wouldn't have come back without an ulterior motive. He isn't naive to this. Isn't naive to anything you do. Is well aware you've been doing things that no woman with a diamond on her ring finger should be doing.

But he's no saint, either. The ring was given to you with a purpose. Just like his dress shirts are dry cleaned with a purpose. Saves you from having to wash his secretary's lipstick out of them.

"I need something to fill my days," you say. "I think I'm going crazy cooped up here."

It's not a lie.

It's also not the full truth; not what's prompting this conversation, but that's neither here nor there.

Hoseok nods. Put his case file on the coffee table and turns his full attention to you. There's a softness to him now, one that he didn't have the last time you spoke.

He's not all bad, not by any stretch of the imagination. Is just caught up in a God-awful world. He's like you, in that regard.

Whatever freedoms once belonged to you have been traded for protection - not just from the men who lurk around dingy boxing clubs, but from your own family, too.

Hoseok's position within the police force gives you an added layer of armour. He's chainmail. He knows this. Knows you need him.

But he needs you, too. He's got a greasy pole to climb. Helps him out if you're throwing him towels from the Mayor's office. Will get him to the top a little quicker.

It's unsurprising that he had been the one to suggest picking your relationship back up where it had been left a few years prior.

He had painted the idea as a beautiful utopia; Daegu's darling children, reunited. A powerhouse. Unstoppable.

You didn't have a plan back then, not yet - but power seemed like a good place to start.

"You've been away for a while," he muses, well aware that it's not been an easy adjustment for you. "I... Look, you and I both know this isn't ideal. I know you wouldn't be here if you thought there was another option for you."

When you nod, he thinks you might cry.

The person you are isn't the person he once knew. You're so strong in some regards, far more powerful than he ever thought you would be and yet at times you can seem so docile. So timid. Weak. He doesn't understand it. Not really. Doesn't understand you.

Because if he did, he'd know there's nothing docile about you.

"I don't actually want to ruin your life," he says with a small smile that seems sincere. Might not be. You choose to believe it is.

"It's fine," you offer back an equally minuscule smile. "I do a good enough job of that all on my own."

He presses his lips together, and contemplative dimples etch themselves into his cheeks. "What are you thinking? Let's work together. Find a solution."

Men. So easy to wrap around your finger.

"I'm thinking of proposing a library initiative to get the city kids reading. You know how much my Father likes a good press release," you say. "I'm not too sure yet. I could volunteer at the library, start promoting for the education sector. Something like that. It will give me something to do, and gets me in a public role that is pretty much as safe for publicity as can be. If I'm working as a volunteer, there's no need for additional expenses."

As you recite your lines, you think of Jimin - and how good he is at putting words together to make them sound convincing. He and Jin are definitely the brains of Kang's boys. Namjoon and Jungkook the brawn.

Like clockwork, you're thinking about him again. Thinking about the way he didn't take his eyes off you for the entire meeting. Thinking about the way he didn't crack a single smile. Thinking about how he'd followed you out afterwards, just to ask if you were okay - and about how forlorn he'd looked when you told him that you're none of his concern, and that the only thing between the pair of you anymore is business.

And then he had smirked. Told you that business was the only thing that had ever been between the pair of you. Told you not to get it twisted. Told you not to flatter yourself, and reminded you that he was the one who had orchestrated your entire relationship.

"Whatever's between us -" He had almost snarled. "- Is what I made it to be."

You'd laughed. Stepped a little closer. Toyed with the key still around his neck, and said, "we both know that's not entirely true, don't we?"

He was silent. Could barely breathe, let alone think straight. Wasn't till you were a mile across the city that he seemed to remember how to function like a human being again. He knows one thing for certain: he absolutely cannot be around you. Not if he wants any shot at sanity.

And so when you walk into the boxing club the next day, Jungkook pauses.

He watches how you scan the room, but drops his gaze before your eyes are able to reach his. He doesn't care for making conversation with you. Knows that it will be a fruitless endeavour.

It feels like oceans bloat the distance between you, and he's never much been one for swimming. Loves the freefall of the dive; hates the dictation of the currents.

"Is Jin about?" You ask, an air of indifference to your tone.

Following the conversation with Hoseok, you'd been granted approval from the Mayoral office to start planning the campaign. You'll be working with the PR team, but it's your domain. They'll be there to hold your hand if you need it, but you'll be the guide.

You're just here to report back to Seokjin. Aren't here for small talk. Would rather swallow a razor blade, you think. Much more pleasant.

Still in his workout gear, Jungkook doesn't look at you. Just shakes his head, slams his locker door shut, and kicks the heavy metal side door of the club open.

"You shouldn't be here," he says as he exits. "Ain't safe for you."

And he's right. It's a terrible place for you to be. Not for the risk of Kang showing up, or you being spotted fraternising with the enemy, but because of the way Jungkook makes you feel like your heart might stop beating entirely.

Part of you thinks it would be preferable if it did.

The door slams behind him, and echoes into the lofty room. The chime is haunting. Almost sounds like the same one that used to be in your stomach.

You're looking at your feet, gearing yourself up to leave, when the door swings back open.

Jungkook is agitated. Chewing on his cheeks, thunder in his eyes; he's the monsoon that's been looming all week.

You wish he would just crash. Pour down. Bless you with the glory of what it feels like to be covered in his torrential rains.

But there's a ring on your finger, and a hole in his chest. His mouth is constantly dry in your presence, and he's all cried out. He's got nothing left to give.

You look so familiar. So much like home - but Jungkook lost the keys a long time ago, and the one around his neck won't work on any of the fucking locks. He's shut out. An intruder every time he tries to peep inside the windows. It's invasive, the way he looks at you.

Has you drawing the curtains shut.

"I wasn't kidding," he says, his rounded white teeth clamping on his bottom lip before he can speak his favourite letter out loud. Doesn't wanna call you the name he used to trace on your back in the dark of the night. "You don't what it's been like since... You don't know. It's not safe."

"It's never been safe," you sneer. "Why the fuck are you acting like you care now?"

You watch as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. He shakes his head. Looks to his feet.

There's something calming about it. You've seen his head hung low like this many times over.

It's never been due to your faults, but his, instead - his own disappointment, his own shame.

When his eyes fall back on you, dark and heavy, you're reminded of exactly who he is: danger.

So yeah, you're right. It's never been safe. Not with him around. Not safe for your life, not safe for your heart.

Never safe.

But he's always cared.

He wants to curse you out. Wants to say that you've no fucking idea how hard this has all been for him. Wants you to know that the only reason you're both still in this mess is because he cared. If he had never cared, then he never would have fucked it all up in the first place.

The words on the tip of his tongue are knocked back down his throat when a familiar rattle sounds in the parking lot. Thick and heavy, the gargle belongs to an exhaust pipe, and Jungkook has been around these parts for long enough to know exactly who it belongs to.

"Shit," he hisses. Doesn't answer your question. Holds the door open, instead. "Out."

When you stay put, he snarls.

"C, get the fuck out. It's Kang. You wanna fuck things up all over again? Wanna prolong the time we have to spend together?"

You start walking as soon as he finishes his final question.

"S'what I thought," he mutters when you walk past, and closes the door behind you both. "Go slowly. Don't turn the corner into the parking lot. Wait for me."

He clicks the lock shut; scrambles the code on the padlock. Keeps his eyes on you while you wait by the corner of the building. Appreciates that you listened to him for once in your life.

Old Man Kang only comes to the boxing club these days to check up on Jungkook - to make sure he's fighting fit. He's got a boxing match coming up. A big one. Puts him up against some boys from Busan. He knows they don't take well to 'traitors', which is what he's deemed as, now that he's fighting for a Daegu club.

Kang's banking on a heavy return should Jungkook win - but there's no 'should' about it. He has to win. If he doesn't, his debt to Kang - for the money lost on you - will only increase.

"You drive here?" Jungkook whispers as he comes to stand behind you, peeking over your shoulder to get a view of the parking lot. You choose not to inhale through your nose. Know that you might just die if he still smells the same.

He scans the cars, but can't spot the Merc you've been driving.

Of course he can't. Hoseok needed it for work. An out of town job.

"Got the bus," you say back, just as quietly.

"M'kay," Jungkook says gently. Goes to put a hand on your waist. Stops himself. Remembers things aren't how they used to be. "Take my key, get in the passengers side. Keep your head down. I'm gonna go back in for a minute, and make it look like I'm just leaving. They'll ask questions if they hear me drive off without seeing my face."

"I don't-"

"It's not up for debate. If they see you here, it fucks everything up. Just get in the damn car."

It's silent, save for the faint hum of traffic on the main road a few blocks away. Just you, and Jungkook, and the sound of the city. Neither of you really understand the way you feel. It's not quite sorrow. It's solemn. Sad - yet there's serenity, too. A saving grace for those who have fallen from it.

Jungkook decides that you're too stubborn, but also knows the one thing that always got you on side was a little desperation.

He gets closer. Puts his hand on the back of your neck. Wonders if you can feel the pulse in his thumb, and how it's beating a mile a minute. Squeezes ever so gently. Whispers, "Please, C."

The bus stop is two minutes up the road. You know that you could make it there - and be on the next bus going anywhere - by the time Jungkook has finished distracting Kang. You don't need him to save you. You don't need his protection. His kindness.

Yet you hold out your hand. Take his keys, and say, "Please be quick."

All he can do is nod, because truthfully, he'll do whatever he can to get himself beside you again.

"I'll be as quick as I can be. Promise."

It's funny. He's broken every single promise he's ever made you. Strange of him to think it holds any merit, now.

Doesn't stop you from holding out your pinky, mind you. Also doesn't stop him from linking his with yours. Pretty little promise, wrapped up with a pink bow. All perfect and pristine, satin against skin.

At least it's not red, you think. Not this time.

You hear Jungkook greet Kang - "Hi! Didn't see you there. Was just about to leave! What can I do for you?" - and decide that the coast is clear. Glancing around, you make a beeline for Jungkook's obnoxiously bright tin can of a car.

You hate it. Hate it in the same way that teenagers hate their hometowns. No matter how much you want to run from it, you know it will always be the place you go back to.

But of course you will.

It's home.

Some say it's where the heart is.

And considering you've been without one ever since Jungkook left your apartment all those months ago, perhaps it's not a bad place to start looking for it.

As you approach the bright, siren-red car in the parking lot, Jungkook's keys sit snug in the palm of your hand.

The satin lanyard strap is a little worn through - a freebie from a car show he'd attended a few years ago - but is just as soft as it always has been.

There's comfort to be found in it, like a blanket from childhood, or the warmth of a heavy duvet after a long day. It's a comfort you haven't felt in Hoseok's bedding, nor in the childhood bedroom you're able to visit again now that you're back on cordial terms with your family.

Jungkook had never smothered you. Not once. Not like a blanket nor a duvet could - and that's exactly why you kind of used to wish he would. You had craved the weight of his body; wanted your airwaves cut off by the very essence of everything he was. Deprivation had made you desperate.

Foolishly, it seems like not much has changed. Not much and everything all at once.

When you hook your fingers beneath the door handle, you can still feel the burn of his touch. In fact, your pinky finger almost feels numb. You hold it out a little, away from your other fingers. You want to preserve the feeling; lodge the sensation in your memories, embed it into your skin. Never wanna lose it, as if you have any choice in the matter.

Sinking into the passenger seat (alternatively known as the closest thing you've ever had to a second home) it's the scent of his leather that hits you first. A little oaky. Well-aged. Cared for. Restored by a pair of rough hands that hand touched you with just as much gentle cautiousness, once upon a time.

It's details like these; his discipline when it comes to making sure his car is looked after - preserved - that let you know just how meticulous Jungkook is. Nothing he ever does is purely up to chance. Luck isn't something that comes naturally to him. It's something he crafts.

Like Rumplestiltskin, he'd spun gold from straw in the form of your relationship. None of it was real. Not really.

A few tears brim on your lashline and threaten to fall - but you've never taken well to threats. You wipe them away. Won't let him know that being back in a place that once felt so much like safety is scaring you half to death, now.

It's a vow you've made to yourself: Jungkook will never know how he affects you. He won't see you cry. Will never know your skin is forever changed by his touch, numb to everything else but the tips of his fingers and the taste of his tongue against your own.

He'd lost the luxury of 'you' the very second he decided you were expendable.

Shifting in your seat, you're acutely aware of the little changes that have been made in your absence. There's a new air freshener, but it smells just the same. Some sort of pine. Gas station staple.

There's no hairband around his gear stick, like you know there used to be. No receipts from GS25 in the cupholders, no dirt from your shoes in the footwells, no bottles of soju left to roll around in the back.

His car is void of all essence of you.

The centre console - the old store for your snacks after late night shifts - is empty, save for a pair of silver-rimmed glasses.

They're large - clear lenses - and slightly more rounded than you'd expect of his taste, but the thick dark frame on top of them seems apt. You can't imagine him wearing them. Think it might be fatal. Decide you'd never like to find out.

When you flick down the sun visor to check yourself in the mirror, you almost miss it; the one relic of you.

Tucked in a small slip where his tax documents should be, is a photo strip. Taken in a beachside photobooth after a few too many drinks, you remember it well.

It's rough at the edges. Torn in half. Jungkook is gone, and yet you remain.

The removal of himself from his own memories is stark. Confusing. Distressing. Forces you to focus on yourself; the smile that you know was caused by him tickling at your ribs, and the tattooed hand on the side of your face in the second picture, that you know for a fact was pulling you in for a kiss, even if you can't see it.

In the photographs, your eyes are bright, despite the black-and-white filter (his pick). There's a stupid pastel purple frame around each one of the pictures, with miniature Kuromi's perched on the edges (your pick).

You wonder where the other half is. Decide you're better off not knowing, but don't have time to give it much thought though, for Jungkook's yanking at the drivers-side door, and asking for the keys before you even have a chance to flip the visor back up.

He looks at you - eyes jagged, jawline sharp - and lets his gaze fall to your hand, where the pictures sit pretty.

"That's still in here?" he sneers, as if it's a surprise; as if he doesn't look at it every time he stops by the river to breathe for a moment. Just like he didn't sit on the beach in Busan last month and set fire to the other half; watching himself disintegrate. "Keep it. I've got no use for it."

He holds his hand out for his keys, so you make sure to drop them just beyond his grasp and into his footwell. You know you're pressed for time, and that you really shouldn't be fucking about, but he's too much of an asshole, you decide.

"Real fuckin' mature," he grumbles, pulling on the lever beneath his chair to push it back so he can reach down for them. There's silence as his posture restores and he sinks his key into the ignition. A spark lights in his engine, the exhaust roaring into action. He knocks the gear stick into reverse, and holds onto the headrest of your seat as he looks over his shoulder. Swings the car around. "Head down."

You do as you're told.

It's mainly because you don't want to give him any more reason to snarl, but also because the quicker you do, the quicker you can just get the fuck out of his car.

It's claustrophobic now that he's sharing the space with you. You don't wanna breathe; don't wanna smell his aftershave. Don't wanna listen; don't wanna hear the way he mumbles to himself. Don't wanna look; don't wanna see his tattooed hand knock the gear stick into first, then straight up to third.

In fact, you'd quite like to stop existing altogether.

Jungkook used to say how much he enjoyed it. Enjoyed existing with you.

You hope it makes him feel fucking sick, now.

"Just drop me at the end of the road," you say. "I'll make my way from there."

"End of the-" he scoffs, not even finishing his repetition of the question. He coasts around the corner, foot on the clutch. You wonder if he's exercising a complete lack of control on purpose. Wonder if he's baiting you. "That private school education of yours really didn't give you any street smarts did it, huh?"

He definitely is baiting you. There's no doubt about it. He's petty motherfucker when he wants to be - and you can be just as bad. You just can't decide on how you want to respond.

Firing back would be the easy option. It's what he would expect. What he knows of you.

Staying silent looks meek, you think.

The final thing you consider is crying. Do you want to? Not really. You're more frustrated than you are sad. Thing is, he wouldn't expect it. Wouldn't know what to do. Would definitely make him freak out a little. Might even get him trying to make things better.

But you just can't bring yourself to do it.

Instead, you laugh. Look straight ahead. "Baby, these streets are mine. We both know I'm untouchable."

His hard stare on the road intensifies. You're approaching the bridge. Neither of you want to speak, both too aware of the impact that first night had on your lives; how it planted a seed that turned out to be nothing more than a venus fucking fly trap.

And yet Jungkook just can't help himself. He doesn't want to let you win.

It's pathetic, and he knows it. Knows that he's the one who fucked you over; that he's the one who did all of this. Knows that you've every right to be hurting, and every right to want him hurting, too.

But you're engaged, he fumes internally. Due to be married. Have committed your life to someone else, as if the time you had spent with Jungkook meant nothing. It's only been about four months since it all went to shit. He can barely look at the watermark he still hasn't cleaned off of his bathroom mirror.

Lies were fed to you between his kisses, but every single one of those was real. He meant it every time he pressed his lips against yours; every time he told you he needed you in his sheets eternally.

He makes assumptions like you used to do. Thinks about your fiance. Assumes it's love. Has to be.

It's clear to him now that the feelings you pretended to have for him were always a lie.

He doesn't understand why.

Sure, he knows why he lied to you. Knows that he filled your head with half-truths, and tiptoed around the facts of the situation, but he was always honest with how he felt. Never told you bullshit about wanting to keep you close. Meant every single word of it.

But you didn't. It's obvious to him that your lies went beyond your family tree. Nobody likes a liar - not even the boy who cried wolf, himself.

"Untouchable?" he smirks. It's cruel. Juvenile. "We both know that isn't true, don't we?"

"Haven't you heard, baby?" You simper, voice sweet a honey laced with rat poison. You hold up your hand, and wiggle your fingers. Light catches in the cut of your diamond. "I've got a ring. I'm untouchable in every sense of the word."

It stings. Almost like your diamond's encrusted on a dagger, and you've impaled it into his chest.

He doesn't look at you as he drives. Not like he used to. Doesn't throw you a single glance across the centre console, doesn't hold your knee nor your hand beneath his on the gear stick. Instead, his jaw remains taut, eyes ahead on an endless horizon that he hopes he never reaches. If he keeps driving forever, none of this has to end.

For a little while longer, he can pretend.

Pretend that things are as always as they were; that perhaps you've just had a small argument - over what to have for dinner or the way he'd rolled his eyes at a suggestion you had made - and that you'll crack a smile soon. He'll say something dumb, play your favourite song. Tell you he's sorry. Pull over, and refuse to drive until you hold his hand.

But your hand has a ring on it now. He'd feel it lodged beneath his fingers. Would be indented with the mark of commitment from another man.

And that's what makes him crack.

"Engaged," he laughs quietly, not an ounce of humour in his voice as he shakes his head. His eyes stay on the road. He can't look at you. Knows he wouldn't be able to look away.

You're silent for a moment. Consider not responding - but his tone bothers you.

"Uh-huh. We've established that - but you've no right to pass judgement."

Jungkook doesn't want to pass judgement. He wants to be vulgar.

Wants to remind you of the way you were taking his cock a matter of months ago. Wants to ask if your fiance hits the spot like he knows he used to. Wants to know if your body is still stained by the colour of his claim; rosy handprints on your ass, plum bruises on your chest left by his lips. Wants to know if it's his name that reverberates in your head when you bite onto pillows. Wants to know if your fiance even fucks you well enough to make you do that. He doubts it.

He doesn't want to know the answers to any of those, though.

"I'm not passing judgement, C," he says in perhaps the most judgemental tone you've veer heard, flicking his indicator to merge into the next lane. "What's the dress like? Can't be white, can it?"

Bastard.

"We're going traditional," you lie. It hasn't even been discussed yet. You also don't plan on sticking around long enough to see it through to the big day, but that's none of Jungkook's business. "Hanboks only. No modern dress."

Funny, Jungkook thinks. Had never pictured you as the traditional type. Then again, never pictured you walking down the aisle with anyone but him.

Truth be told, it's not like he's ready for any of that. He's not good with the future. Not anymore. Moves from one bad decision to the next. No point in planning ahead.

He disregards the flashing amber light over the pedestrian crossing, narrowly missing it as it changes to red. His foot is on the gas, and he doesn't seem to be easing. You adjust in your seat. Cross your legs. Hold onto the door handle.

"Slow down."

The way he ignores you is childish, and the way he speeds up is even more so.

"Jungkook-"

"Don't tell me how to drive my own damn car," he snaps.

"Then don't drive it like a fucking idiot!"

The tyres screech to a halt. You're almost certain you can smell burnt rubber.

Around you, the road is empty. You're just a few blocks over from the bridge, not far enough for the coast to be clear, and you both know it. There's silence. No static from his radio, no chatter of former lovers; just his engine, purring softly, echoing into the night.

Neon lights from the amalgamation of churches and noraebangs rain down on you through his windows, painting your skin in a red haze. The beam of his headlights on the road ahead is intrusive, decrepit buildings shown in all their miserable glory; paint peeling from the walls, rust forming beneath nails like tears on cheeks, railings covering windows to keep outdated electronics protected. You hate this area. Always have done. Can't believe you used to consider it home.

"Fine then," he snaps. "Get out. Walk yourself home. See what I care. Don't get hit."

He expects resistance. Expects you to defy him. It's what he wants. Wants you choosing to stay - but like fuck are you gonna let him speak to you like that.

It's so hard knowing what's false with Jungkook.

Some days, you think it was all ingenuine; that you've never seen the real him.

On others, you tell yourself that the version of Jungkook you'd first met on the bridge was a facade; that you'd worn him down. Seen within.

Most days, though, you believe the version of Jungkook you'd met on that very first night is exactly who he is.

Everything that followed? A carefully crafted performance for an audience of one.

And now it seems like he wants a standing ovation - and who are you to deny such a skilled actor his applause?

Yanking just hard enough to piss him off, you pop open your door and stand beside the car. Applause comes in form of his door slamming shut, and the click of your heels piercing the emptiness in the air as you walk up the sidewalk.

"Where are you going?" He shouts after you from his window - but you just hold your middle finger up in his direction and continue onwards. "C?"

You wouldn't tell him even if you knew. All you know is that you selfishly kind of hope he'll call after you again. He does. You smile to yourself, and ignore him.

Cursing to himself in the driver's seat of his car, he revs the engine back up.

There's a sinking feeling in your chest, but you're the one who put it there.

Only have yourself to blame.

You choose not to watch as his car hurtles past you. The sound is soul-destroying enough as it is.

Jungkook takes a moment to consider his choices. The obvious is to let you go - but he's done that once before, and has hated it ever since. He knows chasing after you will only end in him chasing his own tail, but he's been doing that ever since you left, as it is. What difference will it make? At least this way he can say he tried.

He pulls into a side road.

Derelict and dilapidated, it's no place for a car like his - but then again nowhere in this city is. He sticks out like a sore thumb. None of the other Pony's are polished quite so well, no have been lowered like his. None of them rag about in the dark of night, only for him to fix his faux pas in the light of day the following morning. He'll never let it rust. Never let it falter. Never let it down; and in turn, it won't let him down either.

It will always take him exactly where he needs to be - and right now, he thinks it's beside you.

Slamming his door shut far gentler than you had, Jungkook pushes the key into its lock and twists it shut. He doesn't want to use the electric locks today. Feels like the only way to do things right is to go analogue. Old school.

Wishes there was a way he could go back in time with you, too.

His feet splash in the shallow puddles as he trundles back down the alley on foot, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. He's still in his workout gear - a pair of joggers and some beat-up trainers - but doesn't care for keeping up appearances.

He waits as you approach. You notice him immediately, but make no acknowledgement of his presence. Just keep on walking. Even when he begins to walk alongside you, not a single word is spoken. Cars pass by, passengers gazing out of their windows at the strange pair walking side by side yet miles apart.

You wonder if they make assumptions about you like you know would.

If you were to see yourself, you'd guess that you were angry. A couple in the midst of a fight but too far from home to go your separate ways, maybe. The way your arms are crossed definitely suggests ice to the relationship, but of what the relationship is, you don't think you'd be able to tell. Lovers? Friends? Enemies? All of the above?

You wonder if they'll make up a life for you both. Wonder if they'll resolve the argument they must think you're having. Consider that maybe in their mind, you get a happy ending.

Maybe your observers will be just as naive as you once were. A fool with a fragile heart who gave it to a man who didn't know his strength.

Or perhaps he did. Perhaps he just never cared if he were to break it.

Jeon Jungkook; a rebel with a cause, just without care.

Asshole, you think. Wind whips loose stands hair against your face, cold despite the heat of summer that has now arrived. A storm is coming this evening, but you don't plan on being around to see it.

It's a shame. You've been looking forward to it. Hoseok's away. Work retreat to Yeosu. Some sort of training programme. You had anticipated a night alone watching the raindrops sinking down his apartment window.

The idea of going 'home' right now doesn't appeal to you.

Though when you come to think about it, home is standing next to you as you wait at a zebra crossing, waiting on a green light.

When green lights up the sky, you continue forward. Take a left a left when you reach the hospital. Walk seemingly without direction and yet there's only one place this road leads to. Jungkook knows it well. Isn't really sure what you're doing. Thinks you're playing some kind of joke.

And yet he doesn't speak up. Just follows.

The sign of the KTX station lights up the walkway, the rattle of overground trains polluting the silence between you. There are only a few more services for the night, but it means that freight trains are gearing into action, and they're so much louder than the passenger trains.

As much as he might not know what you're doing, you don't know either. Haven't really thought any of this through.

All you know is you just don't want to stop walking with him.

You hate yourself for it. Hate how weak he makes you feel. Hate that he gets to be okay and just live his life after ruining yours. Maybe you're misplacing your blame. Know full well that you've made some bad decisions as of late. Would take them back if you could.

Jungkook is one of those bad decisions you wish you could undo. If only life came with a rewind button. Ctrl+Z. Reboot. Restore to factory settings.

And yet the idea of not knowing him - the sound of his laugh in the early hours of a Sunday morning, the feel of his cheeks a few days post-shave, the pressure of his lips on the crown of your head - fills you with dread. You may hate the memories, but you don't want to lose them, either.

You know Daegu's KTX station well. Hanger left as you enter, straight towards the self-service kiosks. Pick one that accepts card, then rest your palms on the pale blue plastic casing of the machine. There's a touchscreen full of choices - endless opportunities - but Daegu's KTX autofill route is the only one that you care for. The only one that feels right.

Busan.

You tap through to the next menu, ignoring Jungkook's presence beside you. You don't care what he does. Are only thinking about yourself.

Funny, really. He's only thinking about you.

Jungkook knocks your hand to the side to stop you from pressing through to the transaction screen. He reaches over a little further. Presses the small plus sign next to 'passengers'. Says nothing as it jumps from '1' to '2'.

You just watch as he clicks on through to the following screen, and slides his card into the slot that's flashing green at you. There's no conversation. No acknowledgement of what he's done; just acceptance.

The machine spits out the tickets into a metal tray, so you take yours and turn on your heel, leaving him to collect his own. He can follow you if he likes. You won't wait for him.

Realistically, it's not like you'll be apart for long. The assigned seats are side by side.

Of course, you could just leave. Buy a ticket elsewhere. Go home. Head down towards the subway and lose him in a sea of people.

The possibilities are endless.

Yet you find yourself checking the departure screen for train 071, instead.

The menu flickers through the upcoming departures, before finally falling back to the screen 071 is on. Platform two, departing in four minutes.

It's enough time to get to your track, but not enough time to run to your favourite coffee stand. You just sigh. Today is just disappointment after disappointment.

Jungkook walks straight past you. Makes no acknowledgement of you.

Just heads towards the exit for the tracks. Another sigh leaves your lips.

But you find yourself following him.

You're the one orbiting him, now.

And like the planets you're convinced rule your life, it doesn't feel like you can stop any time soon.

Your train is already on the platform by the time you make it down the stairs, quietly purring in its bay. Doing one final check of the platform, the conductor blows his whistle just as you're hopping on.

Heading down the aisle, you're displeased to see the train is only half full, knowing it means your assigned seats will be beside one another - and once you reach carriage four, you can see the top of his head poking out from the row you've been allocated.

It's interesting how he's taken the aisle seat, when his ticket is for the window. Still, questioning it means engaging in conversation, and you're still pretending like he doesn't exist - to the point where you don't ask him to move. You just step over him, and cringe at the way you know your ass brushes the top of his knees from the awkward positioning.

If he were in a better mood, he'd smile, aware of your annoyance and the fact you're probably cursing out your own ass in your head.

But Jungkook is in a foul fucking mood, and all he wants to do is hold your goddamn hand.

He knows can't.

So he won't.

He'll just sit, and stew, and lament the fact he's on a train to fucking Busan with you.

The jokes he knows he would have cracked six months ago are lost, now. There'll be no nonsensical conversations over who would die first in a zombie apocalypse, no dumb declarations from Jungkook about how he'd protect you no matter what.

Would have been a lie, anyway.

In the row ahead of you, a teenage couple share a pair of headphones.

Between the crack in the seats, you can see their heads leaning together, hairs melting into one another. The girl is peroxide blonde, but has dark roots growing through. It's a bit like Jungkook's hair used to be. Her (presumed) boyfriend has a streak of blonde peaking through his dark hair. She no doubt did it for him (again, you presume). The sight of it makes you feel sick.

Jungkook notices it too. Watches as the girl flicks through the boys playlist. Searches up a song he doesn't know, and presses play. When she locks the phone and puts it down on her boyfriends lap, she shuffles closer against him. Jungkook feels a little unwell, too.

The silence continues.

It's only 45 minutes to Busan. Not a long haul by any stretch of the imagination - and yet it feels endless this evening. When the train eventually rolls into his hometown, Jungkook thinks he's going crazy. Hates being alone with his brain. Hates that you hate being alone with him, too.

The hushed nature of your pairing prevails as you make your way onto the subway. Rammed full of late-night punters, you're forced to stand by the entryway. He stands behind you, and holds the bar that's over your head. Doesn't say sorry when the movements of the carriage cause him to lean against you slightly. He pulls away from you as quickly as he can, but you're surprised to find that you miss the weight of his body.

But of course you do. You've been missing it for months, now.

The subway trundles through underground tunnels, metal screeching every so often, more and more passengers departing - until it's just you and him. You take a seat, and so does he. You're opposite one another, eyes unashamed as you stare one another out. There's no trust. You're like cats, stalking their prey.

Or should that be you're like a cat. Jungkook is a lion. Could rip you to shreds if he wants. Has done it before. Your scars are barely healed. Can still feel him all over your skin. It's insidious. Makes you want to take a fucking potato peeler to your body, just to rid yourself of your memories.

The way he looks at you, all dark and brooding, like he's some kind of 90's heartthrob that never stood the test of time, makes your fingerprint-shaped scars burn.

You ride the subway until the very final stop; not because you wanted to, just because you were following his lead.

Stupid, really. He was following yours. Of course he was.

The static voice of the automated alert lets you know you've reached Dadaepo.

Jungkook knows it well. Was his favourite place to explore as a kid. A hidden rocky alcove just beyond the cliff walk was the site of many discoveries as a kid; sea glass, bugs he can't remember the names of, and - in his later years - the scent of marijuana.

The fact you're still giving one another the silent treatment is comically unbelievable. It's been upwards of two hours since his car door slammed shut back in Daegu. Even longer, actually. Closer to three hours.

There's something so childish about how petty you both are - but at least this way, you can't miscommunicate.

You just don't communicate at all, and you think you prefer it that way.

The waves roll in as you sit, staring at nothing. Side by side. Miles apart. It all becomes a bit much for Jungkook. He knows he shouldn't make a sound, but he thinks he likes it better when you fight. At least that way he gets to hear your voice, no matter how scathing it can be.

"The last train back is in half an hour," Jungkook says quietly, unsure of how much time has passed. Dadaepo is fifty minutes away from the station. You'll have missed it, and are fully aware of it.

So you just shrug.

"Not have a fiancé to get home to?" He questions, and almost manages not to sound bitter. Almost.

Again, you shrug.

Hoseok is away for the week - an all-expenses training retreat over in Yeosu.

When your Father had still been in the police force, before moving into local politics, he'd gone on the same training programme. It's a yearly excursion. Just an excuse to get shitfaced with his crew and a chance to slip his wedding ring into his wallet, knowing your mother would never find out.

She'd always know. She was the one who did his laundry, after all.

Unlike your mother, however, you won't spend the week in a foul mood because of it.

That's not to say you won't spend the week in a foul mood - it's just that the reason for your awful mood is currently sitting next to you looking over the East China Sea.

"You should stop concerning yourself with my life," you tell him, voice quiet - but he hears you crystal clear, regardless. He's listening out for only you. Fuck the waves, fuck the dog walkers, fuck the traffic and the coffee shop soundtrack blaring just a few feet behind the woodland. You're the only one he hears.

He considers saying nothing, but just can't help himself - so he scoffs, and says, "shall I stop breathing, too, while I'm at it?"

It's a stupid comparison to make. His life doesn't depend on you. You tell him so.

"You need to breathe to stay alive. You never needed me to stay alive."

Never needed me at all.

"I don't know, C. Kang was pretty pissed when we let you get away," he says as he purses his lips. It's a miracle his nose still looks the same as it always did - unless it just got broken so many times that it somehow snapped back into place.

Thing is, Jungkook's not really thinking about that. The pain subdued. After a few weeks, it was like it never happened.

But the ache in his chest remained. His one source of chronic pain, and you're the one who held the knife. Sure, he's the one who guided your hands. Pulled them into his chest. Inflicted it upon himself.

"Your coworker," Jungkook finally sighs. He's not even sure why he's asking. He doesn't want the answer. "Is it... The ring. Is it him?"

And while you want to hurt Jungkook as much as you possibly can without laying a single finger on him, you know you've done Yoongi enough damage. Makes you sick thinking about his tender face; the way it'd light up around you. You think of Jieun, and the time spent together in the shop and it's so consuming that you can't even think of an appropriate response to Jungkook.

"Yoongi," you correct, but Jungkook already knew his name. Just didn't wanna acknowledge him as more than a meagre colleague. "No. It's not Yoongi."

But just for a night? It had been Yoongi. Or was it two nights? Your head taunts you. You fucked Yoongi. Fucked his life up. Fucked it all. Whatever becomes of you is what you deserve.

Jungkook is unaware of this as he clamps his lips together to stop the smile that's begging to break through his hard exterior.

"You ever..." You begin to mumble, but then realise who you're talking to. You don't want to converse with him. "Nevermind."

He knows this. Doesn't care. "Have I ever what?"

There's a moment of silence; waves lapping against the shoreline in place of your words.

"You ever do something that just destroys you?"

Your words linger like the brief seconds waves will take to kiss the shoreline; white bubbles sinking into sand, murky water retracing its steps and dissolving into the currents.

"Destroys you?" he asks, not because he needs clarification, but because he can't possibly imagine what you've done.

You simply nod.

And so he takes a moment to think. Decides it's about time he gave you some honesty.

"Yeah," he says gently. Can see there's something you're grappling with. Doesn't want to intrude, though. "I've done things that have destroyed me, C. You know I have."

The silence resumes once more. It's louder now.

If you listen closely enough, you can hear that chime in your stomach again. It's faint. You ignore it.

Jungkook can hear it too. It rings and rings like tinnitus. He can't ignore it. He can pretend that he detests it, though.

Moonlight ripples on the surface of the water. It rolls into shore, then pulls away again. Gets just close enough to touch, but not far enough to soak your feet.

It runs away from you as soon as it gets close, and the irony isn't lost on Jungkook. He'd always thought you'd behaved like the moon and her tides, after all. Cyclic. Endless. Eternal.

It sort of feels apt that you'd end up back here.

Yeah, he thinks as he refuses to look in your direction. Too consumed with the way the vast expanse almost looks like a black hole. Just like the tides.

But waves can roll up on any beach, and the moon caresses every inch of the earth during her slumber. There's nothing unique about the pair of you. Nothing special.

Insignificance has always been a fear of his. A life that could be chalked up to birth, then death; records in a library system forgotten about for years upon years. His impact? Null.

He'd seen it with his mother - her vibrancy, her love for life, for others - and how she'd all but been forgotten. Sometimes, he feels like he's the only one who remembers her.

Even his father seems to forget why he's in such a sorry state. His brother has a new family, now. And what does Jungkook have?

No family. That disintegrated. Yeah, they're still around, but they're not present. Not there for him when he needs them.

No career. Sure, he can get work wherever electricity is, but he's under Kang's thumb, now. He trains, and he fights. Time for honest work is non-existent.

No love. He's never been the type to need a relationship, but he'd gotten a little foolish. Gotten used to the comfort of another human. Now that he knows what it feels like - how nice it can be - he feels half alive without it.

The Jungkook beside you is just the same as the Jungkook you first met.

He's a little stronger, a little broader. Is missing a few of his piercings, and wears his hair dark now instead of the blonde you had always adored.

He's exactly the same, and yet forever changed.

He digs his fingers into the sand beside his thighs. The grains slip through the hollow gaps between his knuckles. Even the things within his grasp always seems to get away from him.

He hates the silence. Hates that he never knows what to say anymore.

And thankfully for him, you hate it just as much.

"Fighting a lot, these days, aren't you?" You ask, not that you need any clarification. You saw a note in one of Hoseok's files earlier on in the week. Just a small scrawl about Kang's, and the illegal gambling ring he's running. JJK had been written down, with a set of odds next to his name. Pretty good odds. Baby is a champion. You'd be proud, if the circumstances weren't so harrowing.

"Not any more so than usual," he lies, shutting down the conversation as soon as you start it. He just can't help himself. It's like he's hard-wired to fight.

You turn to look in his direction and are momentarily caught by how ethereal he looks when basking in silver moonlight. The tip of his nose looks cold, and yet his eyes are warm. Watery. Welcoming you to dive right in.

Sink, or swim?

He's got a bruise on the top of his cheekbone, and a small graze just in front of his ear. It's clear to see that he's been through the wringer recently. There's really no point in lying to you.

"No?" You ask, just to let him know you're aware he's full of shit.

"What does it matter if I am?"

"It doesn't."

And so silence settles again. Neither of you know how to interact with one another anymore. It's awkward and uncomfortable, and you both hate it - and yet there's nowhere either of you would rather be. No one else you'd rather be in discomfort with.

Time gets away from you. It chases through the night, just like his car used to do down the backroads of Daegu, with you in the passenger seat and your hand beneath his on the gear stick.

You wonder if he ever thinks of it; if he ever thinks of you in the same way you think of him.

You don't ask him, because no matter what the answer will be, you'll convince yourself it's a lie.

Midnight creeps in, and so does the chill of night air. It may be summer, but the sea breeze can be biting at times.

Jungkook's fine - his workout gear is keeping the heat in well, but you're underdressed. Huddled up and clearly not enjoying yourself but refusing to voice discomfort, Jungkook is the one who forces you up. Says it's stupid to still be out by the water. Tells you that there will be loads of bugs about, soon.

You both know that the bugs have been out since dusk. Leaving now makes no difference.

Ignoring the hand he holds out as you get to your feet, you rid your legs of sand, and head towards the pathway through the small wooded area.

Neither of you have any idea what to do. The keys in Jungkook's pockets are rendered useless, his car still down in a back alley of Daegu, and the buses have stopped running. Subway, too.

You've no bag with you, just your phone (that's dangerously low on charge) and a card tucked into the back of the case.

Jungkook's phone is new. Holds it's charge well. He's not worried about it.

He's got his wallet, too, so at least he's a little bit more foreign-city-ready than you'd been upon your decision to run off to Busan. He's glad he came with you, now.

He figures he'll just stay at his Dad's place - but it means getting a taxi, and he really can't be fucked with an hour's drive this late at night.

He's unaware that the card in the back of your phone isn't yours. It's under Hoseok's name. He gets a notification every time it's used. It's why you're so selective about how you spend your money.

You've no ID with you, either. Left it in your purse back in Hoseok's apartment. Hadn't really expected to end up in Busan, in all honestly.

Especially not with Jungkook.

If you wanna check in to a hotel - which is the only option, really - you're gonna need your ID. Standard policy around these parts. No ID, no room.

You tell Jungkook this.

He sighs. Grates his jaw a little.

"And you didn't think that maybe it would be smart to take your ID out with you? What if you'd gotten in an accident, huh? No one would have known who to call, 'cause they wouldn't know who you are."

"I was hardly gonna get in an acci-"

"How do you know?" He cuts you off. "You can't plan these kinds of things, CC. Accidents just happen."

"Is that what this is, then?" You scoff, folding your arms over your chest as you walk a little further away from him up the sandy sidewalk. "Another calamity of yours? Just ended up here accidentally?"

Sometimes, he considers kissing you just to stop your from spouting off at him over nonsensical issues.

Jungkook thinks it's obvious he ended up in Busan for one reason, and one reason alone:

He'll follow you to the end of the earth, if it means he gets to be with you.

He's hardly gonna tell you that, though, is he?

"Ended up here cause I missed the beach-" And I missed you, too. "- but it's late," Jungkook says as you meander back up the sidewalk without much aim, and nods across the road to a beachfront hotel. "Let's just crash here and figure out how to get home in the morning?"

For reasons you can't understand, you find yourself agreeing. When you explain that you can't use your card, he shrugs. Says he'll cover it. Says he doesn't care.

It's a different story when you're in the hotel.

The presence of the concierge makes you feel unsure of yourself. Reminds you of how embarrassed you are by what Jungkook did to you; how foolish you had felt. You feel the need to defend yourself.

"Do you have any suites available?" You ask the concierge with a smile so sweet it could rot his inside. He thinks you're sweet. Thinks Jungkook should smile more. Knows he'd be smiling if he had you alone in a hotel room.

"All booked out, I'm afraid," the concierge says as he checks the screen in front of him. The glare reflects in his glasses, and you wonder how many times he's been caught out looking at things he shouldn't. Not just at work, but in general. He seems like a sweet kid - but a kid nonetheless.

"What's the most expensive room you have available, then?" You query instead.

Jungkook shakes his head. Looks at his feet. Tenses his jaw. Thinks you're fucking unbelievable.

You know he's got money problems. Know he's fending off sharks from his poor Father's back. Know that the only reason he fucked you over was to finally have a decent payday.

And yet you choose to do this? Knowing he won't kick up a fuss in public?

Spineless bitch. Spiteful.

But, oh, how you love to hit him where it hurts.

The concierge is none the wiser of Jungkook's discomfort. Tells you both that there's a deluxe sea-view room left.

"It's gone midnight, so I can give you a discounted rate," he says, and still quotes a price that would make even a black card owner raise an eyebrow.

Jungkook looks at you. Holds your gaze. Passes over his card. Waits till the concierge is retrieving your keys to hiss, "you're the most expensive mistake I've ever made."

You just smile. "Shouldn't live life with regrets. They give you wrinkles."

"And stress gives you grey hair," he counters, insinuating that you've got some growing through. The concierge returns to his position behind the desk, so Jungkook plays his role up. "You been stressed lately, baby?"

The concierge coughs. Holds out your key. "Seventh floor. Follow the corridor from the elevator right to the end, and you'll find room number one." Jungkook takes the key with a polite nod. "If you need anything else, the front desk is open twenty-four hours. I do hope you enjoy your stay."

The tension between you and Jungkook is palpable. The little routine you've cooked up in which neither of you speak unless it's to bait each other out continues. Doesn't end until you're in the room - and what a fucking room it is.

Crisp white sheets on a bed that is far too big; a bathtub in the corner of the room instead of the bathroom. Huge windows that let the midnight view of the ocean pour in, and chiffon curtains that will keep you hidden from the outside world. You won't close the blinds. Will want the morning sunlight to bathe you in its glory; make you feel like you belong to the days instead of the nights.

So much of your relationship with Jungkook was hidden in the shadows of Daegu nights, but it had been different in Busan. It's hard to pretend as if you don't miss it.

Hard, but not impossible.

You toss him a pillow and the stiff cotton throw from the end of the bed. "Here. The bathtub looks cosy. Sweet dreams."

"I'm not sleeping in the fucking bath," he laughs, but it's full of scorn. He finds no humour in this situation. "If I pay for a hotel room, I'm sleeping in the bed. Bath is all yours."

And yet you stay put.

When Jungkook turns off the main light? You stay put.

When he grasps the back of his sweater and pulls it over his head? You stay put.

When he says, 'No? Not fancy the bath?' as he tosses the pillow you had thrown at him back onto the empty side of the bed? You stay put.

When he walks around to that side? When he pushes the duvet back? When his weight dents the mattress? The scent of his aftershave intrudes on your senses? The sound of his bare skin nestling into the sheets is all you can hear? When he turns his back to you? Turns off the bedside lamp?

You stay fucking put.

And you know you shouldn't, and know that this is all kinds of wrong, but my god, it's all you've wanted for months: the past. All that's missing is your arm looped over his waist.

When he turns to face you? Looks at you, eyes all glassy, lips pursed? Tries to get a read on you?

You don't move a muscle. Just look at him right back. Wonder how he can still look so beautiful in such darkness. Wonder if his hair always spilt onto the pillow as it does now, and you'd just never realised when he was blonde.

And then you wonder if maybe someone else had been in this position with him during your absence.

It would be okay if they have. Wouldn't be their fault. Wouldn't be his, either. You're the one who left. Have a ring around your finger, now, no matter how loosely. Would be incredibly unfair to expect Jungkook to spend the last few months alone.

But the more you think about it, the more you get caught up in your own head, and how he'd kissed you beneath his shower, skin coated in red dye. Has you thinking about the way he'd always kiss you as he came, and the 'forever's he'd whispered in the dark of night.

So fucking cruel of him. He always knew that forever wasn't an option. There was no reason he had to pretend there was.

And maybe you're just tired, or maybe you've just been keeping it all bottled up for so long that the pressure had finally reached full capacity, but you just can't help yourself as you say, "why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

Your brows furrow. Lips pout. You know what's coming and you can't even be bothered to stop the tears. Maybe he should know how badly he affected you. Maybe it's the only way he'll understand. Maybe then he'll care.

For now, you can't bring yourself to think too hard. You just let the tears fall.

"C'mon, C," Jungkook whispers as his thumb strokes over your cheek. His hands are a little rough. He's been working on his car a lot lately, and hasn't taken time to look after himself, instead. It's self-sabotage. Thinks he doesn't deserve to feel good. Physically, mentally, whatever. "This isn't you."

Oh, it's laughable. Hilarious, you think, that he seems to think he knows who the fuck you are. You wanna scream. Wanna tell him that he knows fuck all. Tell him that you never let him see even an ounce of what makes you 'you'.

Denial is a strange thing. Has you lying to yourself like it's a bible oath. Jeon Jungkook knows exactly who you are. You just wish that he didn't.

"You've no idea who I am," you whisper back through partially gritted teeth, that are stopping your sobs from leaking through.

Jungkook purses his lips together. Shakes his head. Strokes away another tear. Is almost silent when manages to croak out, "I wish that were true."

And you might be wrong, but it sounds like he's holding back a tear or two, as well.

You reach over to toy with the key around his neck. It's warm in your fingers, the heat of his skin keeping it cosy. It's amazing how warm he always is, you think. Never met anyone like it. When your eyes flick up to his, ever so briefly, you notice that they seem warm, too. Just a byproduct of his body temperature, you decide.

"Why coke?" You whisper as you bring the key to your lips. Press it against them, just to feel the pressure of something that belongs to him.

He'd kiss you now, if you asked him to.

But you won't, so he doesn't.

He just shrugs instead.

"Why do we do anything of the things we do, C?" He pauses, but doesn't anticipate a response from you. Just continues, instead. "To feel alive? To feel closer to death? I don't know."

Lost one drug, he thinks to himself. It's just a replacement.

And it's funny, because aside from the lines he'd snorted on the first night you'd returned just to fucking cope with it all, he's not touched it. Thinks if he could just touch you, he'd never go near coke again.

You hold the key to his lips, now. Wait for him to press his lips against it. He does so, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Funny. Seems the key works on something, after all.

When you pull the key away, you let the chain hang slack, before dropping it to his chest. The ridges of the metal are sharp against his skin, but he's numb to it. Can only feel the print of your fingertips and the scars that are embedded into his skin from them.

"You should stop," you whisper, stroking down the bridge of his nose with the side of your index finger. His eyes close. Jaw tenses. He inhales. "It'll ruin this pretty nose of yours."

And then he smiles; eyes still closed, lip ring flipping in the corner of his mouth.

But the tepid movement of your finger doesn't stop. It reaches the tip of his nose. Trails down his septum. Encroaches on his cupid bow - and then it comes to rest on his lips.

Just like the key, he presses against it. Kisses the side of your finger. Keeps his eyes closed. Lets it linger.

He hears the change in your breathing. How you inhale a little sharper than before. How it sounds painful.

Doesn't wanna open his eyes. Doesn't want to look at you, knowing that you'll probably look so tragically hurt that it would be captivating, in a way. He'd wanna kiss it all better, but knows better than to attempt such a thing.

"I don't think I can, C," he eventually says. Opens his eyes. Is devastated by your beauty. "Don't think I'll ever be able to stop."

You both know he isn't talking about coke.

"Then it'll ruin you," you whisper, pretending as if you still are.

He just nods. "So let it."

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook masterlist #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut #bts fanfic #throttle #jungkook fluff #angst #smut #jungkook

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rosesloveletters · 1 year ago

Text

1971!Willy Wonka NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 2,069

Warnings: nsfw / sexual content.

Summary: Filled out NSFW alphabet template.

Author's Note: I think this was requested, but I had planned to write it anyway. Since I don't know when I'll have another full fic to post, here's a lil treat. Enjoy <3

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Willy is very attentive to your needs after passionate lovemaking sessions. Need help getting cleaned up? He’ll take the initiative to get up first and help you clean yourself up. Want some cuddles? He’ll be there with open arms, waiting for you to curl up in his embrace. Whatever it is that you need, he is more than happy to oblige. As long as you make your needs known, he will always do his best to meet them.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

As an intellectual, Willy loves his brain and all things connected to it, i.e. his thoughts, ideas, desires, etc. His mind is what attracted you to him so how could he not fall in love with it just a little bit? He would also say that he is quite fond of his hands because of how easily he can use them to create things, carry out his whims or bring you pleasure…

He is also in love with your brain and all of the beautiful things in it. There is not one specific thing he loves the most about your physical appearance. Every part of your body is equally intriguing to him, but in different ways.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Wonka is not fond of cum, mainly because of the mess. His creative, artistically inclined mindset often means that he is disorganized, yet he is never dirty or messy. He takes pride in his appearance, so anything directly related to any bodily functions are taken care of discreetly and with haste.

He is a gentleman and perceives that ejaculation anywhere on his lover’s body is disrespectful.

He treats his partner with respect and only cums inside of them, while of course wearing a condom—safe sex is incredibly important to him.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He occasionally fantasizes about his partner hiding beneath his desk and giving him a blowjob while he works.

Or perhaps his thoughts might drift to them taking him aside in the chocolate room and dropping to their knees behind one of the trees or mushrooms and satisfying him there.

He would never, ever let it happen, mostly because he could not stand the thought of someone seeing or catching him in the act.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not as experienced as one might think, but he knows enough to engage in the act without needing any guidance.

He has only had a couple of sexual encounters in his lifetime, mostly because he has a low sex drive and doesn’t think about it or experience urges very often. His mind is preoccupied with creating new products and he doesn’t have much time to think about or engage in sex.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary is his favorite.

It’s a classic and he loves to be able to gaze into his partner’s eyes, watching all the little emotions that flicker across their face as he makes love to them.

A close-second is having his partner straddle his lap while they ride him. Sometimes it is enjoyable for him to let them take the lead and he certainly appreciates sitting back and letting them use his body to bring themself pleasure.

On the rarest of occasions, he will take his partner from behind, mostly if he is already in a more possessive mood.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on his mood.

Wonka is usually very jovial and a bit of a trickster.

He does not believe that sex must be serious all the time, but he will read the room and conduct himself after the precedent his lover sets.

His partner’s overall enjoyment is his top priority and if cracking jokes or laughter helps make the experience more fun for them, he’ll be sure to find little ways of bringing a bit of humor into the personal encounter.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Wonka tends to be a bit vain.

He is well-groomed; trimmed, not shaven.

The carpet does match the drapes in terms of curliness, however down below is thicker and one or two shades darker than on top of his head.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Willy is a romantic at heart.

Every aspect of intimacy is very romantic and, depending on how comfortable his partner is with it, he will make sure that every sexual act is steeped in romance.

He wants his partner to feel comfortable and safe enough to be vulnerable with him. After all, Wonka is being just as vulnerable as they are and the romantic aspect is in part done for him as much as for his lover.

He loves to give kisses and nuzzles and gentle touches.

His hands will guide his lover’s movements, helping them maneuver themselves if they are finding it difficult to do so on their own.

Often, he takes it upon himself to shoulder the more dominant position, however, he can find plenty of ways to be romantic in a more submissive role if his partner feels more comfortable with that.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Wonka rarely, if ever, masturbates.

He thinks too much and is unable to achieve orgasm.

It doesn’t bring him pleasure the same way that making love to his partner does and if he is seeing someone, then what is the point in doing it himself?

If it ever comes to it, he’ll masturbate in the shower because he can easily get rid of the evidence and clean himself off immediately afterwards.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Wonka isn’t very kinky.

However, he prides himself on being a brat tamer and isn’t afraid to speak his mind, sometimes sending his partner into a tailspin because of the things he says to keep them in line.

There is a bit of a darker side to him and, on occasion and with the right stimulus, he can be persuaded into becoming demanding, playing the role of a very dominant partner for the sake of having passionate, possessive sex.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Wonka is not interested in having sex anywhere except in the bedroom.

He does not even want to think of anyone having perceptions of his sex life or the knowledge that he engages in anything of a sexual nature, even though he is not ashamed of it or anything like that.

He likes to maintain his privacy and therefore he won’t risk anyone seeing him perform any sexual acts.

Occasionally he might be persuaded into making love on the couch, yet he still does not appreciate how exposed the living room feels in comparison to the privacy of the bedroom.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Clever word play and wit are very stimulating for Wonka.

Wonka has sex using his mind, not just his body. It entices him when his partner matches his intellect and can find ways to stimulate the conversation the same way one might do with his body.

It gets him going to see his partner dressing up for him or taking pride in their appearance for him. It turns him on to no end if he ever sees them casually wearing one of his shirts or trying on his clothes.

He’s got a bit of a thing for seeing his partner in lingerie…

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Willy would never do anything to cause his partner any pain or discomfort, nor would he take advantage of them or knowingly cross any boundaries without direct approval or consent.

He will be checking on and following up with his partner throughout any sexual encounter to be certain that he still has their consent and will immediately stop if he even suspects they are uncomfortable or do not wish to continue.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Wonka prefers giving rather than receiving, but he wouldn’t turn down a blowjob every once in a while, especially after a particularly rough day.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and steady is just what Wonka likes.

Nothing about the way that Wonka makes love to his partner is ever fast and rough, unless they would like for it to be.

Wonka takes his time, striving to give pleasure to his partner over time, building up to a crescendo of emotion and release rather than giving it everything all that once.

Foreplay is incredibly important to him and he won’t skip it; it takes incredible skill to get it just right.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

As stated above, Wonka likes to take his time and therefore, he wouldn’t go for a quickie unless it was the only option.

He would prefer to wait if no other options were available to him because times spent with his lover is so precious to him that he would not want to be rushed.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Wonka is not a risk taker when it comes to sex.

Unprotected sex is a big ‘no’ for him. He is not interested in having children of his own and he cares enough about his partner to take their feelings and needs into consideration as well.

There are times for risks and intimacy is not one of them as far as he is concerned.

As for experimentation, he is willing to try most things at least once, especially if his partner asks for them.

The only thing unacceptable to him is causing his partner any discomfort or pain. The most one might be able to coax out of him is a bit of spanking, but do not expect it to cause much pain at all. He hates even the thought of accidentally hurting his partner; he would find it nearly impossible to forgive himself if he harmed them.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Wonka makes up for his lack of stamina with his passion, charisma and charm.

Due to the duration of a session, he is usually exhausted and satisfied after one round.

However, if his partner wants more, he will do what he can to satisfy them, although he always makes certain that this is a rarity; he is gifted in knowing how to please his partner so that one round is almost always plenty for both of them.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

This might come as a surprise, but Wonka can be a bit jealous and territorial regarding his partner. He would not like the idea of them relying on a toy for personal pleasure when he is willing and perfectly capable of satisfying their every desire.

He does not forbid his partner from pleasuring themselves, nor will he be angry if he were to find out they owned and used toys, but he would want to have a conversation about whether or not their needs were being met so that he could do his best to meet them and would use this opportunity to check up on them and make sure he isn’t doing anything that they don’t like or do not wish for him to continue doing.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

In the right mood, Wonka is a relentless tease.

He can undress his partner with just his eyes, leaving them squirming under his piercing blue gaze.

He’ll be a bit unfair sometimes, using his personal wit and charm to debilitate his partner and leave them crumbling beneath him.

He can and will talk circles around just about anyone.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Willy is not very loud.

The most his partner will get out of him are a few grunts and the occasional breathy moan.

Unless directly requested, he won’t make very much noise.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Along the lines of a more sensual headcanon, Wonka would love to shower with his partner.

Cleanliness is very important to him (it must be since he works with food) and showering together is a nice way to help him feel more connected with his partner and to warm himself and loosen up his muscles before intimacy occurs.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Wonka’s body is very soft.

He is not chiseled or have a rigid, sharp bone structure.

His skin is very soft and plush, conducive to being cuddled and squished.

He is somewhat toned and has an average build with some defined muscle, specifically in his biceps and thighs.

He has a broad chest that lacks a lot of hair, though he does have a faint happy trail leading from his belly button down to his pelvic area.

His manhood is slightly above average.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

My personal headcanon is that Wonka is greysexual and therefore his sex drive is very low.

He does not strike me as someone who values sex as a defining part of a romantic relationship, although he does appreciate it for its role and has desires and urges he needs to satisfy from time to time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a while to fall asleep afterward, mainly because he is concerned with making sure his partner’s needs have been met before he allows himself to relax or take what he needs.

Once they have been looked after, Wonka will relax, cuddling into them and letting himself drift off into dreamland.

#willy wonka #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #wwatcf #wilder!wonka #willy wonka 1971 #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka x you #willy wonka imagine #willy wonka and the chocolate factory imagine #gene wilder #౨ৎ::biblio::౨ৎ #౨ৎ::spice::౨ৎ

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emberfrostlovesloki · 1 year ago

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Space-Time Continuum [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@everydayschristmas) Center (@masterwords) Right (@happyheidi)

Prompt: Aaron and the reader take down the last of the Christmas decorations. As they work and spend a relaxing afternoon together, Aaron realizes he wants to ask the reader to move in with him and Jack.

Pairing: [established relationship] Aaron x fem!Non-BAU!reader. The reader uses she her pronouns

Category: fluff/comfort

Word Count: 4.4K

Content Warnings: mention of Haley’s passing, implied intimacy. If I missed any, please let me know.

A/N: Hi loves! Here is another fic based on the amazing @imagining-in-the-margins January/February Writing Challenge about New Beginnings. This story is inspired by the dialog prompt: “The time will pass anyway.” This is pure domestic fluff. I can just imagine Aaron looking forward to asking you to move in with him. I hope this story warms you up as winter keeps wintering. If you like this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. If you’re starting school (uni) next week, or you're already back, just know I’m proud of you! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories

_y/n_ = your name

_y/f/c/b_ = your favorite caffeinated beverage

_y/f/c_ -= your favorite color

_y/f/s_ = your favorite scent

_t/c_ = tea or coffee

_y/f/c/b_ = your favorite caffeinated beverage

_y/f/p/b/s_= your favorite perfume or body spray

_u/sf/d_= up, straight forward, or down (depending on your height)

_f/b/c/m/m_ = your favorite book, coming, manga, magazine

_y/n_ woke up warm. Aaron had his arms wrapped around her and he was already half awake. He murmured, “Moring.” _y/n_ smiled into his chest and replied, “Good morning. Have you looked out the window yet? The weather said it might snow overnight.” Hotch shifted in the bed and sort of repositioned _y/n_ to his left side while he used his long muscled arm to pull the curtain on the window to the side. _y/n_ could have done this herself, but she wanted to bask in the warmth of Aaron’s broad chest just a moment longer. After a second Aaron said, “Well the weatherman was finally right. It snowed. Still is actually.” _y/n_ hummed to see for herself. Outside small flurries gently fell from the side and to the frozen pavement three floors down from Hotch’s apartment. It looked like about five inches had fallen overnight. _y/n_ was very grateful that it was the weekend and that she and Hotch could sleep in for a bit longer. They could also let Jack sleep in too. When _y/n_ and Aaron had gotten serious, Hotch’s son had taken to _y/n_ quickly. Over time when she started staying over more often, not just on the weekends, she’d started getting Jack ready for school if Hotch was rushed to get to the office for a case. Then _y/n_ dropped Jack off at school for the first time and they’d sung songs in the car on the way there. Aaron was so relieved that Jack and his partner had bonded. It warmed his heart that _y/n_ loved his son so much. Even though _y/n_ was younger than him, _y/n_ had great parental instincts and often spoke to Jack when he threw a fit or got into trouble as well as he would. _y/n_ was very good at putting difficult concepts into understandable, neat packages. It was one of the things Hotch loved about her. If they had a fight, or needed to talk, he always had her full attention, and if she didn’t understand where he was coming from, she tried to see it from his shoes. That was something he’d never been great at in his personal life. After a moment of quiet, _y/n_ sat up and asked, “So, what are the plans for today? I hope they don’t involve a lot of going outside.” Hotch chuckled, knowing that _y/n_ didn’t love dealing with the cold and snow. Aaron stretched giving _y/n_ a small peak of his stomach and elastic of his briefs for a second. Aaron cleared his throat and said, “Well I need to shower first. But one thing that’s been on the list forever is taking down the Christmas tree and decorations. It feels overdue.” _y/n_ nodded. The tree had been up for some time after the holidays. Neither of them had had time with the return to work bustle. Then Hotch had been sent to cases back to back and had been too exhausted to think about it last week. But not that he was rested it felt like as good a time as any. _y/n_ nodded and said, “Sounds good. We can figure the rest out as we go. I’ll change, start breakfast, and get Jack up while you shower, okay?” Aaron smiled and replied, “Sounds great, _y/n_.”

Under the hot water, Hotch lathered his body with soap. As the foamy lather rinsed off his body and down the drain, he contemplated how relaxed _y/n_ could be. He appreciated that she didn’t have to have every second planned. He’d had to do that more at work recently. There had been a threat to national safety and the team had made it in time, but Strauss was still slightly unimpressed with how long it had taken the BAU to take down the threat. He had started seeing things in timed chunks and thinking about efficiency, even in his personal life. He didn’t enjoy the feeling. But _y/n_ was a reminder that it didn’t have to be that way at home. It was doubly admirable because _y/n_ had stress in her life too. Stress with family, and work, and friend, and her crappy apartment that was literally falling apart. It wasn’t the same kind of stress he faced, but it was still stressful, and Aaron admired her ability to put those things aside and still see life with optimism and happiness. After a few more minutes under the flow of water, Hotch turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower. He dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist. He moved over to the sink to wash his face and brush his teeth.

_y/n_ heard the shower start running as she quickly made the bed. She made sure the sheets and comforter were neat and tucked in at the corners. She then moved to Aaron’s closet and grabbed a comfy outfit for the day. She settled for some soft leggings and a _y/f/c_ shirt that she layered under a knit cardigan. As _y/n_ pulled through her clothes in the walk-in closet, she realized how much of her stuff had migrated to Aaron’s. At least half of her wardrobe now resided in Hotch’s space. It had been a slow transition, but once Aaron had bought her favorite _y/f/s_ed body wash, hairspray, and sanctuary products, it was pretty much an invitation for her to start getting more comfortable in his space. And boy was his space more comfortable than her leaky, small, cold, old apartment much farther from her job than Aaron’s. _y/n_ smiled knowing she was so welcome here. Even if she didn’t get to spend as much time with Aaron and Jack as she liked, when she was here, it felt just like home. With her outfit on, _y/n_ moved to the kitchen and started making the batter for some pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She woke Jack, and then Aaron joined them and they had a relaxed morning. Jack watched some cartoons, and _y/n_ and Hotch worked on a puzzle from Rossi from Christmas. In the early afternoon, they all started to work on taking down the tree. Aaron got the boxes from the closet and they all set to work.

After an hour of work, Jack gave Aaron his biggest puppy dog eyes possible, and after a minute, Hotch said, “Alright Jack, what do you want?” Jack’s face burst into a smile, and the little boy replied, “Hot chocolate!” Hotch sighed. It was still cold enough out for a sweet cup of cocoa and it wasn’t too late for his son to have one more small sugar rush before naptime. With a fake look of defeat, Aaron said, “Well alright, but just a small cup. I can’t have you bouncing off the walls while we’re all trying to take down the Christmas decorations. Isn’t that right, _y/n?_"_y/n_ nodded with mock seriousness saying, “Of course. Dad’s right. Remember when you ate all of your Halloween candy two months ago? You couldn’t sleep and then you couldn’t wake up for school the next day?” Jack’s face took on a little frown, as he nodded yes. Aaron’s eyes moved over to _y/n_’s, and he gave her a smile that was just meant for her. Hotch got up from his seated position and said, “Let me see if we have the stuff to make it here.” Hearing this, _y/n_’s ears perked up, and she said, “Oh. We do. Or we did, but I used the last of the milk in my afternoon _t/c_. Sorry, Aaron. I forgot to put it on the list. I was going to run to the store later tonight to get stuff for dinner. Hotch didn’t mind and said, “You don’t have to apologize, _y/n_. I’ll just run to the coffee shop on the corner. Do you want anything?” _y/n_ grinned at his consideration and said, “No. I think drinking _y/f/c/b_ right now would have more than just Jack bouncing off the walls.” Aaron chuckled and said, “Alright. Well if you change your mind, you can text me.” _y/n_ nodded and tipped her head up and back, as he stood behind her and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. He then moved to his son, ruffled his short dirty blond hair that always reminded him of Haley’s. When Hotch was at the door, _y/n_ called out in a clear voice, “Be safe on the roads. I’m not sure they’re all done thawing, even with the sun coming out.” Hotch replied, “You got it,” and then slipped out of the door.

_y/n_ listened as Aaron grabbed his keys from the stand on the kitchen counter, then as the door swung open and clicked closed. Now that Hotch was gone, _y/n_ moved to the space where he’d been next to Jack. She could feel his residual body heat on the carpet, and it comforted _y/n_ to no end. Jack was reaching for an ornament above a level that his arms could grasp. Without saying anything, _y/n_ got up and picked the boy, so he could reach the ornament. It took a moment for _y/n_ to realize that Jack was crying now fully. _y/n_ set him down, got on her knees in front of him, and wiped away one of the tears coming from his eyes. _y/n_ hadn’t expected this and asked, “What’s the matter, Jack? Why are you crying, sweetheart?” Jack sniffled and said, “I don’t want Christmas to end. I don’t want to go back to school. I don’t want you to leave.” As _y/n_ processed the emotions Jack was feeling, Jack continued in a voice obscured by a small hiccupy cry, “Why can’t everything just stay the same? Why can’t it be Christmas all the time?” _y/n_ didn’t fully understand where the core of these feelings were coming from, but she could agree with the sentiment. The week of Christmas had been so nice because they’d all just got to hang out and be together. The stress of work and the often boring tasks of cleaning the dishes or taking out the trash seemed so much less terrible when they were happening with Aaron and Jack. Sure, part of that was that she and Hotch shared the tasks and split things between them, but it was more than that. Just being with Aaron made life better. The small things felt alright when she was near him. It wasn't that she tried to hide anymore. In the early days of their relationship, _y/n_ had feared that the simple joy of being near Aaron would scare him away. After all, he was an intense man, but as it turned out, under all the suits and his tough exterior, he needed someone who cared for him as much as _y/n_ needed him back. Now, in front of Jack, _y/n_ tried to think about the right thing to say. She thought about her own experience first. The feeling of being jerked around sometimes with Aaron’s inconsistent schedule, and the constant danger he was in didn’t help either. _y/n_ didn’t talk about that often. What good would it do? She had slowly become content with praying or wishing him a safe return when Hotch told her he was heading on on a case. If it was hard for her, then it must be much harder for Jack, who couldn’t fully understand exactly what his dad really did. Not yet at least. Add onto that the fact that Jack had been in the house while Haley died. One hour his mom had been alive, and another, she was gone. _y/n_’s heart ached for Jack, as she said in a soft, reassuring voice, “That seems nice, Jack. I think I’d like that too. But that’s not how life works.” Jack sniffled and said in an angry voice, “Why can’t it? Why can’t it be nice all the time?” _y/n_ took the ornament from Jack’s small hands and quickly put it away before taking his hands in hers. She replied, “Because time, as mean as it can seem, knows what’s best for us.” Jack had such big eyes as he asked, “How? How is it good that we can’t have it be nice all the time?” _y/n_ bit the inside of her cheek and tried to think of an appropriate and understandable way to talk about the need for balance in life.

With a small breath, _y/n_ realized that she could use his candy incident as an example. _y/n_ cleared her throat and said, “Well, think about Halloween. Did you think you were going to like having all of your candy in one night?” Hesitantly, Jack nodded yes. _y/n_ replied, “Good. Do you think you’ll do that again next year?” The little boy shook his head, no, and _y/n_ smiled at how hard he nodded. _y/n_ ran her sleeve under his nose that was dripping and said, “Sometimes life is like that too. It sounds fun to have Christmas, Thanksgiving, and your birthday all back to back. It might even seem nice to have that happen forever. But once we have it a lot, or too much, the thing doesn’t taste or feel very good anymore. It just turned into another day or toy or sweet. But, if you just let time pass, then you get these really special pockets that mean a lot. Not that every day isn’t special, just that it’s good to have some normal ones too. Does that make sense buddy?” Jack stood still for a moment while he processed what _y/n_ had said. After a few seconds, he said, “I guess so. I just wish it didn’t take so long.” _y/n_ waited to say anything because she felt that Jack would say something more, and he did in a voice just above a whisper, “Mommy really loved Christmas too.” _y/n_ nodded and blinked back tears. She didn’t want to seem sad in front of him and make him cry again. _y/n_ leaned forward, taking him in her arms, and said softly in his ear, “I bet she did. I bet they were the best Christmases ever, but just because we’re taking the decorations down doesn’t mean you have to forget her. We can remember your mom every single day. Just like your mom loved you every single day.” _y/n_ could feel Jack nod against her shoulder. When _y/n_ pulled back, she asked Jack, “How about I pick you up and we get the last of these ornaments? Maybe you could tell me about some of the happy memories you have with your mom during Christmas?” Jack agreed, and _y/n_ helped him onto her shoulders and let him talk and remember. By the time Aaron got back, Jack was happy and animated again. Hotch walked into the room and smiled at the scene before him. The sight of _y/n_ and his son in the light of the Christmas lights still on the tree. Jack ran over to him and hugged his legs like he’d missed him a lot. Hotch smiled and said, “Your hot chocolates on the table Jack. Why don’t you drink it in the kitchen?” Jack smiled and said, “Sure Daddy.” The child let go of his father and moved into the kitchen on excited legs. _y/n_ who was still standing stepped toward him and kissed him softly. His mouth was still cold from being outside. His lips were slightly chapped, but _y/n_ didn’t care as she warmed them with her mouth. When they pulled away, Aaron reveled in the scent of _y/f/p/b/s_. He said, “Sorry I was so long. The light was out on the corner and there was a line almost out the door at the shop. _y/n_ smiled and said, “It’s alright. Jack and I had a good conversation.” Aaron raised an eyebrow and set his arm around _y/n_’s lower back. He noticed that all of the ornaments were off the tree and said, “How about we tackle the lights? I can take the bottom strand and you take the middle?” _y/n_ agreed and they set to work.

Hotch sat down with a small grunt. They could hear Jack from the other room pull out his chair and sit at the table. _y/n_ and Aaron would go to check in with him in a minute, but Aaron wanted to take just a minute alone with _y/n_. These moments were rare these days with their busy schedules. Aaron started unspooling the lights around the bottom of the tree. He looked over at _y/n_ and asked, “So? What did you and Jack talk about while I was gone?” _y/n_ gave him a little grin and said, “Oh you know, just the inevitable, unstoppable march of time. I don’t think you’d understand it. It’s adult stuff.” Hotch, chuckled, the sound came deep from his core and reverberated up his chest. He shifted around _y/n_ to continue removing the lights and said, “Well I’m willing to learn, _y/n_. If you’ll teach me?” _y/n_ smile grew. She loved it when Aaron played the bit. Hotch being more than a few years older than her had worried _y/n_ for a while. They wondered if the differences in culture and knowledge would make them an unequal couple. A couple set up from scrutiny. But, as it turned out, age was just a number when you were both that in love with each other. Out in public, they did get a few stares, but Aaron’s practiced glare worked well on everybody, so _y/n_ didn’t worry. Over time, _y/n_ had started joking about their age gap much to Hotch’s amusement, like they were doing right now. _y/n_ cleared her throat and said in a mock educational tone, “Well, I told Jack that you can’t have all the nice things at once. You kind of have to spread them out so they become more enjoyable. Life gives us lots of nice things, but an equal amount of mundane things. So the highs and the lows feel big, and we need to enjoy them and understand them as much as we can.” Aaron let out a breath. He loved the way _y/n_ spoke about everything. Condensing ideas into little ways of understanding like he did with information in a case. Even if it was just silly banter, Aaron loved it. He loved all of _y/n_ and a realization he’d been contemplating for some time now, clicked.

Gently he said, “Well that was quite an analysis. Thank you. I think I understand the space-time continuum much more clearly now.” _y/n_’s clear laugh washed over him like a shooting star. He stopped with the light strand and said, “Mind if I add to your lecture?” _y/n_’s eyes glistened as she nodded yes. Without overthinking it like he did most things in his life, Aaron said, “Yes, it’s important to highlight the big things. The weddings, birthdays and holidays. But there’s pleasure in the small things too. Seconds make up minutes, which make up days that go on and on forever. We only have so much time in those moments. So who you spend them with becomes pretty important if you think about it in that context. Who do you share that time with.” _y/n_ looked at Aaron with wide eyes. They wondered if this was happening right now, in early January. _y/n_ wanted to be at eye level with Aaron and sat next to him. _y/n_ asked, “What are you saying, Hotch?” _y/n_ needed to hear it from him, to know they weren't making this up. It was important because as relaxed as _y/n_ was on time, she did value knowing where their relationship was going. And Aaron had agreed that they should move in together before progressing to a thing like a proposal. But moving in was the next big step for them. Aaron took in her beautiful curious face. He pondered how _y/n_ never could keep her emotions at bay. How honest _y/n_ was without even having to try. He smiled and said, “I want you to move in with me, _y/n_. When the time is right and you're comfortable with it, I’d like you to live with Jack and me. I want to spend all my time when I’m not working with both of you. Does that sound good to you?” _y/n_’s face lit up and she had to stop herself from laughing because Aaron looked so serious, and _y/n_ felt like she was swimming in a tub of serotonin. _y/n_ pulled Hotch to his knees and into a tight hug. _y/n_ looked _u/sf/d_ at the love of her life and said, “Of course, I’ll move in with you both, Aaron. When I’m here, I’m home. I’ve felt that way for about a year, but this makes it official. Aaron Hotchner, I feel more at home here than I’ve ever felt in my whole life.” All Aaron could do at hearing _y/n_ say something so special was to kiss her forehead and say, “You make this house a home, _y/n_. You have no idea how much joy you bring here.” _y/n_ traced a hand down his shoulder and to where Aaron’s heart was steadily beating in his chest. The rhythm of the muscle kept track of each second they stood in each other's presence. The idea of being home, made _y/n_ think about Jack’s comment about her leaving, and _y/n_ said, “Speaking of Jack, he was afraid that I might go away. I think maybe we should tell him about this. I think he’ll be happy.” Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly and he repeated, “Jack thought you were going to leave.” _y/n_ brushed a hand over Aaron’s knuckles and replied, “Something like that. But I think that’s more of a long conversation we can have later. Once he’s in bed.” Aaron nodded just a tiny bit. Jack’s happy behavior and _y/n_ saying they would talk about it later allowed him to relax and believe _y/n_ was right. This conversation, whatever it was, could wait. He did want to let his son know that _y/n_ was going to be a more permanent fixture in their lives going forward.

Jack was ecstatic at hearing the news and _y/n_ pulled him into her arms and said, “I’m not going anywhere, Jack. I’ll be here for you and your dad for a long time to come. Aaron moved behind his son and embraced both of his greatest loves. That evening, after a lengthy conversation about Jack and making sure Jack felt the most secure as possible, Hotch and _y/n_ moved to bed. As Aaron stroked a hand over her naked back, her body was pressed to his under the covers. He kissed down her jaw and the ghost of stubble rubbed against _y/n_ skin. She made small contented noises, and his hand traced lazy circles over her back. Hotch asked in a bit of a husky voice, his thoughts more on the feel of _y/n_’s skin under his fingers than his statement, “Would you send me a copy of your lease tomorrow? Maybe I can find some loophole to get you over here more quickly. I want all of you here.” _y/n_ shifted up onto her elbows, giving Aaron a better look at her bare body. _y/n_ smiled and said, “Sure love. But I think even your JD is going to have a difficult time getting me out of this lease. My landlord was such a pain when I renewed for half a year instead of the full twelve months.” Aaron smiled and said, “We’ll see about that, but I think there are more pleasant things to think about right now, don’t you think.” _y/n_’s eyes gleamed with desire in the dark space as she said, “Say less.”

It wasn’t until the next weekend on Saturday that Aaron had the time to look over _y/n_’s lease. They were sitting in his office in the field office. Aaron’s long sigh had _y/n_ look up from her _f/b/c/m/m_ and say, “Is there no way out of it?” Hotch ran a hand through his hair frustratedly and said, “Apparently not. That is unless you want to pay the last two months' rent plus interest without a chance of you getting your deposit back.” _y.n_ cringed at the idea of how much money that was.” Aaron looked up at _y/n_ and she seemed disappointed, but not crushed. He said, “I was hoping to get you out of there sooner.” _y/n_ leaned closer to the desk and took his hands in hers saying, “The time will pass anyway. It’s just two months and the important thing is I have you. I couldn’t ask for anything more than that.” A smile tugged at Hotch’s lips. He appreciated how differently _y/n_ interacted with time. Aaron was used to tight timelines and all-nighters on cases. Aaron reflected again about how _y/n_ saw life. Even though she had her moments of stress or insomnia, just saw time as a thing that happened. She saw the good and the bad but chose to focus on the good when she could. Like the fact that she was moving in with him at all. She didn’t complain that she would have to wait to have that dream come true, because the dream was in front of her at all. Aaron hoped that with _y/n_ living with him, some of _y/n_’s view of life would rub off on him. He hoped to just see things as they were. To accept the good and let go of the bad, even in cases. With _y/n_ and Jack by his side, that didn’t seem so impossible after all. He’d take it a day at a time. As _y/n_ had said, “‘The time will pass anyway,’” and it was going to be wonderful to pass it with her.

______________________________________________________________

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markerofthemidnight · 1 year ago

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Blinding Eclipse - A CCCC Oneshot (Prompt: Fluff)

Yesterday’s poll sure was a thing, so I wrote this in 24 hours!

I don’t have the attention span to go through all the trouble of making a new fic and beta-reading it myself for now, so I’ll just keep this and the second one on Tumblr for now, then post them to AO3 once all three are done!

(Honestly kinda worried about this? The last time I wrote a oneshot about two weirdos who don’t like each other having an awkward conversation that results in them understanding each other better, and ends in them hanging out and being dorks, it was a fic that I now rather infamously don’t like and will probably put me off writing gift fics for a year. Anyways, here it is:)

Blinding Eclipse

After a particularly nasty fight, Heart gives Mind the time to recover from his injuries by (against his will) sheltering him in his room. By the time the conversation ends, he might understand the emotional side a bit more.

***

A short hum echoed through the dark room followed by a dim blue light, as the android’s systems restarted following a rather… forceful shutdown of them.

He groaned, grabbing his temples. For him to pass out during a fight with Heart was rare: he must have been especially aggressive today for some reason. Where was he now?…

“Hiiiii.”

Oh, goddamit.

He looked up to see a certain avian asshole staring at him with… probably not the smuggest look he’d ever seen on his face, but it was definitely in the top five. It took him a bit to realise… he was lying in his room, in his bed… and had been using his chest as a pillow while he was asleep.

“…Get the hell off me.”

Heart smiled in response. “Technically, ‘Mister’ Mind, you’re the one on top of me. And you’re still not the boss of me. You’re only leaving when I let you leave.”

Mind narrowed his eyes. We’ll see about that, then. When he turned around, trying to wrestle his way out of his grip, he realised- oh fuck. Fuck, he had his wings wrapped around him, this asshole had this planned to a tee.

He shifted uncomfortably in his grip, something Heart clearly noticed as his wings tightened. “C’mon, I had to. I had a, like, 200-and-something-pound robot lying directly on top of me: they would’ve gotten crushed if I didn’t.”

He was absolutely not 200 pounds, but he wasn’t in the mood to correct him over something so trivial right now. Rather… “You carried me all the way here?”

“Yeah. I’m stronger than I look, you know? Turns out, getting into fistfights with a robot on a daily basis does wonders for your muscles,” he gloated.

“No, that’s not- I mean, why?” The android raised a non-existent eyebrow, glaring in confusion at his other half. “You were literally just trying to kill me. Why bother dragging me here when all it would likely do is start another fight?”

“Wanted to make sure Soul doesn’t find out when he comes back,” Heart simply replied. “I needed to make sure you recovered quick, and make you promise you wouldn’t tell.”

“And why would I ever do that?”

“If he finds out, we’ll probably both get punished. He blames us both for the fighting, you know. And besides… don’t you think we should at least try to get along? Just this once, for Soul?”

After he said that… he stopped, and thought for a second. That… sounded about right. Recently, he’d noticed Soul had stopped caring about who started the fights: the way he saw things, if they both participated in the fights, they both deserved punishment.

…Goddamit, Heart was actually making sense right now.

Mind didn’t feel like getting disemboweled- or… whatever the robot equivalent was- today. He was still aching from faux pain from the previous fight right now, as a matter of fact.

“…Fine. I’ll play along with this game. I promise not to tell Soul.” He gave in, sighing. “Well? Now let me go.”

The avian stopped at that. He winced, and hesitantly shook his head. “Not yet. Your legs still feel pretty banged up.”

Now, that came as no surprise to Mind. His legs still hurt like hell- though it wasn’t too big of a deal considering he, unlike most androids, had his own healing factor. He didn’t know exactly how it worked, like most things in the Headspace, but it definitely came in handy often.

Not to mention, it was common knowledge by now that Heart had empathy that bordered on superpowers: all he had to do was touch you, and he’d understand exactly what you were feeling in the moment. Not just your emotions, but physical sensations too, so it was no wonder he’d be able to tell so easily.

Still, he really didn’t feel like staying here for too long. So as uncomfortable as he was, he grumbled and laid his head down on his other half’s chest, to which he smiled and held him closer.

They were sitting like that for a short while. One wallowing in his own shame and embarrassment that he needed Heart’s help, the other simply enjoying the peace he could get with his pseudo-brother.

The Moon stroke his hair, sighing as he broke the silence. “And besides, this is your chance to ask questions. There’s still a lot you want to learn about me, right?”

The Sun didn’t reply, simply nodding. “Well, go ahead. Anything you want- that won’t piss me off- ask away.”

He thought for a second. Well, now he was mentioning it, there were a few things on his mind… “How are you so perceptive?”

“Because I have ears?”

“No- well, yes, but that’s not what I mean. I’ve seen how precise you can be at times. Mid-flight, you always seem to know exactly what you’re targeting and where it is, even if hearing alone shouldn’t be able to help you,” he elaborated.

Heart tilted his head, trying to consider his answer. “It’s kinda hard to describe- I think it’s just… intuition. I just know where my target is immediately, even in the heat of the moment.”

Well, that didn’t help at all. Leave it to the stupid asshole to give a stupid answer.

“That’s the way it feels while flying, anyway. Normally, it relies more on muscle memory and hearing.” He looked away from the Sun at that, with a melancholy smile on his face. “When you lose one of your main senses… you have to learn to adapt.”

He couldn’t help but be intrigued by that, for that smile was so obviously pained that even Mind, who admittedly wasn’t very perceptive when it came to feelings or “reading the room” as the others called it, could notice. “…Do you ever miss it?”

“Kinda?” Came his instant response, as if the blind man was expecting him to ask that. “Like, you know how much I hated it at first. I didn’t know how I could live without sight, but then I forced myself to adapt and… now I see it’s not so bad. Well, it is bad, but I got over it.”

And then, his smile disappeared. “Really, the worst part is the memories. Everything from before I got blinded seems so far away, and I’m trying to hold onto them, but… hell, I barely even remember what you two look like, let alone anything else.”

Heart sniffled, before sighing and internally suppressing the pain. His grip on Mind tightened as he pulled him into a pseudo-hug… and, intentionally or not, began smothering him in his chest’s violet fur. The faint scent of lavender permeated his nostrils as his muffled scream of protest went unnoticed by his fluffy kidnapper.

Seconds after, the grip loosened, at least giving him some room to breathe. He reflexively gasped for air despite not needing it, and sighed. “S-sorry,” his other half sheepishly replied, “Might’ve forgotten how hard I was hugging…”

“See, this is why I call him a creature,” he groaned to himself, “Not because he acts like one, but because his anatomy makes no sense.”

Heart hummed in confusion, tilting his head at that. Mind blinked for a second before elaborating, “Come on, you must know what I mean. All you need is decently-sized wings and you can fly despite a lack of streamlining and flight muscles. Your neck works like an owl’s. You used to hoard shiny objects, I’ve heard you make bird noises on multiple occasions, you- you smell like lavender, for fuck’s sake!”

The Moon continued to stare for a few seconds before simply shrugging, “What’s wrong with lavender?”

“It’s fucking unnatural, that’s what! Humans don’t smell like plants, and neither do animals- it’s just… how are you so satisfied with living as this, when you know you’re supposed to be human?!” He snapped.

Admittedly… Mind let a lot more of his insecurities show just now than he would have liked. Then again, Heart was perfectly aware of said insecurities, so he wasn’t too shaken up. He was staring at him with an empathetic gaze as he finished, and simply turned to the ceiling. “I dunno. Maybe I just find this more… exciting? The flight’s fun, and my wings look really pretty… or used to, but the point is, it’s a lot more interesting than just being a regular person, don’t you think?”

Well, what was wrong with being regular? It wasn’t his fault the boy lacked an attention span and thus thought “order and logic” meant “depressing and bleak”. He should hate being the way he is, just like how the Sun wants to be human again: because being a robot is confusing, frightening and just plain wrong whereas anyone with a working brain knows how being a human works.

Heart should hate being some kind of weird, furry bird-person-creature for the same reasons. After all, it’s not like there were any practical applications that came from some of your limbs catching on fire depending on your emotions.

As he was lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that Heart had let go of his grip, still staring at the ceiling. His foot tapped against the side of his bed a few times before he clicked his tongue and turned to him. “You know what?”

Mind raised an eyebrow and sat up, his other half doing the same as he continued. “I think your problem is that you’re so uncomfortable with being a robot that you only see its downsides, and ignore all the good parts.”

He narrowed his eyes, stuttering. “G… good- there is no ‘good’ parts, dumbass. I barely resemble everything I used to be, and as time passes all it does is make me look more like a… a-“

“-Monster?” He interrupted. “That’s what you want to say, isn’t it? It’s how you see yourself. You try to hide it, but it’s still there. Well, think again: after all, I’d say only needing to sleep once a week is a pretty big perk for someone as workaholic as you.”

He stopped at that. He opened his mouth to retort, but felt it slowly closing soon after. That wasn’t exactly… incorrect… he did appreciate that, at least.

“See?” Heart smiled, tilting his head. “I know that silence! You do like that, don’t you? And then there’s your healing facto…” he trailed off before, suddenly, leaping off the bed. “Oh crap, right, your legs! A-are you okay? Can you walk now?”

He, too, had almost forgotten his legs were damaged before this moment. Regardless, he took a few seconds getting off the bed, slightly shaking as he stood up. “…Not perfectly, but I’ll manage just fine. Thank you, Heart.”

Consumed by his thoughts, he likely didn’t even notice that he was thanking him, and if he did, he had no idea exactly what for. Either way, as he took his first slow steps towards the door, the avian once again wrapped his arm around him, forcing him to lean on his shoulder. “Not so fast. I’m not taking any chances with how badly they were banged up before.”

With that, he began borderline carrying the android back to his room. He wanted to complain about this, but… he didn’t.

“We should do this more often, you know,” he smiled. “This is the first time we’ve been able to have a normal conversation in months.”

“Yes. This was… quite satisfactory,” he hesitantly replied. Crap, how should he have worded that?

“Can we hang out again later too? I know walking in to see us getting along for once would really startle Soul!~” the emotional side playfully quipped. “What was that game you were playing earlier? The one you decided to restart cause you… weren’t satisfied with your last run, or something?”

“Lobotomy Corpora-… wait, how do you know about that?!”

“These walls aren’t exactly soundproof, y’know,” he teased. “No, seriously, your little mutterings while playing that’re probably the most emotion I’ve ever heard from you! It sounds like fun!”

——

Another day, another argument.

That was what Soul was expecting to see, anyways, as he materialised back into the Headspace for tonight, only to be met with silence… mostly.

He could hear voices. Distant and quiet, but they were there. As he followed the trail, he realised they were coming from Mind’s room. Huh. Weird of Heart to willingly enter Mind’s room, and they were being so passive as well… what was going on there?

He opened the door expecting to see… anything, really, only to do a double take as he saw what was probably the least likely scenario he could imagine.

Heart, sitting down on one of his little bean bags, was listening intently to an oddly calm Mind as he sat at his computer, taking the time to carefully and even somewhat happily explain the details of some game he was playing to him.

What. The fuck. Was he watching.

Was… was this real? He’s not just, like, hallucinating Heart and Mind getting along, right?! This was actually happening? Being Whole again was a possibility even without his help?!

Regardless, as he opened the door, Heart heard the creaking and turned to the opposite corner of the room, knowing who it must be.

“…so even if Penitence’s defences seem better at first glance, since this is one class higher it’s actually the superior-“ Mind was cut off by his other half tapping his shoulder and pointing to Soul. He looked at him for a few seconds before quipping, “How is it that you look even crazier now than you do when you’re stabbing us?”

…The ruler slowly closed the door, not knowing how else to react. What was that. How did that happen. How did they will themselves into getting along so easily, he could hear Heart giggling like a madman from behind the door like he thought this earth-shattering revelation was funny, oh my god he needed some time to think.

***

Soul would later go on to sit in the kitchen slowly drinking a Monster for ten minutes, all with this disbelieving smile on his face, before going to “supervise” them (really he just wants in on the fun).

Well, aforementioned anxiety aside, I liked writing this! Establishing that Heart makes bird noises as well as his lavender chest floomf, and projecting my Lobotomy Corp liker onto Mind was really fun!

Expect Mind’s instalment, its prompt being Self-Discovery, to come out soon. Or maybe not, after all DoaI Vol. 1 comes out tomorrow so I may be a bit busy.

#Chonny jash #cccc #chonny’s charming chaos compendium #cccc mind #cccc heart #cj mind #cj heart #cj hms #hms #writing

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