#idk how to find a balance. it always seems to be all or nothing. outside my control but directed by my control | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

1kook · 4 years ago

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kissanime & foreplay

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans. warnings; mentions of hentai yes u read right, kook leads most of it, cunnilingus, masturbation (f), oral (f), use of a sex toy, fingering, nipple play, face sitting/fucking/riding idk (f), praise kink, hints of dumbification, cum eating, jk is like passive aggressive in this one, 4 (f) orgasms, this is the kicker: sub kook at the end😳, like 2 sec of dom yn lol, & u get 0.002 sec of adams apple kink misc; more dumb story lines, made up sex stores bc my creativity knows no bounds, Jungkook plays nice but is actually mean for the majority of it, once again doyeon plays a pivotal role in the furthering of women empowerment, internal love monologues about jk best boy<3 wc; 8.2k

notes; back when kissanime was offed I remember looking at this fic in the drafts like what the hell we gone do now.. n almost deleting it but I was like yknow what this isn’t a 1kook fic unless there’s smthn weird going on so here we are. also yes I know ohshc is on Netflix shut up!!!!!

HAPPY BDAY MY LOVE AND MUSE JEON JUNGKOOK !!!! 🥺💜

—

The good thing about getting your own apartment is that you finally have a place to call your own. There’s no limit on how many potted plants you can squeeze into a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, and if there was one, you’re twelve in and no one has said anything to you yet. You don’t have to share the shower space with anyone, label all your products with a hastily scribbled name. There’s a bathtub—something you haven’t had the pleasure of using during college—and a fairly open living space. There’s so many empty spots to fill with useless decorations and family heirlooms and that ugly plastic rooster Jungkook won you at the summer kick-off fair last month.

The bad thing about having your own place is that the entire world and their mothers seem to know now. Despite graduating from college, you still keep in touch with your trusted graduate mentor Kim Namjoon, who is still very much in school, and has made it his mission to bring you a new plant every week, hence your growing collection. Your childhood friend comes over every Saturday morning to lounge around after her Friday nights out. Jungkook, although the only one who is ever actually invited, runs through your strawberry scented body wash like a madman.

And of course, Doyeon.

Your beloved college roommate of four years, Kim Doyeon, has been the bane of your apartment experience so far. Unlike you, who had slaved away for four years, saving every penny you made during college for this moment, Doyeon was a big spender. She blew every dollar she ever came across, which is why she’s going to be stuck living at her parent’s house for at least a couple more years.

Nothing wrong with that, of course, if she wasn’t the most maniac online shopper in existence. It hadn’t been a problem in college because she was always good old pals with the students who worked the mailroom. If they saw something questionable, they’d let it slide as long as it was under Miss Kim Doyeon, Room 229.

The reason it became an issue for her now is because it’s poor Mrs. Kim who signs over the package from Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide! one Tuesday afternoon as it is delivered to their suburban home.

So now she’s taken to ordering all her freaky stuff to your new apartment, where the small cabinet by the door has quickly become home to her impulsive shopping habits. Truthfully, you don’t mind accepting Doyeon’s weird packages, and have long since grown used to the uncomfortable looks the mail carrier gives you.

Jungkook’s supposed to come over today and you really hope he doesn’t ask about the state of your hall cabinet. Now that you work at a small company outside of your degree to make ends meet, time with Jungkook has been significantly decreased. You weren’t in college anymore, so you didn’t have the luxury of dropping by his house whenever you wanted to in between classes. Of course, it’s mostly your schedule that conflicts with your planned hangouts, because Jungkook is still working his dream job from home.

However, because Jungkook is quite possibly the most amazing person on this planet, he’s started coming over every Saturday night to make sure you’re still alive and not dying. And so weekly media binges are a thing, and it’s currently week four.

He gave up on showing you the Marvel movie franchise last week, after you had asked where Wonder Woman was three times in a row. Since the Barbie Movie Debacle of last month, you’ve found a nice medium between who picks when. Jungkook picks most of the time, because most of the time you don’t really care. It’s become a running joke between the two of you that movie binges are usually just terribly masked excuses to go to town on each other, so you don’t mind missing an entire 15th Century French Revolution documentary if it means Jungkook is deep in your guts by the time King Louis XIV gets beheaded or whatever they did to him. Is it too obvious you didn’t watch the documentary?

Occasionally, there are instances where one of you genuinely does want to watch something, in which case you have an intense match of rock-paper-scissors to decide who’s picking that night. Most of the time, Jungkook wins. But for every match Jungkook wins, he promises you’ll pick the next one so you’ve long since stopped trying to actually beat him.

Long story short, last weekend you sat through a two part Ancient Aliens episode on the connection between aliens and American presidents.

It was the most god-awful conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard of, but Jungkook ate up every minute of it. By the time the two hosts announced their conclusion you were just about ready to rip your own ears off and single-handedly fist fight every producer on the channel for allowing the production of such an atrocious show.

Anyway, because you had so bravely sat through the entire evening without complaints— well, no complaints towards Jungkook’s terrible taste; the show, however, was not safe from your wicked tongue —Jungkook has so graciously allowed you to pick the media for this weekend.

You’ve been telling him for the longest time that you were going to hook him on anime. It was one of the few interests you always believed Jungkook should possess, being a weeb and all, because it was only fair that he had one questionable trait to balance out the rest of his perfection. Liking anime isn’t bad— if a hottie like you enjoyed it, then it obviously had its perks. However, you know a lot of other people are turned off by anime-enthusiasts due to preconceived notions of the genre and the viewer-base.

Now, it was a widely known fact that you always had ulterior motives. So maybe turning Jungkook into a weeb was just a ploy to turn other women off from him and keep your jealousy at bay. Sue you, your boyfriend was a walking wet dream, and you’d do anything to keep him to yourself.

After long deliberation, you’ve decided on introducing Jungkook to anime with a classic: Ouran High School Host Club, a god among anime, a true Beyonce among shoujos. The only problem was that you absolutely refused to pay Crunchyroll or Funimation when you could so easily find the entire show on KissAnime.com, home to only the finest of hentai ads and Are You a Robot? questions.

He sends you a text when he’s outside your building, and five minutes later there’s a rap against your door.

“Hi,” you smile up at him, heart fluttering in that same trademark way it did whenever Jungkook was within a five foot radius. He smiles back softly, leaning down to peck your lips as you step aside for him to enter. He’s got on those cotton sweats that you love, the ones that send your brain into a censored frenzy. But he’s also got that soft curl to his hair that lets you know he came here straight out of the shower in his hurry to see you. How you managed to bag a dream boyfriend like him was beyond you.

You bask in the overwhelming feeling of unannounced love for all of ten seconds before Jungkook is lifting up a square package you hadn’t seen at his hip. “Mailman gave me this,” he says, waving around the signature bright pink packaging of Sexuality Unleashed. Jungkook, for all his politeness and respect, seemed to falter in those categories when it came to you. He turns the box over, reading the big fat name of the company on the side. “Since when did you start buying sex toys?” he asks rather loudly in the hallway.

You yank him inside, hurriedly slamming the door shut before any of your neighbors can come out into the hallway and get a peek of this avid sex toy consumer. “They’re not mine!” you hiss, standing still when he uses you to balance himself as he tugs off his shoes. You snatch the box out of his hands, turning it around to make sure it is actually addressed to your home. Sure enough, it’s for you. Couldn’t there have been some other sex toy fanatic on this floor?

With his shoes off, Jungkook wastes no time enveloping you in a hug, the Sexuality Unleashed box tumbling to the ground. “It’s okay, baby, no need to be embarrassed.”

You groan, leaning your forehead against his shoulder as he continues to pat your back like you’re actually embarrassed to be caught buying toys— you’re not. You’re embarrassed he caught you with a sex toy you simply can’t put to use. “Whatever,” you sigh, “your gross popcorn is in my bedroom and it’s probably stale.”

He releases you, not before pulling you into a slow and languid kiss that has you clutching tightly at the front of his shirt. He pulls away with a soft smooch, right eye falling into a wink. “Bring the box, gorgeous,” he teases, before sauntering off in the direction of your bedroom.

You groan loudly. “It’s not mine!” you repeat, but for some reason do as he says.

Not only do you have no idea what’s in this package, but you’re frankly not too keen on finding out. You’re more interested in Jungkook’s reaction to one of your favorite animes of all time. The package is tossed onto the end of the bed, where Jungkook has already stripped himself of his socks and cuddled beneath your covers.

Your laptop has gone dark from inactivity so you slam down on the space bar to bring it back to life. Your first mistake was pressing anything at all. It flickers back on alright, but you forget that you are working with a minefield of ads ready to explode. You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans.

“What the hell is this?” he asks in a tone that screams he has never had to fight viruses off his computer just to watch something at two in the morning.

You ignore him, cuddling into his side as you hurriedly type in the title of the anime before another annoying ad can intercept you. “KissAnime,” you answer for now, accidentally clicking down on the mousepad with the heel of your palm. Another tab opens up to some sketchy credit site. You huff.

“Baby, I swear I just saw like twelve viruses,” he says. “And what even are these?” he scoffs, jabbing a finger at one of the many ads that lines the perimeter of the website. “Animated teacher porn?”

By the grace of god, you somehow manage to get onto the episode selection screen without having another tab open on you. You smile in relief, turning the power of your excitement onto Jungkook… only to find his eyes narrowed in on the square advertisement for some hentai website. “What? You wanna watch hentai now?” you snort, placing the laptop on his legs as you cuddle into his side.

Jungkook sputters, cheeks tinting red at the mere insinuation he would ever consume such media. “No,” he glares, releasing the arm around your shoulders to huffily cross them over his chest. “I am not going to watch anatomically incorrect illustrations of a woman teacher relieving herself, ___,” he says rather matter-of-factly.

You snort, repeating, “a woman teacher,” mockingly and in a high pitched voice that, honestly, doesn't sound anything like him. You click play on the video box that appears after only about twenty more pop-up ads. “Silence, you nymphomaniac, the episode is starting.” Jungkook pulls you close with a displeased expression, finally quieting down when you put it on full screen and the ads disappear from his view.

You’re beginning to wonder if Jungkook really is the script and plot dissector he claims to be, or if he just lives to get under your skin. He doesn’t make it three minutes without finding something to critique. First it’s the quality of the frames, and then it’s the characterization of the lead character. He nitpicks everything about the best anime in existence, and by the end of the first episode you’re considering breaking up with him.

“Oh my god,” you groan, tearing yourself away from him. He’s all laid up against your mountain of pillows, tongue prodding at the insides of his mouth in that ridiculously attractive habit of his. Usually, you’d be tripping over yourself to kiss him, but you’re about two seconds from ripping his head off. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, baby,” you sigh, picking up his hand in yours. “You gotta shut up.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I have to shut up?” he asks in a scandalized tone. “You sang through the entire intro, off tune may I add.”

At this rate you’re getting nowhere, so you just snatch the laptop back up before you actually hurt his feelings. You escape the full screen, met with those hentai ads that are slowly becoming the bane of Jungkook’s existence.

“Who actually watches those anyway?” he mumbles, covering the sidebar full of naked cartoon ladies with his palm for you, a real gentleman if you ever saw one. “Really?” he says, knocking his pointer finger against a particularly raunchy ad with the caption Be a Good Boy and Let her Play beneath it.

You snort. “You are such a baby,” you tease, pinching his cheek much to his annoyance. “What? Can’t handle seeing some anime titties?”

Jungkook shoves your hand away, leaning back to become one with the pillows as you continue onto the next episode. “They’re just weird,” he admits. “And make unrealistic faces.”

“Unrealistic,” you repeat, finally giving one of the ads the time of day. There’s an adorably drawn character making the most perverted expression, knees hiked up to her chest. Her face is twisted up, drooling like a dog and with her eyes crossed in ecstasy. You shrug. “Just because you can’t get those faces out of me doesn’t mean they’re unreal.”

The second the words leave your mouth Jungkook is letting out a scandalized scoff, sitting up to level you with another glare. “First of all, I can get you like that,” he defends, tapping his finger against the ad on screen. “In fact, I can get you like that without even trying, so let’s not say anything too drastic now, okay?”

His sudden bout of defensiveness makes something playful in you switch on, laying back down beside him with a smirk. “Oh, you can make me all stupid like this?”

Jungkook scoffs. “Yes.”

“Uh huh,” you drawl, tracing a finger up his chest teasingly; Jungkook knocks your knuckles away, obviously still butt hurt about your comment. That’s fine, because a slightly riled up Jungkook was always the best Jungkook. You sit up and lean in close, letting your hand slip beneath his hoodie, palm running over his bare shoulder and around the top of his back. You give his nape a light squeeze, lips pressed against the shell of his ear. “Why don’t you prove it to me, Jungkookie?” you purr, before pulling away.

His jaw twitches at the nickname, one shapely brow unconsciously arching as he regards you with a calculative expression.

The thing about Jungkook was that, after almost a year of dating, you know just how to push his buttons. He has a rather calm and collected exterior to him, the same one he’s had since the day you met him, but beneath it all was a childish competitiveness that raged with the heat of ten suns. He disliked being taunted like you were doing now, especially when his credibility was at stake.

Honestly speaking, you don’t doubt Jungkook can make you look as goofy and messy as those hentai ads. In fact you’re rather confident he can. Either way, him being right or you being right, you would still get some fun out of it.

“Hm?” you add, tracing your hand up to dance over the skin of his cheek, pads of your fingers running over that stiff jaw. “Are you scared I’m right and you’re wrong?”

A hand snaps up to catch your wrist, fingers tight around your skin until you’re shivering against him. “Oh baby, I can make you cum until you cry,” he murmurs, his usual sweet and lilting tone dropping to a low vibration that makes your pussy throb beneath your panties. Your heart leaps in your chest, lips falling open when he ducks down to brush them against yours. It’s too light, just a simple touch that makes you follow his mouth when he pulls back.

With one firm shove, the laptop is tumbling off the bed, thudding loudly against your bedside rug. Jungkook leans over you, his usual trademark doe eyes zeroed in on you with the focus of a laser. “Have a little faith in me,” he teases, and when he presses close you can feel his fattening cock flush against your thigh. Your body is begging to be touched, every brush of his fingers against your skin searing trails in their wake.

Suddenly, he’s drawing back. “Kook?” you frown, barely biting down on a childish whimper when he snuggles back into your mountain of pillows, one arm stretched behind his head.

He flashes you a smile. “Go on,” he says, arms behind his head. “Show me how to get you like that.”

“By myself?” you ask, shifting onto your knees anyway. Jungkook nods, a soft jut of his chin as he gives you another one of those easy going smiles of his. His goal seems a little unclear, but you had a ridiculous amount of trust in your boyfriend that whatever he had planned was certain to be good. With one final skeptical glance his way, you sink down onto your bum, knees spreading and giving him a clear view of your little pink boy shorts, elastic band hugging your waist.

The material of your t-shirt is guided away, held to your chest by the hand currently not traversing the length of your stomach, gliding across soft skin, over your belly button and past that band until it slips beneath. You chance another look Jungkook’s way, only to find his eyes wonderfully downcast in the direction of your core. That smile is gone now, replaced with a somber look as he watches your hand move mysteriously beneath the fabric of your undergarments.

The first brush of your forefinger against your swollen button makes you twitch, back arching at the sensation that is magnified by his watchful gaze. “Mmh,” you bite down, hand twisting in the material of your shirt. Jungkook’s eyes glare a molten path across your skin, from the comfy bra that peeks out from beneath your rumpled shirt to the wrist slowly working beneath your panties.

A hand falls over your thigh, tattooed fingers giving the skin a light squeeze as you get to work swirling your bud around. The sight of his inked skin on yours makes something warm blossom in your lower abdomen, your eyes following the inky swirls up, up, up. They lead you to the face of your very handsome boyfriend, long lashes fanning across his cheekbones as he watches you play with yourself. “Wanna take these off for me?” he says, the tip of his pointer finger wiggling beneath the fabric of your shorts.

You nod hurriedly, wiggling around on the bed until you’re on your back, legs bent in front of you. The shorts come down your legs; the simplest press of your thighs makes something quiver in your abdomen. You toss them off to the side, and just as you go to sit back up, Jungkook places a hand on your knee. “Stay like this for me,” he says, sitting up from his mountain of pillows to glance down at you. You melt into the plush mattress beneath you, staring down at him between your legs. He’s got that adoring look in his eyes, the one that makes you feel so warm and in love, it’s only natural your hand slips down to play with your bare clit again. “That’s my girl,” he smiles, rubbing a hand down the outside of your thigh, urging your legs to fall open.

There’s this overflowing vat of arousal that builds up inside of you everytime Jungkook is around, like the moment your eyes land on him you’re reminded of every position he’s ever had you in. You remember the soft brush of his hands on your body, the way his lips feel on yours, the soft tickle of his hair when he gets too close. It makes your heart lurch in your chest, like if you don’t grab onto him tightly this feeling will slip through your fingers and out of your life. So you were crazily in love with your boyfriend— now what?

A puckered set of lips meets the inside of your thigh, the action ripping you from your overly gooey, overly soft inner rambling. Your hand trails down your quivering pussy lips, collecting your dripping wetness as you go. At the same time, Jungkook kisses down the inside of your thigh, soft smacks of his lips against your skin filling the air with an emotion that makes you bite down a whimper. Your hole puckers at the brush of your fingers, anticipating an entrance that you yearn to give into soon.

His mouth is on you before your finger can go deeper than a centimeter in. But Jungkook doesn’t brush your hand off, doesn’t shove you away to prove his mouth was undoubtedly better. He places a kiss over your knuckles, before swallowing up your significantly smaller hand with his, that of which he clasps together over your navel.

You groan, head rolling from side to side. “Don’t be so soft with me,” you whine, leg twitching when he presses a kiss against your engorged bundle of nerves. “Push me around like that one time, you know I like it.”

Jungkook grins, mouthing over your clit with practiced ease that has you releasing all kinds of whimpers and sighs. He’s got his other hand wrapped around your thigh, strong arm pulling you closer to that devious mouth and tongue that lavished attention on your clit. “Need me to be mean to you, baby?” he purrs, curling his tongue in such a way that it makes your entire body tense up, muscles pulled tight. “Want me to push you around like the stupid little girl you are?” You moan, head bobbing up and down at the ideas he stuffs in your mind. As he moves down the length of your cunt, that round nose you love brushes against your bud, and the cheeky shit takes an obnoxiously loud sniff of it, a soft groan breathed against your lower lips. “But isn’t this better?” he hums, languidly molding his lips against your lower ones, much in the same way he does with the ones on your face; he moves slowly, slips his tongue in every few seconds before eventually diving in head on. “Slow... and so easy.”

“Kook,” you mewl, getting this overwhelming urge to cover your face with your hands. But you can’t, because he’s knotted one hand with yours and his fingers only tighten when you try to yank them apart. Instead you’re left pressing one knuckle against your mouth, brows pinching as he begins slowly fucking his tongue into your cunt. “F-Faster,” you beg. He, of course, ignores your plea.

The wet mass moves past the clenched muscles around your hole, nose brushing against your lips with every intrusion. Every few cycles he stops to press a kiss against your pussy, so hard and wet that it hurts when he pulls off. You’re left writhing and moaning, your heel knocking against his shoulder when he pushes your leg up closer to your chest. “It’s enough,” you cry, your entire body shivering.

Jungkook pulls off with a loud pop, lips glistening with your arousal. He’s got this glint on his eyes, like he’s thoroughly entertained by your reactions. He shuffles around to get comfortable, finally releasing that grip on your hand. Immediately, your newly freed hand jumps forward to tangle in the hair above his ear, tracing down the delicate curve of his cheekbone. Jungkook turns his head, pressing a soft peck against your open palm that makes your heartbeat thunder in your ears.

As he moves around, his leg bumps against something that has both of you pausing. It sounds out of place next to your shallow breaths, and both of you glance down only to catch sight of that stupid package from Sexuality Unleashed teetering on the edge of the bed.

The moment you see it, it’s like you’re transported into an omnipresent view of the scene, the next few hours flashing before your eyes as Jungkook snorts. You know he’s going to reach for it in two seconds, and you know he’s going to tear the hot pink packaging apart with his bare hands. He does so with a scary amount of power, the industrial tape not standing a chance against him. A box roughly the same size as the package falls out, and before you can kick it away and save yourself from suffering beneath Jungkook’s teasing antics, he’s snatching up the box.

“The Bullet Bestie,” he reads aloud, dark eyes flying across the text with lightning speed before that box is also being ripped open. (Briefly, there’s a voice in your head that thinks of Doyeon, but you’re not sure why.) Out tumbles a little pink bullet with a strap on one end that bounces against your thigh and an even smaller remote.

“Baby,” you rush out, the sight of the tiny toy making your heart thunder in your chest. “We can look at it another time,” you try, hands coming up to brush against his face again. “Why don’t you finish off here?” you ask, a sickeningly sweet politeness dripping off your tongue as the knot in your tummy fades into the background of his attention.

Jungkook ignores you, picking up the remote with a wondrous look in his eyes. Before you can try to persuade him back between your legs, a quiet click cuts you off and the little bullet whirls to life. You yelp at the sudden vibrations against the inside of your thigh, so close to your throbbing core. The jump of your thighs has it falling onto the mattress below you, wide eyes snapping back to the smirk that grows on his face.

“No,” you say slowly, sitting back up, “no, no,” you try, your usual assertiveness melting into a whiny cry as you try to wiggle away from him and the nefarious ideas infesting his lust-addled mind. You’re barely turning, ready to make a run for it and hand him his victory by forfeit, when Jungkook is catching you by the waist. Your hips get pulled up, arms clawing uselessly at the sheets beneath you as he drags you close to him. He’s fast, already having moved onto his knees behind you, and when he yanks you up, you can feel every hot plane of his body aligned with your backside. “Kook, please just make me cum,” you gasp.

There’s a smile pressed against your shoulder, lips still wet from before, kissing along the side of your neck. “Look at my girl,” he murmurs, and you nearly jump out of your skin when something smooth is traced along your thigh. One hand slips beneath the material of your shirt, soothingly rubbing circled against your skin. This hand also holds the tiny remote between two fingers, and every nerve in your body is on edge waiting for it to be used. “Where’s that smartmouth now?”

“Jungkook,” you try to warn. But there’s no bite to your words, only an anticipation that grows the closer he moves that damned toy between your thighs. “Baby, we-we can play another time, okay? Just please—“

A soft click, and suddenly your spine is giving out on you, upper body flopping forward as Jungkook runs the vibrations over your clit. Of course Jungkook follows, never letting you slip far from his reach. A loud moan spills from your lips, lower lip wobbling at the unreal amounts of pleasure he bestows upon you with such a small toy. “W-Wait,” you sob, the coil from before suddenly magnified tenfold. It makes your orgasm loom over you bigger than ever, a wave that threatens to spill over and drown you in one go. “No-please.”

His mouth presses against your ear, hot breaths fanning against the skin there. “Hey pretty girl, does it feel good?” he husks out, kissing just below your ear. “Aw fuck,” he groans, something stiff pressing against the cleft between your cheeks, “can’t even see if you’re making that stupid face right now.”

You are, but you don’t even have the words to tell him that. The moment the vibrator had made contact with your already ravished clit, your eyes had rolled into the back of your head. You don’t doubt you look like those silly ads you’d laughed at earlier, mouth opening and closing every few seconds as he circles the toy around your bud. You settle on a high-pitched whimper that has Jungkook laughing meanly against your ear.

It ends too soon, the stimulation from Jungkook eating you out for a few minutes combining with the bullet to form a powerful duo that swallows you whole. An embarrassingly loud moan rips itself from your throat, hands twisting in the sheets beneath you as it washes over you. It’s so powerful, it blinds you, pussy spasming. Jungkook’s name is repeated about a thousand times in between, your body eventually melting back into the mattress as the final shocks run through you.

The vibrator clicks off just as quietly as it turned on, your harsh breaths filling the room in its place. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, raining down a parade of kisses against your shoulder. You mewl in appreciation, still awkwardly shoving your face into the mattress, and your hips in the air. From the corner of your eyes, you watch him set the glistening toy off to the side, and you’re just about ready to thank the heavens for such an experience with your boyfriend, when said boyfriend hits you with a curveball.

The gentle pecks against yours shoulder dissolve into harsh kisses, rough hands trailing up your waist. The t-shirt gathers around his knuckles, pushed and pushed until he’s got those same hands cupping your breasts. “Did you like that?” he asks, biting down against your shoulder; the sensation is dulled by your shirt being in the way but it still makes you whine. You moan softly, nodding against the mattress as he gets to kneading your breasts over your bra. “Mm,” Jungkook sighs, “my pretty girl was so good for me, wasn’t she?”

Those deft fingers run back down, crawl beneath the elastic of your lounge bra and push it away until your breasts are bouncing out of their cage. “Kook,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he traces circles around your nipples. “W-Wait,” you whimper, suddenly reminded of the swollen cock pressed against your backside when he leans closer.

“Shhh,” he soothes, tweaking your nipples. “Relax for me, sweetheart,” he coos, flicking your hardened nipples with his fingers. You can’t relax, not with your body still so sensitive and him playing with you. Still, the low intonation makes something soft and warm settle in your chest, the kisses against your jaw making your eyes fall shut. “That’s it,” he says, giving one nipple a playful twist that draws a high-pitched moan from you.

Just as you’re beginning to fall into the rhythm of Jungkook’s caresses and voice, he releases one breast to traverse his hand down and over your tummy, to your sensitive pussy. You gasp, biting down on your lip as he teasingly flicks your clit with his fingers. “Bet you could come again now,” he murmurs, taking the tip of your earlobe into his mouth and nibbling softly. You groan, shoving your face into the sheets as if that will save you from your doom. “Bet your pretty little pussy can cream itself just like this, isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

You whimper, hips bucking back against him when he begins nudging your bud, lewd sounds reaching your ears. His other hand remains on your breast, no longer toying with your nipple but simply holding it almost comfortingly. There��s a smirk pressed against your skin, that pearly white smile you usually adore so much teasing you as he circles your nub.

“Come on,” he encourages quietly, kissing up the column of your neck again. You moan, thighs quivering as he strokes a second orgasm out of you with no struggle. Your eyes and throat burn at the heat that washes over you, and you release a hoarse scream into the mattress— Jungkook chuckles at the sound, egging you on with that low voice until your muscles go limp a second time.

When he rolls you onto your stomach again, you try desperately to cover the tears that blur your vision, turning away from him like a child when he tries to look. “Crybaby, crybaby,” he sings teasingly, prying your hands away to capture your mouth with his for the first time that night. “Lemme see those tears, baby,” he purrs.

He tastes like you, tongue dripping with that sweet tang of your pussy, and he smells like you too. It strokes the flames of you ego, arms eventually wrapping around his shoulders as he settles above you. He pulls off with a curl of his tongue against your swollen lips, brown eyes lazily staring down at you. It’s embarrassing how well kept he still was compared to your half-nude state of dress. His skin is all glowy and pretty, not a single tear track in sight, and his grin is still too relaxed for your liking.

Jungkook’s body feels so warm and comforting against yours, muscles keeping the heat trapped between your bodies. You go to brush a hand through his hair, needing to feel the familiarity of those silky locks, before he’s suddenly leaning away. He shuffles onto his knees again, glancing down at your thoroughly abused cunt with a quirk in his brows.

“God,” you groan, knocking your foot against his side. “Just fuck me already,” you huff despite your earlier fatigue. You could only go so long without feeling Jungkook’s fat demon cock inside of you.

He snorts at your snappy tone, cutely tilting his head to the side to move his hair out of his face. His jaw looks sharp from this angle, facial features covered in shadows the lamplight behind him can’t touch. “Can’t,” he announces, and you could pull your hair out from all this unnecessary build up.

Truth to be told, you and Jungkook were both equally as unrestrained when it came to each other. Most of the time, the lead up to actual, penetrative, key-in-lock sex included a couple minutes of heavy petting from his end, and maybe a half assed handjob from you. Sometimes if you felt extra attentive, he’d eat you out and you'd him off. But for the most part, the two of you jumped straight into it after an orgasm, like horny teenagers despite the two of you being twenty-three now.

The most adventurous you’d ever gotten up until the point was maybe two orgasms bestowed upon you by a crazed Jungkook. And, well. You had hit two orgasms now. You were ready for his monster cock.

“Kook,” you whine childishly.

Jungkook shakes you off, placing a palm on both your knees. Slowly, he spreads your thighs apart again, eyes zeroed in on the glossy folds that come into view, the sparkling pearly cum that leaks out of your hole. “I can’t, baby,” he says, almost pained. “I gotta clean you up first,” he insists, and before you can tell him how counterproductive it is to lick you clean of your arousal before fucking you, he’s diving face first into your cunt.

But the biggest surprise doesn’t come from Jungkook going in for thirds, but from the hands he clasps around your thighs, the sheer strength he uses to roll you over (ignoring the shriek you let out) to sit you on his face. “No, no,” you yelp immediately, “I-I‘ll break you,” you cry, trying to escape from his hold.

From beneath your thighs, dark eyes peering up at you daringly, you can see the clear warning on Jungkook’s face. It’s a look that loudly says don’t you dare fucking move, shapely brows sending a jolt of genuine fear down your spine for a moment. “Jungkook,” you fret, trying to ignore the arousal that only continues to blossom as his tongue laps against your folds for the second time that night. “I’m, I’m,” you stammer, hands burying themselves in his hair as he ignores your cries. “I’ll break you,” you try again, spine arching when he slurps your clit into his mouth. “I-I’ll—“

He pulls off with a pop. “Fuck my face, baby,” he says, as if he hadn’t heard a single of your concerns at all. His nose nudges against your clit, a whimper catching in your throat. Briefly, his hand disappears from around your thigh, and when it returns, that tiny bullet vibrator from earlier is pressed against your thigh. “You got that?”

You nod, internally torn apart by your fear of crushing him and your need to drag your cunt all over your boyfriend’s handsome face. You glance down at him, watch him slip that vibrator into his mouth for just a second and lewdly coat it in his saliva, before he’s reaching around to shove it past your pussy lips. They’re still swollen and puffy, but have long since relaxed enough for him to slip it in. “B-But what if—“

“You won’t,” he cuts off, readjusting himself closer to your cunt again, “come on, pretty girl.”

The reason you think you and Jungkook click so well was because he was able to bring that vulnerable side out of you every now and then. He knew you liked to parade around with that huge superiority complex, and he loved it. But he also knew there were things you liked and disliked, and sometimes it took a little pushing for you to reveal them.

For a second, that horny cloud over his irises lifts, and he gives you one of those cute, sloppy winks as he taps your thigh gently. “Fuck my face, sweetheart,” he whispers, “drag that pretty cunt all over me until I can’t breathe.” A gasp catches in your throat, hands unconsciously curling against his scalp. He notices, and flashes you a lazy smirk. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Something akin to adoration blooms in your chest, and before you can blurt out something embarrassing—like I love you—there’s a soft click that has The Bullet Bestie revving up inside of you. You gasp, the sudden vibrations deep inside your pussy making your hips snap forward, clit rubbing against Jungkook’s nose.

“O-Oh,” you cry, and that’s all it takes for you to lose it. Your hips start off slow, at first just savoring the wet drag of his tongue against your lips, his nose against your clit. He sticks his tongue out for you, and part of you wants to tell him he’s a good boy, that corny hentai ad flashing in your mind, but you doubt you’ll survive the aftermath of that. Once you find that perfect pace, your hands are practically yanking at his hair, pushing him further into the mattress as you ride his face like he’s nothing but a toy. “Kook, Jungkook,” you pant, grinding your lower lips against his all too eager mouth.

It feels oddly weird being over him like this, using him like this. You like to think you and Jungkook have equal power in the bedroom, but you will admit that more often than not, he assumes control by default. You’re not particularly bothered by that, because you doubt you’d ever come up with the crazy ideas Jungkook did when he was horny (okay, a lie, because you definitely have thought of crazy sex schemes before).

But, this moment…

The power was quickly going to your head. “Fuck,” you sob, roughly dragging the length of your pussy over and over his face. The hands around your thighs are pressing against your skin with a strength that would hurt were you not blinded by arousal. His eyes are shut, lids fluttering open every now and then as he watches you buck wildly over his face like he was a pillow in high school and your parents were gone for the weekend.

It doesn’t help that the rhythmic pulses of the vibrator inside of you are doing their job well, the tongue that slips into your pussy joining together to form a powerful combination. It’s ultimately what has you halting your manic thrusts, instead falling into a slow grind over him. Your hips circle, eyes squeezed shut as you lose yourself in the lapping of his tongue against your dripping hole. “Mmmf,” you mewl, biting down on your lower lip as the wet muscle prods against a delicate spot within you. You hear feels light, view of the gorgeous man beneath you obstructed by the eyelids that can't seem to stay open. “N-No,” you cry, pulling his hair more roughly than you intended to in order to redirect him. “There, there,” you whimper, holding him tight against your pussy.

Beneath you, Jungkook exhales harshly against your lips, hands moving frantically over your thighs as he works his tongue inside of you alongside the bullet vibrator. If you weren’t so caught up in your own pleasure, all kinds of sounds spilling from your lips, you would have heard the quiet moans that fall from his. Alas.

It takes a few more pulses from the toy and a few more licks from Jungkook until you’re coming for the third time that night, features twisting up as your pussy clenches around his tongue before spilling down his mouth. Your back arches, a defeated moan escaping you as you release the same mess he’d claimed to clean up onto his lovely face. You can barely breathe afterwards, mouth dry and head dizzy when Jungkook finally pops back out from between your thighs. You barely have enough time to lift yourself up, pussy lightly brushing across his Adam’s apple as you stop yourself from crushing his windpipe. It makes you twitch.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises with a cheeky smile that distracts you from the bullet toy he retrieves from your quivering cunt. His face is absolutely glistening from your arousal, skin warm and flush. He’s looking up at you like you’re some mythical goddess and he’s but a humble villager coming to pay his respects at the temple that is your body. Fuck, were you okay? You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in your entire life, and Jungkook’s mushy gaze was doing things to your heart.

He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh before helping you off of him, laughing meanly when you flop limply down beside him. He’s still fully clothed, a fact that irks you when he leans over to kiss you with that glossy face of his. “D’you like it?” he mumbles, kissing softly down your face. You nod, legs twitching from the aftermath of that wild ride. “I saw it, y’know,” he says suddenly.

“Saw what?” you mumble, mindlessly rolling your head to the side and exposing more skin when he begins kissing along your neck.

Jungkook says nothing, just rolls over you. Part of you thinks he’s crazy, but you’re suddenly hit with the realization that while Jungkook’s drawn three orgasms out of you in the course of an hour, you hadn’t done anything for him. Before you can dive head first into swallowing his cock, he’s kissing you softly. “That stupid face,” he smirks, slotting his mouth against yours. “That weird, now realistic face,” he tacks on.

You huff out a laugh, throwing your leg around his waist comfortably. Jungkook smiles, kisses you one last time before settling in your arms, face cutely pressed in between your boobs. “Hey,” you call, “don't you wanna cum too?”

He shakes his head, a soft sigh filling the air. “Nah,” he says, cuddles closer into you. “Rest now, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “I can feel your dick against my thigh,” you point out, wiggling your pelvis upward to brush against his throbbing erection. Jungkook holds you down in an effort to stop you. “Fuck me.”

He groans against your collarbone. “No, you’re tired,” he tries to convince you, but his skin is warm and flushed in the way it always gets when he’s riled up. “Sleep.”

With the leg around his hip, you pull him closer. “Fuck me, Jungkookie,” you purr, using the hands in his hair to turn his face up towards yours. His dark eyes are drawn down cutely, pouty lips too. “Use my body,” you suggest, “I’m yours anyway.”

His eyes flutter shut, a quiet whimper falling from his lips. “Don’t say that,” he sighs, “makes me wanna do very mean things to you.”

You smile. “You can do whatever you want to me, don’t you know that?” Another groan, his head falling forward until he’s hiding in your neck. Still, there’s movement from below, he sweats slipping down at his hips until that throbbing cock is pressed into the tiny crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. There’s a moment of hesitation, and you wonder if this is what he felt like earlier when he’d managed to get you to sit on his face. “Inside, Jungkookie,” you murmur, reaching down to line him up with your sensitive entrance. He whines softly, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close. “Good boy.”

Despite your earlier belief that you’d never survive an encounter with Jungkook after using such a term on him, the result is much different from what you had anticipated. He visibly melts into your arms, cock slipping past your folds easily. “No,” he says, his voice feathery and whiny against your ear. “I can’t.”

You soothe a hand down his back, eyes fluttering shut as he begins slowly rutting against your swollen lips. “That’s it,” you encourage, tugging softly at his wavy hair. Jungkook moans wantonly against your neck, rolling his hips harshly against you until his arms are the only things keeping you from jostling out of his hold. “Do you like this pussy?” you ask, purposefully clenching around him, tummy tightening at the stimulation you keep packing on.

Jungkook shudders, pace growing slipping inside of you. “Yes,” he pants, “s-so wet… creamy.”

“Yeah?” you huff, pressing a smiley kiss against his forehead. “It’s yours.”

“Ffffuck,” Jungkook chokes, picking up his pace as his well-deserved orgasm reaches its peak. He’s breathing harshly now, and it’s taking everything in you to keep your pussy tight around him. But after the night he’d given you, the sounds and faces he pulled from you, it’s the least you can do. Besides, your body, after being so thoroughly pleased, still rears up for one final orgasm with him. “Mine,” he growls, bucking his hips into you. “You’re mine, baby, mine,” he seethes, ending his little tryst with a piston of his hips that makes you gasp, body almost unconsciously spasming around him. It’s painful, but so, so delicious how he manages to pull this last orgasm from you as he finally busts inside of you.

He comes with a stuttering garble of words, none of which you catch as he collapses into your hold for the final time that night. “Fuck,” he pants afterwards, leaning into your touch when he finally registers the soft combing of fingers through his hair. “That was evil.”

You laugh, pulling him closer. “As evil as you making me suffer through three orgasms before putting your dick in me?” you tease. Jungkook slips out of you, and you know it’ll be a hassle to clean your sheets tomorrow but it’s worth it.

“It’s called building the scene,” he weakly defends, blindly tugging the puffy blanket over the two of you. “I was gonna rhyme it with that horrible website you made me use but I already forgot it’s name.”

“Rude,” you snap, “it’s called KissAnime.”

“And fore-play,” he suddenly says, and you almost yank his eyeballs out of their sockets for doing that stupid thing again.

—

epilogue

Two weeks later, your favorite website and home to hentai ads is shut down after years of piracy. Jungkook laughs at your demise, sits and actually cackles at your heartbreak, until he eventually comforts you with his flaming demon cock and a subscription to both Crunchyroll and Funimation. Doyeon spends weeks tracking down a missing package, apparently some freebie she’d gotten for being such an avid customer on Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide! before eventually finding it in your drawer. And because her and Jungkook have some awkward life-long rivalry for your attention, he doesn’t pay for that.

—

#goldenclosetnet #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jjk fic #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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frogtanii · 4 years ago

Text

embarrassed ft. matsukawa issei

wc. 2.7k (???)

warnings. SMUT, not proofread lol, mutual pining (??), friends to lovers (???), cunnilingus lmao, no dom/sub dynamics, well actually dom&sub issei if you squint rlly hard hehe, kinda cute, embarrassed issei <3, also one (1) WAP reference

an. it’s 2:30 am and i have no idea why i wrote this and who for???? i got the idea from a 🦋😳🙈✨ audio and was immediately inspired idk, sorry if it’s bad i lichrally have no idea since i didn’t read it after it was done :p

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

it wasn’t like matsukawa issei to be embarrassed.

he was handsome, intelligent, and funny, not to mention he never left women wanting after a night with him.

issei was the entire package and he knew it.

beyond superficiality though, he was happy with his life. he had a great group of friends, a nice apartment all to himself and a completely normal job.

yes, being a funeral home employee wasn’t the most glamorous career a person could have but he was happy. besides, it never deterred him from getting a warm body to sleep with which was a win in his book.

all in all? his life was great!

so why did he have to go and screw it all up?

issei blames makki and the dumb flyer for the reason his life went to shit. (maybe he’s being a little dramatic, but let him have his oikawa moment.)

he was minding his own business when his best friend (recently turned enemy) burst through his apartment door with a piece of paper in his hand and a fire in his eyes.

“dude, look at this!” issei rolled his eyes, putting down his casket catalogue and turning to meet takahiro’s gaze.

“why hello to you too. remind me why i gave you a key again?”

“because you love me and because i bring shit like this to you. look!” with another long and suspiciously tooru-like sigh, issei took the crumpled paper from makki and immediately stopped in his tracks.

“makki... what the fuck is this?”

written in large pink letters and a flowery, borderline illegible font was the name, coffee and cunnilingus. upon further inspection and careful reading, it revealed itself to be a little cafe opening up about 10 minutes from issei’s apartment complex who were looking to hire “young, attractive men who are proficient at eating pussy.”

issei could feel his eyes narrow and his mouth drop open in shock as he repeated his question. “the fuck is this?”

makki shook his head excitedly, tapping to another portion of the flyer that matsukawa had not yet read. “no, no dude, just look at how much they’re paying per hour.” issei begrudgingly obliged but the minute his eyes touched the (Massive™) number, he felt a little faint.

it was a lot of money. more than the funeral home was paying, that’s for sure. with that kind of money he could move out of this suddenly dingy seeming apartment and into a nice flat in the city were he’d always wanted to live. maybe he could buy himself a nice watch or even a high-end suit to replace the one from his highschool graduation (aka the only suit he owns). with that kind of money, he could erase his student debt 3 years ahead of schedule and get his mom into a nicer place.

it was these thoughts that clouded issei’s head as he found himself standing in front of a cute looking building, matching the address on the flyer. i’ll only be working part time, he thought as he pushed the door open to reveal an equally impressing interior with curtained booths and a wide variety of coffee on the menu. i’m only doing it for extra money, he thought as he shook the owner’s hand after he finished his successful interview. no one can ever know, he thought as he dressed himself in the uniform on his first day.

thus began issei’s super secret side hustle where he ate women out for cash.

sounds worse when you say it outright but it was just working. he was good at it, the women liked him, and he was making BANK. still, there were challenges. some women refused to bathe before coming and he would have to send them to the restroom to freshen up which absolutely ruined his chances for a good tip. some women would become heavily infatuated with him, believing that they were in some sort of forbidden romance. he learned to turn them down quick and easy to avoid conflict in the workplace which furthered his space as a boss favorite. but his hardest challenge by far was meeting you.

you were one of hanamaki’s friends, having met him at one of his brief stints in retail on his search for a job. he had gotten fired but you both stayed in touch after he left, becoming really close, really fast.

issei had met you first when takahiro had invited you to the biweekly seijoh third-years movie night. at first, he had been pissed as an “outsider” had never been invited before and he was worried you’d ruin the vibe, especially since it was the first time in months that oikawa would be able to join them. makki vouched for you through and through and the other boys were okay with it so you were in. the second he met you, all his fears of awkwardness and discomfort faded away.

you were great.

you were hilarious, pretty, and could keep up with makki’s harsh jokes, tooru’s diva attitude, iwa’s tendency to hit (hard), and issei’s original disdain. by the end of the night, he had completely forgotten why he didn’t want you there in the first place.

from then on, you were a staple in their little friend group. you were added to the groupchat where you balanced memes with spouts of deep wisdom and you were ever so reliable, always there if any of them needed it.

yeah, you were great. that’s where the problems started.

issei’s feelings for you quickly went from platonic to romantic, faster than you can say godzilla. he hadn’t even recognized that he was falling for you until it was way too late. normally, he wouldn’t have a problem confessing to you but because of his newly found ...occupation, he was too nervous. how would you take it that he was basically a glorified prostitute? ok, that wasn’t exactly what he did but still! you’d probably find him disgusting and horrible and leave the friend group forever. then he’d have to deal with oikawa’s senseless whining and makki’s subtle digs, blaming him for your departure. yeah, he wasn’t going to put himself through that so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

too bad he didn’t have any control over makki’s.

you and takahiro had been on a little friend-date at mcdonald’s after you’d had a long and frustrating shift. you just wanted to vent, expressing your general hate for your job and desperate need for stress relief.

that’s when makki opened his (big, stupid) mouth and suggested that you visit a little place called coffee and cunnilingus. you nearly choked on your fries at the title before quickly pressing him for details. thankfully, he had the decency not to expose that issei worked there but he had not done a good enough job convincing you not to go there. not that it would’ve mattered. your curiosity was peaked and your libido was high so why not try out the weird cafe where you let a complete stranger stick his tongue inside you?

it was settled. you were going to go and you were going to get eaten out and you were going to like it!

or at least that is what you repeated in your head as you walked to the address on your phone before taking a deep breath and walking inside.

“hello, welcome to coffee and cunnilingus, how might i pleasure you this afterno— yn?” issei’s eyes widened as they met your equally bewildered ones, the both of you staring at each other in shock.

“matsukawa-san, is everything alright?” a large hand rested on issei’s shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts and forcing him to break (horrified) eye contact with you and move it onto his boss who was now looking down on him menacingly.

“y-yes sir, everything is fine!” he squeaked out, hating the way his voice cracked on his first syllable. his boss looked at him suspiciously but thankfully didn’t press.

“well, since nothing is wrong, take this beautiful young woman to a booth where you will assist her!” the hand resting on issei’s shoulder slowly squeezed, making him wince in pain. the pain was only an afterthought though to the larger implication of his boss’ words. he’s going to assist you. assist as in pleasure. pleasure as in eat you out.

holy shit, you were going to pass out.

apparently, issei had the same thought process as you, his face whitening like a sheet. “m-me? but sir i-“

“do your job matsukawa-san!” his boss cut him off with a forced smile. all issei could do was nod and silently lead you off to a closed booth near the back or lose his job. you stayed close behind him but remained quiet, absolutely terrified of breaking the silence and ruining the bubble you had created.

you finally reached the booth in question. issei gently opened the curtain and motioned for you to get it, to which you obliged and he followed just behind.

the moment the curtain closed, you were enveloped in an awkward silence and tense atmosphere, neither of you speaking or looking at one another for fear of one of you running out. after what felt like hours, you opened your mouth to speak, not realizing issei had thought the same thing.

“so-“

“i-“

you finally made eye contact with him and burst into the laughter, the tension quickly broken. it took a full minute or two for the both of you to calm down, the absurdity of the entire situation finally catching up with you.

“you first,” issei said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes while fixing you with an intense gaze swirled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place but it made butterflies bubble up in your stomach. you quickly turned your gaze to the comfortable seat beneath you, your fingers playing with the red stitching while you thought of what you had wanted to say.

“are you any good?” your hand flew up to cover your mouth as your cheeks filled with heat, the embarrassment of your words catching up to you. you hadn’t meant to say that but when you opened your mouth to apologize, you were stopped in your tracks by the lovely sound of issei’s full-bodied laughter filling the tiny booth.

you had heard it just moments earlier but without the sound of your own giggles drowning it out, you couldn’t help but think that he sounded beautiful. you basked in the sound as it slowly trailed off back into silence. now it was you doing the staring making issei look off with a red face and a heart threatening to pound out of his chest.

“y-yeah i’m pretty good. you want to try? me, i mean?” his words nearly leave you gasping, your brain working overtime to try and comprehend what he was saying to you.

“only if y-you want to? what do you want issei?” you whispered, suddenly unable to find your voice. you wanted this to be okay for him too; you didn’t want him to be uncomfortable even though you wanted him more than you could verbally express. despite the embarrassment and fear of rejection lingering under your skin, you stared at him, awaiting his answer. a tiny minuscule nod came from him and you internally shook your head. you needed to hear him.

“i need you to say it, issei.” your words, while quiet, were firm and issei felt himself hardening in his uniform slacks. he swallowed in his increasingly drying mouth before opening his mouth to respond.

“i want to eat your pussy. can i?”

shit.

your own voice was stolen by his words and all you could give him was a nod before he was on you.

issei didn’t waste any time falling to his knees, pulling your panties down, and hiking your skirt up to your stomach, revealing your glistening folds to his hungering eyes.

“fuck, you’re so wet,” is all the warning you get before he’s licking a long stripe up you from entrance to clit before he’s sucking the hard, sensitive nub into his mouth. your eyes immediately rolled back into your head, your hips instinctively bucking up into his mouth while a gasped moan of issei left your lips.

if he could bottle your moans and use them whenever he pleased, he would, the sound sending another pulse of arousal to his already hard cock. he was tempted to reach down and pull himself out of his trousers but he denied himself. this was about you; you and your wet ass pussy.

issei continued his ministrations on your clit, circling it with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth while his hand was ready to get busy. it crept up your thigh, sending shivers down your spine until it reached your sopping entrance, two of his fingers teasing the slit before delving in to the third knuckle.

the moan you let out is borderline animalistic as your body sends another wave of slick pulsing out over his hand. he groaned into your cunt at your tightness, his mind only imagining him deep within you while you squeeze him for all he’s got.

the amount of slick you produced made it easy for him to add a third finger, thrusting them in and out while also crooking them upwards in search for your special spot that would have you seeing stars. it took him a little prodding but he knew he found it when your back arched, your hand came down into his hair, and you whimpered out a string of curses.

“that’s it baby, cmon, you’re doing so well, wanna see you come apart for me,” he all but growled against your clit before delving back in with a higher intensity, his desperation for you to come winning out his desire to tease you and drag this out as long as possible.

with his incessant pressure on your g-spot and his lips suctioned around your clit, it wasn’t long before he got what he wanted.

“isseiisseiisseiissei, i’m coming, i’m coming-oh fuck!” you screamed as you clenched and gushed all over his fingers, your entire body caving in with the intensity of your orgasm. his fingers were practically forced from your spasming cunt but they quickly found a place rubbing your nub side to side as fast as possible. the overwhelming urge to pee came over you and you shook your head, trying to push his hand away.

“no, no, give it to me, i know you can,” issei groaned, his eyes locked on your dripping pussy. the pleasure he was giving came to a head at his words and you felt a clear liquid escape from your tired, overstimulated cunt, your mouth opening in a silent moan before collapsing back on the seat.

the sight proved to be too much for issei as he felt his body tense, his own orgasm washing over him as he emptied himself into his boxers. he fell back onto the ground, in shock of himself coming entirely untouched. he’d never done it before but of course it was you that would bring it out of him. a smile spread across his face at the thought, his head tilting back as he laughed, catching the attention of your worn body.

“what’re y’laughing at?” you slurred, cringing a little at how fucked out you sounded but issei didn’t seem to mind, his face glowing while covered in your slick and cum.

“nothing, nothing, but uh, i have a question.” you felt your heart leap to your chest, your mind already racing with the possibilities. he’s going to say this was a mistake, that we’re just better off as friends. oh god, what if he says i stunk? or the worst pussy he’s ever had? or what if—

“want to go and get a coffee?” he asked, the smile still plastered on his face but with an uncharacteristic hint of shyness. the butterflies were back in your stomach as you shyly nodded before allowing him to help clean you up and standing, not missing how he slipped your lacy underwear deep into one of his pockets.

issei’s hand found its way into yours as he said goodbye to his coworkers and boss before leading you out of the cafe, watching you tell an animated retelling of the bullshit that occurred at your job with a warm grin on his face and pink cheeks.

it might not be like matsukawa issei to be embarrassed but if it resulted in getting you by his side? he would do it again and again.

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madhyanas · 4 years ago

Text

a strumming of nerves

“Take it,” Din whispers, hissing between his teeth. He’s pleading. “Take it, destroy it. Anything. Just don’t leave me alone with it.”

Read this on AO3!

Characters: Din Djarin & Boba Fett

Rating: T/PG-13

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Ratings: Post-S2. Boba Fett POV. Haunted Darksaber/Din’s Haunted AU. Sleepwalking. Implied possession. Not horror, but creepy vibes for sure.

Notes: this au was originally created by @keldabekush, @kyberpistol and others! i’m just messing around with it. good luck trying to parse through this one lads idk how it’ll go

masterlist

———

There’s a noise keeping Boba awake.

It’s a thrumming. Quiet enough to settle into the background, seep into the rocky palace walls, it’s almost innocent. He could almost mistake it for the whine of some desert gnat that snuck in underground.

Almost.

But in the months since he and his companions have settled here, lying awake and staring at the ceiling of his palace quarters has never invited such a sick feeling to his stomach. It’s not nausea — he’s well acquainted with that. Kamino, Geonosis, Coruscant, Tatooine. Nausea has followed him like a diseased shadow.

This is different. He calls it anticipation, for to hear a noise and feel fear is foolishness he’s long outgrown.

The noise doesn’t get louder. The snaked, coiled thing growing in the pit of his stomach gets heavier, and heavier.

Just as he feels he may be crushed into the soft sheets by whatever waking night-terror has decided to sit on his chest, Boba sits up. In fact, he gets out of bed, swings his legs over the edge to touch the chilly stone floor, and steps outside. He’s always preferred doing things, anyway.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary as Boba stares out into the empty throne room. Thin, slivered shadows and hollow caverns. There’s nothing besides that kriffing noise, he thinks sourly, tiredly, before he turns his head.

Someone is standing in the hallway.

Danger.

At first he doesn’t believe it. A simple silhouette that Boba can barely make out in the dark. Something about it doesn’t quite seem real, as if that same waking night-terror hasn’t yet been rubbed from his eyes. Boba blinks. Its outline is blurry, encircled by a slim ring of darkness and seeming to shift in and out of focus. Moonlight doesn’t touch the shape, doesn’t even creep near.

Boba doesn’t approach either. Not even when he recognises the figure. The shoulders, the stance. He can feel in his bones that in the inky blackness hides a scruffy jaw and sad, weathered eyes. “Djarin?”

Din does not respond. He continues to stand there, staring silently down at the floor, which throws the figure’s identity into question because Din is polite to a fault. Fennec had laughed about it when they’d first met the man; a bounty hunter with manners.

What’s wrong with the figure, Boba realises, is that it’s still. Too still. He squints. His eyes aren’t what they used to be, and it’s dark, but he doesn’t think ‘Din’ is… breathing.

The very wrongness of the situation has his fingers twitching for a weapon that isn’t there.

Boba is beginning to think he should have carried a blaster.

“Din,” he calls, more urgently. “What are you doing?”

Silence, again. A sudden gust of wind whistles outside the window, churning sand against rocky architecture. It scrapes.

Boba’s frown deepens. This isn’t right.

The figure then turns — though that isn’t the right word for the movement. It’s a kind of swaying, as if the body can’t quite settle its centre of gravity and settles for a light, weightless bobbing around a fixed point. Almost like dangling. There is no rustling of cloth, no scrape of foot against sandstone floor.

Against his better judgement, Boba glances down. Both of the figure’s feet are flat on the ground.

Of course, his rational mind whispers. What were you expecting?

This ‘Din’, still standing at the other end of the hallway, now faces him directly. And gripped tightly in his left hand is the source of that infernal thrumming.

The Darksaber. Ignited and ready for battle, as it always has been.

Now, technically, pointed at Boba. The figure doesn’t turn away. The light it gives off is sickly, splattering Din’s shirt with the same strange, inverse not-glow the blade itself emanates.

It reminds him of a fish, of all things. One he’d read about, so many years ago. The type that suckers in prey with a shining, blinding light.

A throb in his temple makes itself known, winding the tension in his spine even tighter. When did the thrumming get so loud? It’s everywhere; it bites up his legs and punctures the soft spots between his ribs. A clawed hand crushing a spoilt fruit in its grasp.

Boba clenches his fists to stop himself from covering his ears, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. The sound is more piercing this time, with purpose and deadly aim.

Thick, oozing cold settles in his gut. There is only one possible target in this room.

It gets louder. And louder. It ebbs and flows like the tide but so much more vicious. It doesn’t stop; the noise simmers and bubbles and rings in his ears, resounding through the hallway so strongly it shakes his teeth to the tender, aching nerves and pounds at the insides of his skull. It’s swarming out from behind his eyes and it doesn’t stop, why can’t it stop — the Darksaber swings upwards, ready to strike the final blow — why is this happening he should take it—

“Din!”

The figure flinches. Boba’s shout is as good as a bullet. His shoulders heave with staggering breaths. His heartbeat pulses jaggedly at his throat and he’s panting; a cold, thin sheen of sweat is draped over the back of his neck.

The Darksaber is held high above Boba’s head. The crest of a wave, frozen. Then the blade retreats with a quiet whoosh before the hilt clatters to the ground. That’s the only reason Boba realises the thrumming has stopped.

It still doesn’t feel fixed. Nothing does.

The figure stumbles forward and Din’s haggard face is suddenly awash in a sliver of moonlight. He’s a puppet cut down from his strings, crumpling to the ground.

Boba is there to catch him. As it will be.

“Easy. What happened?” he questions gruffly, too preoccupied with checking the other man over for injuries to hear just how hoarse his voice is.

But whatever state he’s in, Din is worse. He stares at some point on Boba’s shoulder with glazed, unfocused eyes. The man is sweating buckets. “I... I don’t know.”

Din’s voice is soft, as Boba has come to expect, though not reassuring. It crackles and bursts to suggest there’s mucus sitting in his airways, spitting and popping like rotting fat thrown out to sizzle on Tatooine street corners.

Perhaps it is reassuring, then, to be holding his friend so limp in his arms like this. Because Boba knows what blood in the lungs sounds like, and the distinct lack of it anywhere in the musty hallway finally brings his racing pulse something close to calm.

Boba makes a slow, calculated move to rise from the floor and lift the other man with him, but Din flinches when he feels Boba’s shoulders tense. A flinch that dissolves into faint tremors wracking his body, which Boba is loath to ignore, but it also clears the fog from his gaze somewhat.

“I’m—” Din clears his throat and forces out a hard, sharp breath. “I’m fine.” He looks Boba in the eye. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“No, you’re not,” Boba returns dryly, though he can’t deny the weight that slips from his chest. Breathing, talking. Even with the tremors leaching from Din’s bones into his own, they’re good signs.

Din cracks a weak smile, which comes out more as a grimace. In any case, it doesn’t matter when it’s wiped away almost immediately as Din glances to the side.

Boba looks too. Next to the wall, the discarded hilt of the Darksaber stares back.

“Fett,” Din says gravely, keeping his eyes trained on the weapon. So gravely in fact, that Boba’s hackles rise. He’s speaking as if— as if his life depends on it.

“What?”

The fingers on Boba’s shoulder dig in tightly. “Take it,” Din whispers, hissing between his teeth. He’s pleading. “Take it, destroy it. Anything. Just don’t leave me alone with it.”

Boba is not a man easily surprised. But there is something inherently sickening in the crease of Din’s brow, anxious and abandoned. So much about all this is wrong.

He’s pallid, Boba realises. Din is shivering and sickly and sweaty like he’s in the slump of a fever. He’s still staring at that damned saber.

In the dark, they’re both kneeling on the ground. They are kneeling, technically, before the Darksaber itself.

And with a stubborn set of his jaw, Boba makes a decision.

He swings Din up from the ground, maintaining a stable hold on both arms and looping one round his own neck before either of them can topple back down.

“Right,” Boba barks, and Din’s head snaps up. “You’re going to get some sleep. And you’re leaving that blasted thing here.” His voice leaves no room for discussion.

As he marches them back to Din’s quarters, taking careful stock of any acute weaknesses in the other man’s posture and satisfied to find none for now, Din’s gaze remains forward. It latches onto the door with sharp, quiet focus, and the sight could make Boba grin.

The haunted look in his eyes is new territory. But determination; that, Boba can work with.

Walls of granite and sandstone are taller at night, it seems. Boba gets the fleeting sense that they’re boxed in on either side, in such narrow walkways, then shuns the thought. The palace is his territory. He has nothing to fear, here.

Still, he makes his way around the corners a touch quicker than before.

By the time they’ve gotten to Din’s door, neither of them have looked back once. It’s illogical, he knows. But they both look straight ahead without fail. As if that would keep the thrumming at bay. As if they feel the silence is any better.

Din takes a moment to push himself upright, testing his balance. “Thank you,” he says quietly. It’s sincere, which Boba can respect. He just doesn’t know what it’s for.

Settling on a nod, Boba suggests, “I’ll keep it in my quarters.” The empty sword still lies in the other corridor. “We’ll… figure things out in the morning.”

Din’s mouth flattens into a pained line, and a muscle jumps uncomfortably at his temple. Here, with a little more light, Boba can see the bags etched under the man’s eyes. He��s struck with the impression that this… sleepwalking, for lack of a better term, is not a recent development.

“Yeah,” Din mumbles. “In the morning.”

He eyes his cot as a starving man would a feast, but lingers at the boundary.

When Din speaks, Boba almost regrets waiting to hear it.

“I don’t know what it’s doing to me.”

The words are uttered with a familiar, resigned shame that drips to the floor. It puddles around Din in viscous trails, drooping his shoulders and shutting his eyes. Weighing him down for longer than a night, clearly.

“I don’t know anymore, Fett. Sometimes I can hear it talking to me. Talking. I think I might—” He wheezes out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as if to purge whatever he sees there.

A moment to collect himself, drag all the pieces together with string and a loose knot. Then, in a quiet, ragged voice, Din confesses, “I think I’m going insane.”

False platitudes have never come easily to Boba, and they don’t start now. His jaw is slack as he searches for the words, anything to fill that chasm, until he realises there aren’t any.

So he doesn’t say anything at all, save for a slow, sympathetic hand on Din’s shoulder. He stands with his friend.

And in the dark of the palace, Boba wonders if Din might be right.

———

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idontblushsrry · 4 years ago

Text

How the Jujutsu Kaisen Characters Smell

A/N: Absolutely no one asked for this but I have thoughts and now yall have to hear them. Btw gonna put a keep reading because I’m trying to cover as many jjk characters as possible so it’s gonna get long.

Warnings: Spoilers if you’ve only seen the anime or haven’t read the manga up to the Shibuya Arc (relatively minor but you’ve been warned)

Itadori

He’s nowhere near the best smelling but his scent isn’t awful

He sweats a lot so he takes showers a minimum of 2x a day

Overall his smell isn’t that bad, he just smells like outside

5/10 points for effort but he always smells like he just got done rolling around in grass

Fushiguro

Fushiguro smells like the suave ocean breeze body wash with an undertone of pen ink

His smell is very nice, it’s not the most remarkable but it’s not stinky

Middle school Megumi was definitely a hot mess that smelled solely of axe body spray and other middle schoolers he beat up (Tsumiki tried her best but there was only so much he’d compromise on)

After he started attending the Tokyo school, Maki threw out his axe and made Gojo buy him actual cologne/scented body wash

7/10 smells like a friend (points reduced because he used to use 3 in 1 body wash)

Kugisaki

Kugisaki is very much clean

She keeps up a beauty regimen and doesn’t play when it comes to upkeeping it

She has this light floral scent because of that; it varies between cucumbers and roses

Her body wash is also consistent with the smell of her beauty products

One thing about Kugisaki’s smell is that it does change completely depending on what products she’s using

Although, if she were to be completely clean with no scented products, she’d have a smell that’s a little bit metallic because of the nails and a little pumpkin-y

10/10 points because she sets the standard

Gojo

Smells like the inside of a guys car

He smells like bergamot and cedarwood mixed with a hint of leather

Overall he smells nice and it’s frustrating because his scent lingers. It’s so distinct that even when he’s gone, his scent will stay behind just to taunt you

9/10 minus one point for being Gojo

Maki

She’s very particular about hygiene

It mainly stems from 1) her upbringing and 2) the level of cleanliness needed to clean all the weapons she uses regularly

She smells of metal polish, lavender with a hint of patchouli, and a slight undertone of rust

10/10 overall very strong scent but it’s so uniquely her that it’s calming

Inumaki

This makes no sense but I feel like Inumaki smells like the sandwich part of a deli

Specifically that fresh baked bread and sliced lettuce smell

It can be a bit nostalgic at times especially because the smell in general occurs in a lot of places

10/10 because bread smells good

Panda

It’s canon that Panda smells like the sun but we can get more specific

Panda does smell like the sun but I think he smells like a freshly cleaned room with the curtains open

The smell is like air freshener mixed with the sun

The air fresheners he smells the most like are: morning and dew, wood, pine, pet odor eliminator

10/10 no explanation needed

Yuta

Smells like teen spirit

Pre-jujutsu high (and before he was sent away to Africa); Yuta smelled like deodorant

He smelled like wayyy too much old spice, it was pretty bad

Post trip to Africa (idk which country he went to), Yuta smells of shea butter, frankincense, and charred wood

8/10 the crimes of pre jujutsu high Yuta will not be easily forgiven

Nanami

He smells like the blue Ralph Polo Lauren cologne

No I will not take criticism

He also smells a bit like the wrinkle spray people use when ironing clothes

10/10 we been knew that Nanami looks good, smells good, and dresses good

I don’t even like that cologne but for him...

Shoko

Love Shoko but her smell isn’t the most pleasant

Literally smells like cigarettes and alcohol with the sterile smell of cleaner to top it off

She’s an icon but her smell can be overwhelming at the best of times and suffocating at the worst

5/10 some people might like it but it is not for me

Utahime

Her scent is very foresty, either pine or spruce, with an undertone of gree tea

Her scent is a bit muted too so you can only really smell it if she’s really close or if you’re hugging her

It’s not a bad scent though, it’s the type that immediately sets you on ease

10/10 smells like a warm hug

Mechamaru(spoilers)

He’s a robot what’d you expect???

Jkjk Pre-Shibuya he smells really sterile and clean due to his condition

His robots obviously smell like metal and wiring

Post-Shibuya arc(or yk during technically): He smells kind of like nothing

There's the slightest smell of sparks from his cursed technique and the hint of mojito’s smell lingering, but otherwise he smells like absolutely nothing

6/10 the lack of smell is a bit off putting

Miwa

I can’t explain but I feel like Miwa smells like banana and vanilla

Like Mai and Momo tricked her and she ended up actually liking the smell

6/10 not the worst but not the best

Mai

Mai smells really heavily of metal and gunpowder

Obviously brcause of her cursed technique but she ever expected it to stck to her like it does

She doesn’t make any active effort to change it though because she thinks it makes her seem cool and mysterious

4/10 because while it DOES make her seem cool and mysterious, she scares locals

Momo

She definitely uses bath and body works perfume (tempted to say she uses the glittery versions but alas)

She loves using all the candles, lotions, and perfumes because of how girly they make her feel; has a collection that’s probably on a rotater

Definitely uses sweet pea above all

Tries to get Mai to try some of her fragrances but she has a 30/70 chance of getting her to agree

7/10 another scent that’s not for me

Todo

He has a really intense cleaning regimen and is never caught lackin in the smell department

He gets all the more embarrassed when Yuuji smells stinky next to him and will always make Yuuji shower if thr boy stinks

Other than that, he smelled of an ocean-y cologne before Takada-chan released her perfume collection

Now all he talks about is how he smells like the perfect husband for Takada

Takada’s perfume is really light a floral (along the lines of rose + vanilla) and if Todo runs out, he tries to steal it from Momo’s collection

9/10 minus a point for being a simp

Noritoshi

Smells really clean except for when he’s using his cursed technique

On average, Noritoshi smells like the clean linen spray/ clean laundry

When he uses his technique, he smells like blood and when he uses his technique to “dope”, he smells like sweat

Usually he smells like clean laundry though, he’s very picky about how he smells and hates the smell he gets from using his technique

10/10 for keeping clean

Naoya

If you think this man washes his ass...

Sorry but he’s a little too busy being a misogynist

Naoya saw the term gooch grease and was like “wow someone gets it!”

-400/10 I’m sick of talking about the ways this man smells like a popped neck pimple

Mahito

Only person that smells worse than Naoya

If Naoya smells like a popped neck pimple, Mahito smells like a literal sewer

He smells like sewage, garbage, rot and decay, melted plastic,etc.

Not only does Mojito’s body stink, his breath stinks, hair stinks, just everything stinks

Jogo and Hanami can’t tell since they don’t have noses but everytime Geto gets a whiff, he dies a little inside

-21982913293237932392379319210391090320323019/10 GET BACK. GET BACK. GET BACK.

Sukuna

Pre-death; he smelled like blood 9 times out of 10

The other 10% of times he smelled like incense or jasmine but you’d never smell it for long

Post-death; stinky funky and rotten

I’m sorry but 1) he’s a mass murder who literally sits atop a mountain of skulls 2) he’s technically dead and only exists thriugh his fingers

If you think that man smells like anything other than rot and grave wax...

-2/10 be glad he got a higher score than Mahito

Choso

I love Choso with every ounce of my being

That being said, he smells like a scab

Scabs don’t even have smells but somehow he smells like one

Alright I’m done slandering him

3/10 because I didn’t have the heart to give him anything lower

Geto(spoilers)

Pre-Gojo angst: Geto was the best smelling sorcerer in the world

He was very meticulous about his grooming routine and showed Gojo how to care for himself w/o the aid of servants

A king of self care and personal grooming 10/10

Post-Gojo angst: Geto really stopped caring about his appearance

He’d keep clean to set a good example for his kids, but he didn’t really see the value of looking decent

Probably says “I refuse to use the technology of monkeys”

Even though Mahito smells worse, Geto does still hang around Mahito and that’s gonna rub off

2/10 take a shower man, sea water doesn’t count as cleaning yourself

Junpei

Junpei smells like dandelions/picked grass and cigarettes

Cigarettes are obviously because his mom smokes them so frequently the smell sticks to him

The dandelions/ picked grass smell is because Junpei spends a lot of time outside

Out of boredom or a need to keep his negative thoughts at bay, Junpei started picking at the grass

I do think he eventually started weaving flower crowns made of dandelions and strips of grass

6/10 because I feel bad for him

Toji

This man...

As much as I’d like to pretend he smells good, he has a drooling worm hanging off him and probably owns like one outfit

That being said, he’s not as stinky as Naoya or Mahito (or even Sukuna), because he does clean himself when he has the chance

It’s just that he spends his money so quickly that he kinda forgets sometimes

Although he usually has no problem finding some woman who’d be more than willing to put him up in a hotel room

His smell is musky but it’s not funky

He smells like a guy right before they start to get stinky, it’s a delicate balance

4/10 he’s a lil funky but it kinda feeds his image

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years ago

Text

pedro boys + spending habits

word count: fuck if i know, wrote it thru the app

characters: din, marcus m, dave, pero, marcus p, oberyn, max, frankie, whiskey, maxwell, javier, ezra

a/n: idk what caused this to happen but it works i guess. hope they make sense

✨support my ko-fi✨

trust him with your money, your drink, your social security number, everything:

din. this man is barely scraping by on his own when you first meet him. when he adds the kid to the mix, he gets even more frugal than he already is with an old as sin ship that many people are surprised to see fly. he will have a policy of “you earn it, you choose what to do with it” and since he goes after most of (if not all) the bounties to keep you all alive, he has the final say in how most of the credits are spent. he does want you to have nice things though, so he makes sure to configure the budget to where you don’t have to pour your credits into the group’s survival money very often. it’s the least he can do. he’s very big on taking care of his people and will show that in small ways.

marcus m. he’s a single dad for a significant amount of time, he has no choice but to be responsible with his money. he has to take care of missy, keep them both fed and housed and healthy, and that’s not even touching on how expensive all of high school graduation and college will be once she gets there. he teaches missy very early in life how important money is bc he doesn’t want her to ever know how it feels to not have enough. he makes a considerable amount of money w the heroics tho so he can afford to responsibly splurge on you both, but not constantly. is very cautious abt the splurging becoming a habit

dave. yeah he may be a murderer, but he’s scary great at managing his money (to continue being able to murder). he’s got his ex wife’s alimony (that still pisses him off but that’s another story) and two girls he takes care of, there’s no other choice for him either. there’s never a worry about dave having a midlife crisis and spending money on some stupid dad thing (like a motorcycle or assless chaps or a country club membership) because he murders to keep his mind off that sort of stuff. files his taxes diligently every year the day tax season starts and will pass this wisdom to the girls.

pero. he’s very good at judging if you need something or not. if it can’t feed you, keep you healthy, kill someone, or protect you, you don’t need to buy it. definitely not a man who indulges in trinkets and frivolous things that do nothing but weigh down his horse and his person. will encourage this way of thinking with whoever travels with him to whatever extent he can, but won’t be a dick about it if you have something sentimental on your person. if it’s a necessity, he will splurge on a bed and bath at an inn but not much else for a while. cheap because he has to be

marcus p. i don’t think i have to explain this one so i won’t. no i’m not being lazy who said that?

maybe you’ll be fine if he’s in charge. maybe:

oberyn. being a prince (and himself), there are different ways this could go. he spends his money frivolously at brothels & on his daughters + other loved ones (as well as other luxuries) and doesn’t really seem to be the type to keep tabs on it all as he goes. but... he’s a prince in a prosperous kingdom and so there isn’t really a worry for money. he’s known as the red viper for many reasons, including his clever nature and the ease with which he can get what he wants thru whatever means necessary. if you want for something that he can’t buy, you know he will find a way to get it for you (which can be a problem sometimes).

max. he’s good with money in the sense of perpetuating capitalism — that’s the red flag here. hell, he’s gonna be investing into bitcoin and who knows what stock market bs & bc it’s max, of course you trust him. max can’t control the stock market tho, so sometimes things are a little iffy. it always evens itself out though, and you make sure in the future that he invests his money instead of your joint money. he’s still gonna share anyways, it just helps you have a little more peace of mind.

frankie. he just wants to take care of you, okay? you can’t fault him for that 🥺 he maneuvers his budget around to make sure he can do all these nice things for you while leaving his own needs unchecked, which isn’t okay. he just wants to provide for the ppl he loves the best he can, but the problem begins when he starts to think he isn’t doing enough. his insecurity & lack of self-worth (fueled by his guilt for “not being everything you deserve”) is what makes him agree to the Trip™️ in the first place. once he comes back & sees you frantic, only wanting him home and not giving a flying fuck about the money, does he realize that you’re devoted to him and not what he can do for you.

whiskey. working for statesman made him forget what things really cost bc he suddenly never had to worry again about not having enough money. being with someone that isn’t practically made of money will snap him back into reality. he looks at his bank statements and his balance occasionally, but our big spender cowboy hasn’t really counted money as something he worries about for a while. when he constantly showers you in expensive gifts (only the best for his baby, that’s his motto) and you tell him that he has to not do that bc he’ll go broke, he plays it off because he doesn’t remember having to worry. separate bank accounts are only because you want to make sure your money is being spent smartly (even though jack has offered constantly to pay for literally anything you need).

don’t give him anything you want to see again:

maxwell. as much as i love this dork, he’s absolute shit with money. when his business is falling apart (bc he made the stupid ass decision to buy the oil rigs no one wanted bc they weren’t producing oil), he throws it all into saving face and trying to make investors buy into something that isn’t there. what a smart business man would’ve done was liquidate his assets and possibly try to get into a business that will yield at least some profit. he does learn his lesson tho and eventually can be trusted with money, but even he is hesitant to do anything with the household finances. he’s a dreamer, and dreams and money are the same as oil and water.

javier. i know you’re possibly surprised but hear me out. he’ll go all in to get info, whether he’s spending american taxpayer money or his own money or anyone else’s, if it’s valuable info that can be bought, it’s gonna be bought even if he goes without groceries for the next two weeks. before being with you, it was booze and prostitutes and cigarettes that ate away at his checks outside of buying information. the only thing that really changed once you got together was the prostitutes and slightly less cigarettes and booze. however, when he goes back to laredo permanently, he’s perfectly capable of keeping his shit in line. he’ll balance every checkbook in sight and run a tight af ship.

ezra. this man is a scavenger by necessity, a con man by choice. he has a silver tongue and a roguish charm and pretty questionable morals; he’s not gonna have any issue with getting his hands dirty. he’s probably gonna use your joint money to try and pull a fast one on some unsuspecting stranger (“it’ll double our money,” he says, “it’ll be fine,” he says), but then said stranger will end up turning the tables and leave you both absolutely broke. yeah he will feel guilty, no doubt. the only problem is that he won’t take it as a “hey don’t do it again” lesson, it’ll be a “this is how i can improve for next time.” eventually you have to put your foot down and take control of the money and when he realizes that you’re improving your lives much better than he is, he will thank you for it.

all pedro character taglists: @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @obirain @leias-left-hair-bun @themarcusmoreno @catsnkooks @captainrexstan @mackstrut @torradoza @simping-for-fives @stardustsunrisekisses @darthadeline @artemis61003 @majorshiraharu @getdookuedon @capricornrabies @max--phillips @darklingveracruz @book-of-anarchy @andysficrecs @purelypascal @whovianwar @lv7867 @hornystarwarsbisexual @kaermorons @princess76179 @pedropasscals @greeneyedblondie44 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @qhbr2013 if you don’t want to be tagged, lemme know!! the link to join is in my bio

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mymoonagedaydream · 4 years ago

Note

ps, idk what the biker/college bucky story will include but i can throw out the idea of doing the modern day army veteran Bucky as a one shot or something? or whatever you don't include in the series lol

Recluse

Summary: You barely even expected to get a conversation out of Steve’s reclusive roommate, never mind anything more than that.

Pairing: Modern Veteran!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Language, smut references, references to military service

Author’s Note: You bet your butt I can do that for you anon. This one really got out of hand idk what happened man I couldn’t stop.

---

You’d been living with your friend Sharon for a couple of years now, and it was still going pretty well.

Your ground-floor apartment was very compact, but she was so considerate and easy to get on with, you barely even noticed the lack of space. She cooked for you occasionally, always paid rent on time, even did your laundry without being asked.

You just couldn’t help thinking that things were much more fun when you were both single.

Nothing much had changed in your life, you were still a lone wolf, but she’d been with Steve for almost six months now and you barely ever saw her anymore.

Most nights you were just left to your own devices, clattering around the apartment like some sad old spinster.

It got to the point where, one Friday when you got home from work, you heard Steve and Sharon talking in the kitchen and got excited at the prospect of just having some company for the evening.

Sharon almost jumped on you as soon as you walked in. ‘Y/n! Are you free tonight?’

‘Yeah, totally, completely. You guys sticking around?’

‘You think he’d ever agree to that?.’

‘We were actually thinking of going out for some drinks. You in?’ You contemplated for a second, not wanting to come across too eager, then gave her an enthusiastic nod.

As she grinned back at you, you saw an idea dawn on her. ‘Steve, you should totally bring Bucky.’

Sharon frowned in resignation. You had no idea who they were talking about, their conversation going completely over your head.

Steve went home to change, leaving you and Sharon with a couple hours to get ready before heading out, so you thought you might as well try to probe a little deeper.

‘Who’s Bucky?’ You asked casually, sitting on her bed, watching her hold dress after dress up to herself in the mirror.

‘Steve’s roommate.’

‘I didn’t know Steve had a roommate?’

‘I’d be more surprised if you did.’ She turned towards you. ‘In six months I’ve only met him twice.’

Your eyebrows darted up. She spent so much time at Steve’s place, that made no sense at all.

‘What? Why?’

‘I’m pretty sure he makes a point to avoid people generally.’ She flopped herself down next to you on the bed, her tone lowering to one of deep sincerity. ‘He was in the army with Steve. Apparently he just really struggled to adapt when they got back, collapsed in on himself for a while. I think he’s a mechanic now but Steve is still the only person he really speaks to.’

‘Shit, that’s awful.’

She gave a grim nod and shrugged slightly, before standing back up and starting to get changed.

You figured you should do the same, shuffling back to your room and finally taking off your work clothes, relieved at the thought of getting out of the apartment for the evening.

Just as you were about to leave, Sharon’s phone pinged.

‘Holy shit.’

‘What?’ You’d never seen her look so shocked. She put her index finger up at you while quickly typing something back. ‘You’re killing me here Sharon, what the hell is going on?’

‘Bucky’s coming.’

---

You managed to find a cramped table in the back of the bar. Sharon made you wait for Steve to arrive before ordering drinks, because for some reason he always insisted on buying the first round.

About ten minutes after you arrived, she glanced over to the door, grinned and waved her hand above her head. Following her gaze, you saw Steve pushing through the crowd, followed closely by a statuesque, tower of a man.

Studying him intently as he approached, you noticed how visibly uncomfortable he was, his jaw clenched tight and his hands folded into slowly whitening fists. You let your eyes dance over his huge shoulders and wide chest, feeling your stomach flip a little as he got closer.

‘Hey guys. Sharon, you remember Buck?’ Steve gave his friend a proud pat on the shoulder. Sharon nodded and grinned at Bucky, getting only a short, tight smile in return. ‘And this is y/n.’

Looking up to his face, his sharp blue eyes briefly met yours, prompting you to quickly avert your gaze. He looked tense enough without you gawping at him.

‘Nice to meet you.’ You adopted the friendliest tone possible, doing your best to put him at ease.

Steve went to grab some drinks and Sharon volunteered to help him, leaving you at the table with Bucky, bracing yourself for some intensely awkward small talk.

‘So, you’re a mechanic?’ He nodded. ‘Do you enjoy it?’ Another nod.

Alright, he obviously wasn’t in the mood for chatting.

Christ. If you didn’t break free from this spinster shit soon, that’s exactly where you’d end up.

You didn’t want to force it if he wasn’t comfortable, you could happily sit in silence if that’s what he’d prefer.

You moved your eyes to scan the room, eventually landing on an older woman propping herself up at the bar, downing martinis, eyeing up young men and wobbling on her insanely high heels.

‘What do you do?’

It was barely a mumble, you hardly heard it over the bar’s background music.

Your eyes returned to Bucky’s face, meeting his hesitant gaze.

‘I work in HR, so boring admin stuff mainly.’ He nodded slightly, his eyes flicking nervously between the table and your face. ‘But occasionally I get to use the shredder, which is pretty rad.’

He cracked a brief smile, the sight of it giving you a wave of goosebumps. ‘Sounds thrilling.’

‘I’ve never been here before, have you?’ You were determined to keep this conversation going, especially if there was a chance that you’d be able to make him smile again.

‘No. I haven’t been to any bars recently.’

‘You’ve got quite a bit of catching up to do then.’

Resting your head on your hand, you gave him a mischievous smirk, and felt a little smug as you noticed his shoulders relax slightly and the corners of his mouth curl upwards.

Hours passed, the bar called last orders, and the four of you traipsed out to begin walking home.

Then Steve and Sharon came back with the drinks, pretty effectively ruining the moment you’d been setting up.

Bucky went quiet again, keeping to himself for most of the evening, only speaking when spoken to. You felt his gaze fall on you occasionally, but each time you tried to meet his eyes they were quickly averted.

‘Oh hey, I forgot to ask.’ Steve gestured towards you. ‘Sharon said you went to visit your parents last weekend? How was that?’

‘I couldn’t go in the end, my car's fucked. It’s my own fault, everyday there was a new rattling sound but just ignored it.’

‘I’ll take a look at it.’ Your eyes snapped over to Bucky, a little shocked at how enthusiastically he’d come out with that. ‘If you want.’

You gave him a wide smile. ‘Wow, yeah, that’d be amazing. Thank you.’

---

A few days later, you were faced with another evening alone while Sharon was at Steve’s.

You unenthusiastically pulled a ready meal out of the fridge and poked some holes in the plastic, shoving it in the microwave and reaching for the half-empty bottle of wine on the counter.

‘Hi. Sorry. I was coming this way and Sharon said you’d be in, I thought I could take a look at your car?’

Just as you went to grab a glass out of the cupboard, you were stopped by a faint knock at the front door.

Shuffling over and yanking it open, you saw Bucky standing on your doorstep, looking just as uncomfortable as he did walking into that bar.

You were a little embarrassed that he’d caught in your pyjamas at 6:30, but that feeling was hugely outweighed with how pleased you were to see him.

‘Yeah, great.’ You gave him a warm smile. ‘I’ll just grab my keys.’

You found your gaze pretty quickly drawn to his arms, propping him up as he leant over the machinery like thick, hefty tree trunks. It was amazing how entranced you were by them, but considering how long it’d been since you’d even brushed past an attractive male, it made sense. God the things you’d let him do, if he-

You slipped on your shoes and led him over to the rustbucket, badly parked on the street outside. He flicked open the bonnet and immediately started tinkering.

You had less than no idea what was happening, but it looked very impressive.

‘Could you start it up?’ His deep voice pulled you out of your hazy fantasies.

‘Hmm? Oh, yeah.’

You tried your best to hide how flustered you were as you climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key. An intense rattling started, which he listened to for a second before signalling for you to turn it off and closing the bonnet.

‘You were right, it needs a lot of work. It’s definitely not safe to drive.’

‘Shit, stuck with the bus then.’ You sighed and climbed out, slamming the door behind you. ‘Thank you so much, you really didn’t have to do this. I appreciate it.’

‘Anytime.’ He smiled politely, taking a couple steps backwards before turning, dropping his head and starting to walk away.

‘You can come in for a drink if you want?’ You called after him, a little shocked at your boldness but not at all mad about it. He spun round. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

He took a sip and turned himself slightly to face you. ‘Look, if you bring your car to the shop where I work, I can probably keep the price down.’

His polite smile evolved into a wide grin as he nodded, following you inside.

You grabbed him a beer from the fridge and gestured for him to join you on the couch, smiling to yourself at how nervous he seemed as he balanced himself right on the edge of the seat.

‘Are you sure?’ He nodded. ‘That's so nice, you barely even know me.’

He looked a little sheepish at that, scurrying around for his words. ‘Sharon was pretty keen for me to come take a look, it’s probably best to keep Steve’s girlfriend on side, y’know.’

‘Oh I do know, Sharon can be terrifying.’ You both chuckled as Bucky edged back, settling himself into the couch a little more. ‘So you and Steve met in the army?’

‘We’ve been friends since we were kids, we signed up together.’

‘That’s nice.’ You tilted your head at him, deciding to take a slight gamble on your next question. ‘Do you miss it?’

He fixed his eyes on the ground and faintly shook his head, nervously starting to pick at the label on his bottle.

Shit, you really didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable, you were just curious.

A swift subject change remedied the situation somewhat, and after a while you sensed him beginning to relax again.

You finished off your glass of wine and checked your phone, your hand shooting up to your forehead in shock when you saw that it was close to midnight.

Over the next couple hours he slowly came out of his shell even further, eventually chatting and laughing with you like you were his good friend. The two of you unconsciously edged towards each other throughout the evening, ending up face to face with legs folded up on the couch, as close as you could get without touching.

‘Shit, I have work tomorrow.’

‘I’m really sorry.’ He put his bottle on the coffee table and stood up quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to keep you up.’

‘Oh you don’t have to apologise, it’s not your fault. I had a really nice evening.’

‘Me too.’ He smiled and buried his hands in his pockets, following you to the front door. ‘I’m working every day this week, you can come in whenever.’

‘Friday would be great? I have the day off.’

‘See you then.’

You watched him disappear down the street, feeling your limbs tingle with excitement at the prospect of seeing him again so soon.

---

You usually used your days off to sleep in till midday, but on Friday the tow truck showed up at 7am to take your car to the shop. You didn’t even get up that early on workdays. A pint of coffee was barely enough to keep you from passing out on the ride there.

He eventually noticed you stood there, staring, and your face immediately heated up as he approached.

You hurried inside the garage, scanning the room and eventually spotting Bucky underneath a hoisted truck, reaching up to work on it. His arms were glistening with oil and sweat and his shirt was riding up, exposing the faint trail of hair starting underneath his bellybutton.

Lord in heaven, what a view.

‘Sorry, didn’t want to interrupt.’

‘That’s alright.’ He pulled a dirty rag out of his pocket and roughly wiped his hands. ‘Did you bring the deathtrap?’

‘Yep, just outside.’

‘It’s gonna be a while. I finish at four, d’you wanna come back then?’

‘Sure.’

You walked up the driveway ten minutes early, which you thought was reasonable, and asked the very intimidating guy out front for Bucky. He just eyed you up and down and gestured vaguely to the side of the building.

On the way home you kept accidentally walking into roads, your mind completely occupied with Bucky’s midriff.

The whole day dragged. In your boredom you ended up leaving for the garage about an hour too early, meaning you had to loiter in an off-license, probably looking like you were shoplifting.

Turning the corner, you were met with a pretty impressive, cinematic wide shot of Bucky’s arse as he was leaning over the inside of your bonnet.

You should probably say something. Tell him you were there. Say hello.

Yeah, probably should.

Yeaaah.

You sighed and reluctantly shuffled towards the car.

‘How’s it-’ Bucky jumped and whacked his head against the propped-up bonnet. ‘Fuck! I’m so sorry, are you alright?’

He smiled at you, standing up and rubbing the back of his head. ‘Yeah, all good. Happens all the time.’

‘Oh, really? In that case you might want to consider a career change, could end up with some permanent damage.’ Chuckling, he reached up and slammed the bonnet with one powerful movement. ‘How’s it looking?’

‘Not bad. Want to take it for a spin?’

‘Sure.’ He held up the keys and you grabbed them out of his hand, excitedly hopping in the driver’s seat while he walked around and got in the passenger side. ‘You coming?’

‘Can’t just let you drive off without paying, you might never come back.’

You shot him a wide smile as you fired up the engine, amazed at how smooth it sounded, and pulled away from the garage.

‘I can’t believe it, it didn’t even run this good when I first got it.’ He smirked a little and nodded. ‘Thank you, Buck.’

You were already in the outskirts of the city, so you decided to drive out into the sticks a little, eventually pulling up into a dusty layby on a narrow side road.

Glancing to your side, you saw that Bucky was struggling not to look very pleased with himself.

As he began stroking his thumb along your knuckles, he cautiously pulled his gaze up to your face, looking at you like you’d just told him he’d won the lottery.

His hands were resting on his thighs and, almost unconsciously, you reached out to grab the one closest to you and squeeze it lightly.

He stared down at it for a few seconds, eventually turning his hand over and squeezing back.

You could barely even remember what happened next. You remember the back of your neck tingling, your stomach tightening almost to the point of becoming painful, the feeling of Bucky’s rough, calloused hand against your cheek and the way your heart jumped when he leaned towards you and pressed his mouth against yours.

Eventually pulling away, he buried his face in your neck, planting short kisses along your jawline between laboured breaths. You pushed his head back against the seat and pressed your forehead to his, closing your eyes and letting your hands dance down his chest.

It was slow and tender at first, but it quickly picked up, becoming feverish and passionate.

He threw his arms around your waist and roughly pulled you over onto his lap, holding you so tight to his chest that you couldn’t tell whose heart you could feel thumping like a steam engine.

‘It’s been a while since I’ve done that.’ He sighed, bringing a hand up to bury itself in your hair.

‘Me too.’ Your mouth curled into a smile. ‘It’s been even longer for other stuff.’

Melting into each other in a cacophony of limbs and flesh and tearing clothes, both of you eventually found the release you so desperately needed.

There was a loaded silence, you opened your eyes to see Bucky staring at you intently, wearing an expression that made your toes curl.

You dived clumsily into the backseat and pulled him after you, giggling as you both adjusted yourselves, trying to get even slightly comfortable in such a tight space.

And both of you did all you could to savour the feeling of finally having someone to hold close.

---

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bubblegumbeech · 4 years ago

Text

Passing Through

Dannymay Day 5: Doorway

“Don’t go in there,” his mother warned. Her voice shook. “Never go through that door.”

Danny had no intention of ignoring his mother, especially since the night she’d given him that warning was seared so thoroughly in his mind he didn’t think even as an adult he’d ever forget it.

It had been dark, but not any darker than any other night with Danny’s myriad nightlights and glowing stars stuck everywhere he could reach and then some. The night had long since settled, and Danny was supposed to be sleeping and was instead, like any young child, not doing that.

In fact, he’d been staring out his window, arm balanced on the sill and face pressed up against the glass so he could see the night sky in all her glory. It was one of the only times he felt truly comfortable, alone and with his parents and sister asleep. He often imagined himself sailing amongst those stars. Or flying high enough to reach out and cradle one to his chest.

Jazz always told him that was impossible, that each star was as far away from each other as they were from earth, if not further. He told her she could eat dirt, and she got a hurt look in her eyes that made him feel bad, but he didn’t apologize because she was being mean first.

He’d been preoccupied, that’s why he didn’t notice it at first.

When the soft pink touch of the sun started obscuring the night’s stars, Danny realized he’d been up all night and he was probably going to fall asleep in class again. He turned around to quickly dive into bed to at least feign having slept so his parents didn’t scold him and feel like they had to check in on him at night the way they threatened to last time.

He hadn’t expected the door.

It was small, very small compared to a normal door. It was just large enough that Danny could crawl through on all fours, and he knew there was no way his dad would ever be able to get through. At least not more than an arm. Maybe his head if he tried to dive through it.

The door was closed, a soft, purple light on the other side painting the carpet beneath where it stood, balanced, in the middle of the room. Acting as if it was placed in the wall like any good door, but missing the wall itself entirely.

Danny walked closer, his mind off bed times and getting ready for school entirely. Now he was thinking of adventures and stories Jazz used to read him before he could read himself. Stories of exploration and hidden worlds. His hand brushed against the polished brass handle, and a jolt of electricity flowed through him, causing every hair in his body to stand on end.

He probably should have let go then, released the handle and backed up, frightened. But instead Danny’s grip tightened and he twisted the nob, pulling it slowly open, his heart beating in rapt anticipation. It was barely open a sliver, the tiniest bit of purple light spilling out onto the frame, when his mother ran into the room and slammed it closed.

She was wearing a hazmat suit, as if she’d just come from the lab downstairs, with thick rubber gloves and ominous red goggles that reflected a twisted version of Danny’s face back at him as she pulled him into a tight, unforgiving hug.

“Thank goodness you’re safe,” she said, her words heavy with exertion. Had she run up here? How did she know there was a door?

Danny looked over his mother’s shoulder to take another look, but the door had vanished at some point when his eyes were no longer locked upon it. That was when she gave him her warning. The one he had no intention of ignoring.

The one he was disregarding now, for no reason other than he was sick of it. He was tired of the nights, laying awake and seeing a door that promised so much and had yet to be given the opportunity to deliver.

His mother would skin him alive if she knew, but she’d probably never find out. Honestly, if Tucker’s theories were true and it was some monster trying to trick him into its lair Coraline-style, it’d probably take at least a week for her to even realize he was gone. His dad probably wouldn’t notice at all.

Jazz…

Danny shook his head. If anything, Jazz would be the one to forgive him for being dumb. She understood what it was like to have this burning curiosity, this need to know.

The door didn’t always appear. Most nights it did, but only when Danny was distracted by something, usually the stars outside his window, sometimes a particularly fun video game or a good book. It only ever appeared right on the cusp of night and morning, before the sun rose fully but after the stars hid away. And it always waited for him to look away before it disappeared.

He didn’t plan on looking away tonight.

The first night after his mother’s warning, he’d stayed up all night, terrified, waiting for the door to appear. It never did. In fact, the next month, he spent every second awake expecting it to appear and being almost disappointed when it didn’t.

It appeared again, in much the same way it had the first time, while Danny was star gazing.

That’s why, now, knowing the rules (or rather what few rules he could tell from this side of the door), Danny was determined to follow through. None of his questions would be answered just waiting for the door to appear or not appear, nor would they be answered by spending time staring at it and studying it from the outside.

He needed to go through.

The brass knob was cold against his palm, and it turned easily. The click of the mechanism was loud in the night’s quiet. He held his breath. He opened the door.

There was no resistance when it swung open. Almost the opposite, in fact, like it had been waiting for an excuse. The soft purple light that had teased the edges of the door was much closer to a deep, swirling purple that looked almost like mist and obscured the path forward.

But Danny wasn’t scared.

He was curious.

He stepped through, and heard the door close softly behind him. Just like in a horror movie really, and exactly like the stories his mother told him, warning him of monsters and things from the other side.

It didn’t matter anymore, if he’d made the right choice. He’d made his choice and there was only one path to take. Danny walked into the mists and kept walking.

No more than an hour could have passed, but it felt like much longer. Time seemed to stretch along with the endless path, and Danny hadn’t come any closer to the answers he wanted.

He sighed. “Hello? Is anyone here?” he tried calling out, to no avail.

This was turning out to be a waste of a trip. With all the cryptic warnings, he’d hoped it wouldn’t be boring at the very least, yet here he was. The only difference between this and one of Sam’s ‘nature hikes’ was that Danny couldn’t see anything through the damned purple mist.

Or could he?

Danny squinted his eyes, catching something moving just to his left. It was very much hidden, the deep purple of its cloak camouflaged perfectly against the swirling purples all around him. He took a step closer, off the path, and felt the air still around him.

A voice, haunting and deep, startled him.

“A quick learner,” it said.

Danny felt his mouth go dry. There was actually someone here, someone that might not be human. Someone that could summon a door into a kids room for half a decade waiting for them to open it.

Someone who might have answers.

Danny stepped closer, and the mist seemed to gather, catching on itself and folding into a physical shape. The hooded figure. Danny forced himself not to blink. It felt like anything was possible, that if he looked away, he’d miss too much to make sense of it later.

The hooded figure turned to him and beckoned with one gloved hand, the other holding a twisting, intricate staff covered in shapes and symbols Danny couldn’t quite make out. Danny didn’t step any closer.

It was clear this man wasn’t human, or at the very least hadn’t been for some time. The only thing Danny could see hidden under the cloak was an old clock. But even then, Danny couldn’t tell whether it was something he was wearing on his chest or if it simply was his chest and there was nothing else.

“You’re still cautious, even now when you’ve already made your decision?” the figure asked. “Did you not seek an answer to your curiosity?”

Danny frowned. This whatever-it-was knew more than he was comfortable with. Had he been watching from the other side? How? Is that why the door only appeared when it did? Why couldn’t he just open the door and step out if his goal was to spirit Danny away like in the stories?

There were just so many questions, and Danny still didn’t have any answers.

“Do you actually have any answers or are you just going to eat me?” he asked, growing irritated. It had been a long night, made longer by his fruitless walk, and it was starting to affect his temper.

Instead of answering, the figure lowered his arm, tilting his head to the side. “If you thought I was going to eat you, why did you come through the door? You’ve been very good at ignoring it so far.”

“Yeah see,” Danny said, throwing up his hands, “that kind of stuff only makes you sound more creepy and suspicious, you know! If your goal is child eating you should set up, idk a candy house or something. Pretend to be a grandma, I hear that works wonders provided you stay out of your own oven.”

The figure laughed. It sounded, off, not like a noise Danny recognized, but more like a collage of sounds: a ticking clock chiming with heavy clanking clockwork all wrapped in canary song and it vibrated all the way through Danny from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It filled the air around them much like the mist once did and Danny felt glee himself, caught up as he was.

He looked up desperately at the figure, trying to keep ahold of himself and how he truly felt, lost in the sudden sea of emotion. The figure’s cloak was bunched up, as if he was doubled over in laughter, his gloves clutching at his staff and the entire collection shaking with slight tremors.

The hood turned towards him, empty, and Danny’s panic spiked. The laughter stopped, and the figure stood once more, pulling the hood further down and hiding the nothingness underneath.

“I apologize,” he said, sincere. “It’s been some time since I’ve felt in such good humor, and you took me off guard. I hope you didn’t get too swept away?”

Danny, who was still definitely feeling the effects of the other’s laughter, shook his head no. “I’m alright. I just- what are you?”

“I am like Clockwork,” he answered readily. “Though the question you should be asking, Daniel, is what are you? That is a much more interesting answer.”

Disagreeing vehemently, Danny shook his head. Like Clockwork? Was that his name? Why he had a clock, er, was a clock? How did that work? What was he? Simply what his name implied? Something more? There were a billion and a half questions he wanted answers to that were more interesting than that.

Then again, there had to be a reason he said it, right? “Okay Clockwork, I’ll bite. What am I?”

He could swear the thing smiled. “You are halfway there.”

#dannymay2021 #danny phantom #clockwork #danny fenton #horror #horror themes #loosely based off TPoH #but not nearly that well thought out #Bee's writing

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rosemary-is-in-pesterquest · 4 years ago

Note

HS2's themes are fuckin wack crap cuz like... idk it all starts with the epilogues, right? the thing that the epilogues are trying to say is that all conflict that the characters face within the narrative is there because the audience cast their gaze upon this story and demanded entertainment. something has to happen on the stage to keep us watching, thus, it is the audience's fault that the characters suffer. but that's bullshit for so many reasons. for one thing, it ignores the role of the author. audience demand doesn't force an author's hands to write... that's a decision that the author made. we could've lived with nothing at all.

and conflict comes in many flavors. some stories hardly have any conflict at all. the whole iyashikei genre exists, like, I think we're well past understanding that cynicism, tragedy, and destruction are not the only forces that can drive a narrative. "conflict" is not the only reason for a story to be told. once again, stories tell us as much about the author as their audience. the kind of story an author deems worthy of telling is just as relevant to consider as the kind of story an audience deems worthy of attention.

and even in conflict driven stories... it matters what the conflict is, who wins, how, and why. as a simple example, when the conflict is a battle between good and evil, good wins, it does so by way of the power of friendship, and the reason it is presented this way is to promote the idea that you should be kind and help others... that's a story with a purpose. obviously this is like, children's cartoon level simple, and a story can be written to say different or more complex things, but I should always be able to ask those questions and come up with an answer.

if, as an author, Hussie wanted to accuse his audience of being culpable in the suffering of his characters, he would at least have to present the reader with a meaningful choice. and at first glance, it would almost seem like he did. meat and candy, even by their naming convention, seem as though they are giving you the option to consume a light or dark tale. but even in the names, there is a seed of judgement. Hussie has described the concept of a narrative containing both "meat" and "candy" in terms of story content, wherein meat is anything heavy in terms of plot or drama, and candy is anything that provides levity as a counterbalance, such as jokes or feel good fluff. these categories are already identified as "substance" vs. "a lack of substance" which places value on the cynical, dark route as being more truthful... conflating cynicism with realism.

and already I can see making a case for the idea that neither route is legitimate, because no story should subsist on just one or the other... both need to be at play for the story to be balanced. and you could even argue that the lampooning of the epilogues' legitimacy was the point... that they were supposed to be outside of canon and regarded as illegitimate all along. but then not only does that negate the author's ability to let the audience choose the kind of story they're participating in, but the story itself doesn't play by its own rules.

does candy truly read like some fluffy pandering fanservice filler, the way one might expect it to? and is meat totally devoid of any levity, while focusing only on plot machinations and/or the characters' dramatic downward spiral? I would argue that, even though the consensus seems to be that both routes are equally dismal, neither even gets dark enough to live up to that end of the bargain either. the execution is messy... the concept doesn't hold up.

and what of the initial concept? that the audience's observation of a story forces the characters to enact a conflict for the sake of our entertainment? is that really what's going on here? from the initial pitch, you could already tell that the answer was no. nobody asked for this. and so we cast our apparently destructive audience gaze onto Homestuck 2.

but there, we find another curveball. the story is... almost becoming self aware? in that it casts a character in the role of the author, and also identifies him firmly as the villain. but see, this is still a blame shift. and maybe that would've been less obvious if Andrew Hussie had not introduced himself as a character inside of his own web comic throughout the original narrative. the true author is already here.

the villain of homestuck was never the audience, and it was never a fictional character. if we're really shattering the 4th wall... if we're really ceasing our suspension of disbelief, pulling back the curtain, and acknowledging that these characters are fabricated, manipulated entities with real people behind the wheel, then there is only one conclusion we can possibly come to. the author has control over the narrative... no one else. and the things the author chooses to say with the platform they've made for themselves? those things are on them. what are we to understand about the author, as his audience?

this is why people are looking past the story entirely and engaging with the creative team, for better or for worse. if you break your story enough, it won't work anymore. and when the audience finds it in shambles, completely unusable as a story... you know, the thing it was intended to be? they might actually look to the people who broke it and ask them why they did that. it was a nice story. it performed several functions that people actually enjoyed. was dismantling it like this really the most fulfilling thing they could've done with it?

and I'll tell you another thing. part of why people take it so personally is because, just like how Andrew Hussie, the homestuck character, was a stand-in for Andrew Hussie, the human being... many of the characters in homestuck were stand-ins for us. John Egbert was for people who had an obsessive nerdy interest in movies, Rose was for people who wrote fanfiction, Nepeta was for people who ship characters a lot, she and Terezi were for people who RP, and also... Dave was for people who were trying to act cooler than they felt, Jade was for people who were lonely, Kanaya was for people who wanted to help people and be accepted, Vriska was for people who were hard to love and felt judged for that.

who do these writers think they're messing with?

and I just want to make it clear that I'm not condoning any kind of harassment of them, or anything like that. ultimately, my point here is that we are not our effigies. and in the same way that an author can't blame shift onto a fictional character, a person cannot claim the direction of a fictional story as a reason to do real harm.

but homestuck was always unique in that it spoke very directly to its audience. when Hussie added real pieces of us to his fake people, he had a powerful vehicle for the messages that he wanted us to hear. lots of stories have characters that are written to be relatable, but you'd be hard pressed to find ones that feel quite so specific as the cast of homestuck. to our era. to our humor. to the values of people growing up in our online cultural circumstances.

if this specific author is going to choose to act like a villain, at least in the small-scale context of this comic, then what is that setting us up to be? maybe nothing so presumptuous as a hero... maybe just like, Dave of Guy, y'know? but Dave made normal a pretty heroic thing to be... I think it's up to us to just be normal and have normal fun, in spite of the shit show. regular old homestuck already said all the valuable stuff it was gonna. for my part, I'm just gonna take that and run off with it. ignoring HS2 doesn't make it go away, but paying attention to it doesn't make it good either... so I guess whatever.

that's the themes. the themes are just a big "so what" shrug. most complicated way to say "who cares" I've ever seen.

This is a really good analysis

#long post /#I should probably start using that tag just in case it clogs up people's feeds

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spencersawkward · 4 years ago

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switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 8

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

pairing: Fem!OC/Spencer

word count: 3.9k

content warnings: discussion of a dead body (for a case), discussion of sensory overload (idk if that's a warning but just in case).

A/N: sorry this took so long! i've had a lot of writer's block with this series, but i'm feeling a lot more motivated with it, now. anyway enjoy!

masterlist

my feet slam into the pavement at a rate that makes me wonder if my heart can take it. I can feel the air in my lungs, stinging, and the way it never seems like enough. I can't stop. my arms are pumping and my legs burn.

I'm sure I look like a mess right now, exhausted and sweaty as I make my way up the biggest hill by my apartment. I haven't been running in a while, and this incline is even more daunting than it was before.

I use the momentum I've built from before now and force myself up. every breath rips through me violently until I'm sure that if I stop running, I'll collapse. but I keep pushing, knowing it'll be worth it.

I hated running until college. just absolutely despised the thought of getting outside and forcing myself to move quickly. the older I get, though, the more refreshing it's gotten. it helped me escape from midterms, from the pressure that constantly seemed to mount with every passing day. sometimes it feels like all of it keeps piling on, and it's never going to stop.

of course, that's not really the way to look at life. I've had things to balance out the work, friends to call and ways to let out the hammering violence that always seem to fill the spaces between my ribs. running clears my head when nothing else does.

once I get to the top, I bend over and rest my palms on my knees so that I can relax. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and can feel my pulse thudding against my throat. it's good, though. I needed to do this again, to get exercise.

I resist the urge to lay down flat on the pavement. DC isn't really a good place to do that; everyone around me is on a morning stroll with their partner or they're out for a jog themselves. I pass several enthusiastic-looking dogs out for a walk. the sheer number of people around me should make me feel normal.

it doesn't.

I straighten and stretch out my muscles, wincing at the way my calves feel if I move them funny. I don’t want to get called in for a case today, but that's naive. there will always be another case because there will always be people we need to stop. maybe I'm just not jaded enough to not care. I like to think that's a good thing, though.

...

when I head into the office a couple hours later, there's a to-go cup of coffee resting on my desk. I smile to myself, set my bag down and shrug off my coat, then peek over the divider to see Spencer with a case file open and an identical to-go cup a couple inches away.

"is this your doing?" I refer to the coffee. he nods and smiles at me, seemingly not in the mood to talk.

"thanks, Reid."

sitting down to do some work, I sneak a peek at him. Spencer is acting different from last weekend. more shy. I'm not really sure the reason, unless he just felt particularly outgoing at the party and is now back to his default self.

we get a case before the hour is up, and then my mind is occupied by the details.

jet rides, though now a familiar routine, are probably my favorite part of the job. I don't feel totally unproductive, but I still have time to unwind and talk to people on our way. Emily and I have gotten much closer within the past few weeks and sometimes she tells me stories about her old job that keep me on the edge of my seat.

there's something so mysterious about her that I just appreciate; she's like a cool older cousin to me. and she's great at making fun of Morgan, which is something that I've found enjoyable as well. sometimes he needs to be knocked down a peg-- she's the woman to do it.

"how many?" I trace my finger down the smooth skin of Derek's arm, where he's lifted his sleeve just enough to show the inked lion. it's a big tattoo, and I'm somewhat surprised he has one at all. he just doesn't really seem the type.

"five right now." he flexes his bicep flirtatiously, and I immediately remove my hand with a repulsed expression, rolling my eyes at the chuckle he lets out.

"don't feed his ego like that." Emily warns from across the table. she's flipping through one of the plant magazines that we've stashed in the snack cupboards (much to Hotch's disapproval). I turn to see Morgan's reaction.

"you a little jealous, Prentiss?" he teases. her only response is a glance that dares him to push further. they both know that Emily has absolutely no interest in him, which I suppose adds to their friendship. Morgan leans down by my ear, but he makes no effort to quiet his voice. "you should ask about her tattoos."

"you have tattoos?" my eyes widen at this, voice a little louder than usual. Hotch glances over at us from his seat a ways away, but doesn't say anything. Reid is passed out on the couch, strangely tired for the middle of the day; Rossi's writing something in his miniature journal.

"that's not anyone's business." she says more to Morgan than to me.

"I wanna see!" I set my glass of ice water down on the table and straighten up. Emily pretends to be exhausted by the persistence, but she closes her magazine momentarily.

"look, I can't show them all here." she raises a suggestive eyebrow.

"then how does Derek know?" I smirk. Emily makes a face, but Morgan is the one who replies.

"this one gets a little loose-lipped when she drinks too much." he teases. I snort and glance at Emily. I've seen her tipsy before, but never drunk. at most, she gets affectionate with all of us and calls us her best friends in the whole world. which, honestly, isn't an unwelcome sentiment.

"I do not." she argues.

"yeah, you do." Reid mumbles from the couch cushion where he's been resting his head. I jump at the sudden noise, and we all turn to him.

"look who's up." Emily smiles. Reid stretches his legs out, limbs so long that his feet hang off the end of the couch. he's wearing mismatched socks again today, one with bananas and one covered in sushi rolls. I smile to myself.

"I'm not," he argues. "someone had to correct you."

Morgan and I let out an amused laugh. my eyes dart between Spencer and the two other agents. "I feel like I'm the only one here who hasn't seen Prentiss drunk."

"yes, you have." she frowns.

"no. not, like, plastered."

"don't let Garcia hear you say that." Morgan laughs. I snort.

"why?"

"any excuse to party, and she'll take it." he shakes his head affectionately.

"she'd just call it bonding." Prentiss adds in. I have a soft spot in my heart for Pen. for all of the darkness we see here, she makes it a little bit brighter with her quips and sparkly pens and neon glasses. she's a blessing.

"what's so bad about that?" I defend for her sake.

"nothing's wrong with it, per se," Emily shrugs. "it just means we aren't as professional as we should be."

"I'd argue that our job actually means we get to let loose more when we have the time." I shrug. Morgan offers his fist to pound, and I oblige with a satisfied smile.

"you two are children, you know that?" Emily gestures between Derek and me. I shrug, about to return to my crossword when she speaks again. "how many tattoos do you have, Clea?"

I blink for a second, deciding whether or not to lie. it would be kind of cool to sound badass, but I don't know if I even have the mental capability to fib to a bunch of profilers. "none."

"what?" Morgan looks at me with confusion.

"yeah, none. why is that such a big surprise?" I laugh at their reactions. Prentiss is alarmed, too.

"I don't know-- you seem like the kind of person to get a heart tattooed on your thigh or something." Morgan shrugs. I make a face, silent.

"that's offensive."

Prentiss snorts and finishes her drink. I peek over and see Reid with his eyes closed but a slightly amused smile on his face. by the couch, I can see through the window. we're slipping through gray clouds that are saturated with rain, and the weather change causes the jet to shake a bit.

my fingertips wrap around the arm of the seat and Emily eyes me warily.

"you okay?"

"don't like flying." I answer, nostrils flaring slightly. usually with these trips, I've been able to hide my apprehension for flying by holding onto my knee below the table or something, but the sudden jerks are putting me off.

it's stupid-- plane anxiety is ridiculously common, and I don't think it's necessarily unwarranted. the problem is that to a bunch of people trained in behavioral analysis, it shows a blatant fear of not having control.

which is true, but it's not like I need that plastered all over my face every time we board a flight.

"would you get a tattoo if you could?" Emily changes the subject, thankfully, and I bite down on my bottom lip.

"I think so, yeah." it's said without much thought; all that's on my mind right now is wondering what our ETA is. Morgan shifts in his seat to smirk.

"really."

"sure."

he nods appreciatively before turning to look back out the window. droplets of moisture are collecting there, but they only distort the image of Portland stretched out below. the water is steel gray and rippled with wind.

I've never been here. for some reason, I find myself wondering what it smells like. that mingling of city scent and ocean, if they meet in the middle to form their own distinct identity. if it will settle on my tongue and in my clothes.

it's funny to me that when I go to different places and return, I don't notice how different it all smells until I breathe it in through the fabric of my shirts, and from there it all comes rushing back. Spencer mentioned during a case once that scent creates the most powerful memory reaction out of all our senses-- and I believe it.

DC smells like humidity and rain-slicked streets, Montana like dust. even the jet has a particular one that I don't associate with anything right now, but I know I will in the future. like I'm standing in the formation of a memory.

half-baked.

...

we've got the hoods of our raincoats up as we make our way into the office of our latest victim. Morgan holds the door and I wander in, staring up at the enormous glass walls of the place. a stray droplet falls from the hood of my jacket and onto my nose, rolling down the bridge and causing me to sniffle.

her boss is surprisingly dismissive of us when we get to his office, reluctantly getting off a phone call and giving me something of a dead-fish handshake. as we take a seat at his desk, I can smell the overbearing stench of his expensive cologne.

he's got exactly the kind of look that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole: taut, judgmental face with a stiff mustache and slicked-back black hair that honestly is probably dyed. his eyes linger on me for a bit longer than I appreciate, but I clear my throat and try to brush off the discomfort.

Winona's body was found in a ditch off the side of a highway, dumped like trash. based on the ME report, she was alive when he threw her in, but died shortly after from her wounds. the whole thing is gruesome and as her employer notes her tendency to daydream and occasional tardiness, I want to reach across the table to smack him.

Morgan is able to keep his cool better than I can, nodding. I know it's important to know her behaviors in order to build our profile, but I still don't like the way this guy is talking about her.

"she wasn't really the strongest employee we've got, but she was nice enough around the office." he shrugs. I notice the gold wedding band that glints on his ring finger, the way he leans back in his swivel chair. he's got evaluative eyes.

by the time we're done, I'm practically flying out the door of his office and hurrying to the elevator. we got what we needed to know from him, if not through a somewhat convoluted method.

"nice guy." I note sarcastically after punching the down button. Morgan tucks his hands into his jeans pockets and looks at our warped reflections in the elevator doors.

"we talk to a lot of people like that. you get used to it."

"didn't seem too concerned about her at all."

"I don't think guys like that are concerned about much more than themselves."

"you should have mentioned a tax evasion investigation happening around here," I smirk. "that would probably put the fear of God into him."

Morgan chuckles and looks over at me. it would be unprofessional to fist bump with so many people around, although the smile we share is definitely a great equivalent.

as we pack into the metal box with a bunch of employees, they look at us curiously. the enormous FBI label on the back of our jackets probably doesn't help, but I pretend to look like I know what I'm doing as we step out into the lobby.

in all reality, faking it until I make it is the only thing I know how to do.

...

the late night cravings come as a surprise as I stand over a map of Portland. my eyes are starting to cross from staring at all the minuscule details for so long, and my fingers are twitching from a mixture of hunger and overloaded caffeine.

we were supposed to go to bed about two hours ago, but I know for a fact that I'm not the only one sitting in my motel room with open files and a determined expression. I do happen to be the only person rooming alone, however, and the silence has been helpful.

Reid's been working on a geographic profile, but there's something missing. I'm not sure what it is. all I know is that if I don't figure it out soon, it's going to eat away at me. based on his activity patterns, there are only a few more days before this guy abducts another woman.

except now I'm just thinking about how much time we don't have, and that sort of sends me into a spiral, too. I'm prepared to always be running against a clock for this job, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm going to lose it if I stare at any more tiny lines indicating roads or side streets or whatever else demands attention.

I need to get out of my head.

before taking time to really consider anything else, I grab my phone and look up pizza places nearby. what I need right now is some sustenance and tv-- or at least something to distract me enough to recharge.

I change into my pjs and wash my face while I wait for the delivery person to arrive, try to ease the day out of my bones. there used to be a whole process for me after work every day, where I'd shut off my brain. The Real Housewives of Atlanta provided ample help for this, along with fuzzy socks and glasses of red wine. I can make do with this.

once the pizza guy comes and I pay for my food, I don't even make way to my room; instead, I go to the person I know who needs this more than I do.

"Clea?" Spencer rubs his eyes as he swings open the door, glasses held in the other hand.

"hi." I smile brightly.

"what are you doing here?" his soft tone and the dim light from a motel lamp in the corner tells me that Morgan is asleep right now in the other bed.

in response to his question, I hold up the box of pizza with a grin. his eyes widen.

"I can't eat all this alone." definitely a lie, but saying that he needs to take a break probably wouldn't sway him enough.

for a second, Spencer seems to debate this in his head. when he runs a shaky hand through his hair, I roll my eyes. "it's pizza, dude. not a wedding proposal. you can go back to the case in twenty minutes."

he nods this time and looks up at me as I turn and start toward my room. closing the door gently behind him, I don't miss the way he increases his pace a little to catch up with me.

"did you get mushrooms?" he asks. I throw him a disgusted look before realizing what he's talking about and breaking into a grin.

"you remembered!" I reference my hatred of the fungus. Spencer smiles with pride, turns his gaze to the carpeted floors. I unlock the door and let us in.

"of course I remember," he snorts. "it's hard to forget."

I giggle at the way he immediately uses the sink to wash his hands, and I join him after setting the box on the bed.

"favorite soap scent?" I ask absently. suds cover my fingers as he rinses the water from his. normally, this isn't a question I'd ask, but Spencer seems like he would have a response.

"you know, I really enjoy anything fresh-smelling," he thinks about it. "like waterfall smell."

"I like those, too."

"what's your favorite?"

"there's this brand that I love that specializes in antibacterial soaps, and they have a lavender one that literally makes me ascend." I laugh. Spencer is drying his hands with a folded towel and his face lights up.

"Ravi's Organics?" he suggests. my heart leaps with recognition.

"yes! oh my god, have you used their cracked cinnamon one?"

"I have the hand sanitizer in my bag." Reid's eyes are so pretty. they sparkle with a hazel color, almost chocolatey in the cheap motel light.

"they have a hand sanitizer for it?" my jaw drops. he nods and I shake my head slowly. we walk over to the bed to eat the pizza. he seems hesitant, though, and pauses.

it takes me a second to remember that Spencer has different boundaries and is just kind of awkward in general. even though there's no obvious tension between us, I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I plop down on the floor.

"you like Ravi's Organics." he states it back to himself more than to me, and as I pop open the box to reveal a beautiful pepperoni pizza, I nod vigorously.

"yeah, it's actually kind of a funny story," we start to dig in immediately. I lift an enormous slice to my lips and bite into the perfection. it's so good. "when I was little, my parents used to call me Rascal."

"Rascal?" he laughs through a bite of food.

"like the raccoon? from that book?" it's a kid's story.

"why?" he snorts. I take a second to chew before replying.

"I just get really overwhelmed by certain sensory things-- like, I hate being sticky or having any kind of weird texture on my hands. so whenever we went out to eat or anything, I would always sit on the outside of the booth so I could run to the bathroom and wash my hands as I pleased." I explain all of this with a slight frown on my face. it's true, I've just never really thought about it.

"I don't like sticky stuff, either." he offers.

"yeah, it got pretty bad. but I guess I just grew out of it. I'm not sure when." I pluck a piece of pepperoni off the top and slide it into my mouth.

Spencer takes in this information for a second while he eats, and I'm momentarily worried that I've overshared. he came for some food and now I've served up a weird childhood memory to accompany it.

but then he does something funny and altogether endearing.

"actually, raccoons are very cleanly creatures, despite their dietary habits." he tells me.

frankly, it makes me feel better than anything else that he could have said. "fastidious little things, right?"

"exactly." he chuckles. his shoulders are hunched, elbows leaning on his knees.

"fix your posture." I say gently, noticing the way his spine curves abysmally when he's sitting across from me. his cheeks turn a pretty pink, but he follows directions.

"is it that bad?" he's a bit embarrassed. immediately, I soften and do what comes easily, making a joke.

"if you don't work on it, you're gonna be living in a French cathedral by the age of thirty."

Spencer snorts-- genuinely almost chokes on his food-- and looks at me with his almost childlike eyes. there's something in them that I can't decipher at all, almost so obvious that it completely goes over my head.

"that was mean." he's still trying to recover from the onset of giggles, and I lean forward to grab another slice, suppressing a proud grin myself.

"your future straight-backed self will thank me."

"I'll remember that." he nods dutifully.

"I'm sure you will."

we share a secretive smile before I bite into my pizza and launch into a different subject. the more I learn about Spencer, the more I want to know. I feel like there are things beneath every new surface that would be fascinating to understand.

"what's it like having an eidetic memory?"

he frowns like he isn't sure how to answer. I thought he'd already have something locked and loaded, a prepared response for a question he definitely gets frequently. when he opens his mouth, I find myself hanging on every word. "it's... interesting."

"blessing or a curse?"

"both."

"would you ever give it up if given the option?" I narrow my eyes a bit. I'm especially curious about this.

"no." this is delivered with certainty. for a second, I stare at him with about a million more questions in my head. of course, they're completely out-of-bounds and way too personal, but they're still there.

"hm." I say instead. as usual, delivering thrilling commentary at every turn.

Spencer peeks at me over his pizza for a second, seeming to want to say something else, but decides against it. our eyes meet; I'm not sure what it is, maybe a silent agreement or something else that's unspoken, but we decide not to press further on either end.

whatever he's got tucked away in that big brain of his, he's not ready to talk about it with anyone-- much less a new colleague in a dumpy motel. there's a time and place for certain things, and boundaries to respect.

I change the subject before he can make some lame excuse to leave. for some reason, I just don't want him to leave me here in this room.

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed for this series): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #best friends to lovers #fanfic #mgg #matthew gray gubler #baby spencer #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader

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