#it's been in the works for. checks bare forearm. an age and a day

[oddp1ant]

Chapters: 1/4 Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jayce/Viktor (League of Legends) Characters: Jayce (League of Legends), Viktor (League of Legends) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Missing Scene, set during act 1 timeskip, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Resolved Sexual Tension, resolved yearning pining etc., Trans Viktor (League of Legends), Trans Male Character, Porn with Feelings, or possibly feelings with porn, Slow Build, Tenderness, Character Study, Tags will update with chapters, explicit rating from chapter 3 Summary:

“Hey.” He nudges Viktor’s side. “If you could be anywhere right now, where would you go?”

Viktor nudges him back playfully. “By foot or by Hexgate?”

“Anywhere, your pick.”

“Home,” Viktor deadpans.

 In the light of their highest achievement yet, Jayce and Viktor discuss dreams, ambitions and desires.

[pedgito]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 — two: first to lose | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

chapter summary | Left to your own devices in the cabin with Joel, you lean toward other means of entertainment and a game over food leads to more than you're expecting.

author's note | beta'd by my lovely jo (@jolapeno) who i originally undertook this idea with. it has been really hard to focus lately, but i am itching to work away at my wips and this one has been sitting around for a while unedited. we're in a rut right now, but powering through.

chapter warnings | 18+, early outbreak, age gap (early 20s, mid 30s), morally grey!joel with trust issues, tommy is buffer, sex games, fingering, oral (m receiving), mentions of hunting and animals, joel is only softer when he's exhausted, they're both sore losers jsyk (more to come on that)

word count —4.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST, PLAYLIST, AO3

“There’s more out there,” Tommy says over your canned dinner, huddled around the fire in the living room as Joel stuffed his mouth full of beans, his conscious distance from you not going unnoticed. You were less layered, more comfortable, stripped down to your jeans and a tank top, your socks stuffed into the boots placed beside the couch, “I think another trip tonight and we’ll be good for at least a month, it’ll give us time to plan.”

“For?” You question, taking the last bite from your bowl before shoving it aside.

“Gotta find a QZ,” Tommy offers in response, “can’t survive like this forever.”

Joel seems less than hopeful, his eyes flickering away from the conversation and toward the fire. And Tommy, oblivious to the events that had transpired in his absence, doesn't address his brother’s pessimism. He’s learned to work around it, listen to his older brother when he sounded reasonable, and remain amicable around the rest of it.

He knew Joel’s tendencies, but found ignoring them was easier than bringing up the issue.

“Can I tag along this time?” You ask curiously, those pleading eyes falling on Tommy.

He chuckles, his spoon clanging against the ceramic as he shakes his head, halfheartedly as he speaks around the food he was chewing in his mouth, “I can handle it, kid. Besides, someone’s gotta keep an eye on Joel.”

You tense at the mention of his name, forcing a soft smile. Tommy doesn’t suspect a thing, wouldn’t even have the inclination, but the look of disdain Joel offers to you both stings.

“It’s a long drive, probably a couple days,” Tommy nods his chin up toward his brother and kicks at his foot, the boot scuffing against the wood, “you can teach her how to hunt while I’m gone.”

Joel doesn’t respond immediately and Tommy presses, leaning slightly to obscure his brother’s glare at the wall across from him, eventually Joel nods but it was entirely unconvincing and Tommy shakes his head in amusement, disapproval crossing his face as he chews at his bottom lip.

“Don’t hurt each other while I’m gone,” Tommy jokes, “alright?”

You smile half-heartedly and spin your knife on the barely standing end table to your left, “I can behave—right, Joel?”

Joel grunts, barely an acknowledgement at your expense as he walks between you two and lands on the couch, kicking off his boots over the edge and allowing himself to get comfortable, forearm slung over his eyes as he shimmied his shoulders down until he was comfortable.

“We’ll be fine.” You tell Tommy softly and he nods, looking at his brother with a brief frustration.

He could take you with him, he knows that. But, he’s almost fearful that Joel would run off in the middle of the night, that Tommy would never see his brother again. Losing Sarah had taken a toll on both of them and while Joel tried his damndest not to show the effects, Tommy feels them lingering. You were the most rational out of all of them, despite your inexperience and hesitancy to fight for yourself, your emotions were in check. For the most part.

You could be the perfect little watchdog Tommy needed.

But, in the back of your mind, you knew Joel was in command. It had been that way from the beginning; the dutiful little brother, the helpless young girl who had nowhere to go. It just worked.

Tommy departs with a nod, chuckling quietly at the already snoring Joel on the couch to your left. And you sigh with your own creeping feeling of exhaustion taking over, falling back against the balled up coat on the floor and finding yourself drifting to sleep eventually too. 

–

You wake up in a different spot, feeling the rigid but somehow softer fabric of the couch under your body as you roll over, peeking your eyes open to the blinding light. You groan quietly, stretching out tense limbs as you spot Joel. He’s leaned back in a chair, feet propped up in another as he flicks away at a solid chunk of wood, knife gripped in his hand.

“That’s mine,” You grumble weakly, spotting the weapon in his hand. His eyes flick up briefly, a chuff of acknowledgment from his nose has you squinting in his direction, “—you didn’t ask.”

Joel squints in response, flipping the knife in his hand until the handle is facing out, offering up the knife to you. You rise slowly, feeling slightly wobbly on your feet as you approach him. He brings the knife back toward his chest as you reach for it, “I think you’re forgetting, it was mine.”

You snatch it against his weak grip, too irritated from the lack of decent and comfortable sleep to argue, tossing it away on the couch as you round the dining table, peering through the slip of curtains covering the window, spotting the pile of burnt and charred bodies outside the window.

“Why did you move me?” You ask idly, dragging your fingers down the silk curtain, watching a few drops of rain hit the window before the trickle becomes stronger, followed by a low clash of thunder.

Joel stares at the chunk of wood in his grasp, fiddling with it until he slides it on the table, speaking to you nonchalantly as he stands, “You looked uncomfortable,” Within a few second he’s at your side, looking out the window at the incoming rain storm, “besides—you kept tossing and turning, once you were on the couch it stopped.”

“Oh, so I was disturbing your sleep,” You snark at him, turning your head to look at him. He mimics the movement and chuckles lazily, nodding in agreement, “add it to the list, I guess.”

“Of?”

He’s feigning cluelessness, watching the rain take on a stronger current as it pounded against the roof and you speak absently, “So, hunting is out of the question?

Joel’s arm rises to rest against the wall beside the window, hand tucked at his hip, “No. There’s still plenty to hunt ‘round here, if you have enough patience.”

“Well, I’m hungry.”

“Well, that’s an issue, ain’t it?”

For you, yes. For him, no.

He knows you don’t have the first clue what to equip yourself with, what animals to look for and your head turns, peering up at him curiously with the beginnings of a too sweet smile gracing your features.

“Not happenin’, don’t even ask.” Joel tells you, your smile immediately falling as you step away.

Whatever intensity had lingered the night before—the adrenaline from the attack, was gone.

Joel looks exhausted, conveys it in the slow and tired blinks he aims your way. He’d given up sleep to allow you to get rest, sacrificing his own without outwardly admitting it.

He’s only now starting to regret it as his head pounds, attempting to work through his exhaustion but feeling it catch up on him in waves, “We’ve got a can or two left to pick at, try that.”

Your face contorts in subtle disgust, “We need meat. Beans and peaches can only get us so far.” Joel doesn’t hear your complaints though, departing for the couch with a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, tense and knotted up muscles causing a deep ache in his back. He falls to the couch and throws his head back, allowing a few minutes to pass where he feels himself drifting into a slumber with his large hand rubbing at his forehead, thumb and middle finger digging into his temples as he nurses a headache, only looking over at you when the couch dips under your weight.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

Joel huffs at that, knowing that only you could find how to pull the levity out of a shitty situation. 

“I’m not—” Joel shakes his head, his hand falling to his lap, “We’re not doing that. It can wait until the rain clears up.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

There was no way to tell, really. It was all an educated guess, the darkened clouds hovering overhead letting you know that it didn’t have any plans to leave quite yet.

Joel doesn’t offer a response, his head tipping back against the back of the couch with his eyes closed, his hands resting in his lap as he shrugs his shoulders and settles, you tilt your head curiously.

“You seem tense,” You tell him, “like—more tense than usual.”

Admittedly, he was restless too. But, unlike you—he could fight it. 

All that energy, nowhere to put it toward.

There’s so much silence, a thickness in the air that lingers as his own gaze on you does. He’s become used to studying you; upset, worried, irritated—he’s got it all down by now. Although, he had one that stumped him hard: want— but, he seemed to be picking up on the cues, noticing the look on your face as your lip pulled between your teeth in absent thought, tilting your head at him. You’re staring at his exposed skin, the scruffiness of his jaw where he’s allowed his beard to grow out. 

“Fine,” You sigh, noting his stubbornness, “what about a game?”

He doesn’t like the way the word slips from your lips, noticing how much closer you’ve gotten. Your knees pressed into his hip as you slowly worked your way over, legs tucked under your ass. Joel’s eyes narrow before they relax, turning away with a grunt of indifference.

“Impossible,” You mumble under your breath, “look—either I go out there and risk my ass or you do it for me. It’s late, I’m hungry,” And, as if on cue, Joel’s stomach growls too, “and so are you.”

Joel relents, watching his chest rise and fall in one heavy breath, “What game are you talkin’ about?”

You could think of something on the fly, although Joel has done everything but touch you since the night prior—because if he did, he was doomed. So, you make the first move.

Your finger drags along his open flannel until it catches on the first button it finds, the rest of your hand slipping under the fabric and noting the lack of undershirt. He must have taken a layer or two off at some point, unbeknownst to you. His skin is warm under your hand, his chest hair soft against your fingertips.

Joel grabs at your wrist but doesn’t take the step to move it away—a warning. Stay still, don’t go further. He’s looking at you by then, eyes wider and more present and darker around the edges than usual, icing out the warm brown.

“Whoever loses goes hunting,” You suggest, “sound fair?”

“That still doesn’t explain the game,” His fingers tightening around your wrist, feeling your quickened pulse under his touch, “besides—you also don’t know shit about hunting game birds.”

“I can manage, Joel,” You argue, “can’t be that hard to kill a fuckin’ duck.”

Joel chuckles at the thought, a subtle smirk pulling at his lips and his cheek dimpling with the expression. He can appreciate the confidence, the stubbornness that you carried with every word.

“Rules?” Joel inquires again, a smile creeping its way onto your face as he takes the bait.

“You come, you lose.” It really was that simple. 

Besides, it was a better way to pass time than tense, uncomfortable silence. Sex could be easy–detached, emotionless, and fun. Something you desperately needed right now.

Joel is quiet for a while, longer than you’d like. The gears are turning in his head, his eyes trailing slowly over your frame, like he’s dedicating it to his memory, before they fall upon your face. His softer around the edges like this, still guarded, but less…vengeful. 

Fuck it, he needed this.

“I hope you can manage huntin’ on your own,” He taunts, earning a squeal of laughter as his fingers dig into your side and pull you to him, your leg swinging over his lap in time with his movements, “‘cause I don’t lose.”

Neither of you bother with anything other than your jeans, wrestling against each other’s confines and flicking open buttons on deft fingers, wiggling them down your legs and off as you leave his lap for a millisecond before he’s pulling you back to him with his hand wrapping around the back of your neck and squeezing, pulling you back far enough that you can see his opposite hand dip to your cunt, thick digits pressing against your clit as your eyes flutter shut.

While you expect intensity, his movements are torturously slow. Slow circles with his thumb against the sensitive nub while his middle finger teases your hole, clenching around the emptiness that yearned to be filled. He only grunts when you wrap your hand around his cock, hardening under your touch as you squeeze, jerking him to full attention.

Joel was a mystery still and you’re working out what he likes as you move, noticing the way his face twitches when you drag your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the small dribble of precome at the tip as you rub, noticing the way his jaw tenses at the motion.

And you want to watch him, study him. But, his fingers are making it near impossible. Your sated sigh turns into a pathetic whine as he slips a digit inside of you to the first knuckle. It wasn’t nearly enough to quell the growing ache in your core, but then his teeth are on you.

Not his lips or his tongue—teeth digging into your collarbone as he pulls you to him, one large hand pressing against the center of your back and you hiss, cunt pulsing at the tinge of pain it allows but then his tongue is soothing over the marks his teeth left behind, lazy kisses following as he repeats the process along the expanse of your chest and eventually biting into the side of your neck as his fingers circle your clit quickly. 

Your opposite hand digs into his shirt at his waist, crumbling the material in your hand as you hand moves against his shaft quickly, hurried. It didn’t help that you couldn’t think, foolishly you expected to have the upper hand but it was easy to forget how quickly Joel could cloud your mind and rid you of any coherent thought besides want. And with that, Joel adds another finger, sinking them deeper inside of you

“You’re not even puttin’ up a fight,” Joel taunts, “I can feel that pussy squeezin’ around my fingers.”

You gasp, the heat in your gut swirling around as you try desperately to regain control. Your forehead drops against his shoulder, feeling pitiful as you moan and move your hips in time with his efforts and Joel chuckles beside you, so quiet you almost miss it. 

He’s amused clearly. It’s a taunting laugh, no deeper meaning than a ‘gotcha’. Because he did, he had you so wound up against his touch that you couldn’t think, making this game an easy win on his behalf. 

“Let me—let me suck your cock, I wanna—” You beg weakly, rambling incoherently, “—this isn’t fair.”

“You rules,” He retorts, “can’t go switchin’ up on me now, just ‘cause you’re losing.”

You feel the spiral coming, his hot breath against your neck as your hips jerk and the pressure builds. There was no use fighting it, giving into Joel’s selfless touch and his dirty words, moans growing in volume and intensity as he brings you over the edge with a satisfied remark.

“That’s right,” he declares with a deep growl, “go on, give it to me.”

The lewd sounds of your slick as he presses his fingers inside of you a few times as you catch your breath are enough to make you shove him away, too ashamed to allow him anymore satisfaction as he wipes his hand away on the inside of his flannel and reaches for his jeans, his eyes tracking the frown on your face as you settle into your own clothes again.

His fumbling with the button on his jeans as he leaned back, adjusting them better on his hips as he speaks to you, “I’ll be back in an hour,” he tells you, your eyes flicking up curiously despite your silence, “—you’re still hungry, right?”

If anything, you were ravenous now. 

“But, I lost.”

Joel shakes his head in amusement and slight disapproval, a smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“Either way, I was still goin’ out there,” Joel tells you, adjusting his still half-hard cock in his jeans and your gaze pulls down, unconsciously reaching for his arm but he shakes it off, standing on his feet, “—game’s over, I won.”

“But, you didn’t—”

Joel unravels his sleeves where they’re bunched at his elbows, buttoning up the loose buttons on his shirt before he’s wandering, reaching for his jacket folded over the back of a chair, effectively ignoring your attempts at returning the favor. He clearly didn’t care, so neither should you. 

He already seemed satisfied enough by the look on your face, knowing you were overconfident in the moment and hoping to knock him down a peg, but that had backfired. He considers a thought for a moment, knowing it was a bad idea. But, he wasn’t one for good, thoughtful choices as of late.

“Next time,” He offers quietly, tucking a knife away into his coat pocket and slinging the cheap bow over his shoulder, “keep quiet—shouldn’t take long.”

The words come as a shock, any inclination or acknowledgement toward your weird arrangement was enough to make your eyes widen in surprise, but you mask it well. Joel leaves without another word, braving the pouring rain for a desperate meal. It had been a long time since you’ve had a decent, filling meal. A handful of canned food a week, spread out sparsely to keep the three of you just on the edge of satisfaction. It wasn’t the best way to live, but it was all you had. 

The lighting cracks through the sky and is followed by a low, booming thunder that shakes the entire house as you sink into the couch, waiting anxiously for Joel’s return.

-

You can’t be accurate, but it feels like Joel returns right on time.

The storm had dissipated to a steady rain by now, occasionally fading into a soft trickle. He’s nearly drowning, but two ducks richer as he slaps the dead game on the table and slowly strips himself of his damp clothes, struggling with the sopping wet layer of his flannel. The fire was a welcomed warmth, his eyes closing as the floor creaked under your footsteps. He feels you hands before he sees you, helping him silently to unbutton his shirt.

It was harder to undress like this, the layers sticking heavily to his skin. When his flannel is unbuttoned you reach for his jeans, taking them to the sink to squeeze out the excess water before you lay them out in front of the fire, hoping it would be enough to dry them by morning. 

You repeat the process as he discards the layers, a silent chore to busy yourself while he strips to his underwear, not nearly as wet as the rest of his clothes but he hesitates, knowing he had an extra change of clothes in his pack.

He decides against it, finding that his hunger was far too persistent to allow him to go any longer without eating. He nods toward the already skinned and prepped animals on the table.

“Let’s eat,” Joel suggested, “before we ended up starvin’ to death.”

You weren’t going to argue, fetching the ducks off the table and presses them into Joel’s waiting hand, watching as he knelt down in his underwear and reached for two pokers resting in the holder besides the fireplace, situation the soon to be food onto the iron rod before he’s resting them directly into the flame.

You fetch a couple blanket off the couch as you watch, tossing one silently to Joel that he accepts with a nod, his eyes following you as you took a seat across from him, staying quiet as he turned the food a few times, allowing it a hopefully full cook—not that you could complain about eating slightly raw meat at a time like this.

The meal is messy but delicious, wiping your fingers against the blanket wrapped over your shoulders and licking away at the juices left behind and Joel mirrors you, devouring the food without a thought. It feels oddly domestic when you forget about everything happening around you, belly full as you set the iron rod aside and settle deeper into the cover.

You watch curiously, like a cat, while Joel rises to clean up the mess. His movements are slower, his stomach slightly fuller now that he’s eaten but it still amazes you at his broadness when the blanket drops to the floor. He strips out of his underwear without any acknowledgment, tossing them alongside the other slowly drying clothes and begins to depart for the bedroom, stopped by your hand scrambling for his wrist as you appear beside him.

He hadn’t even heard you move, wondering how you managed to keep so quiet. You’re startled by the warmth in his face, his gaze dropping to the fingers wrapped around his arm. His other hand is cupping himself, attempting some layer of decency but you’re only looking at his face.

“Tommy won’t be back ‘til morning,” You remind him, “how about a rematch?”

Joel doesn’t answer for a moment, feeling your stomach flutter with a disappointment you’ve never felt, but then he’s surging forward, fingers curling into your hair and tipping your head back as he kisses you, forcing in a sharp breath as his other hand mirrors and presses you backwards, guiding you toward the bedroom rather than the couch. 

His lips don’t leave, guiding you toward the mattress that was covered in a curtain Joel had ripped from its hinges. This kiss isn’t gentle, driven by lust and a need to keep you quiet. Joel finds it impossible to think around you sometimes and shutting you up was the easier route. So, it wasn’t genuine but it was needy, desperate. His tongue licks into your mouth as his hands trail down your body, lifting at the back of your thighs until you’re seated on the bed, level with his cock and eager to redeem yourself.

You pull at your top that Joel is itching to remove, his fingers tucking under the end of it and pulling up before you’re grabbing at his cock, dragging your tongue along the side and under, tracing the tip of your tongue along the vein that ran from base to tip, taking the thick girth of him into your mouth as you peer up, finding that he was staring right at you, eyes half-lidded and cloudy in the darkness but it was there. Admiration, a crack in his facade. He hisses under his breath when the tip of his cock presses against the back of your throat, repeating the motion until your eyes string with tears, trading your mouth for your tongue against as you circle it around the head.

“Up the bed,” He coaxes, gently pulling you away with a hand pressing against the front of your neck, a frown of disapproval thrown his way, “go on—up.”

You don’t argue though, crawling back on your hands as he tugs at your jeans, removing them alongside your underwear and leaving you in a complete state of undress alongside him. The clothes pile on the floor and Joel climbs over the edge of the mattress, prowling toward you slowly as you breathe consciously, comforted by the spread of Joel’s hand over your chest, his fingertips tickling the center of your throat.

“What’s the prize this time?” You ask softly, terrified that speaking too loud would spear the thick cloud of tension surrounding you both, “We never established that.”

“We can figure it out later,” Joel affirms, allowing the hand at your chest to trail down your stomach, to your core, fingers dipping inside of you again without warning, “when you lose.”

His confidence is attractive, but the smugness only infuriates you further. 

And with full stomachs, nearing the edge of exhaustion, you find that the delirium hits you both faster than you’re expecting. The pace is slow, exhausting—tantalizing and teasing touches that drag you both along the edge for far too long and you can’t tell if Joel’s doing it on purpose, bringing you so close to the end before letting you slip back, but eventually it happens by accident.

You flip him to his back when he’s distracted, his cock trapped between your stomach and his own as you grind yourself against his thigh lazily, his eyebrow pinching together at the surge of the sensation that hits him and he comes without warning, painting his stomach with the spurts of cum that spill from his cock with a low groan in his throat, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“You lose.”

Your voice is distant in his ears, but he chuckles quietly at your words.

By then, you’re both too tired to move and fall asleep as is, pressed against his chest as his cum dries against your skin and surely you’ll both regret it come dawn, but for now, sleep consumes you.

[loveshotzz]

I hope I’m not late for request this🥹:

[inside one muses’s office] with AIRWIY!Steve? And reader give him his first blowjob?🥹

So this one got a little out of hand, but 🥺 I love him and he deserves the best head in the world if you ask me. Thank you for your request! 💕 I hope you like it!

older!steve x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ age gap, new established relationship, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, smidge of size kink, smidge of daddy kink, finger sucking, swallowing.

wc: 2.8k

A/N: This request is apart of my completed series All I Really Want Is You, but can be read as a stand alone. For those that read the series this takes place shortly after chapter ten.

It was supposed to be a nice lunch in his office on your day off. You weren’t supposed to be giving him elevator eyes from the other side of his desk while he complained to you about his day. But no one had warned you about what middle of the work day Steve looked like. Not quite as dishievied as the end of it when he’s checking his mail, but not put together like when you see him leave his house through your bedroom window when the sun is barely touching the sky. More importantly, you didn’t know about the glasses.

The thin silver frames sit perched on the end of his nose with hair that looks like he just started running his hands through it. The slicked back style it began the day in still sticks to some of his auburn locks while the rest develop a crazed mind of their own. He had popped open the top two buttons of his crisp white dress shirt, revealing a matching tank top underneath and the beginnings of the soft dark thatch of hair that covers his chest. His sleeves are rolled up to the middle of his forearms, and the tan he still has left over from the last few days of summer makes his skin look bronzed. The scruff that lines his jaw is thicker today than he’d usually allow too, but that’s because he’d forgotten his razor in your bathroom the last night he slept over. 

God, he was handsome. 

“Wrapping up at the end of a season, especially one where we didn’t make it to the finals has been nightmare, honey.” He rubs his eyes from under his glasses leaning back in his seat. 

He was stressed too.

The leather squeaks with his movements, and your gaze finds its way to his newly revealed waist. His black dress slacks are pulled tight over his thighs, and the silver buckle of his belt gleams when it hits the sun spilling in from his office windows. 

“Just one more week till your vacation,” you remind him gently, your fingers playing with the hem of the sundress and you catch the way his eyes track your movements, wetting his lips.

“One more week till I get to have you all for myself.” He counters, making you giddy at the thought of your first trip together to New York, “enough about my day though. Let me get a better look at this pretty dress you’re wearin’, is it new?” 

There’s heat flickering behind his gaze when he gestures for you to stand in front of him, something a little mischievous in his grin that makes your skin buzz.

“Yeah, I got it at Lost Girls after work the other day. I’d been looking at it for a while through the window, thought I’d do something nice for myself.” Your nerves make you ramble as you get up, but Steve thinks it’s cute. He thinks everything you do is cute.

“It’s really, really nice baby,” he praises when you get in front of him letting his eyes roam all the ways it hugs your curves just right, like it was made custom for your body and his slacks get a little tighter. “You look so beautiful, give me a little twirl.”

Your face burns like it’s the middle of June at his request, and the golden emerald of his eyes get darker from behind his lenses. The air around you both turns electric when your already short hem flutters out around the tops of your thighs, spinning around twice for him, just enough to give a glimpse of the red lace that hugs your ass cheeks underneath. 

“You gonna be wearing this tonight when I pick you up for dinner?” He asks with big hands reaching out for you, begging you to get closer.

“I didn’t know we had plans tonight.” You giggle letting your wedges carry you to the space he made for you between his legs. The cedar and spice of his cologne envelopes your senses when you get close enough for his hands to find the back of your thighs pulling you to him with a squeal.

The whites of his teeth show when he looks up at you with a smile that steals your breath away, squeezing at the soft dough under his palms.

“What kinda boyfriend would I be if I didn’t show you off any chance I got?” The pads of his thumbs swipe against the hem of the lace that meets at the curve of your ass, butterflies in your stomach because you’ll never get used to hearing him say that.

“Yeah, I’ll wear it, handsome.” You agree, making him hum in approval. 

He lets you run your fingers through the soft silk of his hair, silver strands showing themselves to you in a mess of dirty blonde and auburn as you scratch along his scalp. Steve groans at the feeling and it goes straight to your core, his long fingers tightening around the plush of your thighs, leaning his forehead against the soft pudge of your tummy with his eyes closed.

“Fuck,” He mumbles against you, the wheels on his chair roll him closer as his hands grip higher, warm palms finding the dough of your buttcheeks when you scratch at the nape of his neck. 

You watch the way his shoulders slump, the muscles in his body finally starting to unwind from your touch. You want to unwind him more.

“Steve?” His name comes out in just above a whisper, your nerves threatening to get the best of you. 

“Hmm?” He hums in response, too lost in the feeling of your nails dragging over his scalp.

“Let me take care of you.” Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you tug a little at his roots asking him to meet your gaze. 

“Honey,” It doesn’t sound like a protest, and it doesn’t feel like it either when his nails dig half crescent moons into the backs of your thighs, staring up at you with wide eyes.

You remember the empty hallways on your way up. Everyone was gone for the season, including Richard.

“You’ve been working so hard, you deserve it.” You cup the side of his face, your body buzzing when he leans into your touch. “Will you let me?”

“I - “ Wetting his lips, Steve glances at the door before bringing his attention back to you, “yeah, okay, shit, yeah.”

You hold his heavy lidded gaze with a confidence he’s never seen before as you drop to your knees, the nails that were just in his hair dragging along his thighs and it sends him reeling. He doesn’t know how long you’ve thought about this.

The carpet is rough on your freshly lotioned skin, the bottom hem of your dress pulling up over the tops of your thighs. Leaning back in his chair, the new angle gives him the perfect view down the deep heart shaped neckline of your dress. The necklace he got you on your first date shimmers just above the swell of your breasts and it makes his cock press into the metal of his zipper. He wishes he could take a picture of you right now.

“You want this baby?” His voice comes out gruff when he asks, the gold inside his eyes darkening to something almost black as he runs a hand through his hair.

“You have no idea, just how bad I want it … daddy.” Looking up at him through thick lashes, you punch the air out of his lungs in a low exhale through his nose when you don’t hesitate to start working at the silver of his belt buckle.

“Fuck, you can’t say - ” He huffs out exasperated, contemplating taking a half day so he can spend the rest of it in bed with you. 

Leather squeaks underneath him when he lifts his hips to help you tug his pants down. The hard outline of him strains against his briefs, mouth watering when you notice the darkened spot where he’s already leaking into the black cotton. More confident now, your palms find purchase on the tops of his hairy thighs, leaning forward you let heat of your breath make him twitch, earning a low groan when your lips trail like a ghost behind it.

“Can’t say what?” Your tone drips innocence, your bottom lip tugging down against the covered head of his cock before lifting your gaze with a mischievous smirk, relishing in the sharp inhale he takes through his teeth. 

“I think you’re gonna kill me.” He almost laughs, running a hand over his face. Pushing up his glasses in the process he settles his heavy gaze on you with a lazy grin as they slide down the slope of his nose.

You hum, glossed lips twisting at the corners as you hook your fingers in the elastic of his briefs, giving them a gentle pull to signal what you want. Steve gives it to you without any hesitation, the full weight of his cock slapping against his stomach making your thighs press at the thought of being stretched by it. The pink tip swipes against the hem of his button up that sits rucked up at his belly button and you don’t think you’ll ever be immune to just how big and pretty he is.

“That wouldn’t be very nice of me huh?” you tease looking up at him with a pout.

“Nuh-uh” He mumbles, face crumpling a little watching your fingers try to wrap around the base of him, the tips of them just barely meeting on the other side. The grip he has on the armrest of his chair, stretches his skin so tight the whites of his knuckles start to show.

“And, I wanna be nice,” he feels like velvet in your hand, the pad of your thumb tracing the large vein that runs up the side, before swiping over his sensitive head. You collect what he’s already given to you with enough pressure to make his toes curl inside his wingtip dress shoes.  

Leaning forward, you slowly let your tongue run the length of him, feeling the way he twitches against the muscle before paying extra attention to what’s weeping for you, swirling your tongue around the tip. Salty and little sweet from the way he drinks his coffee in the morning, you hum pleased when he hits your taste buds. 

“God, honey.”

You don’t give him any warning when you wrap your lips around him, a greedy tongue flattening along the underside. Gagging when he hits the back of your throat, you still try to open up just a little more, your hand keeping up with what you can’t reach.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve’s jaw goes slack, eyelids growing too heavy to keep open at the heat of your mouth enveloping him. His head pushes further into his chair while he fights to keep his hands from flying to the back of yours.

Scooting closer, you feel him spread his legs even more, and your hand that’s not wrapped around the base of his cock, slides down his thigh. The blunt ends of your nails dragging through the rough curls that cover it.

“That’s - that’s so - shit, you’re making me feel so fucking good.” He grunts, finally working up enough strength to pry his eyes open to get a look at what he’s dreamed of a million times alone in the shower. “Always so good to me baby.”

You moan at his words, the praise drowning out the dull throb in your knees from the hard floor, and your throat opens up just a little more, the tip of your nose a ghost against his thick happy trail.

“You like that?” The tone he uses is deep, like someone laced the honey it’s always had for you with cinnamon. “You like when I tell you how good you are?”

Hollowing out your cheeks, you suck even harder, the wetness between your legs only getting worse when he lets out a strangled groan. You slowly work up the length of his cock with tight lips, before releasing him with a loud ‘pop’. For a second Steve thinks he might add more to the shining mess that covers your face, spit still connecting your chin to his sensitive head. 

You drag your teeth over your swollen bottom lip, his dark eyes tracking the movement when it pops back into place, twitching in your hand that hasn’t stopped pumping him. He thinks he likes this better than your gloss. You nod in response with a smile and he can’t believe is a little shy. 

Leaning forward, he wipes your chin with his thumb before tracing where your teeth just were with the pad of it. His eyes darken even more when your mouth opens, strawberry lips wrapping around him with no hesitation.

Yeah, you’re going to kill him. 

“Fuck, look at you,” He pushes down on your tongue, watching the way your thighs press under your dress sucking on the digit with the same force. “I’m so lucky.”

You moan around him, the motions of your wrist getting faster, and the urge to taste him becomes unbearable. With a gentle scrap of your teeth you let go of his thumb, pushing up on your knees to beg for a kiss. The wheels of his chair clink against the hinges when he eagerly accepts your request, one of his hands finding the back of your neck pulling you closer to lick into your mouth without a second thought. 

Your teeth scrape together, tongues battling for dominance while the stubble that lines his jaw threatens to rub your skin raw, but you don’t care. The inside of your thighs start to get sticky and the large vein that runs up the side of his cock pulses against your palm with the need for your attention. It’s the only thing that can get you to pull away from his lips that won’t stop devouring yours.  

It’s with new determination that you take him back into the heat of his mouth, doing your best to take him deeper down your throat than before. He moans your name loud enough that you’re sure anyone in this part of the building would hear if they were actually in their offices. He lets a big hand find the back of your head this time, while both of yours find the tops of his thighs. 

Your cheeks hollow again while your tongue wraps around as much as you can get, more spit, more slick to bob in rhythm with the thrusts of his hips. The tip of him catches at the back of your throat, and the way it squeezes his head when your reflex hits makes his toes curl, fingers burying themselves in your hair to keep you there.

“Oh, that’s - that’s it- take the whole thing. Shit. You’re gonna make me cum baby. Just like that, don’t stop, don’t stop. Good girl, good girl.” 

Each snap of his hips gets as desperate as his babbling, like he’s completely forgotten he’s still at work. One of your hands leaves his thigh to cup his balls that have been screaming for attention since the moment you walked into his office in that dress. Rolling them in your palm is the final touch that makes his vision go white behind his eyes, body tensing and face going slack just like his jaw. 

“Baby, baby, baby.”

Twitching, he spills hot down the back of your throat and you try to swallow as much of it as you can before it dribbles down your chin, dripping onto your chest. His full weight falls back onto his chair, the wheels it’s on moving just enough to have him slide half soft from the warm velvet of your mouth. He tasted even better than you’d imagined, promising yourself you were going to do this again to him after dinner. 

Chest heaving, a breathy laugh escapes him, and the hand that was buried in your hair runs through his before his eyes open up back to their normal golden brown. His cheeks flush pink when he gets a look at the mess he made of you, and it only deepens when you collect the spend that found its way to the swell of your breasts with the pads of your fingers before sucking them clean.

“I think I’m gonna take a half day.”

[elfenbensord]

i have a need for remus lupin to call me ‘lovebug’.. i don’t know where the need has arisen from but it’s there

and as you wrote my george x reader request so well (lysm for that <3) i was wondering whether i could maybe request smth fluffy with rem calling reader lovebug, please

OH maybe she’s been studying in the library for AGES and he’s kind of worried for her health

again lysm - 🦕

a/n: hi again, cutie😊 that need is so valid and so relatable tbh. i’m also casually obsessed with this piece, hope you like it as well ❤️🥰

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader,

summary: remus finds you in the library, and accidentally confesses his love for you. friends to lovers. fluff.

wordcount: 742

warnings: none.

lovebug

15.10.23

He finds you in the library, head hanging over a long piece of parchment filled with your tiny, scraggly handwriting. 

“What are you doing, all cooped up in here? The sun is shining, it’s a beautiful day!” Remus scolds you, crossing his arms and sending you a fond look.

You won’t even look at him, too focused on your work. “I think I found this error in my essay on the uprising of the elves of 1670, I just had to fact-check it so Professor Binns doesn’t think I’m an absolute idiot–”

“No one thinks that”, Remus says softly.  You smile, finally meeting his eyes. “You’re too kind.”

He nods. “Just kind enough, I’d say.”

You let your quill fall onto the table. Standing up with a screech from the chair, you actually take a proper look at him. Remus is for once not drowning in a bulky jumper, probably due to the hot beginning-of-summer weather. Instead, he’s wearing a breezy short-sleeved shirt and a pair of light-blue jeans. His arms are exposed, both to your dismayal and pleasure. You pretend not to notice the blonde, soft-looking hairs dusting his forearms. He looks happy, he does well in summer. Freckles are starting to show across his nose and cheeks, his hair becoming just a shade lighter in the sun. It’s a teasing view of what could be yours, if one of you could just swallow your pride and tell each other. 

He towers over you even though you’re now standing instead of sitting down. He leans even closer, pretending not to notice how your breath hitches. Heart pumps faster, making you feel dizzy. “Whadd’ya say, wanna head down to the lake? Maybe a quick skinny-dip?”

“A– Skinny dip?” A warmth spreads across your face, fills your entire body. You do your best to stay afloat. “Are you actually serious?” you blubber out.

“Why wouldn’t I be.” He flashes a smile. Breath hot on your face, nose barely grazing yours. You wonder how you’re gonna survive this conversation.

He doesn’t wipe the suggestive grin from his face. He knows what he’s doing to you, how could he not? “Maybe a midnight dip is more to your liking, Lovebug?” 

Lovebug? Your brain is turning to mush.

You clear your throat. Suddenly, a cold, careless anxiety starts to spread. You take a breath, “Where’s this all coming from? Did… Did Sirius put you up to this? To tease me, or something?”

Remus’ face drops. His hands get out of control, waving in broad gestures as he talks. “No, no, no… I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m being silly. Sorry. That was, that was inappropriate. I’m really sorry.”

You smile weakly at him. Of course you forgive him. Of course.

Remus isn’t ready to give up quite yet. He places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly. It trails down, until it can toy with your fingers. “But for the record, I wouldn’t mind going skinny dipping tonight. Together. Just you and me.”

“Remus, what do you mean?” you say slowly.

“That I want to… I want… I want you.”

Your heart drops out of you Mary-Janes, leaving you limp and jelly-like. “Wh– What?”

“Sorry. That’s inappropriate too. Let’s just– Let’s just forget everything happened. I’m gonna go and uuh– die of shame now. See you at dinner-”

He turns around quickly, almost sprinting for the librabry exit. You catch his hand, stopping his escape. Your hands intertwine. Eyes meet. 

You exhale. “I want you too.” A beat of silence. 

Then his face opens up in a grin, shining like the sun. “You do?”

You nod.

Remus grabs your hand, placing a tender kiss on it. He won’t stop smiling. “What… What do we do now?”

“How about”, you grasp his shirt, feeling the light fabric between your fingers. “A skinny dip in the lake, at midnight?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Great. Now go away, please. I have an essay to write.”

“Will do, Lovebug. See you tonight.”

“See you.”

You smile as you see him leave the library. He turns around once, twice, to send a blazing smile your way. The essay in front of you melts into a million daydreams all including a certain brown-haired boy. Lovebug.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// Kuroo Tetsurou: Deforestation Enthusiast. inked 04. //

prev << 04 >> next

*The nature of this series may be not be appropriate for all readers. Content warnings include: vulgarity, heavy swearing, and implications of adult relations.  Due to these themes, this series may not be suitable for readers under the age of 16.  Reader discretion is advised.*

Afternoons were Kuroo’s favorite part of the work day.  With the day’s routine settled into place, it gave him the perfect opportunity to zone out. Just him, the hum of the machine, and whatever the hell his client was droning on about now. One final wipe and- 

“Alright. You’re all done,” Kuroo smiled, wheeling his stool away from his client. “Go check it out and let me-”

“Hey, Kuroo? I finished your list.”

Heads snapped towards the swinging door separating Kuroo’s space from the rest of the shop. Fuck… He had forgotten about you. You had walked in the shop that morning and Kuroo hadn’t even bothered to greet you. He had left a piece of paper, outlining all of the chores he needed you to do for the day on the front counter with Akaashi. ‘DO NOT BOTHER ME’ had been written across the bottom of the page, underlined three times just to get it through your head.

It obviously didn’t get through your head.

“Was there a question in there?” Kuroo drawled, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees in the pure picture of annoyance. You begin to open your mouth to retort but he puts his hand up to stop you. “What part of ‘Leave me alone’ did you not comprehend?” He shakes his head, black hair falling into his eyes as he turns back to his client, a smile back on his face.

“Sorry about that! My new apprentice still needs some house training. So, what do you think?”

“It’s as perfect as always, Kuroo. Thank you,” his client smiles, sitting back in the chair.

“Perfect! I’m going to get a couple shots of it for my portfolio and then we can get you finished up, cool?” The client nods, settling back as Kuroo finishes up the final steps, repeating the care instructions that he’s prattled off so many times that it’s become as natural as brushing his teeth. “But you already know all of that shit, so just keep doing what you’ve always done. You have my number, so if it gives you any problems, just shoot me a text or come on in. I’m going to get cleaned up back here, so Akaashi can take your payment and you’re set.”

The thick silence was only interrupted by the quiet spritzing of the cleaning bottle as Kuroo wiped down the chair. He crumpled up the rag, tossing it in the trash as he stripped off his gloves, yellow eyes turning to meet yours. “What did I tell you, kid? If you’re going to work with me, you gotta learn to move those legs. Quit standing there and help me get this cleared out so I can set up for my next appointment.”

You’re barely at his side when he’s already handing you his ink cups. “Dump that ink out and sterilize them. They go back over in that cabinet when you’re done.”

“Are you ever going to teach me how to tattoo or am I just going to be your housekeeper until I’m done with your shit?” 

“Are you ever going to clean those like I asked or are you just going to keep running your mouth until I kick you out of my shop?” Kuroo smiles up at you with a look that’s more sinister than kind, watching as you roll your eyes before traipsing off towards the sink in the corner to clean the ink.  “You have a good eye for composition and you obviously understand color theory, but your technical drawing skills are shit.”

You pause in your task to look over at him. “You know, that was almost a compliment.”

Kuroo stands from his stool, long legs carrying him across his work area to where you stand. The little space by the sink is cramped, his body pressing up against yours as he mutters a quiet, “Excuse me,” replacing bottles of ink on the shelf. “It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. It was just a fact. I’m not teaching you how to tattoo until you can draw.”

“But I can draw. Isn’t that why you took me on?”

He barks a laugh at you. “If you think that being able to draw is all this job fucking takes, then you might as well leave now, kid. You can make sick art, but believe me when I tell you that you can’t draw. You’re covering sloppy linework and bad anatomy with good color saturation and dynamic poses. I’m not letting you anywhere near a tattoo machine until you fix that shit.”

And just like that, he’s pushing back past you, leaving you to trail after him like a lost puppy, breaking into a near jog just to catch up with him. “So that’s it? I’m just not going to get to tattoo?”

Those black boots halt and you can’t stop before you awkwardly bump into him. “What was rule number four, kid?”  He watches your face as you wrack your brain, scoffing at your silence. “Listen, kid. I will teach you how to tattoo when you can show me that you have the fundamentals down. But until then, welcome to the reality of apprenticeship. It’s not all fun and getting to make art all the time. You can’t expect someone to let you permanently alter their body if your lines are shaky.”

“My lines aren’t-”

“Don’t argue with me, kid. You’re the one who came to me. You’re the one who came in here and annoyed me into taking you on. I don’t have to do this, you know. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re here or if you find some other artist to take you on. So if you don’t like how I’m doing things, by all means, get out of my shop,” Kuroo sneered, towering over you. He didn’t miss the way you instinctively ducked away from his looming form, looking up at him with something that might be read as timidness.  “Akaashi just got some new jewelry in. Go help him with the display case.”

And without another word, he stalks away from you, saying nothing as he slides into the chair at his desk and opens his sketchbook to a new page.

“He’s always that much of an asshole,” Akaashi’s voice comes from behind you. “Come on. Up front.”

The desk clerk slides a stool over for you to sit on and you didn’t realize just how much your feet were killing you until you were able to sink down, doing your best not to immediately lay down against the display counter to relish in the much-needed break. This was nowhere near what you had anticipated your apprenticeship would be… Sure, you knew that it wasn’t going to be all rainbows and butterflies, but this kind of menial labor all day? You didn’t realize that becoming an apprentice meant also becoming the shop housemaid.  Fuck, maybe you should’ve just listened when he told you to go. In the first week, you hadn’t even so much as touched a pen, let alone gotten an opportunity to show off your skillset. You had been stuck cleaning ink stains from the tile floor, polishing every damn piece of jewelry until it shined brighter than the fucking sun, sent on meaningless errands that did nothing to help you learn about tattooing. 

And now look at you, sorting individually bagged pieces of jewelry to be ready to sell. At this rate, you were closer to becoming a piercer than a damn tattoo artist.

Akaashi clears his throat, securing a golden hoop to a fake ear to display the latest jewelry selections. “I’m sorry, you know. About him.”

You just shake your head, trying to focus on your task. “It’s fine. I was warned… I just thought- I don’t know what I thought. I mean, I had heard that he could be a little rough around the edges, but I didn’t expect him to be that much of an asshole. And don’t get me wrong, I can put up with a lot, but this isn’t the fun playful shit talk that I’m used to.”

“I know. This is all new to him too, not that that’s an excuse for how he’s treating you, but just give him some time. Kuroo has never been the warmest guy around. He’s just playing a part right now, trying to be the big bad mentor that he thinks he should be,” Akaashi says, turning his finished curation towards you. “What do you think?”

Stunning. That’s all there was to say about it. The soft whites of the opal stones that he had used to create a small constellation in the flat of the ear contrasted beautifully with that gold hoop he had placed through the conch. Triple lobe and an anti-tragus to bring the star motif back to the bottom with some added dangling elements to pull the eye to all of the points of his masterpiece.

“Are you a piercer?”

Akaashi huffed a quiet laugh at your question. “No. Needles aren’t really my thing.”

“Akaashi, I think you need to find a new place to work.”

He grinned at you, eyes crinkling ever so slightly beneath his glasses. “Believe me, I know. But, in all seriousness,” he starts, placing his curation into the display case alongside the others, “I spend a lot of time researching jewelry and what stones go with what metals, what’s ‘in’ when it comes to styles and what no one is buying anymore. They try to stay up with what’s popular so they can learn what they need to in order to best advise their clients. Being able to take care of this one small thing takes some of the weight off their shoulders.  That’s all I’m really here for - just to help out where I can.”

You’re about to respond, to commend him, but the printer begins whirring, spitting out page after page after page. It’s not long after that the sound of Kuroo’s chair being rolled away from his desk and the steady beat of his footsteps enter your ears. 

Akaashi scowls as the printer continues to spill out sheets of paper, burning through the ream of paper. “What? You printing out a damn manuscript or something? What is all this?” He asks.

Kuroo says nothing, just taking the already unnecessarily large stack of paper and sliding open a filing cabinet. He thumps a binder down in front of you followed only by that freshly printed stack of pages. “Hole punch… Where the hell did I put the hole punch,” he grumbles to himself, pushing his fingers through his hair, yanking open drawers, bending down to look under desks, standing on his toes as if he needed to be any taller to see on top of the shelves.

“You going to tell me why you just became the leading cause of deforestation or are you just going to keep looking around like a meerkat?” You retort, thumbing through the stack. “Jesus, what is this shit?!”

“You’re homework for the next few months,” he mutters, finally rifling through the right drawer to pull out the 3-hole punch that he’d been searching for. “I spent the past few nights coming up with a lesson plan that we’re going to follow to get your technique up to where it needs to be.”

“Lines? Basic shapes? Kuroo, this shit is insulting. I know how to make a fucking circle!”

Kuroo simply cocks his head at you before grabbing a pen and a sticky note, holding them out to you. “Okay, then show me. Show me that you can make a circle in a single pass.”

Wordlessly, you take them from him. You can feel your hand shaking. Stupid fucking-

“Breath.”

You look up at Kuroo, his yellow eyes unusually soft as he watches you. Fixing your grip on the pen, you quickly draw your circle. 

“Fuck.”

It’s lopsided. More egg-shaped than circular. Kuroo takes the pen from you, flipping over the sticky note and you’re just left to watch as he slowly drags the pen across the yellow paper. His circle isn’t perfect either, but it’s damn near close. He tuts his tongue. “I locked my wrist on the upstroke,” he mutters to himself, examining his handiwork before crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash.

“I know that you can make all these perfect shapes digitally, but there’s no holding down the pen to create a perfect circle while you’re tattooing. Do that and you’re going to have one pissed off client. You have to nail these fundamentals now or you’re going to be paying the price for it later. So here’s how this is going to work,” Kuroo pauses, picking up part of the stack. “This week, you’re going to make 100 vertical lines, 100 horizontal lines, and 100 diagonal lines every day. Take it nice and slow and get used to the pulling motion. Try not to rotate the page, because you can’t rotate a client’s arm a thousand different directions to get the right angle. You need to switch the way you’re seeing something? You’re the one who has to move.”

“So I’m going to spend all week just making lines? You’re joking, right?”

“I wouldn’t have printed all these pages if I was fucking joking. Give me your lines by the end of the day so I can look over them. I need 90% of your lines to be damn near perfect before we can move on to the next lesson. If you fail, you’re doing this again next week.”

You stare at him, absolutely baffled. 300 lines a day? He has to have fucking lost his mind to think that you can’t even make a simple line without screwing up. “Did you have to do this as an apprentice?”

Kuroo laughed. “Dude, hell no. I was lucky to get through that apprenticeship without contracting some bloodborne illness. But, I had to pick up what my mentor didn’t teach me somewhere. Believe it or not, I’m trying to make you successful, kid” He props his elbows on the counter, pushing the three-hole punch towards you. “Now, you can either get all those pages in that binder, or you can just carry that stack around like an idiot, but I’ll be honest with you, I don’t accept crumpled assignments.”

“Kuroo, this is like 300 pages!”

He smirks at you, pushing himself away. “Closer to 500, but you get the idea. Have fun!” And he’s about to walk off, about to retreat back to his space to put his headphones on and not speak to another soul for the rest of the day.

The bell jingles as the door to the shop opens.

“Well, well, well. Looks like the rumors were true, huh, alley cat?”

{Taglist: @boosyboo9206 @universal-s1ut @zamorazz // never miss an update! send an ask or a dm to be added to the inked taglist!}

[cut3blush]

Authors Note: I wrote this during a hangover (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Smut

(Y/a)-your age

(Y/L)-your last name

It was a hot summer's day and (y/n) sat in the doctors waiting room, her smooth legs crossed and her arms folded, one finger tapping as she waited eagerly to see Dr Chisaki.

She had made the appointment because she kept experiencing a fluttering in her chest which she wanted to get checked out. She was only (y/a) so she couldn't work out what it was and it was worrying her.

Her mind drifted off whilst she sat in the white reception area, the hard cold plastic seats up against her bare legs, and settled on a vague memory of a dream she had had the night before. She had woken up, her heart fluttering, shortly before the conclusion and whilst she couldn't remember the details, her naked limbs had been twisted up in her sheets and her delicate pussy had been hot and throbbing. It had taken her quite some time to get back to sleep, and when she had there had been flashing visions of undulating tongues and... well, (Y/N) stopped herself there.

Whilst (y/n) was (y/a) , and very attractive with sultry eyes, full lips, pear drop full breasts, and glossy hair, she was extremely shy and sexually very inexperienced, having never trusted the boys she met to have access to her delicate body. Her fingers had never crept under the band of her white cotton knickers to experience self pleasure- the thought had never occured to her to be frank and she had led a very sheltered life, only finally leaving home last month.

The receptionist suddenly called her name, disrupting her from her thoughts and she uncrossed her legs and went into the doctors room, knocking first and entering only at the sound of a deep, male voice ordering her to enter.

She hadn't been to the doctor for some time, not since she was much younger and she was surprised to feel her stomach drop and butterflies start at the sight of Dr. Chisaki, sitting behind a dark mahogany desk, typing at his computer. He didn't look up at her, but gestured for her to sit down, whilst he continued to type. She sat opposite him, and studied his forearms beneath his lab coat, his golden eyes focused on the screen.

He was a young man, perhaps in his late 20s, with thick dark hair, a sporty physique and stern countenance. He wore a doctors lab coat, a pair of white gloves, a stethoscope around his neck, a black surgical mask, and a tight button up shirt, and one wrong move and the shirt could pop open, giving (Y/n) good view of the top of his firm hard chest. Unbidden, the thought of kissing his neck sprang into her mind, sucking his long thick fingers into her wet mouth followed and her nipples tautened; there was that flutter again. (Y/n) shook her head imperceptibly to get rid of the images.

He finished typing and looked up, fixing his golden eyes directly onto her pretty face, and said, "Well Miss (L/N), what have you come to see me about today?"

She opened her mouth to explain her problem but suddenly lost her train of thought. She sat there with her lips slightly ajar and Dr. Chisaki took in his patient, particularly her full soft lips, her long neck, begging to be stroked, leading down to a generous cleavage which swelled with two exquisite breasts. He coughed and moved his body forward to hide a sudden movement in his groin. "Well?" he said irritably.

She felt his stern gaze and felt the heat in her panties grow more intense. She cleared her throat, licked her lips and explained about the heart flutter. He looked at her for some time, during which she felt the blood rushing to her clit, starting to swell and tighten.

Finally, with a look of annoyance Dr. Chisaki said, "Miss (l/n), I will do a physical examination. Are you comfortable for me to do this with you alone, or would you like a chaperone?"

"Nn..no", she stuttered, "that's fine."

"Ok, please take off your top and sit down on my examination table."

(Y/N) reached down to the hem of her tight fitting vest and pulled it off her toned body in one movement, revealing the full tits that Dr. Chisaki had been thinking about since he first dropped his eyes to her cleavage. She realised with a shock of embarrassment, that her nipples were poking through her thin white lace bra that her mother had bought her last year. She couldn't think why, since it was so hot in the room. She reassured herself he would have seen all sorts of symptoms and there was nothing to be afraid of with Dr. Chisaki .

She turned to face him and he glanced up to glimpse sweet nipples, through the lace of her bra. He swallowed, trying to remember the professional training course they had recently sent him on to deal with young woman in a compliant fashion. Dr. Chisaki was a red blooded man, broad shouldered and strong jawed. He knew he was attractive to women and some had made that very explicit to him on their multiple visits about something and nothing. He had taken full advantage when it was offered on a plate but here, this sweet innocent virgin, had no idea of her own sexuality, never mind his. He pushed the thought of licking those rosebuds out of his mind and tried to control his growing erection.

As she got onto the bed, she felt her heart beat faster. He towered over her, looking stony faced and intimidating. She realized there was a growing moisture between her legs, something she had never experienced before. She took a deep breath, not realising how it jutted her full breasts up towards the doctor.

He took the stethoscope from around his neck, put it into his ears and took the cold hard metal disc and placed it on her upper chest. They stayed still for a moment whilst he listened. He realised from her increased heart rate, the flush on the chest, her pert nipples and her fast, breathy breathing that she wanted him, even if she didn't know it yet. He assessed her limbs, long and taut, stroking along her arms and then running his hands down her torso on the pretence of looking for further symptoms. He knew she was horny and the only thing to fix her heart flutter would be to give her the most glorious orgasm. Whilst running his strong hands up the inside of her leg and up under her skirt to her inner thigh, stopping just short at the top of her legs, he convinced himself it would be a medical procedure and that was it.

She was looking at him worriedly, biting her lower lip, not realising the effect it had on him or his hard cock. She saw him as a very attractive man, but was too naive to even think of his cock or the effect she was having on it.

He met her gaze and said, "Miss (L/N), I'm going to do a procedure on you which will fix this symptom of yours. You will have to do as I say, and you will have to trust me. Do you want me to go ahead?"

She stared into his golden eyes, and felt her pussy melting. She had never felt like this before. She knew she would say yes to anything he proposed and she felt safe with him in his doctor's surgery. She nodded, her eyes not leaving his. As she did so she felt butterflies in her stomach, rushing up all over her.

"Good. Now I'm going to do a breast examination. I want you to be a good girl and stay still for me." His breath quickened as he said the words good girl and his cock hardened further. He loved the power he had over this innocent girl and he was excited to order her to do his bidding and educate her on the possibilities of her sexuality. (Y/N) looked up at him with her big eyes, her lips slightly parted in a look of uncertainty and then nodded slowly giving her consent for whatever he was about to do to her.

He reached out his big hand and briefed cupped her left breast and then, with his thumb, expertly slipped down the lace material cup of her bra. Her tight nipple was exposed to the air and her pert breast free, facing up towards him. (Y/N) took in a deep breath, her pussy was pulsing now and she had stopped worrying what was causing her nipples to be so hard; she could think of very little right now.

She watched as he reached out his gloved index finger and gently rubbed her nipple in a circular motion. It sent a jolt down her torso directly to her throbbing cunt. She gasped and looked at him. The rush of power it gave him was intoxicating. Her mouth was open and her full lips were wet. He suddenly had the image of them wrapped around his erect shaft. He continued to circle her tight nipple with his finger and finished his examination cupping her breast in his big hand. She filled his hand and he had a sudden desire to lean down and take her nipple in his mouth and suck.

He put down her breast and moved to the right, hooking his finger in the lace material and yanking it down, more forcefully this time. Once again she presented a hard tight nipple and he once again stroked it in a circular fashion, feeling the hard teat and the puckering encircling it. (Y/N) thought her pussy might explode. She was molten and hot in her white, cotton panties and shifted on the examination bed, in front of her doctor with her tits out and wanting more.

He moved to stand in front of her and assessed her breasts, both exposed and supported by the underwiring, looking full and delicious. No signs of anything concerning from a medical point of view. He took them both in his hands and his thumbs stroked her soft skin once more. He bent down so he was eye level with her chest, ostensibly to do a fuller medical examination. His view was fantastic, and his pupils dilated with desire. His breathing was getting faster and he was so close to her breasts that (Y/N) could feel his hot breath graze her skin. His cock was tight up against his trousers and blood was rushing away from his head. Her tits were heavy and hot in his hands and he could feel her pulse racing beneath his finger tips.

He told her he was about to try a new therapy which was a mix between traditional medicine and alternative therapy. (Y/N) nodded her head in assent. Once more he offered her a chaperone as it could get quite intimate. She paused, and looking at him in the eye, slowly shook her head.

Dr. Chisaki took off his mask and then bowed his head, opened his mouth and took her left nipple into his mouth. He circled it with his wet tongue, sucking it and finished it with a gentle nip from his teeth. (Y/N) let out a low moan; she was pretty sure this was not anything recommended by the NHS but she was powerless to stop Dr. Chisaki, even if she had wanted to. She was panting now and the flush had spread up her chest to her neck. Her clear excitement was encouraging to the doctor and he moved his attention to the other breast holding it firmly in his hand whilst he licked and sucked. She tasted delicious, coconut body butter and a hint of salty sweat from the heat of the day.

He leant back and reached behind her to remove her bra entirely. Neither of them said a word and could dimly hear in the background the ringing of telephones at reception and the day time news on the tv in the waiting room. He could see the indents in her skin from the underwire of her bra and gently stroked the under side of her breasts to feel the welt on her soft creamy skin. Now entirely freed, he roamed all over her breasts alternately stroking and plucking, consistently thumbing her hard taut nipples, sometimes roughly, sometimes sweetly and soothingly.

He told her he wanted to inspect her further and she would need to remove her skirt. She obediently got off the bed and Dr. Chisaki stood back to watch her unzip the skirt, which she eased out of, pushing her bottom towards him unconsciously, and he was delighted to see she was wearing white cotton panties. He liked to slide his fingers into the gussets of such knickers of young patients in his day dreams but so far, had not indulged in the fantasy. The cheeks of her bottom were peeking out of the knickers and he reveled in the crease where her bottom met the top of her thighs, thinking about leaning over and biting them.

Dressed in only her white knickers she lay on the bed before him. Dr. Chisaki took a minute to drink in the sight of her. He went to his desk and took out a little hammer to check for reflexes. He told her he was about to touch a sensitive place with his hammer and she was to remain calm. Her eyes widened but she nodded yes.

He placed the head of the hammer just below her left knee and lightly tapped her. Her lower leg jerked. He put down the hammer and ran his hands from the sole of her foot, slowly all the way up her left leg. He put more pressure on her soft skin as he reached her thigh and as he reached the very top, he slowed down even more and grazed the lips of her pussy with the tips of his finger tips. He could smell her excitement and the smell of sex lingered in the air. He moved to the right leg where again he gently tapped the metal hammer below her knee and (Y/N)'s lower leg jumped up, obeying the reflex. Once again he started at the sole of her right foot caressing her toes and then moving up her smooth leg slowly with his hands. She tried not to move and risk disturbing his important examination but the sparkling feeling coming up from her pelvis when his gloved hands moved up her thigh and approached her clean white panties was almost more then she could bear. He lingered at the top of her thigh, his face concentrated and looking closely at her groin, discerning her swollen labia lips from behind her cotton panties.

"Ok (L/N), very good. You are a very patient girl for me. I wish all my patients were like you." he ended in a whisper. Shaking his head and recovering himself, "I would like you to remove your panties for me. Now." The 'now' was delivered as a growl and he was slowly losing control of any professional sensibilities. He had to control himself. He could give in to his desire when she had left his office he reminded himself.

She looked to his face for assurance. She found a hungry desire that matched her own. She rolled off the bed so she was standing in front of her doctor. She brought her hands up, hooked her thumbs into her panties and dropped them to the floor. If either of them had looked carefully, they would have seen a glistening patch on her panties, smelling of her sex. She stood in front of him totally naked, her teardrop shaped breasts, hard, erect nipples protruding out, her stomach leading to her pretty pussy, and then her l legs, he would later have locked around him whilst he pounded into her hot, wet pussy. But that story is for another time.

She got up into the stirrups which he had wheeled around for her and opened her legs to him. He pulled up the stool and was eye level with her swollen clitoris, glistening and inviting him in. He inhaled, smelling her most intimate smell, and his cock was throbbing harder than ever.

(Y/N) looked along her body to see Dr. Chisaki staring intently at her pussy. She had heard of other women showing their vulvas to each other and looking at their own in the mirror. She had never been interested in looking but Dr. Chisaki had such a hungry look on his face, she was intrigued to she what she was missing out on.

Dr. Chisaki's face became more serious and stern. "Now, Miss (L/N), I am going to perform more of the therapy I mentioned. Most people have tried him themselves by now and I'm amazed that you haven't so I am going to help you along. Ok?" His stern look made her feel like she had misbehaved somehow. Her desire to please him and obey was stronger than ever so she nodded silently. "You're to pay attention whilst I do it so you can replicate it at home. I will make a follow up appointment so that I can see if you have been doing it properly." (Y/N) nodded.

Dr Chisaki took off his jacket and told her there was no need for lubricant this time as she was clearly quite an excitable girl. Calling her a girl and her obedient nod, with her doe eyes and innocent face, gave him a strong rush of desire.

He reached out his hands, pushed her legs wider so her pussy was open and presented to him, and using one finger began to stroke from the top of her clit down to the bottom. He did this methodically and slowly, building up pressure and intensity. The smell of her sweet, wet pussy filled his nostrils and it was all he could do not to unzip his flies and plunge himself, rock hard into her. (Y/N) meanwhile, was rocking her hips from side to side, pushing her groin up to meet the firm touch of the doctor. The pressure on her clit was growing and she felt a building sensation from deep in her stomach. She reached up to her tits and started rubbing them like Dr Chisaki had done. She was entirely lost in the feelings her body was experiencing. Her breath was faster and faster, the heat was rising up her body and she felt very dizzy. Her moans started to escape her mouth and Dr Chisaki increased his frequency and pressure on her sweet spot, marvelling in her wetness. His insistency mounted and he said, "That's it, Miss (L/N), you're doing very well, you're being a very good girl." Her body was writhing in front of him and he felt pre-cum start to form on the tip of his rock hard cock.

He said clearly to his patient, "Ok I want you to come now for me Miss (L/N). Do you understand? You are to come for me", and on those words, out of her mind and totally lost in animal instincts, (Y/N) ground herself down, onto the Doctor's fingers taking them entirely inside her as her body exploded in wave after wave of orgasm, flooding over her. She couldn't help but scream out "YES DOCTOR, OH YES". Her pussy was in convulsions and Dr Chisaki could feel them on his fingers as she came in an intense orgasm for 15 seconds, her eyes wrapped shut and her body writhing. Her breathing was ragged and her body became like a limp doll, post-orgasm as she came down from the high.

When she had recovered somewhat she opened her eyes to find Dr. Chisaki looking at her body, as if drinking it all in. They locked eyes and held the moment in time. He stood up and came up to the top of the bed and reached out his right hand towards her mouth. She opened her full soft lips to receive his fingers and he rubbed along her bottom lip before inserting his index finger into her mouth. Instinctively she sucked it and wrapped her tongue around his rough, thick finger, tasting herself on him. She tasted glorious.

"Well Miss (L/N)," he said in his deep voice. "That was a very successful session for you. I'm pleased with the progress you've made, you've behaved very well."

(Y/N) finally spoke, "Thank you Dr. Chisaki I'm so grateful for your time today I hope I haven't taken up too much of it."

"Not at all Miss (L/N). I shall prescribe you some more therapy sessions over a 6 week period here in my office. If I'm not available I will make sure that Nurse chronostasis will see you. Now in the mean time, make sure to practice what I showed you today. I shall test you next time to see if you have remembered. I will leave you to get dressed and see you next week. Good day Miss (L/N)."

"Good day Dr. Chisaki" said (Y/N) meekly, "I'll make sure I practice." She looked directly at him and he could see the beginnings of a spark of a very, very good girl.

[hangesbrattyapprentice]

Sleuths & Syndicates

Part 2

Detective! Aizawa x fem!reader

˚✧₊⁎ find Part 1, Part 3 & Part 4 here ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Detective!Aizawa who is checking out an armful of children’s books from the small library you work at when you meet him for the first time. He’s got his messy hair tied back in a knot and a dark V-neck on that shows off just how well-muscled he is, rolled up sleeves revealing sinewy forearms, and you’re so caught off guard by this rugged, handsome stranger that you almost forget to scan the books before handing them to him. You want to talk to him, but he’s probably married with kids judging by the books. Plus, he barely even looks at you before walking off.

Detective!Aizawa who comes in again next week to exchange the books for new ones. This time, he seeks you out and asks you for advice. He doesn’t need to – knows everything about kids’ books from his research but he’s been beating himself up all week for not talking to you and is grateful for an excuse. Remembering what his partner Hizashi had drilled into him, he makes sure to casually mention how the books aren’t for his kid – not that he has one. He only means, well, he’s not – that is – he doesn’t have a family, or a girlfriend. Not that you asked... He’s suddenly irritated at himself for messing up, almost resolving to turn and leave. And maybe he would have, had you not given him the most dazzlingly beautiful smile he’s ever seen and told him it was alright…that it was “good to know”.

Detective!Aizawa who doesn’t ask you out till over a month since you met because he’s not sure how, and whether you’d even be interested. He visits the library more and more often even though Eri has read all the books they’ve got for her age group. He’s only there on days you’re working. He’s taken up reading for himself now, indulging in the odd murder mystery that he’ll read during his five-minute breaks at work. You’ll talk at length about it, dissecting the plot, the characters, sharing snippets of your own lives. All your co-workers have caught on. You’re wide open, but Shota never makes a move. Having had enough of it, you cut him off one day with an exasperated sigh and ask if he’ll take you out for a beer when your shift ends in half an hour.   

Detective!Aizawa who gives you a wonderful evening, making you laugh and opening up to you, but losing himself to endless worry on his drive home. His line of work makes having a life complicated. It’s hard enough to care for Eri and keep her safe. Does he have time for a relationship? Would he even be able to make you happy? Give you all that you deserve? He’s almost convinced you’re better off without him. But the next day, you send him a text – just a short, sweet thank you and a picture of you with your cat (as promised, you write). It’s a normal selfie, with you in an oversized t-shirt lying on a couch, your cat perched like a loaf on your chest. You’re not trying to be cute or sexy but you just are. It does something to him. Your eyes, your smile, stir something inside him that he can’t suppress. And he knows he can’t stay away even if he wanted to.

Detective!Aizawa who’s had to cancel your first-date plans twice because the case he’s working on might have a breakthrough any day now and he’s needed out in the field more than usual. When he stops by your apartment during his lunch break to apologise in person, he’s surprised to find you almost in tears. You realise you barely even know each other, but you’re smitten. You thought that he liked you, too, but are growing less sure of it every day. You’d been telling him everything was fine, that you understood when he had to cancel. You put on a brave face but you were tired of acting like it didn’t break your heart every time he blew you off. Even telling him this, you felt like an insecure little girl. He wasn’t even your boyfriend and here you were, already crying.

Detective!Aizawa who cradles your face in his hands and lowers his lips onto yours, kissing you tenderly, whispering apologies against your mouth, your cheeks, along your jaw.

“’m sorry,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, holding you against his chest and swaying slowly side to side. “’m so sorry. I want you to know that I care about you – deeply. And that I don’t take your time for granted.” He hates that he’s already let you down, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t move mountains to make it up to you.

The next time he kisses you, it’s in your apartment where you’ve invited him after your date at a riverside restaurant that you’ve always wanted to go to, and it’s significantly less tender. Three months have passed since your first meeting and neither of you has it in you to wait a second longer.

Detective!Aizawa who, despite your impatient protests, makes you cum on his long fingers and then against his mouth before finally letting you climb onto his lap and lower yourself onto his thick, weeping cock. Even just the flushed tip stretches your pussy so deliciously. His smooth shaft gets even thicker in the middle, and you’re a moaning mess, walls fluttering around him before he’s even bottomed out. Seeing you like this has him absolutely feral.

Before you can register what’s happened, he has your head tucked into the crook of his neck, large hands easily lifting your ass and holding it up as he fucks up into you at a brutal pace. He’s not a very vocal man but the way your pussy milks him tears loud, guttural moans from deep in his chest. He’s panting curses into your ear and telling you what a good girl you are for taking him so well, all the while you’re rendered speechless by how his cock slams into you over and over again, directly into that spot that makes you see stars and has your toes curling in searing pleasure.  

Detective!Aizawa who falls asleep spooning you, strong warm hand holding you tight against him by your belly. Work will remain tricky for a while, with two rival gangs encroaching on each others’ turf in the city. But he’ll do everything he can to make time for you amidst the chaos. He’d whisk you away and move you in with him and Eri in a heartbeat, if you’d let him. But he's pragmatic, patiently waiting for the relationship to reach a point of unquestionable stability and assurance that it's what you truly desire.

Detective!Aizawa who loses his mind with worry one fateful evening when his calls to you go unanswered. He can sense something is very wrong even before he checks in with your colleagues the next day, and the next, and they haven’t seen you either. By the time you're officially reported missing, and an investigation begins, Aizawa is barely holding onto his composure. Nothing is amiss in your apartment, apart from the things you might have left with on a short trip out – phone, purse, keys. Your bicycle was found in a park some dozen blocks away, but no one has seen you or anything suspicious at all. It’s like you just vanished from the face of the earth.

Detective!Aizawa is burdened with an investigation that strikes too close to home.

[kueble]

Cozy Little Christmas

Indulging in some Christmas fluff.

Teen. No Warnings. 2,100 words.

Price/Gaz

---

It’s raining again.

John fucking hates the way it turns the entire base into mud, hates the ache in his bones when the storm gets too rough. He’s not old, just older, but he’s not made for this weather. There are too many scars and healed broken bones littering his body to escape it unscathed. So he scowls as he stomps across the base they’ve been stationed at for way too long.

This was supposed to be a short trip. Three weeks tops, and then they’d all be home by Christmas. Only it’s been over a month and here he is on Christmas Eve, mucking around the desolate base. Because they’re here for a mission, but everyone else has retreated to their off base housing, probably bundled up with friends and family. Price curses the combination of bad intel and shitty weather than has him and his boys stuck here all alone.

The grocery bags nearly weigh him down, and he takes one wrong step and almost falls to his knees in the mud, but he manages to make it back to the officer’s quarters. The other members of his team are housed closer to the rest of the grunts, so his privilege means he’s even more cut off than usual. He longs for their own base where they have a wing practically to themselves. Their well-loved arm chair and ancient tv seem practically bougie compared to his bare quarters.

Ghost and Soap have claimed one of the rec rooms for their own private celebration, and he pities any stragglers on base who may stumble into it. Ghost already terrifies most of them, and Soap’s bite is actually worse than his bark. They had offered a half-assed invitation to Gaz and himself, but both seemed relieved when they were turned down. Instead, they all agree to eat whatever Christmas miracle the mess hall staff manages to pull together tomorrow night.

Ghost and Soap deserve a night to themselves, and it’s rare to get time alone on a foreign base. Besides, they all know how the night will end, and both he and Gaz have already seen way too much of their relationship. He doesn’t need to see that much skin ever again. Gaz still looks truly horrified from the time he caught them fucking in the showers. He just kept mumbling about how he didn’t even know Ghost could bend like that.

It’s not unusual for commanding officers to host holiday parties for their teams, though they’re usually off base and overflowing with too much booze. Even though they’re not at home, Price doesn’t think twice about offering Gaz a home-cooked meal, knowing he wouldn’t read too much into it. Just because John has been infatuated with his sergeant for ages doesn’t mean anything will come of it. Besides, he would have done the same for any of his boys, regardless of how gorgeous he thinks they are.

Which brings him here: this tiny kitchen where he is going to somehow prepare a feast worthy of Gaz. The oven has seen better days, but maybe a little Christmas magic will help him pull this off. Checking his watch, he realizes he has a few hours before their arranged meeting time. He pushes up his sleeves and gets to work. His mother would cry if she could see the sad state of this kitchen, but she taught him how to turn any situation into a happy one, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t feed Gaz the nicest dinner he’s ever had.

—

Three hours later, Price is stirring the gravy when Gaz wanders in. Price loses his grip on the spoon when he takes in the tight jeans and navy shirt he has on. The shirt is very form fitting, and he has the sleeves rolled up in a way that draws Price’s gaze to his strong forearms. Christ, he’ll be the death of him, walking around here looking like a feast himself. Price shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts and offers what he hopes is a friendly - not harassing - smile.

Gaz has a box tucked under his arm and sets it on the counter before sniffing at the air. “Smells amazing, Captain!” he says before gesturing at the box. “Picked up some cookies since I can’t bake to save my life.”

“I’ll bake for you sometime,” he says as casually as he can, trying to keep any hint of his feelings from bleeding into his tone. “I spent half my childhood chasing my mother around the kitchen and don’t often get the excuse to show it off.”

“I’d like that,” Gaz murmurs, leaning in closer and eyeing the pots on the stove. He ignores the saucepan Price is stirring and points to a larger pot on the back burner. “What’s that?”

“Figured since we’re officially off duty I’d make up some mulled wine. Why don’t you grab the ladle and pour us some? Can’t offer you anything but the mugs in the cupboards for it, but should still taste fine,” he says, smiling as he watches Gaz reach up for the mugs. The bottom of his shirt pulls up, and he nearly burns the fucking gravy staring at the thing strip of skin it reveals.

Crisis averted, Price pulls the roast out of the oven where he’d been keeping it warm. Gaz hums as he takes it in, and Price feels his chest tighten over how proud he feels. The chuck roast looks perfect, tucked into a nest of neatly arranged potatoes, carrots, and onions. Gaz reaches out to touch it, so he slaps him on the back of the hand with the gravy spoon.

“None of that now, you heathen,” he says, laughing. “Take the wine to the table and let me plate this up.” Gaz doesn’t look shamed at all, instead grins like he’s pleased with himself before throwing out a hasty salute and following orders. He shakes his head though he loves the playful way they can interact when not on duty.

The roast slices up nicely, and he adds veggies to each of their plates before pouring gravy on top. It smells heavenly, and he brings both plates to the small table with a smug look on his face. He can’t openly romance Gaz the way he wants to, but he can at least provide some comfort in the middle of a long mission.

“I’m fucking starving,” Gaz mumbles before taking his first bite. He moans around his fork, and Price is suddenly thankful for the table hiding his lap. He takes a long sip of how spiced wine and dutifully ignores how much he longs to hear that sound again.

“Told you I could cook,” he says gruffly, and Gaz just gawks at him.

“Yeah, but I figured you could grill some steaks or something. This is amazing! I hope you know I’m going to be pestering you to feed me all the time now,” he says, already stuffing another bite into his mouth.

“It’d be my pleasure. Like seeing you happy,” Price admits before ducking his head down. He can feel his cheeks heating up and knows how red he gets despite the beard covering his face. His cheekbones are probably ridiculously bright right now, and he doesn’t need to make Gaz think he’s after anything more than a meal with a good friend.

Sure, it’s the friend he’s been falling for since he met him, but there’s no need for Gaz to ever know that. Besides the fact that he’d have to explain himself to Kate - and her wife who has been hounding him about it for months now - he knows Gaz deserves someone younger, someone not as tied to his work as Price is. Sometimes he thinks there might be more than friendship in the looks Gaz sends his way, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Gaz is overly nice, going out of his way to befriend everyone on base, so Price knows he isn’t getting any kind of special treatment. Also he could never be the one to make a move, and Gaz surely doesn’t want to, so he’s more than happy to simply stay by his side as long as Gaz wants him to.

The rest of the meal goes smoothly and they fall into conversation as easily as they always do. They compliment each other so much, and Price can picture nights like this, just sharing food and company, lost in their own little world. He may not be willing to confess anything, but a little longing never hurt anyone. By the time their glasses are empty and their plates are clean, Price is comfortably warm and even more head over heels for the man in front of him.

“Let me clean up and then we can put on a movie or something,” he says in an effort to avoid staring at Gaz like a lovesick teen. The wine must be hitting him harder than he thought, because he swears Gaz’s smile is a little softer than usual.

“You wash, I’ll dry,” Gaz offers, and he can’t find a reason to turn him down. Thankfully he’d been smart enough to buy a disposable tin for the roast, so they don’t have to scrub anything too much. So they end up crowded at the tiny sink together, arms and thighs brushing every so often in a way that makes his breath catch in his lungs. They keep chatting, joking and laughing while they tackle the dishes.

It’s all so fucking domestic that it makes him weak in the knees.

After they clean up, Gaz ushers him towards the couch, stopping in the middle of the room to point up at the ceiling. He looks up, blinking slowly at the plastic piece of mistletoe taped to the water-stained ceiling tiles. It looks a bit tacky, a huge red bow practically dwarfing the fake plant.

“I didn’t hang that up,” Price says, eyes narrowing as he looks up at the offending sprig of mistletoe. It must have been left from an earlier party, maybe before the locals went off base for the holiday.

“I know,” Gaz says with a mischievous grin, “I did. Thought you might need a little push to kiss me, since we’ve been dancing around it for so long. You haven’t caught on to any of the hints I’ve been dropping, so I figured I should be direct for once.”

“Hints?” he asks stupidly.

“For someone so smart, you’re fucking clueless. I’ve been hitting on you practically since the day I met you. I thought you’d do something about it, but then I realized you’re too proper to take the lead. The guys have been threatening to tell you themselves, since they’re sick of me whining about how hopeless I am. So this is it. I’m making my big gesture, with a pathetically tiny piece of mistletoe I found in town, and I’m hoping I’m not wrong and that you want me back.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone else,” he whispers, putting his whole heart into Gaz’s battle-worn hands.

“Good. Then shut up and kiss me already,” Gaz orders, his eyes bright as he points up to the ceiling again.

“This is going to cause me so much paperwork,” he says, laughing when Gaz just steps closer and walks him back towards the wall.

“Come on, you love paperwork,” he tells him before bracketing his body with both arms, smirking at their shared hatred of the damn stuff.

“Not as much as I love you,” Price admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. Still, Gaz shivers before placing a hand on Price’s chest, right over his heart.

“I love you, too,” he answers softly.

Price leans in and presses a tentative kiss against his lips. He means to keep things light, but he didn’t count on Gaz biting his lower lip, dragging a soft moan out of him. He shivers as Gaz licks into his mouth, tongue brushing his own as he tightens his hold on Gaz’s waist. It’s perfect, warm and plush with the taste of mulled wine clinging to Gaz’s mouth, and he realizes he’ll never get enough of this.

And by the way Gaz sinks into him, sighing happily against his mouth, he stops worrying about not being wanted. He’s found this, this bright star in the middle of his rough existence, and he aims to fight like hell to be able to keep him. Gaz seems just as hungry for it as he is, and for once he stops thinking about anything except the way they fit together like they were born for it.

[alyslaskeywriter]

Whose Pride Is It Anyway?

Cut below for mentions of homophobia and offensive language.

It was morning again. The beige curtains blocked out a little of the sun, but the four beige walls and nondescript furniture within them were still easier to see than they had been an hour previously. More was the pity.

Norman had never been the sort of man to care too much about decor. He had left that to Lou. Lou had been the one who hung paintings on the walls, who put fresh flowers on the dining room table, scattered plump and pointless pillows on the beds and seats. Norman had always hated those pillows, and had told Lou countless times, but Lou would not be told. Now, he would have given anything for just one of Lou’s pillows.

Instead, he was now confined to these three small rooms, where everything was the same dull shade of off-white and he lived alone, his only company the old photos he had brought from his old house and the young girls who worked at the home. They came in a few times a day to check on him, keep things clean, and assist him with personal tasks that he would have much rather preferred to have remained personal.

Growing old was better than the alternative, or so people said. Norman was not sure that he believed that to be the case. As much as he missed Lou’s presence in his life, he was grateful that his beloved had never had to put up with the indignity of having a child barely out of school perform an intimate wash. The idea of someone other than himself — for it had been a younger and fitter Norman who had played the role of carer in the end — caring for Lou in that way made his stomach turn and his palms clench.

His own carer was running late today, according to the clock - cream-coloured, to match the paint - on the wall opposite his bed. Usually Gina arrived at eight on the dot to help him in the morning. Gina was not Norman’s favourite of the carers, but she was at least the most punctual. It was ten minutes past eight now. Where was Gina?

After a further five minutes, Norman found his mild concern for Gina’s whereabouts and wellbeing giving way to annoyance at her absence, a process that was accelerated by the urgency he now felt in his lower abdomen.

“I suppose I’d better sort myself out, then,” he rumbled aloud to the empty room, and with some effort, he managed to reach across to his zimmer frame and rise up into a seated position. He took a deep breath before heaving himself up to standing. “Let’s hope I don’t take a tumble on my way to the bathroom, Gina.”

Walking this early in the morning was difficult, and slower than usual without any help. The bathroom was only in the next room, but that room seemed a great distance away. Still, Norman persevered. He had made it this far, and so he would make it all the way. It was a matter of pride. He got as far as the bedroom door when, finally, someone opened it.

But, to Norman’s dismay, the person who opened the door was not Gina. Nor was it one of the other girls, or a girl at all. Standing in the doorway was a man.

He was young, around the same age as the other carers, with dark hair styled with a faded shave, bronze-coloured skin and brown, almond shaped eyes. He wore the uniform of the carers with the sleeves rolled up to the level of his muscular biceps, exposing a tattoo of a lion on his forearm, below which was inked the single word ‘proud’. He had another, smaller tattoo of a dainty flower behind his left ear, and — Norman squinted at him — was he wearing make up?

“Hi there!” said the man. His voice was higher pitched than Norman would have expected considering his stature, and he smiled widely as if Norman were an old friend rather than a stranger. “You must be Mr Andrews.”

“I must be, must I?” Norman scowled at the newcomer. “And who the ruddy hell are you?”

“I’m Kai, one of the carers. I’m here to assist you this morning.”

“Where’s Gina?”

“She’s on holiday this week. Amalfi coast, lucky thing.” Kai the new carer smiled with his lips pursed and his eyebrows twitched upwards. “It’s supposed to be stunning there. I expect she’ll tell you all about it when she gets back. For now, though, you’ve got little old me to help you.”

“Fantastic,” muttered Norman. “Could you help me by getting out of my way? Nature is calling. If you don’t want a big mess to clean up, you’ll let me answer quickly.”

“Say no more, Mr Andrews. Here,” Kai strode so effortlessly that he seemed almost to glide to the door of the bathroom and held it open. He held one hand out to gesture inside. “Your throne awaits.”

Norman rolled his eyes, but he allowed Kai the carer to help support his weight as he got inside bathroom and let go of the zimmer frame in order to remove his pyjamas and underwear with shaking hands.

“Mr Andrews, would you like me to—”

“Absolutely not.”

Kai smiled and shrugged. Norman’s jaw tensed and continued to fumble at the drawstrings of his pyjamas, too proud to admit that he could have done with some help. Eventually though, he managed to undo them, and still leaning on Kai, he lowered himself down onto the toilet, just in time.

“All finished?” Kai asked, as Norman finished. “Come on then, Mr Andrews. Let’s get you cleaned up ready for breakfast.”

He lifted Norman up so that he was supported once more by his zimmer frame, and went towards the shower. Norman’s eyes widened.

“I don’t want you helping me with that,” he said, shaking his head.

“You need to have a wash, Mr Andrews.”

“Not with you here, I don’t.”

Kai nodded slowly and exhaled. “Look. I get it. I work with a lot of gentlemen your age, and many of them are uncomfortable with me helping them to do this sort of thing at first.”

“I’m not surprised, what with you being a raving homosexual.”

“It’s that obvious, is it?”

“Too obvious, if you ask me. The only way it would be more obvious would be if you had tap danced in here holding a picture of Judy Garland,” muttered Norman. Kai laughed. Norman did not. “It’s not funny. It’s obnoxious and it’s irritating, and I do not want you to wash me. I’ll wait for one of the girls to help.”

If Kai was offended by Norman’s stance or tone he did not show it. Perhaps he was too proud to show hurt feelings.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “But I at least need to wipe—”

“Keep your hands off my arse, you bloody poof!”

“Mr Andrews,” Kai fixed Norman with a look that was equal parts stern and resigned, “I may be gay, but I assure you that I have no interest in your arse other than wiping it clean. No offence, but for me to be interested in anything else, that derrière of yours would have to be a lot more perky than it is at the moment.”

Not wishing to have soiled underwear for the rest of the morning, Norman relented, though he refused to take a shower with Kai present. He cleaned his teeth, and allowed the carer to help redress him, one half of his body at a time. He had hoped that Kai would then leave him in peace with his breakfast - that was what Gina always did - but instead, Kai then began to busy himself with polishing the sideboards.

“What are you doing?” Norman asked him. “Don’t you have other arses to wipe?”

“I do, but I have a little time. Seeing as you wouldn’t let me clean yourself, I may as well clean up in here instead.”

“Alright. But don’t break anything.”

“I will try, Mr Andrews.”

Kai continued to flit around the room cleaning and humming softly to himself as he did so, Norman’s irritation growing with each note that issued from his lips. Once he had finished with the sideboards, Kai made a start on the windowsills, before coming to the small table that stood next to Norman’s chair.

“Don’t touch that!” Norman snapped, as Kai reached to pick up the photo frame resting on the table, but it was too late. The photo was already in Kai’s hands.

“Well, well,” said the carer with a smile. “Look at this handsome young man. Mr Andrews, you were quite the looker in your day, weren’t you?”

“Put that down.”

“Just a sec.” Kai wiped the table before placing Norman’s photo down on it once more. “There.” He smiled again. “Who is that in the photo with you?”

“That’s Lou.”

“Your brother?”

“No,” Norman sighed and looked at the photo of him and Lou, standing side by side in the garden of the house they had lived in together for the last eight years of Lou’s life. “I suppose that you would call him my boyfriend.”

“Your… Oh.” Kai’s lips parted and his eyebrows shot upwards, but he quickly regained his composure. “Is he…”

“He passed away twelve years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss.” Kai nodded his head at the photo. “He looks like he was a good man.”

“He was the very best of men.”

The room was silent for a few moments, or possible a few minutes, as Norman looked at the print of Lou’s handsome face, the face that - other than in photos - he had not seen in twelve years, and would never see again. Though Kai was still in the room, he felt as lonely in that moment as if he were entirely alone.

“Mr Andrews, may I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

“Yes, I guess so. It’s just…” Kai sighed, his dark and neatly shaped eyebrows knitting together. “Why did you call me obnoxious and irritating?”

“Because you are obnoxious and irritating.”

“Because I’m gay? But—”

“Because you feel the need to be so bloody obvious about it,” said Norman. “I never felt the need to flaunt the fact in anyone’s faces. Neither did Lou. Hell, if we had acted the way you did when we were your age, we’d have been locked up, or beaten up, or worse. We had to learn how to hide it, and we did that for years. We wasted years of our lives hiding and pretending, and then finally we can stop and it’s then what? This bloody disease comes along and starts killing us all. Friends, lovers, brothers, sons, you name it, all gone before their time. And now here I am, alone, and in you come prancing in here like being queer is something for you to be proud of.”

“I am proud of it. That’s why they call it gay pride.”

Norman glowered at him. “You have no right to feel pride when you’ve never had to live with real shame.”

“Actually, I disagree,” said Kai. “All of us have a right to feel pride, because we should be proud of who we are, how far our community has come in spite of all the hardships we’ve faced in our history.” Norman scoffed, and Kai tilted his head to one side. “What?”

“Our history. Our.” Norman shook his head. “It’s not ours, it’s mine. This history you talk about, that’s not history. It’s my life.”

“I know, but-”

“No. No ‘buts’. You do not know anything. If you did, you wouldn’t have needed to ask why I would find you so annoying, so frustrating.” Norman exhaled angrily before lowering his voice to tell Kai, “You are so lucky, and you do not even know how lucky you have it.”

Slowly, Kai inclined his head.

“Then make me know how lucky I am,” he said.

“What?”

“Tell me about your life. I’d like to hear about it, if you’ll talk to me about it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No one wants to listen to an old queer like me.”

“This young queer does.” Kai winked at Norman conspiratorially before floating back across the room. “Just let me put the kettle on, and then you and I can have a good chinwag. How do you like your tea?”

“I don’t,” Norman said gruffly. Kai raised his eyebrows at him, and he sighed. “I prefer coffee.”

Norman waited until Kai was turned the other way before smiling to himself. In the corner of his eye, he could see the photo of Lou, smiling in the garden. Lou had always been a great talker, and a great listener, too. Norman had missed having someone to talk to, someone to listen to. And the two of them had shared an incredible life together, one Norman was proud of. Even if it was with someone as annoying as Kai, he was glad to be able to talk about it and to have someone listen. Not that he was about to let Kai know it, of course. He was far too proud for that.

[kittttycakes]

F, S, U for the fanfic asks? I’d love to pick your brain.

F. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

This is the hardest one to answer!! But a lot of fun to think about, so, from chapter 4 of as heart for heart, I really loved this exchange:

She was carefully cutting her chicken when she ventured to ask, “You mentioned a sister. Do you have any other siblings?”

He glanced over at her, barely making eye contact before replying, “Yes.”

Her jaw clenched, nearly imperceptibly, as she waited for any further response. How many, what they did, where he was in the line up, she would take anything at all, really, if it just meant he would say more than two words in a row to her.

She felt Hob looking at her, but did not look back, determined to see it through. “I used to wonder what it would be like, having siblings. I was an only child growing up, but there was a whole group of us, around the same age, that all lived close enough together that we could spend our free time together. I always thought having siblings would be like that, but that’s rather silly, isn’t it? Not everyone gets on with theirs, I know.” Grace shifted slightly in her seat, starting to uncross her legs before remembering how small the table was, resulting in her rather sharply jabbing the toe of her shoe squarely into Tom’s kneecap. “Christ—I’m sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy, I swear. Small table, bad day, one or the other or both.”

“She usually lives up to the namesake,” Hob said with a soft smile, reaching over and lightly putting his hand on her forearm, squeezing gently, once, reassuring, before letting go.

The entire dinner is SO awkward and so tense, and I feel like the shortness of Dream’s answer and Grace’s desperate talking just to fill the air really gets that across, culminating in her (mostly…) accidentally kicking him square in the knee, and Hob, who wants so badly for the dinner to go well, trying to make her feel a bit better. I think this exchange sort of gives a good idea of the atmosphere of this dinner table, and where everyone is at from Grace’s POV.

It’s also such a good chance to see Grace in an environment where she’s feeling a lack of control over the situation and a little uncomfortable, and getting to see her response to that (she doesn’t fight or flee, she fawns).

Honorable mention to Hob’s “Shroedinger’s human” line in chapter 7 because I thought it was funny.

S can be found here!

U. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

This is also so hard, but as long as we acknowledge this is in no particular order AND is based a lot on what I have read most recently (tagging them here so everyone can go check them out):

@just-french-me-up has an absolutely brilliant WIP right now that I cannot get enough of (Three Hundred Years of Longing). Her other works are also incredible, I personally think about Sworn Hand and As Tantalus Reaches for the Apple at least once a week. She is so good at dialogue, at atmosphere, at fleshing out characters and making them so real and so vital, like living breathing people…I honestly could go on for a very long time so I’ll stop here.

Moorishflower writes some of the most beautiful prose and dialogue and was one of the first authors I read when I started to get into Sandman fic, I am woefully behind on Little Histories and Beautiful, Strange, and New, but both are knocking my socks off utterly. I feel the full spectrum of human emotion while reading fics by moorishflower. I am both in awe and jealous of the command of language, and reading a new chapter or new fic is always bound to be a delight.

Ark, who I have been reading fic from since…2012, perhaps? and who I have followed through a few fandoms, writes some of the absolute best characterization I have ever seen, full stop. Les Mis, CA:TWS, Sandman…I consider myself VERY lucky that I’ve ended up reading fic for the fandoms Ark writes for.

(Also, this feels like a good place to note that the AO3 account associated with this username is different than the AO3 I comment under/have written previous fic on, which is ditvin, so if you see me in the comments section on AO3…hello!)

[kithtaehyung]

SOLmates (teaser) (m) | OT7

title: SOLmates (teaser) pairing: ot7 x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; soulmates au (negative), arranged marriage au, futuristic dystopian  summary: “What awaits after Inferno? Ashes.” teaser warnings: lots of intro!, all intro!, jin is a bit of a menace, manhandling, cursing, fingering, scratching, yoongi is rude af, choking, jin wears a chain bc i can’t help myself, warnings to be added as series starts note: so.. this is a project i’ve been working on for awhile now. i don’t normally plan things, but something that started on a whim grew into this entire universe that i ended up having to plan like never before lol. i just wanted to show y’all a small piece of it, and i hope you enjoy! note 2: thank you to @wwilloww​​, @kookskingdom​​, and @sugaurora​​ for encouraging me to keep going on this! y’all gave me much more hype than i could ask for and i’m really excited for what’s to come. this is also a rough draft so it will be polished later :D teaser word count: 5.4k 5.5k release date: july 27th, 2022, 7pm est  updated: august 3rd, 2022

-

-

PROLOGUE

The first time, you feel a spark.

The second, a fire. 

But what happens after the third?

What awaits after Inferno?  

Ashes. 

-

-

// LOGDATE: 3021.01.32, 0700

// LOCATION: PLANET EARTH, HOME POD

// SUBJECT: HARDLOCK

No matter how hard or long you sleep, the soft clicks and whirrs of your bedroom’s bootup routine never fail to make you stir. 

Face scrunched, your gaze sweeps across the mostly empty space beyond your sheets. Pale blue light spreads over everything like a blanket, and you are quickly reminded of when you ported off-planet for the first time, watching the rush of a million blue streaks encompass your peripherals. 

Why that memory flits about your mind, you haven’t the faintest clue. That was ages ago.

“AE-AI, what’s today,” you grumble, knowing your Homepanion will register your drowsy, garbled speech. 

And, like always, her calm voice drifts over your head. 

[Today is Saturday, January 32nd, 3021.]

[Reminder: you have one meeting today.]

[Atmosphere Aura Temperature: Suboptimal.]

A meeting? You may be exhausted as all hell, but you know it’s definitely your day off. Reaching to swipe your phone off your nightstand, you check the screen to see if something slipped into your schedule last second, dropping it with a thud when nothing appears. 

The ghost of a kiss accompanies the soft touch of rough fingers between your shoulder blades. “Isn’t it Saturday,” a sleep-leadened voice asks, and you hum in response, settling into your bedfellow’s embrace when they tug you backwards. “We never have meetings on Saturdays.” 

“I know.” 

The lithe forearm around your torso starts to slide downward, and a small knot in your belly tightens when fingers wander across your bare pelvis. “Jin,” you whisper, hushed and breathy, “Let me figure this out first.” 

“Just cancel,” the man’s coarse suggestion matches the tone of his voice before he lazily bites your ear. “There, I solved it.” 

You don’t hide your groan, but you do close a hand over Jin’s wrist just as he slips a lone finger between your folds. “Thirty seconds,” you sigh in compromise. Because you absolutely want the same thing he does. 

The random notification is just throwing you off. 

If this meeting has nothing to do with work, it better be a good one; it’s stealing hours of your rare, precious rest time. Lately, none of your squad had been gifted with any, which is exactly why you and Jin made the most of last night. 

“Fine. Not like AE-AI’s gonna care,” he relents, albeit petulantly. 

[I do not.]

As Jin fires off an insult to your intelligent and apparently saucy assistant, you laugh and wrap his arm back around your stomach. “What’s the meeting for, AE-AI?”

[The meeting has no title or subject, but the location is as follows: Phode Industries, Floor 112, Room 34-B.]

“Damn him,” you mutter, the absence of anything important in a meeting drop being the mark of your Guardian. “AE-AI, call the meeting organizer, please.” 

[Calling: Kim Namjoon.]

You turn, observing shut, tired eyes under wavy black locks. “Looks like it’s gonna be more than thirty seconds.” 

Without moving a muscle, he teases, “I’m heartbroken.” 

“You’ll get over it.” 

“Say hi to Joon for me.” 

“I’m going to be saying a lot more than that.” 

As the rings echo throughout your spacious bedroom, frustration is the sole energy source that thrusts your legs out of heated blankets and your feet onto cold floors. To combat the chill, you swipe a large shirt from the foot of your bed.

“Hey, that’s mine!”

Jin’s scent hugs you like a second layer as you shrug. When you walk away, your arms stretch high above your head, knowing his stare will drift straight down to your ass.

And as planned, the next thing you hear is a groan.

“Damn. Fucking keep it.”

You’re almost to your bathroom when your annoyance finally answers the call.

“Oh, good. You’re up.” 

“Namjoon, what the hell is this?” Warm lights bloom when you enter the spacious area and, with one eye squinted, you scratch your head while reaching for your toothbrush. “You better have a brilliant reason for this meeting or else I’m not stepping foot out of this pod.” 

“It’s not that I have a brilliant reason. It’s that we have no choice.” 

You pause, the toothpaste glob missing the bristles of your brush. “And that means what, exactly?”

There is a bout of silence in the speakers. In your buildup of anger, you rest your hands on the counter, both tools still resting in your curled fingers. “Namjoon,” you repeat, drawing out his name. 

“What else do you think we wouldn’t have a choice in, kid?” 

Ugh. You should’ve just stayed in your bed with Jin. It’s too damn early for your Guardian’s mind games. “Is it Ngoya wanting to reup his implants again? I know we have to keep that relationship pretty solid but it’s one more day. Just don’t walk outside for twenty four more hours! It shouldn’t be that hard.”

“No, it’s not that—”

While you’re successfully coating your toothbrush with paste, you fire off another guess, “Oh, never mind, I know. It’s that damn Spark Suppressor asking for business again. Why did I have to be chatty and tell him my—”

“Not that, either. Listen to me? Please?” 

Nonchalant is too stiff of a word to describe the way you’re brushing your teeth, slightly slouched and observing your eyes in the expansive mirror. 

Eyes that hadn’t been out of a shield in days. 

A gruff exhale crackles the sound system in your ceiling before Namjoon speaks again, and you stand there speechless, toothbrush hanging limp in between your lips. 

“You’ve been summoned. It’s damn Hardlock, kid. I’m sorry.” 

Fuck. 

You’ve shaped your life how you wanted it to be, despite all of the adaptations that society has gone through and thrown at you. 

Every single one except Hardlock, apparently. 

The Arranged Marriage Pact that cannot be refused. 

-

-

// LOGDATE: 3021.01.32, 0800 

// LOCATION: GLISA STATION, EALIONA DISTRICT

// SUBJECT: WHEN YOU STARTED BELIEVING

Adjusting your eyeshield, you sigh as you step into a hovertrain with a group of other passengers. 

Suppressor gloves forgotten at home, you were quick to shove bare hands in jacket pockets, rushing to the back of the compartment to isolate yourself. On the way, you accidentally brush someone’s arm, apologizing but not stopping in your haste. 

Even if you’re fully clothed, you still have a moment of panic when you make contact with someone. It’s the norm to have that instilled in your nature. 

Will it happen? 

Or not? 

Well, you don’t know what it feels like, but according to your relatives’ experiences, it’s a situation you don’t want to encounter. Ever. 

An automated announcement blares right before the doors close, and you don’t hear a word spoken on the train as you sit, backpack taking up most of the seat. 

With your stop five long minutes away, you have some time to think.

How did it get to be this way? Who the hell is choosing you of all people? People in your line of work never get chosen for Hardlock because of the risk factor. 

Maybe they know how lucrative your job really is and they just want the money. You can’t blame them in that case.

Rolling other careers around in your mind, you can’t think of another one with higher pay than a Salvager. The only one that comes close is someone in Namjoon’s position: a Guardian that protects a Salvager’s livelihood. You don’t know what you would do without him. 

It’s a miracle that a Spark didn’t happen when you accidentally saw his eyes in that one wanderhouse, when you entered a room you didn’t know he was occupying. 

He was simply reading a book—one of the old ones that required hands to read—which he promptly dropped at your entrance. 

You remember both staring at each other for a good while, shocked to death and then relieved. Relieved to see another pair of true irises in organic colors and hues. 

If he ended up being a SOLmate, that would’ve been the end of a relationship. It was even company policy: you would’ve had to make arrangements to part before acquiring a new Guardian within hours.

You heard the stories. Broken friendships, crumbled company deals, crushed empires. 

Because nothing could overcome the initial Spark—much less an Inferno.

Which is why you are going to keep your hands hidden in your jacket at all times. You can’t risk touching another human and possibly igniting. 

Don’t connect your bare eyes. 

Don’t connect your bare skin. 

The two ways a Spark can be initiated.

You don’t know what the hell birthed the curse of SOLmates, but you’ve learned how society has adapted. The rise of quarantining and social avoidance became the norm, with entire civilizations working remotely and citizens avoiding the Outside altogether. 

At first, you didn’t believe in SOLmates. You thought it was just a ploy carried out by the Heado Council to keep commoners in their pods while they went about their shady ways. 

It wasn’t until your cousin suddenly appeared in your Tele-Port with a barren look in their eyes, hunched over and refusing to speak to you until three days later. You remember having to force food and water down their slimming throat, along with sleep medicine to fight their insomnia. 

When they finally spoke, voice gravelly and dusty, you understood. 

“If you ever ignite,” they started, unblinking and haunted, “Never meet them again.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“Promise me.” 

“Hey, snap out of it. What are you talking about?”

They finally lifted their eyes, and you fought the urge to lurch forward seeing the specks of sharp grey swirling around obsidian—volcanic ash in their depths. “You will want to. But fight it. Don’t let there be a third time. Lock yourself away if you have to.” With each pointed plea, their body thrummed, their words as jittery as their shoulders until you rushed over to hold them. 

“You have to relax,” you whispered, but your cousin fought against your arms, their voice suddenly shrill and desperate in your ear,

“Never see them again! You can’t! Anything is better than this!” 

“Hey, wait—” 

An elbow connected with your stomach, forcing your grip loose. Frantic, your visitor wrenched themselves from your form and tore their way through your living room, hair whizzing and flailing. 

You called out for them, but your plea fell on deaf ears. Right as they scampered onto the transportation disk, they slammed trembling fingers onto the console as if they didn’t care where the hell they were sent. 

“Wait!” 

The yell dispersed throughout your empty room, rebounding off the furniture and dark grey walls. Feeling the weight of the loud silence that followed, your arms slowly fell back to your sides, and you wondered if you would ever see your cousin again. 

You still haven’t seen them since. 

[Now arriving at: Phode District]

The hovertrain warbles to a stop. Cracking your neck, you make your way out of the compartment, almost going to adjust your backpack straps until you realize you can’t unpocket your fingers. 

Shit. You’re going to have to swallow your pride and admit to Namjoon that you don’t have gloves. 

He’s going to notice anyways; you won’t be able to take out the docu-discs you have stashed without showing your bare skin. With a thought, you blink three times to bring up the HUD on your eyeshield and ring him. 

His answer is instant. 

“Hey, where are you?” 

Peering up at the obnoxiously tall glass building, you watch heavy raindrops splash your helmet before you groan,

“I’m here.” 

-

-

// LOGDATE: 3021.01.32, 0810

// LOCATION: PHODE INDUSTRIES

// SUBJECT: THE MEETING

Thank whatever deities people come up with nowadays that Namjoon has a spare pair. 

After you rushed out an excuse on top of your mistake, your Guardian only sighed and told you to just get your ass to the room. He claimed that he brought extra gear because he had business two districts over, but you didn’t put it past him to be paranoid.

Gliding across the almost barren floor of the lobby, you hear faint announcements about keeping suppressor gear on at all times while on the premises. 

Shit. You have to make it to the elevators before you’re questioned by a roboguard.

But your worries are for naught, for the short trip to the glass tubes goes smoothly. It’s possible that you escape suspicion while in regular civilian garb instead of your Salvager suit. 

You understand completely; the suits are pretty damn noticeable with their reactive energy displays. 

After a low humming ascent, you’re now on the 112th floor, wandering around and sneaking glances into every room not shielded by Darkglass. Peering through the clear walls, you watch as helmeted business people go about their days. Some are negotiating trade deals by the looks of the tablets they are cradling, and some are simply staring out of the building windows and watching the rain. 

People do that a lot. Ever since it’s been next to taboo to show bare skin in the Outside. 

What you would give to feel rain again.

There aren’t many rooms that have the glass activated, but you do pass one that apparently has a commotion going on inside. 

You faintly remember learning about Darkglass. How it shrouds both sight and sound when flipped from clear to black. If something is pressed against the material, there’s a subtle vibration that can be seen.

Just like now, as you walk by a room in the middle of the hall. When you turn to regard the slight waves, you make out the faint outline of a handprint. 

Weird. Maybe someone resting against the wall out of sheer boredom.

It would make sense. You would absolutely hate being chained down to a place of business like this. 

Being a Salvager means you aren’t attached to a building, or a cubicle, or even a central hub. Your job resides wherever the missions take you—wherever some rich asshole ends up needing you to go—whether that be into a local penthouse or the next planet over. 

And you love it. The experiences you get to have, the places you get to see—all of it has been remarkable despite the gritty truth.

It’s not an honorable occupation. Not that honorable is a common word thrown around nowadays. But it’s one that many a wealthy person will shovel out liquid cash and ONIcoin for, so you’re able to live a lavish lifestyle. 

Your hands are practically drowning in your pockets. 

Are you going to have to give up that life because of Hardlock? 

Surely, the family that chose you knows what you are. Your file omits a staggering amount of detail, but your base information is clearly defined next to your known SOLmate count, age, and ancestry.

You finally see a floating LED rectangle that reads 34-B, and the room’s Darkglass is deactivated. Glancing inside, you see Namjoon’s tall, cloaked form standing a safe distance away from what you assume are the mother and father of your chosen partner. While the woman occupies the lone chair at the end of a conference table, her husband simply rests gloves on her sagging shoulders. 

They seem… Lost. 

There wasn’t much time for you to run through their files, but Jin skimmed through while you got ready earlier. 

“Yah, why are there so many redacted sections?” 

“Nothing new,” you threw over your shoulder while slipping on pants. “Happens with a lot of older generations. Elders and their privacy.” 

You could picture Jin’s eyes scanning his HUD back and forth within his sleek eyeshield, legs spread on your traditional sofa. “Jung Family… Blastia District… Shit.” 

“What?” 

“Heado Council puppets.” 

“Fuck.”  

After removing his shield, Jin ruffles his hair and smoothes it back down. “You sure you can’t pull out?” 

“It’s Hardlock, Jin. Non-negotiable.” 

“Isn’t that incredibly unethical?” 

“Severely, but what do they care?” 

“I have a bad feeling about this.” 

You shrugged, faking confidence and hiding the tremble in your bones. “Relax. I don’t have to like the person. Just gotta marry them on paper and tell them I won’t be around.”

Run. You can just run, right? Run away, portcast to the farthest, most decent planet you can think of and live off your dirty pension? It sounds so much better than walking into that room.

But Namjoon turns and notices you through the wall, and he’s only one long stride away from opening the door. 

“Come in!” You can hear the forced smile behind his shiniest blue helmet—one he saves for special occasions—but he whispers his next words, “We may have gotten a little lucky.”

“What? What do you mean?” As you stand in the thin doorway, you drink in his response. 

“The dude isn’t even here.”

“Fantastic,” you drawl, sparing a quick side eye at the parents under the cover of your shield. Maybe he portcasted to the farthest, most decent pla—

“It doesn’t mean the contract is void, but it does give us some time to adjust. Here,” Namjoon steps to the side to allow you entrance, and you clench your fists in humid pockets when you enter the room. 

You have no clue what your Guardian means by that, but you decide to dismiss it when you finally notice something about the reticent couple at the table. 

They’re wearing Navim Shields.

Even you choked seeing the price of those.

This family doesn’t need a drop of your money.

So why the fuck are you here?

-

-

// LOGDATE: 3021.01.32, 0900

// LOCATION: HOMEPOD

// SUBJECT: STRESS RELIEF

“Did I hear you right? The guy didn’t even show?” 

“Why are you still here, Jin?” 

The slide and click of your door shutting behind you means that you’re finally cut off from the Outside, temporarily severed from responsibilities and new expectations and anxieties. No matter how often you left your home for missions, entering the Outside always caused your shoulders to tense until you set foot back in your entryway. 

And even though you will never admit it, seeing Jin’s sweatpants-clad form greeting you is already enough to ease your mind this time.

You shuck your backpack off in an unceremonious dump, sighing as you proceed to remove your eyeshield. 

Fuck.

The moment after removing protection is always a bit disorienting. Your corneas have to adjust to true colors after being suppressed by the shield technology, and it doesn’t help that depth perception changes dramatically. Jin is a lot closer than you think as you lower your eyeshield, and you flinch when he backs you up into your door. 

With one large, capable hand next to your head, he flashes a tiny smirk at your rain-soaked form. “You act like you don’t like it,” he whispers before leaning forward to mesh his lips with yours. 

You melt into his lazy kiss before grunting, meekly pushing his bare chest away and feeling the metal of his chain. “Jin,” you sigh, feeling a twinge of want when he swoops in again and pushes you flush against the door. 

This effectively shuts you up, throwing your need into overdrive as you give in and start tearing your clothes from your limbs. 

The gravelly chuckle that slides between your mouths sends heat between your legs. “Looks like I get you to myself for a bit longer.” 

You scoff as your damp jacket hits the ground with a plop. “We aren’t exclusive,” you hiss before grabbing his hair and tugging him into another sloppy kiss, chilled skin welcoming the warmth of his. 

His wonderful, enticing, tender skin. 

You don’t know what or who decided that Jin isn’t one of your SOLmates, but you still feel like you owe them everything. 

Because if he was, you would have only crossed paths with him three times max in your life. 

And you don’t think you could have lived with that circumstance.

Your hands fly to your pants next, but your focus is cut off by the hot mouth latching onto your throat. “We aren’t,” he agrees after a suck, “But I don’t see anyone else here. Do you?” 

Jin uses one hand to unhook your bra while the other slots between your thighs, grinding into your clothed cunt before giving it a firm swat. 

Fuck, he knows what you need. After the absolute waste of a morning, you’re ready to do whatever the hell he wants. 

But your drenched pants are your worst enemy at the moment. “Help me,” you bite out as you shove him away, frustrated that something so small is the thing that sets you off. 

It wasn’t the fact that you were a Hardlock match, nor the fact that your partner ghosted the meeting and you had to awkwardly stand there with his parents only to slink back home through the rain. 

No. Just your pants keeping you away from your fuck buddy’s leaking dick.

Jin stumbles back with a laugh before coming back to your aid, his fingers looping into your nemesis and pulling them and your underwear down your legs with ease. “Sweetheart is extra bossy today, isn’t she?”

“Just hurry up,” you grunt, going for another shove and stilling when a hand flashes up to block your arm. 

His eyes are lust-blown and determined as he stares you down, grip on your skin and tone just as hard, “Push me again and see what happens, sweetheart.” 

“Call me that one more time and see what happens, bitch,” you counter, eyes squeezing shut and stomach fluttering when Jin attacks with his mouth. 

Your hands are all over each other as he practically throws you back into the front door. While his are roughly palming your breasts and gripping the back of your wet neck, yours are scratching stress lines into his hair and raking through his shoulders. Desire seeps from your cunt, the entrance hot between your cold thighs. 

Everything is almost a replica of last night. Except this time, Jin still has his pants on. 

“Take those off,” you breathe out, water droplets falling from your head, “Just fuck me.” 

“Let me prep you.”

You moan when he rolls his pelvis into yours, ready to be just as split apart as you were a mere twelve hours ago. Desperate, you shake your head. “Don’t need it,” you lie, “I can take it.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“Shit. Okay.” 

After Jin loses his sweatpants, he doesn’t even stand back up fully before you’re clutching his cock, sliding your cold fingers along his shaft once before reaching to cup his balls. Hearing his breathy groans causes more slick to build in your center, and you lean forward to swirl a tongue over one of his nipples. 

“Fuck, baby.” You feel a hand grip the back of your head before it’s tugged back. “Come here.” 

Saliva rims your mouth from your sloppy work, but Jin doesn’t care as he smashes his lips back into yours, tongue on a mission to close your airway. A commanding hand grabs one of your legs to widen your stance, which is the reason for your shock when you’re suddenly spun around. 

Years of reflex and combat training save your face from butting the doorframe, but you still grunt, smirking when you feel hands roughly tug your hips. 

As Jin’s deep voice slides onto your bare back, your cunt flutters while your mouth widens. 

“You can take it, right? Prove it. Sweetheart.” 

For the rest of the night, he makes you forget. 

Your shit job. 

The shit Hardlock. 

And whatever other bullshit you have to be prepared for come morning.

-

-

-

-

CHAPTER I

-

-

Just because it happens once, doesn’t mean it can’t happen again. 

There have been countless records of people with more than one SOLmate, which spurned humanity to escape and flee into the stars. Voyagers are synonymous with cowards, hermits comparable to corpses in coffins—the inevitable has been proven and yet everyone still runs from the truth. 

However, there are people that run towards it. People that forego any armor or suppressor clothes or eyeshields. Those are the ones that suffer the quickest, all because they yearn for that feeling of ignition. The Great Flare. The Eruption. The Inferno.  

It’s a high. 

But everything ends just the same. 

Ashes. 

Ashes walk with no purpose, no soul, no life. What were once vibrant, intentional humans are now husks of a being, nothing but dust with wisps of memory. 

And when left alone too long? 

Their veins protrude and shine like lava; their eyes burn like dying stars. Light shoots from their mouths in a bright beam, angry and orange and devastating, as if a furious sun is fighting for escape. Skin hardens. Splinters. Breaks. 

And the only instinct that remains is to ravage everything around them until they are effectively stopped. 

-

-

// LOGDATE: 3021.02.01, 0600 

// LOCATION: HEADQUARTERS, BRIEFING ROOM 

// SUBJECT: NEW GUY 

“Took you long enough.” 

“Fuck off, Min.” You dump your boots on the nearest surface, which so happens to be a glowing console with multiple buttons and levers. 

The man situated behind it jolts his arms up at the bang, stuttering out as his helmet reflects the lights in front of him, “Hey, you might—” 

“It’s fine,” you snap, getting a snort out of the drowsy man at your back. 

“Damn. Did you two not fuck at all or something? Why’re you so pissy?”

Jin is the one that answers for you, voice taut and raspy from the little amount of sleep you both got last night. “Watch it.”

“Cute.”

Both of you groan a less-than-hearty “Shut up” before parting ways, taking your seats around the circular planning station occupying most of the room. 

Well, Jin takes residence next to a chuckling cohort and you settle on the other side of the table, holograms of mission details and discovered Ashes that need to be salvaged hovering over its dark surface.

One of them looks like your cousin, but you blink and the illusion is dashed. 

The person only looks like her. 

It pains you all the same.

Once you realize how many are filing through, you click your tongue. “Fuck, again? I thought this many Ashes was a rare thing…”

Yoongi—the one that unceremoniously greeted you and someone you cannot stand—pipes up immediately, “Apparently not. But at least they’re all around the same area this time.” 

“I can see that,” you drawl. “But didn’t this just happen? I’ve never seen this many after we just salvaged a big group.”

Something feels odd about the reports flying in. Normally, a day would consist of checking into Headquarters to pinpoint Ashes, and flying out on hovercrafts or portcasting to whatever planet you needed to for a quick salvage. Once you were done with the jobs, you would either rendezvous with another unit that needed backup or simply go home and hate your life because of how fucked up your job really is. 

But right now, observing how many Ashes are pinging off a small planet in the same solar system, you’re wondering if this is going to be another Longnight. 

You just came back from one. That’s exactly why you and Jin… 

Shifting your helmet to face him, you can already see that he’s looking your way. Fuck, how you want him to whisk you back to your Homepod and make you forget your name and occupation a fourth time. It looks like he wants to do the same. 

A voice rumbles across the table as the most quiet salvager decides to offer input, “It’s strange, isn’t it? How we haven’t gotten new recruits for months until now?” 

“I dunno, Taehyung.” You tilt your head back to the displays smoothly cycling in front of your shielded eyes. “Could be the reason why we’re getting more recruits. We’re gonna start needing backup if this keeps continuing.” 

A helmet lowers as the man folds clothed arms. Seemingly to himself, he mutters, “I feel like they started recruiting before all of this, though.” 

“There’s another thing you should know about,” Jimin—the one with the least amount of salvage experience—chimes in, voice strained as if you might not like what he’s about to say. 

“Don’t be shy,” you bite. “Out with it.” 

“Well… Speaking of recruits, we have a new—”

The obsidian doors of the circular space hum low as they slide open, and every helmet in the room snaps toward the newcomer’s easy strides. 

On instinct, you size them up under their salvager suit: masculine body type, strong shoulders but lean lower frame, slight tilt of their head indicating low level of interest or attitude, minor slump in posture. Seems a bit too laid-back for your tastes, but you keep the bulk of your opinions until you’ve seen someone in action anyways. 

“New guy,” Jimin finally finishes his statement, his tone changing from timidness to piqued curiosity. “Hello.” 

The stranger simply shifts their helmet Jimin’s way without a word.

Mm. You might end up liking them. 

Standing from your seat, you approach and stop some distance away. “First day?”

A nod. 

“Last name?”

“Jeon.” 

Stunned at how soft their voice is, you pause before asking, “How was training, Jeon?”

A shrug.

You huff through your nose in amusement, knowing that the training regimen is a bitch and a half. “Well, the real shit is nothing like it, so take a seat.” You start to stride back to your desk as a few laughs punctuate your statement. Because it’s true. “Especially since this mission might be a bit different.” 

You go over the briefing while circling through the holo displays, assigning everyone their pseudonyms and roles and targets. After a quick meeting, you check for understanding. “Group One first. Jin, Tae, Park: review.” 

Jin’s the first to speak as he slides fingers across the table, the motion transferring files into his eyeshield. “Callisto. Armory. A-142 and A-211.” 

A light voice cuts in right after as Jimin follows suit. “Elara. Retriever. C-002.” 

“Europa. Surveyor. B-299,” Taehyung sounds with disinterest, arms still crossed and back still slumped into his chair.  

“Good. Group Two.” Since you’re part of this one, you start. “Metis. Armory. A-327 and A-410.” 

The newcomer waits for Yoongi to review. When the guy is silent, they fill the gap. “Ganymede. Surveyor. C—”   

“Shouldn’t we check this dude’s stats before assigning him?” 

All of you shift focus to the lean frame at the back of the room. Miffed about everything that’s happening, you snip, “There’s no time for that, Min. We’re running low on our window as is, and training prepares recruits for all roles.” 

“New kid,” Yoongi asks, his words launching straight over your boiling head. “What are you good at?” 

Jeon doesn’t respond for a beat, instead swerving his helmet to you for some kind of approval. When you tilt your head as a sign to answer, he stutters out, “I, um. Armory.” 

“Huh. Took me two seconds.” 

Slamming the planning station, your frustration almost fogs the inside of your head gear, “I don’t have time for your insubordination, Min. Either get this out during planning or save it and shove it up your shitty asshole.” 

“Jin, seriously, tap that a little harder next time, yeah?” 

A ruckus starts on that side of the table before you get two steps out, with Yoongi’s dark material in Jin’s fiery grip. Jimin tries to separate them while reminding them about the mission, and Taehyung stays burning his gaze into the black glass in front of him. 

You already know that the new guy is a bit spooked from the commotion, judging by the stiffness of his shoulders that you caught before joining in the fray. He doesn’t know how common this really is—the snippy attitudes, the pre-mission tension, the pent-up anger. Eventually, he’ll get used to it if he stays.  

But fucking hell, it always has to be Yoongi getting you so riled up every time. If the two of you didn’t work so well together, you would have requested his transfer to the Venus or Pluto Units expeditiously. 

Frankly, you would send him straight to Mercury if you had that power. They always have problems happening there. 

But you’ll settle for a firm grip of his collar for now, shoving Jin aside as you take your place in front of your verbal sparring partner. “Don’t fuck with me today, Min.” 

“I’ll settle for fucking you never, thanks.” 

“What’s with you? Nervous? Is our little kitty boy scared of the rain?” 

You can’t see his face, but you know that statement received an eyeroll, which you’re happy about. Releasing him with a shove, you make your way to the doors, not looking at any of the hovercraft pilots at their consoles or the new kid still glued to his seat. “Jeon, take Armory. We’ll switch roles but keep our same targets. I’ll figure something out before we portcast and fly out.” 

“Okay.” 

“And Yoongi?” 

The figure across the planning station straightens, as do Jin and Jimin beside him. 

Childishly, you gloat, 

“Never is right. You couldn’t get this pussy even if you begged.” 

-

-

// LOGDATE: 3021.02.01, 0800 

// LOCATION: PLANET VALGA, HOVERCRAFT STATION 

// SUBJECT: ANOTHER LONGNIGHT  

-

-

-

end of teaser.

-

A/N: if you managed to make it here, hello! i know this is vastly different than what i usually write, but i am having so much fun with this universe already and it’s super refreshing. let me know what you think/what you liked, if anything!  ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist

[snowbabys]

Gardening Club ⋆ part 2

(Disclaimer: i do not condone this behavior, nor think the idol acts like this in any way. this is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only.)

Series masterlist

Pairing: yan!jungwon x gn!reader (ft. niki, jay and heeseung)

TW/Trigger warning: mentions and slight descriptions of food and eating.

Warning/notes: everyone's the same age for plot sake, Jay is a terrible father, and i think that's all, correct me if you find anything else.

Author's note: good day everyone, we're back :) so this part has a lot more dialogue than the first one, i'm looking forward to reactions about it >< as always, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, send in an ask! thanks for reading, enjoy, and see you in part 3! ♡

Word count: 2,005

“Did I do anything to him?” you ask Niki while you both walk to your first class, the hallway getting empty as everyone is getting inside their classrooms. The question had been wandering in your mind the whole night, it just didn’t make any sense to you. You barely knew this Jungwon guy and he kept (nearly) ignoring you whenever you tried to approach him. Have you stepped on his feet while trying to reach Niki at any time? Did you get the last piece of chocolate from the holiday events when he was the next in line? Did you stink? Bad breath? Perhaps he didn’t like the way you styled the school uniform?

Niki shrugs at your question and takes another sip of his strawberry milk, he wasn’t in the right mood to stand your midnight paranoia.

“He’s shy, that’s all,” another sip, and when you pass a trash bin, he throws it like a basketball, not caring to check if he scored three points or if he’ll get scolded by one professor. “Give him a week and we’ll be all holding hands and crying together for a wretched final score.”

“Why would we hold hands to cry? Who is gonna dry the tears?” when you look at Niki, he’s playing with his shirt sleeves. You softly touch his hand to stop him from forming wrinkles on his uniform.

“Y’know, we’ll be engaged in more group projects on the gardening club,” Niki changes the subject and gestures his hands through his words while you take a turn to the left. “Have you realized how everyone is already set with their groups? I’m happy we have a group with friends, I couldn’t imagine working with those older guys we’ve never talked to,” the boy sighs with the desperate scenario formed in his imagination.

“Hey, they’re your friends,” after contesting, you poke his forearm, receiving retribution almost immediately. “Jay is a colleague and Jungwon is… I don’t know, but definitely not a friend.”

“Don’t start with that again, he did not ignore you,” he rolls his eyes playfully. When he reached your arm to start a poking war, you got both engulfed by someone’s arms, the person holding you standing between the two of you.

“Sup kids,” Jay’s voice echoes in the corridor whilst his hands mess with yours and Niki’s hair. “Who we’re talking about?”

You and Niki look at each other trying to come up with any other topic than your previous spoken one, your mouth opening and closing numerous times but voice never coming out. Jay rests his hands on your shoulders looking away to the ceiling, a second later searching for your eyes.

“What? Was it about me?” you stutter a bit before responding to him.

“No, not at all.” Eyeing Niki desperately, you see him fidgeting his fingers around his shirt sleeve again to find a source of distraction.

You finally reach your classroom and Jay lets go of you, allowing both you and Niki to look inside to see a few of your colleagues in small groups talking and laughing loudly. You opt to stay outside a little longer.

Niki leans against the wall next to the door and crosses his arms, still not focusing his sight on anything.

“Oh, then what is it?” Jay arches one of his brows, his eyes heavy on you. You look at Niki again, and this time, he reciprocates you, shrugging at your baffled look.

“Is just that… we are not so close,” you point to yourself, then to Jay. “Me and you.”

“Oh…” upon seeing some students getting inside your classroom, the boy’s voice gets lower, his hands hanging in mid-air while he searches for words. “You can trust me, I promise to keep the secret.” Jay extends his pinky to you, a huge smile on his lips encouraging you. You think about it for a minute and finally, give in and connect your pinkies. It wouldn’t do you any bad to trust him, right? After all, he was Niki’s friend for a reason, and you could trust your best friend’s choice.

You sigh and separate your fingers, waiting for the last student to pass you to reveal your concern.

“It’s Jungwon. I tried approaching him yesterday, twice, and he didn’t respond to me.” Jay watches you intently during your explanation.

“Did he ignore you?” he reaches for your hands, holding the contact even when you look at him a bit unsettled.

“Not exactly, he just hummed and turned around.”

“Oh!” Jay looks at Niki surprised, his expression giving away confusion and a bit of disbelief.

“See, even the drama queen doesn’t think it’s too bad,” you feel Niki’s hands on your shoulders this time. You look at him to see a lipped smile, his eyebrows going upwards.

“I mean, he is really shy with new people, but I don’t think he would ignore you,” you glance back at Jay who sends a reassuring smile your way.

“Almost.” Niki points out.

“Yeah, right, almost ignore you,” Jay rolls his eyes at the other’s statement, soon focusing on him again. “Wait, what did you call me a second ago?”

Your closest friend steals your hands from Jay’s hold, ignoring his complaints, and drags you inside the classroom, now seemingly more crowded. You both take your assigned seats beside each other, not continuing the conversation until Jay is sitting on Niki’s desk.

“But he didn’t shake my hand! That's so impolite!” you rest your face on your hands, a worried look taking over your features.

“Hands have tons of germs, y/n, and I bet yours is in the top 10 dirtiest hands of all times,” Niki bumps your shoulder with his. You click your tongue and peek at him, whose head is now falling to rest on your shoulder. “Don’t argue, I’m right.”

“And what about you?” you look into Jay’s eyes, now feeling more comfortable with him.

“What about me?”

“Excited to take care of Injang?” you observe him squint his eyes, then open them wide when realization hits him.

“Oh, about that!” he gets up from Niki’s desk and points at you. “So, y/n, could you maybe do some overtime?” his hands make a circular motion, circling each other, still pointing at you. Niki looks up at his friend, intrigued by the peculiar motioning, his head making an uncomfortable shift in your shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“So, the last time I had to babysit a plant it went so wrong. It kinda died and Jungwon kicked my ass,” you and Niki give each other a look, your friend’s smile finding its way on his lips. “It's one of my worst memories, you guys,” you look back up to see Jay with a hand on his chest, eyes lost in a cheap act of pain.

“But…” you try to argue but get soon interrupted.

“I’m counting on you, y/n! You got this!” Jay runs out at light speed, not giving you a chance.

“This guy is unbelievable,” is the last thing you say to a giggling Niki before your professor enters the classroom.

When lunch break starts, you hear Niki sigh in content when you’re finally free to get up. He stretches his arms and takes the opportunity to weakly elbow your ribs, giving you an eye smile as an apology. You both take your food from your backpack and sit to eat enjoying the low sound of your colleagues talking. It could have stayed longer like that if it wasn’t for Jay’s loud entrance, knocking on the door theatrically. He’s followed by Jungwon, who has an annoyed expression, the complete opposite of Jay’s happy one. They both have their bags with them.

“We have a visitor, guys,” Jay’s form is followed by the other students’ eyes, which get dismissed just as they see the loud guy standing in front of your desks.

“Wow, Yang Jungwon out of his classroom. That’s new.” Niki mentions while reaching for his backpack again, now taking two boxes of strawberry milk out of it.

“I’m being forced,” Jungwon observes as you and Niki make a toast with the milk.

“What brings you here, sir?” your deskmate asks ironically, laughing at Jungwon’s stare.

“Jay.”

“Haha, very funny,” the boy addressed fakes a laugh. He takes his meal out and starts explaining. “Since we’re gonna work together the whole year, I thought we could maybe get closer, you know,” Jungwon hums while getting his meal as well. Jay drops his lunchbox on your desk and gets behind you to massage your shoulders. “Especially y/n and us.” he points to himself and Jungwon.

“We have the club for that,” the latest shrugs and drops his lunchbox on Niki’s desk, soon taking an empty chair for himself.

“Yeah, but the best way to bond is eating together,” Jay adds, also getting a chair for himself, a circle formed around your and Niki’s desks. “We all like strawberry milk, off to a good start.”

Jay steals Niki’s milk, even dares to drink it while maintaining eye contact with its original owner.

“Do that again and we’re parting ways,” Niki gives his ultimatum while munching his fish bread. Jay gives a cheeky smile in return.

Just as you all finish your meal in complete silence, you avoiding eye contact with anyone other than Niki, a hurried Heeseung comes in with small packages in hand, calling the whole class’s attention. You soon make out the packages are filled with mini cookies.

“Since everyone liked it,” he approaches your group first, giving a pack to each of you. “A little treat from the baking club,” he flashes you a smile.

“Thanks, bro,” Jay and Heeseung share a curious greeting, observed by the other three at the desk.

“He always has a convenient cameo, doesn’t he?” Niki whispers to you, and you can’t help but smile at that, he was more than right.

Not long after Heeseung’s exit, the desk fell silent again, the sound of your classmates’ playful bickering being a good enough distraction. Niki finished your strawberry milk for you while Jay annoyed Jungwon with little shoulder bumps. You had no idea how Jungwon had so much patience, you’d be bumping against Jay from the beginning, but the annoyed boy didn’t move a muscle, only now and then tiredly sighing and shaking his legs.

“So...” being the unofficial silence exterminator, Jay elongated the word to call attention.

“It’s your turn to take care of Injang,” Jungwon says and reaches for his bag. “You better do it right this time.”

He gets the plant out of a glass container with a lot of small holes. When offered Injang, Jay gives a nervous laugh.

“Considering my past experiences with babysitting plants, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not built for this job. Is after deep thought that y/n and I have agreed on them taking my shift.” Jay gently raises Injang to you and lowers his head, like offering you a present.

At Jungwon’s stare, you shake your hands in denial.

“I did not agree,” his stare travels between you and Jay, stopping at Jay when you take Injang from his hands.

“You’re a terrible father.”

“I know, man, stop. I am doing this for their best,” Jay puts his acting out again, now fake crying. In a matter of seconds, his usual cheerful expression is back again, and he gets up to get behind you again. Not long after you feel his hands on your shoulders again, and you search for Niki with curiosity, not used to that much physical contact with any colleague.

“He’s always so touchy?” your whisper being barely audible, you see Jungwon’s body instinctively moving closer.

“He’s annoying,” both boys respond to you, the same smug smile mirrored on their faces with the shared feeling towards Jay.

“So, y/n, tell us about you,” you look up to see an excited Jay, his expression filled with genuine interest, and right there you realize you’re in for a long, and embarrassing, conversation.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

[softyoongiionly]

chapstick

based on the time Jungkook said he needed someone to scold him so he’d remember to put lip balm on.

Or 

Jungkook’s had a really long day and the only that can make it better, is seeing you. 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Genre: fluff, smut, established relationship, jungkook has a man bun idk what else I could possibly want

Warnings: language, explicit smut (18+ only plz), oral (male receiving)

A/N: Hello yes, I am mess. I wrote this in like four hours and it’s unedited but wow wow wow wow I am GOING THROUGH it for Jungkook. Anywayz, I love u. here u go

Jungkook is in a bad mood today.

He’s been awake since 6am, he hasn’t eaten since mid-morning and, he’s been practicing for over 12 hours.

Worst of all, everyone else seems to be in a good mood.  

It’s not that he hates when his hyung's are happy, it’s just that when you’re in a bad mood-  sometimes the shriek of someone’s laughter can feel intrusive.  

“Alright!” Hoseok’s voice hits the practice mirrors and with Jungkook feeling oversensitive, he cringes at the sound of it, “Let’s go again from the top!”

Jungkook sighs through his nose, stretching his sore back for a moment before getting back into formation.

“Jungkook-ah! Push a little harder in the second half ok?!”  

Hoseok is in dance-mode and therefore he has no idea how loud he’s being.

Jungkook purses his lips and nods, taking a deep breath before shaking out his hands.

“Yah! Jungkook?” Hoseok calls, facing the mirror, his eyes searching for Jungkook at the back of the practice room.

“Yeh.” He grunts, barely looking up from the floor.

“Did you hear me?”

He nods, his hands fumbling around in the pockets of his sweatpants, “Push harder in the second half...”

The rest of the boys seem unphased by his uninterested demeanor. They are no stranger to exhaustion.  

“Alright- let’s go.”

For what feels like the 100th time today, Jungkook moves through the routine as if it were second nature. The movements feel robotic and the muscles in his arms are beginning to turn to Jell-O. The strands of his hair are covered with sweat and, he’s thankful for his newly procured undercut for lessening the amount of heat he’d normally feel after working out this long.  

He feels gross though.  

Normally, he enjoys working this hard but today he isn’t feeling it. In fact, the strain between his brows is getting a little painful as he really tries his best not to frown.

The new choreography is intense and as much he likes the challenge- after the 100th time of running through it, he’s starting to get frustrated.

Panting through his nose, he holds his position at the end of the routine before Hoseok finally calls it.

“Yahhhh! That was a lot better huh? You guys did good.” He praises, clapping his hands, “Now go get some water and then we’ll run it again...”

Jungkook sighs hopelessly, letting his head fall back on his shoulders. He cringes at the feeling of sweat collecting on his skin, wanting nothing more than to make it back home to his shower.

Amongst other things...

Grabbing a bottle of water off of the table, Jungkook has to work very hard not to crush the bottle in his hands as he eagerly gulps down what he can. He finishes the bottle in record time and as he reaches for a second one, he pulls his phone out of his pocket to check it.  

Tweety: hiii I hope you’re having a good day! Do you want to takeout tonight? I got caught up at the school and, I didn’t pull anything out.

Jungkook feels his tight chest loosen up a bit as he sees your text come through.

You made a comment one day that he ‘gives off bugs bunny vibes’ and he responded by comparing you to Tweety bird.  

Needless to say, the nicknames are dumb but you guys think they’re cute.  

Bugs: takeout sounds good. I’ll be there late tonight though :/ I hope you had a good day too. Miss u.

Jungkook has just enough time to respond to you before he is wincing at the sound of Hoseok corralling everyone back to the practice floor.

Again, again, again, again, and again...

He’s so tired by the end of the circuit that he’s starting to feel throbbing in his temples. Headaches are a common side effect of over-exertion and just as he is getting ready to beg to go home, they are calling it.

“Ok ok- good job! You’ve worked hard everyone. Let’s rest for a day and then resume on Sunday.”

Jungkook feels his entire body deflate with relief at the last words parading out of Hoseok’s mouth.  

His day is finally over.

He reminds himself to never wear new boots to rehearsal again because he can’t feel the tips of his toes and his fairly certain there are blisters on the of his ankles.  

“Are you riding with me?” Jimin asks him on the way out of the practice room, his voice decorated with exhaustion.

Jungkook doesn’t fully pay attention to his question, his eyes already trained on his phone.

“No, I’m getting my own car.”

Jimin looks confused for a moment before a small smirk comes over his face.

“Are going to see her?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond quick enough, his mouth parted slightly as he types out his message to you.

“Aren’t you worried what people are going to think? You’re over there a lot...”

Jimin isn’t being judgmental with his questioning and Jungkook knows this. He can hear the genuine concern in his voice and understands that his hyung is merely looking out for him.

“I don’t really care what people think anymore.” He answers honestly, ensuring that he keeps his tone as polite as possible.  

Jungkook’s had to worry about the opinions of others since he was 15. As grateful as he is for his career, he is growing tired of being unable to make his own decisions. His gaze hones in on the tattoos covering his fingers and forearms and remembers a time not too long ago where he was required to hide them. Putting a band aids on his own self-expression didn’t feel good and he sort of promised himself that he wouldn’t allow the expectations of others to stop him from doing what he wanted.  

Or seeing who he wanted...

“You’re getting bolder with age.” Jimin notes, somewhat proudly as his eyes flicker over to him, “You really like her, don’t you?”

Tweety: miss u toooooo. I ordered ramen

Bugs: I just got out. I should be there in 20 minutes. I’m so hungry

Jungkook feels his cheeks heat up at Jimin’s question and rather than answer him, he just kind of shrugs, his mouth turned up in a small smirk.  

“Yah, don’t hold out on me-”Jimin bumps his shoulder, tilting his head in an attempt to get him to look his way, “We’ve known each other for how long?”

Jungkook slips his phone back into his pocket and adjusts his bag on his shoulder.

“I think the answer is obvious hyung.”

Jimin rolls his eyes playfully, “If it’s so obvious then why don’t you just say it.”

The two of them lean against the wall of the lobby, waiting on a notification from their drivers that they are outside.

Jungkook bites his lip, in an attempt to reign in the grin that threatens his face.

“I like her.”

Laughter trickles out of Jimin’s lips as he bumps his shoulder, “Why are you shy all of the sudden? Is there something else I don’t know?”

Yes.

There was something else Jimin didn’t know.  

Jungkook hasn’t told a single soul since it happened.  

He’s so incredibly private and after meeting you, he only has more of an urge to keep things to himself.  

“There’s nothing.” Jungkook mutters, his eyes eagerly looking checking his phone for the driver notification.

“You’re lying to me.” Jimin calls him out, “What is it?”

Jungkook shakes his head, tucking a bit of hair behind his ear. He licks over his lips and immediately regrets the fact that he forgot his Chapstick.

How’s he supposed to kiss you, if his lips are chapped?

“Jungkook-ah, tell me-” Jimin whines, tugging on his sleeve.

He merely snickers finally and shrugs him off, shaking his head, “There’s nothing to tell. Why do you think I’m hiding something from you?”

“Because I’ve known you for almost ten years and I-” Jimin begins before a knowing smirk comes over his face, “Wait- you’ve slept with her haven’t you?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen a bit, taken aback by his bold statement, “Someone’s going to hear you, why are you asking questions like this?”

His hyung giggles, deeply satisfied with his discovery, “You have, haven't you?”

Jungkook feels the threat of a smile come over his face again, “Why do you want to know? It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters-” He shoots him a pointed look, “Because we’re best friends? And I want to know. When did it happen?”

Jungkook is feeling a little bit bolder, unable to help the pride he feels that he was finally able to experience an intimate relationship, “Which time?”

Jimin’s eyes widen before he slaps Jungkook on the arm, “Which time??? You’ve done it more than once?”

“Shhh-” Jungkook whisper yells, his brow furrowing, “We’ve been seeing eachother for 6 months. Why do you look so surprised?”

Jimin chuckles this time, glancing behind him, “I just- I don’t know...it was your first time, wasn’t it? I just thought you’d make a bigger deal of it.”

He shrugs again, a smirk still lingering, “It was a big deal- to us. I thought you guys would just figure it out eventually.”

Ever the nosy one, Jimin slinks a little closer to him, a bit of mischief in his eyes, “It’s fun huh?”

Jungkook just rolls his eyes, brushing him off playfully, “I thought I was supposed to be the youngest.”

Jimin ignores his comment and just looks at him expectantly.

Giving up on holding out, Jungkook finally gives him what he wants and replies.

“It was fun.”

Jimin offers his signature bit of laughter again but before he’s able to interrogate him any further, Jungkook finally gets the notification that his driver is here.

“I’ll see you Sunday, hyung.” Jungkook gives him a short wave before adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

Jimin smirks and flutters his fingers in his direction, “Have fun.”

Jungkook just shakes his head, groaning to himself as he finally leaves the building.

Slumping into his seat, he shuts his eyes for a moment and tries his best not to fall asleep. Thankfully, his desire to eat his weight in ramen paired with his desire to see you keeps him from passing out.  

You and Jungkook have been together for a while now and although the initial nerves surrounding seeing him have lessened slightly, you still want to look good for him. Thankfully for you, when it comes to impressing your boyfriend- less is more.  

Slowly but surely, he has revealed his preferences to you but they have slipped out casually. He doesn’t ever want you to feel like you have to look a certain way for him.  

But you do know he likes black.

And you do know he likes when you wear oversized pieces.

The harsh bit of winter also makes dressing in gigantic hoodies and thick socks a lot easier anyhow.  

So you opt for something along the lines of cute but comfy and tend to your hair the easiest way you know how.  

Jungkook also loves it when you don’t wear any makeup. But he’s never told you directly, you’ve just figured out based on the way he gets all starry eyed every time you wash your face at night.  

The ramen is all set up in the living room and you’ve got one of the Christmas movies the two of you started the other day, ready to play.  

By the time you hear a knock at your door, everything is ready for a cozy Friday night with your boyfriend.

Upon opening your door, you are met with the sight of Jungkook- sweaty, soft and slightly sleepy standing there in all of his glory. He’s dressed in grey sweats and a big white t-shirt, his hair tied up messily atop his head. Along with the smell of sweat, you can faintly make out the remnants of his cologne and it stirs something deep inside of you.  

Jungkook’s eyes scan over you briefly, offering a small smile as he leans in to peck your cheek, “Hiiii...”

He sings the greeting, patting your hips as he quickly steps into your apartment.  

“Hello,” You sing back, giggling a bit, “Did you guys just now finish up practicing? Didn’t you start at like 7?”

Jungkook winces as he begins slipping off his big clunky boots, leaning back against your front door, “Yeah. I really thought they were trying to kill me- I did the new dance so many times, I lost count.”

Pouting your lips, you take his bag off his shoulder and hang it up on your coat rack.  

“I’m so sorry.” You murmur, shaking your head, “Did they give you tomorrow off at least?”

At this, Jungkook grins, nodding as he does, “Yeah, I was going to ask you what you were doing tomorrow cause I thought maybe you’d want to hang out. Our night was supposed to start a lot earlier...”

He looks regretful and even slightly annoyed.

He’s been having this issue a lot lately where his prior obligations and engagements seem to mean nothing to his directors, which never used to be a big deal but, now that he has you in his life- he never wants to let you down.

“I’m free all day-” You reply happily, before narrowing your eyes at him, “I have one condition though-”

Jungkook looks intrigued, cocking his head as he steps forward, “What’s your condition?”

“I need one of these...” Pointing to your lips, you pucker them and make grabby hands at your boyfriend.

He laughs softly, shaking his head as he closes the space between you, “I just got here and you’re already using kisses as collateral now huh?” His voice gets a little lower and before you can reply, his gently places his lips on yours, sighing out through his nose as his flutter shut.

Once he starts kissing you, you aren’t really able to think of a coherent response. Leaning into him, you hum lightly in your throat, tucking your lips between his.  

However, when you attempt to slide your hand up the exposed skin of his arm, he winces and pulls away.

Groaning, you can’t help but giggle, “I know- I know... ‘babe, I’m too sweaty. Let me just shower really quick and then I’ll promise, I'll kiss you so much better’...”

At your attempt to imitate his voice, Jungkook starts laughing- cute nose scrunched up with delight.

He kisses his teeth, “You know me too well. I’ll be right back.”

Jungkook leans in again and kisses you on the cheek before disappearing into your bathroom moments later

After his showering, he comes out in a baggy t-shirt and some sweats, his hair freshly blow dried and piled up on his head in a messy bun.  

He scarfs down his dinner in record time before the two of you settle back against the couch.  

You can feel him looking at you as you giggle at the TV but he doesn’t let his eyes linger very long. He just kind of stares for a moment before simply tightening his grip around your shoulders. He feels so warm beside you that you seriously wonder how long you’ll be able to stay awake with him being the human equivalent of a weighted blanket.  

When your laughter erupts again, Jungkook leans in to pop a kiss on your check, which broadens your smile that much more. It’s only for a moment before he turns back to the TV, seemingly satisfied with his actions. However, you decide to return the favor and smoosh your lips against his face, eliciting a snicker from his throat.  

You snuggle into him more, grabbing his arm that’s resting on the couch beside you and wrapping it around so that his hand is resting your lap. Leaning your head against his chest, you slowly began tracing over the markings on his skin lightly brushing your nails against each unique line. Jungkook’s eyes are trained on the TV and despite his blank expression, you can see the goosebumps forming on his skin.  

Regardless, you just keep going, allowing your fingertips to trace over the letters adorning his hand. Using your nails, you trace between each of his fingers, before interlocking them your own. Once you’re holding hands, Jungkook squeezes slightly, brushing his thumb along your skin which then prompts you to finally to turn to the side and look at him.  

He grins softly, still not glancing your way but choosing to offer a playful comment instead, “You’re not watching the movie...”

You laugh softly, reaching out with your free hand and tilting his face towards you.

“We’ve watched this movie four times-” You retort, “Besides I’m pretty sure I remember you promising me that you’d kiss me properly once you were out of the shower.”

Jungkook’s grin broadens, his doe-eyes alight with defiance, “I’m pretty sure you promised yourself that for me- I don’t remember agreeing to it.”

You scoff in mock offense, “Damn ok. So it’s like that huh? I buy you ramen and yet this is how I’m treated. I’m calling the UN...”

Jungkook laughs a little harder now, the sound a little sharp but intensely endearing, “It’s that serious for you?”

Pouting, you nod, “It is that serious.” You’re about to say something else before you brush your thumb over his lips and notice the dryness there, “Did you remember to bring your chapstick today?”

He immediately sucks his lips between his teeth and given that his ability to speak is no compromsied he simply nods, his eyes wide with false innocence.

“Mhmmm.” He lies

“No you didn’t!” You exclaim, laughing a bit as you press your thumb against the thin line of his mouth, “Babe, it’s so cold outside- your lips are going to start cracking.”

Unfurling his lips, he lets his head fall back on his shoulders, “I know, I know-” He whines playfully before his head snaps back up to yours, the same glint remaining in his gaze, “You have some right?”

You roll your eyes, “You know that I do.”

He snickers, quickly leaning in to kiss your cheek, “Can I have some then?”

Playfully shoving him off, you rise from the couch and shake your head, “I’m giving you one to keep in your rehearsal bag,” You shuffle over to your bathroom, “You better use it!”

He laughs as he hears your demand echo down the hallway before calling back, “Hurry jagi! They are so dry- I can feel them! They are so close to cracking!”

Seconds later, your hurling one of your many lip balms into his lap which he catches just before it hits him.

“Put it on...” You demand pointedly and he shakes his head.

“I don’t think I can-” He sighs dramatically, holding the lip balm out to you, “You have to do it- all of the moisture in my body is slowly fading away...my lips are trying to suck it all up.”

Giggling, you cross your arms, shaking your head, “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Y/N! Please!” Jungkook chokes out, “Before I waste away...the winter-” His eyes bug out of his head, as his hand clutches his chest, “the winter jagi- it's going to dry me out completely.”

Finally snapping, you grab the Chapstick out of his hands before asserting yourself into his lap. He laughs, resting his head against the couch cushions whilst his hands sneakily find their way to your hips.

“You’re so annoying...” You grumble, still giggling yourself as he puckers his lips dramatically.

“I’m only following your recommendations.” He insists, making kissy noises at you, “Balm me up baby.”

Uncapping the chapstick, you press your chest against his before starting to drag it over his lips. As you get to work on helping him, his mischievous gaze slowly softens until he’s looking up at you with stars in his eyes. Carefully, you make sure every inch of his mouth is covered with balm, paying special attention to the corners and his lower lip. As you finish up, you put the cap back on set on the couch cushion.

He rubs his lips together, humming in satisfaction.

You smirk, “Better?”

Jungkook nods his Adams’ apple bobbing in his throat as he feels you shift on his hips.  

“Make sure.” He murmurs, puckering his lips, his eyes starting to swim with arousal.

You lean in, unable to refuse him before capturing his mouth in a kiss. Rotating your head, you slowly deepen the connection between your lips, drawing a sigh from the boy beneath you. You can feel his thumbs rub ever so gently against the back of your hips as he leans fully back so that your chest is resting on his.

He nudges your nose, allowing his tongue to brush against the bottom of your top lip, requesting entrance into your mouth. You accept him, licking along his tongue, a shiver running up your spine as he sucks slightly on the top of you.  

Jungkook really is a filthy kisser but you’d never guess by just looking at him.  

He’s quite sure his face is growing numb, his only focus on the way you’re making him feel and a somewhat annoying pain on the back of his head. His ponytail is digging against the wall, causing unnecessary discomfort to wash over him. Still kissing you, he reaches behind his head to pull the hair tie out, allowing his hair to fall freely around his face. You take the opportunity to slide your fingers between the strands, scratching gently at his scalp and causing a slightly shaky breath to leave his lips.  

He loves when you play with his hair.  

You use both hands now to tuck it behind his ear before using them to slide down the length of his arms. Finding his hands on your hips, you lace your fingers with his and bring them back up so they are pinned against either side of his head.  

The making out didn’t get him fully hard but as soon as he feels his hands pinned against the head of the couch, he feels his dick twitch almost painfully in his sweatpants.  

Smirking into his mouth, you delight in the sudden halt to his breathing. Subtly, he pushes his hips up a bit when you start kissing your way down his chin and throat. Jungkook summons all the resolve he has and goes perfectly still when you start placing soft kisses along the expanse of his throat. You feel the ache between your legs worsen when you feel his fingers tightening against yours. Jungkook is a very sensitive person, both emotionally and physically. Over the time you’ve become intimate, you’ve slowly uncovered all the little spots that drive him crazy.  

And you’re determined to kiss every single one.  

“You had a hard day huh?” You murmur sweetly, kissing up the right side of his neck.

All he does is nod, his eyes falling shut as he feels your lips getting closer to his earlobe.  

Placing another kiss at his hairline, you slowly kiss along the bottom half of his ear before capturing it between your teeth.

His breath immediately leaves his lips in a shaky mess, his eyes squeezing together as the grip on your hands tightens.

“I think I should help you relax after you’ve worked so hard don’t you?”

He has no idea what you plan to do to him but, he honestly couldn’t give a fuck.  

He’s too hard, too wound up and too into to you to ask any meaningful questions.  

Jungkook merely nods, not trusting his vocal abilities at the moment as he waits for your next move.  

A smirk comes across your face as you suckle lightly on his earlobe, knowing how much he likes it before using your lips to descend back down his neck.  

You lean away from him to get a closer look at his expression. Smoothed out in pure pleasure but also tightening slightly at the discomfort brought on by his throbbing dick.  

His eyes are still closed as you release your grip on his hands and he keeps them that way even as you move to grip the hem of his t-shirt.  

“Are you falling asleep on me?” You tease and he merely grins, shaking his head.

“Then why are your eyes closed?”

He doesn’t open them and instead allows a breathless bit of laughter to leave his lips, sound almost exasperated.

“I feel dizzy.”

His simple responses elicits another desire within you that intensifies your goal to make him feel good.  

“In a good way?” You check, playfully pinching his stomach as you slowly pull up his t-shirt.

He goes back to nodding, his hands coming down to assist you with your task. His hair flops haphazardly as the material of his shirt messes with it. You take a moment to admire how incredibly beautiful he is when he settles back against the couch, your mouth going dry at the sight of him. Flushed face, pouted lips, defined muscles and hardened nipples lay before you, and you are a little unsure of where to put your lips first.

Although it doesn’t really matter, your destination is the same regardless.  

Deciding on another spot that drives him crazy, you allow your fingers to brush along his ribs before leaning in to kiss over his defined chest. Jungkook’s hands are laying limp against the couch but when he feels your lips nearing his nipple, he turns them so they are able to grip the edge of the couch. Sucking his nipple into your mouth, you let you tongue rub against the peak of it. Jungkook sighs loudly from above you and you can’t help but smirk as he still doesn’t allow himself to moan.  

It’s a quirk you’ve noticed and you feel like it’s likely left over from the long-discarded idea that Jungkook has regarding his masculinity. No matter how often you tell him that making noise is perfectly ok (and really hot) he still waits till he can’t help himself.  

And to be honest, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy pushing him towards that point.  

After you finish kissing his chest, you begin trailing your wet lips down the middle of torso, taking a moment to suck over the soft skin of his not so softly defined stomach.

“All those hours in the gym are really paying off-” You mumble against his skin, brushing your fingers over his abs, “You look so strong...”

At your compliment, his lips part, one side of his mouth turning up in a slight smile.

“I wanna look good for you.”

It’s quite a ridiculous statement really.  

Jungkook would look good no matter how many visible abs he had but you know he likes the praise none the less.  

So you shower him with it.

“You always look good for me.” You assure him, kissing along the band of his sweatpants now, “I’m proud of you for working so hard.”

He grins a little more, leaving his eyes mostly close but allowing them to peak open a bit to watch you sink to your knees.  

“Thank you.”

He swallows back the threat of hyperventilation as he feels you spread his legs, his eyes closing completely once again.  

If you weren’t able to make out the sound of his breath picking up, the movement of us chest certainly would have given it away, his pecks heaving a bit as he tries to relax.  

But as you begin gently massaging up his legs, Jungkook realizes relaxing might not be possible.  

At least not at the moment...

He’s stained the seam of his sweatpants with precum which would upset him if it were any other substance but with his dick being so hard, he really can’t find himself to care about anything else.

Tucking your fingers beneath his sweatpants, you begin tugging them off of his hips, relieved that he isn’t wearing any underwear.

Jungkook takes another deep and shaky breath through his nose, tilting his head back again as he tries to center his thinking.

But you’re kind of driving him insane.  

Starting at his knee, you kiss all the way up his inner thigh, taking in the scent of his body- indescribable and mouthwatering, just like him. You stop just before his dick before repeating your actions along the other leg.  

Jungkook’s stomach is caving in at the teasing but he does absolutely nothing to urge you further.  

He likes the torture.  

“Is there anything you want me to do while I'm down here?”  

Jungkook bites his bottom lip at your question, knowing that you’re going to make him ask for it but feeling shy regardless.

“Yes.” He breathes  

You brush your fingertips over his balls, his hips only slightly twitching at the sensation.

He’s trying to stay calm, not wanting to get so ahead of himself he blows his load before you’ve even started.  

“What is it that you want me to do?” You murmur, leaning in to breathe against his length.

You’re expecting him to stall and use every other word to ask for what he wants but instead, he surprises you.

“Suck on it...” He whispers, taking a deep breath before exhaling on the word, “...please.”

Smirking to yourself, you wrap a hand around him- feeling him throb within your grip before kitten licking over the tip of him. After ridding his dick of all the precum, you decide to end his descent into madness and suck him into your mouth.  

You start slow, licking up and down the length of him, your core aching at the taste. Jungkook’s nails are digging into the couch cushions as he feels your movements, his teeth starting to chew on the inside of his bottom lip.

Bringing your hand into the mix, you guide a flexible grip up and down up, using your lips to suck on the tip of him, your tongue tracing the curves of his frenulum.  

Jungkook’s lips part in awe as he feels the combination of moves on his dick, his toes curling against the shag carpet. He knows that his vision will be swimming but he wants to watch you so badly, he decides to finally open his eyes.  

As he predicted, his vision is spotty and the dizziness he felt earlier is nothing compared to the way he feels now.  

It all becomes irrelevant though when he locks eyes with you. Your boyfriends normally innocent gaze is completely glossed over with lust, his mouth hanging open as he stares down at you, the same smirk slowly returning to his lips.  

Sucking off of him, you use your hand to jerk him off as you address him, “Does it feel good?”

He bites his lip, his face and chest decorated with the flush of arousal as he nods.

“Why are you so quiet then?”  

For whatever reason, your question tickles him and drunken giggle bubbles up past his lips,

“’ss too good.” He explains, shaking his head at you, “I don’t know how to say anything...”

Logically, he understands that you aren’t talking about him necessarily saying anything but more so referring to the lack of noise he’s making. However, he knows very well that he’s going to be moaning for you soon, especially when your mouth returns to his dick a second time.  

When he feels you palm his balls, his eyes fall shut again, his hips twitching all over the place when you resume both sucking and jerking him off.  

Jungkook knows he’s biting his lip really hard when he starts to taste a bit of blood but he doesn’t care, the pleasure he’s experiencing overpowering any semblance of pain.  

“Y/N” He whispers, “I’m getting really close.”

His warning makes you swoon because he sounds so desperate and yet he’s being considerate, not wanting to intrude your mouth with the taste of him.  

Despite the fact that, that’s all you want.  

You merely moan against his length, signaling for him to let go whenever he wants, your speed increasing all the while.  

“Fuck...” He whispers again but the word sounds like it got caught in his throat, “Fuck...fuck...fuck.”

Hearing him swear makes the wet disaster in your shorts much worse but you wanna make him cum so badly, you ignore it completely. The sound of him nearing the edge is enough to take him all the way in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him harder.

Finally, he breaks- a whimpering skipping past his lips, one of his hands coming up to cover his mouth. As much as you want him to moan for you, you don’t want to stop your motions long enough to tell him.  

He throws his head back against the headrest, his eyes opening wide as he stares up at the ceiling in amazement. His body jerks as the first wave of his release hits your tongue and rope after rope, you swallow everything he gives you, sucking him through his orgasm and until the sensitivity becomes too much and he starts squirming beneath you.  

You suck off of him, allowing his softening length to rest against his lower stomach, which is now trembling with his heavy breath.

Jungkook pants, still staring him at the ceiling and while he’s coming down, you kiss along his hips, letting him take his time. Whilst you’re kissing up his happy trail, one of his hands reaches out to brush over your face. Its then you notice that it’s clammy and a bit shaky so, you take a moment to press a kiss over his knuckles, trying to encourage him to look at you.

“You’re shaking.” You whisper and before you know it, you can hear that same drunken giggle coming from his lips again.

Your boyfriend looks down at you, a deep sense of amazement in his eyes as he laughs still, a bit delirious.

“Yeah well-” He shakes his head, still trying to get his wits about him, “You should have a talk with your mouth about that...”

You giggle now, resting your chin on your hand as you admire how fucked-out he looks. His hair is a mess and he is covered in a light layer of sweat and if you’re being honest, you really want to jump his bones all over again. But you know he needs a minute.

“I just wanted to help you relax.” You claim innocently to which he just shakes his head, gesturing for you to get on the couch.

“Come here.”

You scramble up towards him, sitting beside his exhausted body and before you know it, he’s pulling in for a kiss, his smile creeping back when he feels your lips.

“You’re amazing.”

He sounds silly but sincere all at once, kissing softly at your lips before nudging your nose.

You smile back into the kiss, mumbling something of the same nature to him.  

The two of you kiss one another for a moment until Jungkook is pulling back, allowing his dark gaze to scan over your face, eyes suddenly full of determination.

“I think it’s time you relax too now, don’t you think?”

[no-droids]

Just the Translator

Part Ten of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings:  There is rough sex in this.  THERE IS ROUGH SEX IN THIS.  Do NOT read if that offends you.  There is also more anal stuff—NO FUCKING (not yet).  Uh, canon-typical violence, grumpy Din Djarin, some fluffy moments, Baby Yoda being a little troublemaker, bit of a cliffhanger ending BUT NOT TO WORRY PALS I ALREADY GOT QUITE A BIT OF THE NEXT PART WRITTEN

A/N: ***Please take a second to visit this googledoc, in it are useful links regarding the BLM protests and what we can do to help. Here is a separate link to where I originally addressed this and shared more thoughts***

***

Whelp.  At least you’re in a good mood. 

In contrast, Din and the kid have been causing problems all morning, the both of them.  Like two… two annoying, middle-aged children competing to see which one is less mature.

The smaller of the two, and older (most likely) is bouncing with energy.  Acting a complete fool.  Ready and willing to launch out of his restricting little sphere at any second, a bright green bundle of energy that slept way too well last night and is just rubbing it in at this point.  He was fine earlier—checking out of the inn, picking up some food at a local market, riding in the Crest as it navigated towards the most isolated sector on this planet—but the hike to this field has been like pulling teeth.

In fact, Din is currently wearing a singular gauntlet on his left hand for that very reason—so this child’s hyper ass could be contained within the hovering, reflective prison.  He’s restless, though, continuing to act out.  At one point you suggest just letting him walk to let some energy out like yesterday, even if he slows the group down with his tiny little legs.  Once you let the little menace out on parole though, he just continues to veer off in his own direction and irritate his dad even further.

And, oh stars—his dad.

Din has barely said a word, only answering with short responses when directly prompted and spending most of his energy just silently stewing inside his own little grumpy teapot on his head.  The helmet is the only other piece of armor he’s donning besides the lone vambrace, and you’re surprised steam hasn’t started whistling through the top of it with how frustrated he is, how many times you’ve seen him curl his hands with impatience. At first it was amusing, though you know better than to tease him about it right now.  You keep your mouth shut and try your best to wrangle the kid, doing everything you can to be helpful while also steering clear of unintentionally exacerbating his silent irritation, knowing Din isn’t in the mood for jokes after being interrupted at a very crucial moment last night.  The sun shines directly on the front of his helmet and blinds you with every single annoyed step, so you follow just far enough behind him and try to use his enormous refrigerator of a body to shield your eyes.

At first it was amusing.  But then the baby catches sight of a gorgeously patterned butterfly floating through the field that he probably wants to snack on for breakfast, and he breaks off from your entourage once more with a quiet little coo that should strike pure terror into the hearts of small animals everywhere.

Immediately you’re turning to go get him—but then a large hand quickly snatches the front of your shirt before you can take a single step, pulling until you’re colliding with an unarmored chest with an oof.  

A bare hand catches your jaw and tightens until you’re staring deep into the thin blade of his visor, before Din whispers rough through the modulator, “As soon as he falls asleep.”

That’s all he says.  And then he’s releasing you and letting you stumble back towards his wayward son a whole lot less amused than you were before, and a whole lot more achy.  The baby shenanigans are far less amusing too.

“You’re killing me here, kiddo,” you breathe after quickly catching up with him, having to bend in half to lead him back towards his impatient dad. 

His hot, moody… incredibly well endowed dad, thick arms crossed tight over his chest as he waits for your return.

The monster’s hand lifts high above him as his three fingers cling to just one of yours, the baggy brown sack exposing his pudgy little green elbow as he follows next to you with a waddle.  It’s slow going, but at some point he decides to pull himself up onto your wrist and you catch him, cradling him in your arms before quickly hurrying back to Din.

Thankfully he begins to calm down a little after that.  As you three eventually find a spot in the endlessly breezy field to settle into, the kid clamors back into his shield while Din carelessly drops the dark bag of supplies he carried from the Crest into the tall grass.  You twist your back to let some of the stiffness out, rotating your arms to encourage more movement as he approaches.

“Same thing as yesterday,” he gruffs when he’s in reach, patting his chest again with a bare hand.  “Hard as you can.”

“My… My hands hurt,” you eventually admit, not wanting to frustrate him even more and hoping you would be able to work on blocking today instead, but Din just nods while you gently brush your thumb along your sore knuckles.

“That’ll happen until it doesn’t,” he tells you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow in a quick, awkward gesture of comfort and then dropping his arm to his side.  Short, but not unkind.  “Push through.  You can do it.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the very best motivation you’ll get from him.  His beliefs, condensed down to quick, stunted sentences, presented with such unwavering surety that they must be truths.  Weirdly, it works wonders for you.  Maybe it’s just the person it’s coming from.

You drop into stance and then slam your fist into his chest before he’s ready, and Din steps back on impact with a small grunt while you bite your lip to silence your own noise from the pain reverberating up your arm. 

“Good,” he huffs nonetheless, rubbing the spot on his chest he’s historically designated as target practice.  “Good.  You’re… hitting harder than yesterday.  That’s… fuck.  Good.”

“Good?”  You ask lowly, chancing a quick look over at the kid.  Who blinks directly back at you, wide-eyed and staring purposefully from his crib.  You deflate just a little bit at the sight of him still wide awake, and Din’s fists are clenched by his sides when you turn back to him.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the pent up tightness in his body as you spend the next couple hours throwing more hits at him, different types.  Left hooks, right hooks, crosses, jabs, elbow strikes, palm heels.  He was absolutely right though—the more you make contact with him, the less you begin to feel the pain, until it eventually feels like nothing at all to you.

But then, at one point, you pull your hardened fist back, aimed and focused directly on that same spot on his chest once more—when suddenly his hand flashes up and he flicks his finger against the lower part of your open ribcage. 

He barely puts any strength into it at all—it’s the pressure you’d use to tap someone on the shoulder if you were trying to get their attention, but for some reason the incredibly well-placed reminder throws you.  A little fucking touch like that shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does, but you nearly tip sideways and have to catch your footing with how dizzy it makes you.

“That’s what’s called a liver shot,” Din tells you calmly, watching you wrap your hand around your ribcage and wince at the lingering pain through gritted teeth.  “Keep your arm down like I told you.  That’ll happen every time you wanna get lazy with me, little chicken wing.”

You hiss and shake your head a little bit, trying to clear the fog, and then purposefully tuck both arms tight to your sides.  But then—

His hand flashes up again and taps the side of your face this time—not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you flinch on instinct and take a step back.  “That arm stays up.”

Your quick huff of air is suppressed.  Somewhat censored—it doesn’t duly portray the sharp flare of annoyance you experience.  You do exactly what he says, however, and keep your arms in position in front of you.

But then you jerk back and sputter angrily when the tips of his fingers lightly connect with your cheek once more.  “Stop that!  My hands are up!”

“Then why’d you let me do it?”  He asks, stepping up as you retreat to poke you square in your chest.  “Stop letting me do it.”

He goes to tap your face again, but this time your forearm comes up to swat his away before he can make contact, and he seems pleased for the moment.  Din steps back and hits his chest again.  “Come on.”

He lets you get in just a few more blows before coming at you again.  You smack his hand away and then go to throw another punch, but he’s quick.  He cheats—goes for you twice in a row when you’re not expecting it, and taps the vulnerable spot on your side for the second time today.  It hits you like a bullet and takes you a second to snap out of the abrupt shot of pain.

“Come on,” Din taunts once more, curling his mismatched fingers at you—one hand leathered and the other tan and bare.  He sounds like he’s grinning under the helmet, starting to enjoy this way too fucking much.  It makes your blood boil, makes you just stand there like an idiot for a few seconds and fume at his audacity.

Apparently you take too long getting pissed off at him.  He comes at you first, going for your side again, but you shove his arm out of the way with a growl.  Except his other arm flashes and you react instantly, ducking under the wide, careful swipe aimed for your cheek and then zeroing in on the same exact spot below his ribs he’s been torturing you with all day, the one left wide open while his arm misses its mark.

Except—yours isn’t a tap, or a flick.  It’s a hard uppercut.

Air rushes through the modulator as he groans and stumbles sideways, gasping and trying to steady himself.  Triumph surges through your veins as you watch him, shaking your hand out at your side to quickly encourage the numbness away, your knuckles not yet used to hitting bone.  He clutches his side and shakes the helmet violently in an effort to regain himself, breathing hard through the filter and—

The visor instantly jerks to you and you’re already taking a step back on instinct, adrenaline roaring.  He snaps upright as you continue to retreat—until you trip over yourself and plunge to the grass.

A reflection catches in your peripheral, and you whip your head to the side to see the kid completely passed out in his metallic cradle, eyes closed and mouth drooping a bit.  The sight shoots pure exhilaration through you, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of only seeing him there for a split second before chrome shields instantly slide shut over his head.

You look back to Din just in time to see him dropping his gloved hand back down to his side and taking quick steps towards you—and you react without thinking.  You scramble over on your hands and knees and then launch forwards before you’re even halfway off the ground, finding your feet as you stumble into a run and hearing footsteps pick up behind you.

Maker, it’s been ages since you’ve run like this.  You don’t even know why you’re running—you just do, it just feels like you should.  Your body barrels through tall grass and your heart thunders faster than the sound of your pumping legs, louder than the wind whipping through your ears.  You don’t know if he purposefully allows you to get this far or if you’re genuinely quick—

—nope.  Nope, you’re not quick, because he suddenly bursts into a sprint behind you and gains way too much ground way too quickly.  You try to break left as soon as you realize what’s happening, but he’s too fast and hooks an arm around your stomach just before you’re out of reach.  Din yanks you back to his chest as he twists around and takes you both to the ground, his shoulder blades slamming down first and softening your landing with his whole body and a grunt, skidding you both to a halt in the endlessly wavy field.

The wind is knocked out of you regardless.  You try and struggle off of him but the positioning makes it almost impossible—your abdominal muscles are no match for the strength of his arms wrapped around your stomach, keeping your body pinned tight to his as you wrestle to lift against him in the grass.

“Fight harder,” Din growls raggedly in your ear, and your pussy seizes with need when you feel how rock hard he is against your ass.  It encourages you—you make a rough sound towards the sky and then lift against him with all your strength, and your elbow comes down hard into his ribcage.  Air whooshes out of him and his arms loosen just slightly.  You’re able to wiggle off him and start crawling away, but then he heaves over and snatches at your pant leg—

Which means you pull them down yourself as you keep clawing yourself forward by your arms, raw excitement coursing through your veins, the fabric pulling tight over your ass and then bunching around your thighs.  You squeal and flounder and kick at him—but Din just grabs at your ankle and then pins your leg to the ground, pushing up and using your calves to clamor on top of you with brute strength, catching your underwear and ripping them down too.  Your heart pounds and your pussy just about floods itself hearing him dig in his pants to pull his cock out, his breath coming heavy through the helmet.

Maker, you’re so fucking ready for it.  You keep struggling just because your body is telling you to, but nothing close to the word ‘stop’ ever leaves your mouth, never even comes to mind.  You feel wetness slicking your inner thighs as Din grunts and plants an arm next to your head, his bare hand shooting out to hover in front of your face.  You flinch—but he keeps it there, palm open in front of your lips in silent expectation.

“Wet or dry,” he snarls when you don’t immediately react.  “I don’t give a shit.”

Still, his hand stays right in front of your face long enough to let you make up your mind.

And… not lick it.

After a moment, Din makes a sound that drops another wave of white hot arousal down through your stomach—a furious, growly noise that resembles distorted static passing through the filter.  He angles his cock against your opening and when you hear him muttering angrily, you think he’s scolding you for it.  Calling you dirty under his breath, promising you you’ll regret saying that in a second.  But no—he’s—

“Perfect.  Perfect little girl, fucking perfect,” Din hisses darkly, pushing into your soaking entrance without anything but your slick to ease his way.  “H-How are you—s-so fuck—ing—”

Oh Maker, you turn your head into the grass and cry out through the delicious, blissful intrusion, pushing your hips back against his—and Din curses as he quickly bottoms out, making sure he lurches fully into you before his hands find out exactly where they want to be.  They land on your lower back and he mounts up, pinning your body hard to the ground with almost his full weight.  It means you can rip out as much grass with your useless arms as you want—he doesn’t even give you a single moment now that he’s successfully rooted you to the crushed greenery.  You bloom for him all the same, as soon as Din pulls out with a wet sound and then starts fucking you strong and steady.

It’s sharp.  Biting.  Even the pleasure has a hard edge to it, completely paralyzing you even if you could struggle in this position.  His hands are pushing down so hard that the ground digs into your tummy and makes his cock angle and slam right into your g-spot each and every time.  You want to moan out your ecstasy but he’s wringing the air from your lungs with every shattering swing of his hips back and forth, quickly speeding up as he goes and taking out a full night’s worth of deprivation on you.

“Ngh.  Take.  Cock.  So.  Fucking.  Good—” Din grits with every mean thrust, the staccato growls of praise getting lost in the echoing, rhythmic clap of his hips.  You can’t fucking breathe—the pleasure is too overwhelming, your face is pressed into the grass, he’s got almost all his weight on you.  You’re helpless to do anything besides close your eyes, furrow your brows, drop your jaw, and just let him own your body in the middle of this beautiful oasis.  The heavy, wild thrusts steal every sense away from you, any ability to think beyond the fractured piece of heaven he’s striking inside you over and over.  You don’t even feel him grabbing your asscheeks and spreading them—

Somebody makes a pitiful, breathless whine—it’s you, you realize.  You make that sound, because worn leather lands right on the entrance he was denied last night and shamelessly breaches it before anything else can interrupt him.

“Tight,” he hisses, slowly sinking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle while you clench your eyes shut and choke out his name, “—f-fucking tight—”

His cock pulses inside you and you bear down as hard as you can on it in return, trying to get accustomed to being penetrated in two places at once.  He doesn’t move his thumb after that—he just keeps it there, deep inside you while he continues wrecking you with the brutal hammering of his hips from behind. 

Still—the impropriety of it starts to burn you up, how… dirty it is.  Getting the life fucked out of you in broad daylight, in the middle of a wide open field, the thickest finger he has buried deep in your ass, helpless to do anything else besides lay here and let him—you feel yourself start to clamp down, steadily getting tighter and tighter around the intrusions while he grits out hard curses and keeps giving it to you through the rapid build.

His name—you start repeating it into the ground like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.  The word scrapes from your throat over and over, and you try to pull at the grass but your hands are clenched into fists and you can’t seem to remember which muscles to use to open them.

“You like this?”  You’re able to hear him grit from above you.  “Like when I—fuck—when I fuck you l-like this?  When I just.  H-Hold you down and take—” he chokes, “—take what I w-want—”

You can’t respond, but fuck yes, you do.  The kindling spark inside you suddenly flares up and starts to spread through your body like wildfire, tightening, tightening, tightening, but then—

He’s so pent up—Din cums.

Devastatingly early.

The savage thrusts suddenly stutter to a halt and the gasp he takes in sounds like it physically hurts him.  Like the orgasm is just ripped out of him.  His hold turns to steel on you, as if he thinks you can somehow get away right now, and Din cums deep inside your spasming cunt with a shuddering, desperate groan of your name. 

It’s like it drains everything from him—he slumps, just conscious enough to slowly ease his thumb out of your tight asshole, and then he collapses in the grass next to you.  You stay there for just a second and shake next to him, muscles feeling like they’re creaking even while just laying on the ground like this, completely motionless.

“Shit—was that—”  Din pants, turning and scooting over to you to brush your hair out of your face with his bare hand, “was that… okay?  Do you… do you need…?”

You’re still so submissive, still so high on the overwhelming rush of pleasure, your mouth opens and croaks out a response without your permission.  “It was good.”

“Yeah?”  He huffs, dropping back on the grass and trying to catch his breath.  “Good.”

And… it’s true.  It was good, it was absolutely fucking amazing.  So overpowering, such a hard fuck that you almost don’t think about the fact that you didn’t actually cum from it.  The thought doesn’t really even register with you fully, not yet.

Eventually you both push yourselves up, each of you equally lacking in energy, just in different ways.  Din looks like he’s drunk—unbalanced and dizzy while he removes his glove and stuffs it into one of his pockets, before carefully tucking his spent cock back in his trousers.  In contrast, you’re nothing more than another trembling blade of grass in an enormous landscape of them, flimsy and yielding to the powerful, rippling wind as you attempt to adjust your clothing.

It’s fine, you tell yourself on the slow, quiet walk back.  Sex doesn’t always need to end in a fiery orgasm.  Sometimes a rough pounding hits the spot, scratches that itch.  You feel like you’re a newborn blurg trying to balance your oddly proportioned weight on two noodle legs as Din’s hand patiently guides you from your lower back, and a bright flare of arousal arcs through you feeling how gentle his hold is compared to the way his cum is steadily leaking from your throbbing, aching cunt.

You don’t need to cum every single time he fucks you.  It’s fine.

***

Upon returning to the sight of the unbothered, napping kid, you both decide to walk a bit more, and you learn your lesson this time.  The sun glints bright against Din’s left side while traveling in this direction, so you stick purposefully to his right the entire time.

In the meantime, you share easy conversation and attempt to regain some semblance of control over your still slightly… restless body.  Slowly but surely, your feverish arousal for him dims and fades to the backburner, replaced instead by… softer, quieter feelings.  There’s not a solid word for it, not really.  If you were mixing on a palette, you’d start out with a base of gentle contentment and then add a big dollop of affection, diluted with silence until it’s a swirling, pastel… color you don’t have a name for, but cherish all the same.

The baby wakes up about halfway through the afternoon hike, and he’s better now too.  Eventually your ragtag party finds a place to settle for the night—a small clearing in the field at the edge of a thick forest.  There’s a sizable log and boulder situated relatively close together, with a wide open space to make a fire in the center.

Din disappears for a bit to go get some firewood from the looming forest while you entertain the kid; the log is tilted perfectly to allow you both to watch the sunset, and you easily converse with the riveting baby talk as if he’s an absolute genius.

“I’m not so sure about that, honestly,” you tell him diplomatically, receiving nothing but unintelligible babbles in response as he climbs all over you.  “Well, no actually, because there’s two major schools of thought concerning that, the first being—”

He pops up in front of your face to interrupt you heatedly and you scoff, rolling your eyes over the loud gibberish.  “Look, I’d appreciate it if we could tone down the passive-aggressiveness, okay?  If we can’t have a respectful discussi—”

Three green fingers settle over your lips and you gasp at the nerve of him, forced to let him continue to ramble on your lap about absolutely nothing at all, the size of his ego soon growing to match the size of his ears.

“Hear that, shiny?”  You turn your head and ask his father upon his eventual return, and Din grunts distractedly as he dumps the firewood down and rummages around in the bag for a lighter.  Tilting your head back towards the kid, you prompt him with a raised brow.  “Tell him what you just told me.”

The baby bursts into more nonsense, encouraged by your attention, and Din crouches down to set the wood into position in the dusky twilight glow while saying nothing at all, and it somehow manages to pass as listening intently.

It continues to go on like that far longer than you expected it would, the baby apparently having quite the bone to pick about something that’s been on his mind, and one point you have to rest your hand over his mouth so he finally stops babbling.  “Hey, that’s not very nice,” you scold him quietly.  “I’m sure his face is perfectly normal under there.”

The helmet turns just slightly towards you, unamused while you snort at your own joke for a little bit. 

“I didn’t say it,” you remind him after far too long of just celebrating your own hilarity, clearing your throat through the stifled chuckles.  “I’m just translating.”

“Oh yeah?”  He eventually murmurs, beginning to ignite some of the crumpled twigs at the center of the pile, and if you worked at it, you could probably convince yourself he’s sharing your gentle smile.  More muted than yours perhaps, but beautiful and easy on his face, fitting him simply and perfectly.  “What did… What did he say I look like?”

You would’ve shot something ridiculous back at him, something snarky and facetious, but you stop short.  You catch it—underneath his voice, it sounds… timid, almost.  Uncertain.  It makes you take just a second in responding.

“Brown eyes,” you tell him after a moment, and Din doesn’t visibly react, just continues to slowly add small branches to kindle the flame.  It’s so quiet out here, but it’s different from hyperspace quiet.  This quiet is… natural.  Warm, and.  Free.  Fleeting, allowed to roam.  In a way that hyperspace just feels compact, stifling.  “He said you have… brown eyes.  And a… a strong bone structure, striking features.  A sharp, chiseled jaw, dark facial hair.  And, uh.  He also said…”

Din keeps silently feeding the fire until it’s crackling and bright, and then he settles back on his butt next to it, both elbows resting on his knees, not moving the visor towards you but waiting for you to finish regardless. 

The stunning backdrop gives way to a stunning surge of bravery.

“He said you make a bunch of faces under there that nobody ever sees,” you say softly, blinking at Din in the fading twilight while the kid sits silently in your lap.  “That you’re an open book.  Behind a metal wall.  And you have a really nice smile, I bet—he bets… he bets you probably do it more often than anyone realizes.  And your… your hair starts to curl when you let it grow long, and.  And you’re almost guaranteed to be drop dead gorgeous under there, and it’s a real fucking shame that you’ve probably never had anyone tell you it.”

Din tilts his helmet at you, looks at you for a long time—long enough for blood to rush to your cheeks and for you to get fidgety.  But when he finally does respond, his voice is gentle through the modulator.  “He said that.”

You mhm at him quickly, nodding your head and turning away as casually as you can, heart beating incredibly fast for some reason.  “Just the translator.”

A lovely silence soon blankets the both of you, a warmth permeating through to your bones that has nothing to do with the steadily growing fire.

***

A little while later, the kid has retired to his reflective cradle and the dancing flames are the only source of light besides the bright moon hanging directly overhead.  Din sits with his back to the large boulder and digs through the bag, pulling out all sorts of food you picked up before leaving the village this morning and handing them to you.  Something red and unfocused flashes oddly against the curve of his helmet when he reaches his hand back in, but it’s only for a second—he’s already pushing more food at you and filling your arms with bags of dried meats, fresh fruit, and loaves of bread.

“Stars,” you whisper under your breath, examining the feast in the flickering firelight.  “Here, take—take some of this, it’s too much.”

“There’s more in here,” he counters lowly, zipping the bag and dropping it somewhere on the other side of his body.  “The kid hasn’t eaten all day.  Might crawl away and catch himself a Gungan later if you don’t feed him soon.”

“No, I mean—” you let all the food drop into your lap and start sorting the items, “—you need to eat.  What do you want?  There’s plenty.”

“I’m not hungry,” he answers, far too quickly to have actually taken a moment to check.  “Just give me whatever you two don’t eat when you’re finished, I’ll put it back in the bag.”

Okay, if he’s gonna play it like this, you’ll just have to choose for him.  You’ve already dedicated at least two bags of dried meat to the kid, which takes care of him.  So, you take an extended moment to methodically find the ripest fruit in the bunch, the one with the most squish to it, and then search for the softest loaf of bread, not caring that Din is silently watching you.  You gather both of them in your arms and then pluck three bags of meat from the pile, before depositing all of them back into his lap.

“Eat,” you urge quietly, grabbing another portion of food for yourself, heavy on the fruit.  “Don’t inhale it.  Please.”

With that, you grab the kid’s food and then scoop the little guy up from his shield with your free arm, standing and walking to the other side of the fire.  You carefully plop yourself down with your back purposefully to Din, the kid happily finding a place on your lap with his back to you and reaching six little fingers out for the food.

You start eating, and after a moment, you smile around the large bites of fruit at the sound of metal clinking against stone.  The baby, of course, refuses to even open the bag of dried meat you set in front of him, so you roll your eyes and do it yourself, hoping he’ll at least eat like an adult and give you some time to feed yourself.  But no—the fifty year old creep demands to be hand fed, and any other day, you wouldn’t have let him get away with it.

Today, you’re just really fucking.  Happy.

You’re unbelievably happy.  Having spent a few days on this gorgeous planet, your two favorite people in the galaxy with you.  It fills your heart with air.

You start out quiet, praying you aren’t bothering Din as he (hopefully) continues to relax and enjoy his food behind you.  You begin humming your favorite melody under the sound of the crackling flames, the source of heat burning pleasantly against the curve of your lower back, setting another piece of dried meat into the kid’s cute little mouth and only just slightly annoyed that he refuses to do this himself.  Admittedly though, you do love babying him, especially when he shows you his adorable little chompers.

One bite for him, two bites for you.  That’s the deal, even though you’re hungry and you deserve way more than double his food intake rate.  You try to be quiet enough that your gentle humming will get lost with the fire between you and Din, and he never says anything or tells you to cut it out, so you just continue to let your cheerful mood provide a quiet soundtrack to the moonlit evening.

Even better, you and the kid actually finish snacking before he does, and you’re more than willing to wait for him, thrilled that this is actually happening.  It’s so simple, such a throwaway thing, but.  Knowing he used to eat his meals as quick as he can and now he’s comfortable enough to just take a second and enjoy it… you don’t know, there’s something inherently meaningful about it, something that you specifically notice.  Something about this, about sitting around a fire and sharing a meal together for the first time—even with your back turned to him, it just feels… familial.  In a way.  More than it’s ever felt before.

You have a little moment.  It’s nice.  You drop your head back and gaze up at the night sky, in awe of how different the stars look from this side of the galaxy and remembering how far you’ve come.  The kid follows suit, leaning back against your tummy and blinking silently at the universe, the star-speckled sky reflecting in his gigantic dark eyes.

He starts to doze after awhile, listening to you hum softly to yourself, but the noise of a helmet finally lifting from the boulder and most likely fitting itself back in its rightful place snaps him awake just enough.  The kid pushes off you and waddles over to his dad, and you scoot yourself back over to your little log while he unceremoniously clamors up onto Din’s thighs.

Admittedly, it’s really fucking cute.  The visor moves just enough to watch him plop his little green butt down and find a comfy position on his lap, not helping but not preventing the movement either.  A heartwarming, silent kind of tolerance hardened men have for innocent little creatures that makes you bite your lip to hide your smile.  What a softie.

You sit there in companionable quiet, staring deep into the dancing firelight and losing track of time just a bit.  They’re hypnotic, the flames.  Crackling and popping, warming just the forward-facing parts of you and nearly burning your cheeks, but you love it.  Breathing in the woodsy campfire air, hearing the gentle breeze float through the field surrounding you, the quiet forest waving dark and deep in the distance.  The midnight sky stretches long above you and the stars seem… brighter than they were on Arvala-7.  They probably aren’t—that planet is practically abandoned and has almost no light pollution whatsoever compared to Naboo, but… maybe it’s because now they feel… in reach.  Something you can touch.  Interact with.  Something you can cover your eyes, blindly point at, and then say—that one.  That’s where we should go next.

After awhile—you have no idea how long—you blink your gaze over to Din and startle to find the helmet facing you directly, shamelessly, the kid completely passed out on his lap as the flames reflect in the visor.

Without intending to, you’re already thinking back to earlier today.  How quickly he bolted after you, how strong he was bringing you to the ground, pinning you under him and taking what was so rudely denied to him last night.

You didn’t actually finish, and you can still feel it simmering down low.  Din’s cum has been steadily leaking from you all day, and while you eventually became successful at blocking out the sensation, it suddenly slams to the forefront of your mind again.  The visor pierces deep into you while you start to squirm just a bit against the rough log pressed into your back.  You can still feel him when you flex your lower muscles, and you bite your lip and do it repeatedly while blinking at him, waiting, squeezing your thighs together and loving the reminder.

He still hasn’t said anything to you, and you start to get antsy under his stare.  Your body works itself up even more, fueled by the flames reflecting in his helmet.  After a few more moments of silent tension, you’ve finally had enough.

“Din,” you whisper, trying not to make it sound like a whine and his head quickly lifts when you didn’t even realize it was slightly tipped forward.  The helmet rolls back in a drowsy little circle, as if his neck is suddenly remembering the weight burdening it.  Embarrassment instantly floods you.  “Oh.  Shit.  I’m so stupid.  I’m sor—”

Only he’s already pushing himself up with his free arm, lethargic and drunk with exhaustion, not saying a single word as he sets the conked out kid in the cradle and closes the shield over his sleepy little head with the push of a button.

You bite your lip as he drags himself over to you, swinging a leg behind you and then dropping down without any ceremony, firmly inserting himself between the uncomfortable log and your back.  Your butt is shoved forward from the sudden displacement but he’s not done.  Din wraps both his arms around you and pulls, dragging you up onto his long torso while his legs close under you and you’re off the ground completely.

Oh Maker, he’s already thousands of times more comfortable than sleeping up against the log would be.  He makes the best bed in the galaxy, big and warm and firm under you, letting you stretch out long on him.  You lounge on his lap and drop your head to his shoulder, resting your arms on top of his as they drape heavy across your belly.

“Sorry,” he gruffs, voice low and rough through the modulator.  The filter rings sharp through your ear when it’s pressed up against his helmet like this.  “Just need a few hours.  Didn’t… didn't sleep great last night.”

You close your eyes and internally scold yourself, now taking responsibility for his lack of rest for the past two days.  Shit.  You don’t actively respond, feeling slightly put out, but your body is of another mind altogether.  It still continues trundling down the steep slope you shoved it towards earlier, when you stupidly thought he was giving you eyes under the helmet instead of him being passed out cold.  You wiggle against him just slightly under the guise of finding a comfortable position, but it has unintentional consequences.

You breathe out a soft sigh when your hips move over his cock, biting your lip at the sensation but trying so hard to stop it in its tracks.  He’s exhausted, and he already fucked the life out of you today, there’s no way he’ll want to go again this soon.  Except—then he shifts and mmms low in his throat.

“And you,” Din murmurs quietly, reaching a hand down to slowly push under your pants, “need to start being more honest with me.”

“What are you t—oh, stars,” you whisper, your body shuddering as one of his thick fingers slowly dips into your slit.

“Shit, you’re wet,” he groans, sinking his hand down lower to feel remnants of himself still easing its way out of you.  Your lashes flutter as your jaw drops, and his cock gets hard against your spine almost immediately.  “You’re fucking… soaked.  I—I asked if you came and you said yeah,” he whispers low to you, but you shake your head.  “Why’d you lie to me abo—”

“No, no—” you protest breathlessly, “—you asked if it was okay, and then I said—”

“You said it was good.  It’s not good if you didn’t cum,” he grunts quietly, and the tip of his finger now drawing tight circles over your clit makes it damn near impossible to argue.  “I didn’t fuck you right if you didn’t cum.  You should be fucked right.”

“Maker, you fuck me exactly how I need to be fucked,” you whimper, tilting your head until your lips are pressed against the curve of his helmet while his hand steadily works under your pants.  “And—oh, fuck, that’s… h-however you need to fuck me.”

“Fuck—obedient little thing…” he huffs, starting to rub harder over your clit.  “What I need is for you to cum.  From now on, you’ll tell me.  Say yes.”

“Yes,” you moan into the beskar, your eyes fluttering back at the slowly building pressure.

“Say, ‘yes, Din,’” he breathes.

“Yes, Din,” you dutifully repeat, lifting your hips up against his hand, and he groans softly through the modulator.

“Say, ‘Din, I need something to cum on’,” he whispers.

You’re delirious, you don’t even catch it before most of it is already out of your mouth.  “Din, I need something to c—” you cut off but he’s already reaching down between your bodies to ease his cock out, before yanking your pants down your ass just enough to position himself up against your entrance.

He rocks his hips up and he slides in easier than ever before, and you… don’t know what you’re expecting, but he surprises you nonetheless.  He doesn’t start thrusting into you at all.  Even though he’s rock hard inside you, thick and pulsing and breaking you open, he doesn’t move a single inch.  He just keeps himself there, continuing to rub circles around your clit and giving you exactly what he prompted you to ask for.

Something to cum on.

Your body tenses and squeezes him, and Din shushes you before you realize you were making noise.  His free hand comes up to settle tight over your mouth and guide you turn your head away from his helmet.  At first you think it’s because your heavy breathing was probably fogging the visor up, but no—his fingers leave your pussy for a split second and you hear him maneuver himself out of it.  The hollow noise it makes thunking to the ground is beginning to become your favorite sound in this universe.

But then of course, Din buries his face into your neck and starts talking again, whispering low praises behind your ear with that bassy, dark chocolate rasp, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing.  His fingers return to your cunt to slowly rub your clit and his cock throbs hotter than sin inside you, building your pleasure into a strong, slow crescendo.

You start to whimper unintentionally, but his hand is wrapped tight around your mouth, muting and confining the desperate sounds to your throat.  His finger presses down harder on your clit and his cock flexes inside you.

“That’s it, sw—sweet girl,” Din mutters, his voice interrupted by his own staccato breaths and tight gasps the longer he talks you through it, the longer he keeps himself perfectly still while engulfed in your drenched, fluttering cunt.  “That’s—that’s it, I can feel it c-coming.  Fuck—make it good for me, give me a good one—”

His words shove you right over a cliff you didn’t even realize was there until you were dangling over the steep drop for an extended moment like a cartoon.  Everything squeezes around him unbearably tight—your hands dig into his forearms, your back arches up against him, your pussy constricts his thick cock until you feel like you’re hurting the both of you with it, and Din’s breath catches next to your ear while you’re both suspended in thin air for a split second—

—before you’re convulsing in pure bliss, flooding his cock with cum while he rasps out, “good girl,” into the crook of your neck and rocks his hips up into yours.  The few heavenly inches of movement hits something jaw-dropping inside you and nearly makes you scream against his palm, launching your body even higher into mind-bending rapture.  Fucking Maker, you cum hard for him, on him, around him.  You downright drown his cock in your pleasure, suffocate it and work out the aching tightness in your pussy all over him until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.

“Mmm…” Din murmurs quietly, continuing to circle your swollen clit hard through the shattering aftershocks.  His voice is deep and sinful and vibrates your whole back with its frequency, but something underneath it also sounds as if he’s considering, before he seems to land on an answer to a wordless question he just asked himself.  “…One more.”

And, like the fucking Maker himself commanded it, another blazing hot wave of fire suddenly rips you apart and sends you spasming rhythmically around the throbbing cock buried inside you once again.  This one wrings you completely dry, robbing you of every sense.  The ragged whine you make behind his hand must be too loud—his fingers quickly tighten around your jaw and lock down, keeping you as still as possible while you give him everything you have to give.

Eventually the sparks die out and you’re left a shell of what you once were, clamping down hard on him and shuddering your bliss at the night sky.  He lays there silently under you, holding you as you fall back down to reality.  Your breathing is a mess and so is everything below your waist, and your whole body jerks when Din carefully slides his hand from your pussy and rubs gently over your thighs, your tummy, your chest.

“That was…” you croak out, trying to remember how to speak, “ … g-good.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck.  You can hear the gentle grin he’s hiding from you, knowing he completely incapacitated you.

“But what about—” you start to protest, when Din’s teeth sink into your flesh and your pussy seizes up tight around him, making him choke a hoarse little groan into your skin.

After a moment, he eases his throbbing cock out of you, and he resets your clothing while you whimper in distress.  “Go to sleep,” Din murmurs, before softly kissing your neck once more, and your eyes slowly droop against your will.  Fuck, his body beats a king size mattress any day of the week.  “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

He…

He isn’t.

[xsamsharons]

held by you - f. fahey

pairing: jesper fahey x reader.

genre/warning: fluff. like, stupid sweet fluff.

words: 1k

summary: short little blurb about a rare moment of peace and quiet with jesper by your side.

“Hey there, stranger.” Jesper’s voice resonated through your room as it came from your previously closed door, which you’d heard open seconds before you heard his voice. You didn’t bother facing him when you replied, instead keeping your eyes trained on the city below you, visible through your window and vibrating with energy as it usually did on Friday nights.

“Hey, Jes.” your voice sounded tired and strained, as if you hadn’t spoken in ages.

You heard the door shut behind you, followed by the sound of his footsteps making their way to come stand behind you, his chest touching your back but his arms still by his side as he followed your line of sight out into the Ketterdam streets. Jesper and you knew each other well enough to know that he knew you were feeling down, and he didn’t have to ask you why he had barely seen your face around the Slat the past couple of days.

“You know, there’s a lot more interesting things to do on a Friday night than stalk people from your room window.” he said, finally moving his arms to let his hands rest upon your shoulders and start moving them in a massage-like motion. You allowed yourself a small smile at his words.

“Like watch you lose bets downstairs? I can do that every other day of the week.” you shrugged, and leaned your head backwards so that it rested on with his body behind you.

“You know,” he started, his voice a few octaves higher after your comment, causing your smile to widen. “I come here to bless you with my glorious presence and get you out of your self-pity party, and all I get in return is a personal attack.” he finished, his hands still working on relieving some of the tension that had settled upon your shoulders.

“Self-pity party?” you laughed.

“Oh, i’m sorry. I thought the whole gazing out into the street from your window with a somber look made it pretty obvious.” he explained, his hands traveling down from your shoulders and rubbing soothing motions over your exposed arms, his words sarcastic but his touch delicate. You rolled your eyes and tilted your head backwards to look at him for the first time since he entered your room.

Whatever it is that you were about to say died in your throat before you could even get one word out. From your angle, you could stare up at him and watch as the harsh lights from the street shined softly on his beautiful face, and how his eyes looked so full of worry once he looked down at you from his position towering above you.

“I missed you these past couple of days.” he said softly, dropping the sarcasm or the joking tone he had been using ever since he’d appeared on your door. His eyes shined with sincerity, and held so much emotion as they stared down at you that you considered looking away just to avoid this confrontation.

“I missed you too.” you admitted, and it was the truth. You had missed his face, his voice and his touch. You had missed his stupid comments and his blush-worthy compliments. You had missed… him. Though you’d be damned if you thought you’d ever admit all those things to him out loud. “I missed your face.” you settled for instead, smirking up at him and watching as a smirk of his own grew on his lips as well.

“Who wouldn’t?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes, your smile never leaving your face, even as you turned back around to continue staring out into the city. “I don’t really get the appeal of staring at the city, you already have the best view right here behind you.” he said, referring to himself, and you snorted.

“You are so full of yourself.” you shook your head.

“Rightfully so, have you seen me?” he asked, his hand halting their movements on your arms, and instead coming back up again to wrap both of his around your shoulders, leaning his head against yours. You moved your hands from in front of you and placed them on his forearms located around your chest, holding him close, as if afraid he’d go somewhere if you stopped holding him.

You stayed like that, in silence and holding each other, for a while. You watched as the city below you became more crowded, as the noises became louder and as everyone started to look more like a blend of something than singular people you could point out. You could feel his chest rising and falling from behind you, and you could feel his soft skin erupted with goosebumps from your touch as you kept rubbing circles on his forearms.

“Thank you for checking up on me.” you whispered after a few minutes of silent embrace, your voice soft as if afraid any sort of loud noise would disrupt the rare moment of peace you had found in your rather hectic lives.

“Anytime, angel.” you felt as he raised his head to kiss the top of yours, only to lean back against you moments after he was done, and you closed your eyes, smiling softly at the feeling. “Always.”

[kechiwrites]

spit or swallow

Dentist!Eijirou Kirishima x Patient!Reader

wc: 1.5k

“he works diligently above you, latex gloved hands occasionally brushing your nose, jaw and throat. He’s nothing less than gentle with you, angling your face where he needs it with feather soft touches and honey smooth direction.”

warnings: afab reader, fantasizing about your dentist, a lil bit of praise kink, biting, oral sex, size kink if you squint, swearing, dick slapping but like make it tender, we’re light on warnings today y’all, 18+ 

author’s notes: kirishima....thank u to my lovely betas @lady-bakuhoe​ and @rivendell101​ yes i kept the arm hair thing in, im a simp ♡.

There is absolutely nothing sexy about being a dentist. The visual of Dr. Kirishima up to his elbows in spit and god know what else is hardly erotic. But there’s very little you can do to stop the shivers that tingle down your spine at the sight of his bare forearms, revealed to you by the careful and precise folding of his doctor’s coat, dusted with fine black hair and corded with muscle when they reach over your face to adjust the light or peer at your x-rays. Your tongue is still thick and sweet in your mouth from the liquid he'd given to you in a little blue cup. The taste was just barely spearmint and you wish you could chase it with the sharp tang of his sweat. You wish you could wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you, bite and kiss and suck at the skin under his jaw you're becoming so familiar with. You want to create a flush so deep you find it blooming over his skin when you undo the little white plastic buttons of his dress shirt.

While you're musing, he works diligently above you, latex gloved hands occasionally brushing your nose, jaw and throat. He’s nothing less than gentle with you, angling your face where he needs it with feather soft touches and honey smooth direction. You get the distinct impression he’s a mellow guy, tossing easy smiles to anyone who meets his eye and he certainly doesn’t seem very intimidating. Even still, you can't help but think about the stretch. There's not a doubt in your mind that Eijirou Kirishima D.D.S. is packing like he's on a two month vacation. His shoulders are impossibly broad and when he escorted you through the bleach white hallway all you could think of was letting him loom over you and drag the heavy weight of his weeping cock up and down the plush skin of your face. You wish he would push past the softness of your lips and urge your head further and further down his length until the tip of his dick touches your fucking brain. You want him to spread your pussy open between latex covered thumbs and bury his tongue in you, let his unnervingly sharp teeth catch the hood of your clit.

You want him to hurt you.

You’re lost in the visual of his hands around your throat when he calls your name, trying to get you to angle your chin just a bit further downward. When you finally comply, he whispers “Good girl” and it takes every single bit of your self restraint to stop yourself from whimpering at the image the phrase conjures. You screw your eyes shut and behind your lids, Dr. Kirishima is holding you against the padded chair by the back of your neck, sinking his teeth into the exposed skin of your shoulder, hip, thigh, leaving aching, perfect half circles in their wake. He keeps you in place with one hand, and presses his cock against the throbbing heat of your cunt, not quite hard enough to enter, not yet. Instead he’s content to tease you into begging for it. And you do, you pant out platitudes and pleas for more until he blankets your body with his own, weighing you down as he pushes into you, fucking deeper and deeper until your slick covers both of your thighs. He fucks you with four fingers in your mouth, pushing down on your tongue while he calls you his favourite patient. His perfect patient.

“Am I hurting you?” You open your eyes in an instant, and the dentist is hovering above you, eyebrows furrowed with concern. You aren’t even sure how long your eyes have been closed, but the light overhead stings a bit and you blink owlishly before speaking.

I fucking wish.

“No, no I’m fine.” You steeple your hands together in your lap and try to shake off the reverie.

“Great, well we’re all done here,” he pulls his mask down to hang around his neck and blinds you with a beaming smile, before you can even feel guilty, the dentist spins around in his bone white office chair, rummaging in a shelf before coming back to you, with two closed fists held up for your choosing.

“Pick one.” When you can only respond with a confused tilt of the head he explains, “A treat for my favourite patient. I know you aren’t exactly lollipop age but…” Dr. Kirishima continues to speak but the sound of his voice is drowned out by the roaring in your ears. You interrupt him mid-sentence and tap your hand against his left and he opens his wide palm with a flourish to reveal a bright yellow sugar free wrapped candy and a packet of floss with a smiley little cartoon tooth emblazoned on the front.

You aren’t quite sure how, but you know it’s mocking you.

You take the gifts from his hand, trying hard to ignore the feeling of your fingertips dragging against his open palm. There’s maybe one hundred filthy thoughts slamming against the walls of your skull produced by the feel of his skin against yours, and honestly you’re just thankful they’re not readable in your eyes or pouring out of your fucking ears. You clear your throat and do your best to smile at Dr. Kirishima, swivelling in the dentist chair to place your feet back on the ground once he scoots back enough for you to stand. You gather your bag and coat while he rattles off what you need to remember; “easy on the sugar, red wine and coffee, brush twice a day, floss as often as you can, etc.” With the dentist now out of your immediate line of sight you can force yourself to calm down. Your heart rate finally returns to a steady pulse in your chest and a centering deep breath brings you back down the rest of the way. While you shove your hands into your coat pockets to check that your essentials are all accounted for, you can hear Dr. Kirishima quietly issue directions to the waiting dental assistant in the hallway. Finally back in your right mind, you turn with your things in hand to thank your dentist, half relieved and half disappointed to be leaving his close quarters, only to slam bodily into the hard planes of his chest beneath his thin dress shirt.

You stumble backwards and it’s the quick movement of Dr. Kirishima’s hands (one cemented around your forearm and the other on your hip) that stops you from colliding with his tray of instruments.

“Are you alright?” He questions you, palms iron hot against your skin, even through your clothes. His voice is just a bit too loud for how close you are to each other, and you shift backwards in his hold to look into his eyes. In the shuffle, you’d pressed both of your, embarrassingly, sweaty hands against his shoulders, one of them fisted tightly in the lapel of his doctor’s coat. Still, even as you blabber assurances to him looming above you, neither of you move to let go, opting instead to remain stock still, as though the slightest disruption could make your position any more inappropriate than it already was.

Kirishima’s hand tightens on your hip just the tiniest bit and when he opens his mouth to speak to you, your gaze focuses on the exceptionally vicious point of his canines. You force yourself to meet his eyes again, just fast enough to catch him staring at your lips, parted in surprise at the collision.

Slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal, Kirishima draws closer to you, and for a second you think he’ll kiss you, but instead his cheek brushes over yours, lips meeting the curve of your ear, warm breath rushing against your skin, eliciting full body shivers. The grip you have on his shirt turns to iron and you urge him closer, narrowing the minimal space between you until your chest is pressed so firmly against his.

“I-”

Whatever he was going to say is cut short by the sound of the office door swinging open, heralding the dental assistant’s return. Thankfully, Kirishima’s assistant has their eyes on their clipboard, addressing you by your last name and rattling off the best date for your next cleaning. While their attention is split you force space between yourself and the man holding you. When they do finally raise their eyes, looking for confirmation, you bob your head in agreement, hoping to god they’d give you a form, or receipt or anything to remind you of the details currently being divulged only to be drowned out by the thud of your own heartbeat.

“I’d actually like for her to come in earlier, if possible, we didn’t get the chance to do a polishing today.”

Both you and the assistant blink at the doctor, and slowly his cheeks redden under your stare.

“If that’s alright with you?” He coughs, folding his arms over his chest.

It takes you a second to understand what’s going on but when you do, it snaps your willpower in half.

“Next week then! I’ve got time, if you do.” You reply and Dr. Kirishima’s answering smile is blinding in the best way.

“Sounds perfect.”