#or peeling laminate

[deoidesign]

Guys you're not gonna believe this. The books are wrong again

At least this time I didn't even get half of them and half of what I did get was damaged...? So I only have another 70 books to deal with... This time they're soft touch......

I've got so many of book 2 it's not even funny

[lokh]

THE COLLECTION. IS COMPLETE

[quiveringdeer]

I'm so stressed I can't even bring myself to cry and it really sucks

[kaya-elements]

Why you should get a Acne Facial once in every month?

An Acne Facial is a specialized and thorough facial remedy tailor-made, particularly for individuals with zits-inclined skin. The technique is usually performed via educated estheticians or skincare specialists who analyze the client's skin circumstance to decide the most suitable method.

The facial entails numerous vital steps, beginning with a mild cleaning to remove impurities, excess oil, and makeup. Exfoliation is then carried out to remove dead pores and skin cells, and unclog pores, reducing the chance of recent pimple formations.

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In a few cases, steam or heat towels open the pores, facilitating the guide extraction of black and whiteheads. Careful extraction enables clean the skin of debris and may reduce acne irritation.

High-frequency treatments may be employed to combat microorganisms and inflammation. Calming masks observe the extraction system, soothing the pores and skin and minimizing redness. Non-comedogenic moisturizers are implemented to hold the skin hydrated without demanding acne.

For Acne Facial in North Olmsted Ohio visit kayaelements.com Finally, sunscreen is frequently used to protect the skin from dangerous UV rays. While an Acne Facial can help deal with pimples, it is vital to maintain a regular at-home skincare routine and look for the advice of a dermatologist for extreme or persistent pimple conditions. Their knowledge can provide a comprehensive assessment and customized treatment plan for lasting consequences.

An Acne Facial is a specialized facial remedy designed to deal with pimples, pimples-susceptible pores, and skin. It is accomplished through certified estheticians or skin care professionals with know-how in managing zits-associated troubles.

The number one goal of an Acne Facial is to cleanse the pores and skin very well, unclog pores, reduce infection, and promote healing of present pimple lesions. The treatment may vary depending on the person's skin kind and the severity of acne. However, regular steps involved in an Acne Facial would possibly consist of the following:

Skin Analysis: The esthetician will verify the purchaser's skin situation, become aware of the kind of acne, and determine the excellent direction of action.

Cleansing: The pores and skin is cleansed to cast off any dirt, oil, or makeup that may be gifted at the surface.

Exfoliation: A mild exfoliation method is used to dispose of lifeless skin cells and unclog pores, helping to prevent new pimple formations.

Steam: Steam may be used to open up the pores, making it easier to remove impurities and microorganisms.

Manual Extraction: The esthetician may also perform guide extractions to eliminate blackheads, whiteheads, and particles from the pores. This step must be finished cautiously to avoid further inflammation or contamination.

High-Frequency Treatment: Some Acne Facials include excessive-frequency gadgets that use electric currents to kill bacteria and decrease infection.

Calming Masks: A calming or zits-precise mask can be carried out to soothe the pores and skin and decrease redness.

Moisturizing: The esthetician will practice a non-comedogenic (non-pore-clogging) moisturizer to preserve the pores and skin hydrated without exacerbating pimples.

Sunscreen: If the remedy is accomplished during the day, a sunscreen with a minimum SPF of 30 is usually applied to protect the skin from dangerous UV rays.

It's vital to observe that while an Acne Facial can be beneficial for managing acne-susceptible skin, it cannot be a one-time answer. A series of remedies mixed with consistent at-home skincare ordinary is regularly recommended for first-class consequences. Additionally, individuals with severe or persistent pimples must consider consulting a dermatologist for a more comprehensive evaluation and personalized treatment plan.

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An acne facial is a specialized and comprehensive skin care treatment designed to meet the specific needs of individuals with acne-sensitive skin. This is performed by licensed estheticians or dermatologists specializing in acne problems.

The process involves a systematic series of steps to deeply cleanse, cleanse and treat the skin to reduce acne symptoms and promote healthy, clear skin Facial treatment usually begins with a thorough examination of the patient's skin to assess the type and severity of warts. This assessment allows the esthetician better to tailor the treatment to the individual's skin condition.

The first step of the Acne Facial is carefully cleaning the skin with a mild scrub. This step is necessary to remove surface cleaners, excess oil, makeup and bacteria that can contribute to acne formation.

This is followed by skin exfoliation (injections) or chemical peels (alpha or beta hydroxy acid) to apply dead skin cells and clear pores. Removing these blockages dramatically reduces the risk of the acne breaking out again.

Finally, if the Acne Facial is conducted at some point during the sunlight hours, sunscreen with at least SPF 30 is applied to protect the pores and skin from dangerous UV rays. Sunscreen is crucial, as unprotected solar exposure can exacerbate zits and cause additional skin damage.

While an Acne Facial can yield high-quality outcomes in handling zits-susceptible pores and skin, it is critical to keep a consistent and appropriate at-home skin care recurring to sustain the benefits. For intense or continual acne instances, searching for the steering of a dermatologist is relatively endorsed.

Dermatologists can better evaluate the pores and skin's circumstances and provide personalized remedies or prescription-strength medicinal drugs to achieve lasting enhancements in acne control and ordinary skin health.

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[bamsara]

Hello! I was wondering what company you use for your sticker sheets? I bough one from your Ko-Fi shop and really like the quality, and the pricing you were able to sell at is waaaaaay more reasonable compared to any of the companies I've seen and used myself. Is it a POD company, or a mass purchase of them to sell on your own?

Thank you for your time if you're able to respond!

I'm really glad you like the quality, because I actually make them by hand at home! (Please forgive the lighting, my bedroom is my office lmao.)

I don't use a company (and Idk what a POD company is sorry!) but making them at home gives a lot more freedom of stock, just be wary it can be very time consuming depending on how many you need to make.

I've had other people ask before, so here's a rundown of how I make my stickers at home: At most you'll need:

Printer

Sticker paper (this is the type that I use)

Laminator and lamination paper (the lamination paper that I use.) You can also use adhesive non-heat lamination paper if you don't have a laminator, gives you the same result, just be careful of bubbles. You will get double your worth out of a pack because we are splitting the pouches to cover two sticker sheets.

Your choice of a sticker cutting machine or just using scissors.

First, I use Cricut's software to print out the sticker sheet with the guidelines around the corners so the machine can read it. If you do NOT have a Cricut machine, open up your art program, make a canvas of 2550x3300 and fill it up with your sticker design with some cutting space between them. This the 8.5x11 size for the sticker page.

I usually have bleed selected so the cut comes out cleaner. Tip for non-Cricut users below: Increase the border around your sticker design to fake the 'bleed' effect for a cleaner cut.

These are the print settings I use for my printer. I use the 'use system dialogue' to make sure I can adjust the settings otherwise it prints out low quality by default. Make sure if you're using the above paper that you have 'matte' selected, and 'best quality' selected, these aren't usually selected by default.

So you have your sticker sheet printed! Next is the lamination part. I use a hot laminator that was gifted to me, but there is no-heat types of lamination you can peel and stick on yourself if that's not an option.

(This is for protection and makes the colors pop, but if you prefer your stickers matte, you can skip to the cutting process.)

Important for Cricut users or those planning to get a Cricut: You're going to cut the lamination page to cover the stickers while also not covering the guidelines in the corners. First, take your lamination page and lay it over the sheet, take marker/pen and mark were the edges of your stickers are, and cut off the excess:

(I save the scrap to use for smaller stickers or bonuses later on)

After you've cut out your lamination rectangle, separate the two layers and lay one down on your sticker sheet over your stickers with matte side down, shiny side up. (Save the other sheet for another sticker page)

The gloss of the lamination will prevent the machine from reading the guidelines, so be careful not to lay it over them. It also helps to cut the corners afterwards to prevent accidentally interfering with the guidelines.

Now put that bad boy in the laminator! (Or self seal if you are using non-heat adhesive lamination)

Congrats! You now have a laminated page full of stickers.

For non-cricut/folks cutting them out by hand: this is the part where you start going ham on the page with scisscors. Have fun~

Cutting machine: I put the page on a cutting mat and keep it aligned in the corner, and feed it into the machine. For laminated pages I go between 'cardstock' and 'poster board' so that it cuts all the way through without any issues, but for non-laminated pages or thinner pages, I stick for 'vinyl' and 'light card stock'. Kinda test around.

Now I smash that go button:

You have a sticker now!

The pros of making stickers at home is that you save some cost, and you have more control of your stock and how soon you can make new designs. (I can't really afford to factory produce my stickers anyway)

However, this can be a very time consuming, tedious process especially if you have to make a lot of them. There is also a LOT chance for some errors (misprints, miscuts, lamination bubbles, ect) that will leave you with B-grade or otherwise not-so-perfect or damaged stickers. (Little note, if you have page mess up in printing and can't be fed into the cricut machine, you can still laminate it and cut it out by hand too.)

I have to do a lot of sticker cutting by hand, so if you don't have a cricut don't stress too much about it. I have an entire drawer filled to the top of miscuts/misprints. I keep them because I don't want to be wasteful, so maybe one day they'll find another home. Sucks for my hand though.

But yeah! This is how I make my stickers at home! Hope this is helpful to anyone curious

[bratkook]

deep six: dancing with death. (m) jjk

part one. part two. v-day drabble

pairing. biker!jk x reader genre. smut, fluff warnings. infidelity (but its ok i promise), protected s*x, oral, jungkook is kinda whiny and that itself deserves a warning, they're just fluffy and mushy and love each other they just dont know it yet word count. 12.2k summary. you've always known to stay away from the tombstone patches, told they were the enemy, that you'd be betraying your club if you chose not to listen. but an unsuspected friendship makes you think that maybe not everyone was as bad as you were made to believe. author’s note. hihiiii, this is a prequel to the deep six series! aka how jungkook and oc start their friendship and have it blossom into what it becomes in part one of deep six. i truly love these two so much, something about their forbidden love and how jungkook is tough and dangerous but oh so sweet to her makes me fucking melt!!! ok hope u enjoy it bye ily muah

The world is a constant blur, days merging, memories hazy and bleeding together in your mind. The only time you enjoy the blur is now, sitting on your bike as you flow through the streets. Exiting Cobra territory made you feel free, the streets widening up the further you got, allowing you to cruise without the fear of getting swiped by a careless driver. 

Your eyes fall shut briefly, taking a slow breath as you try to push the earlier feelings away. Minho was having a bad day, a deal he had hoped to make to start running ice falling through, the man in charge deciding to go with a neighboring club instead. It wasn’t your fault the man thought Minho was too hot headed and messy to not find a way to mess this deal up, wanting a club with more reach, more connections and reliability than the Cobras could offer. That didn’t stop Minho from treating you like it was your fault, doing what he did best before barking orders at you to go for a run, desperately needing alcohol to drown his emotions. 

The earlier fear still rattles you, leaves your fingers trembling slightly as they clutch the handles and accelerate. He couldn’t hurt you here, and that's all the comfort you need at the moment, finally pulling into the familiar parking lot of the bodega. There’s a few cars parked inside, a lone scooter tossed by the sidewalk, and a shiny black bike parked by the entrance. 

You eye it for a moment, always checking for visible tags that let you know if the bike belonged to a club that had the Cobra’s high on their hit list. It’d be easy to act dumb if it was, no identifying items on you, knowing better than to roam the streets without Minho with a serpent stamped on you. 

When you find nothing you decide it’s fine, knowing you were on a time crunch to get what he wanted. With another slow breath you step off your bike, already feeling your earlier nerves fade away as you enter your comfort space. It seems odd to consider it one, but something about the buzzing fluorescent lighting and peeling laminate made you feel like an individual. 

Music plays through a portable speaker by the cashier, the worker greeting you with a smile that you return before you turn down your favorite aisle. That’s when you spot him again. The Deep Six member in the same spot he was in the last time you saw him a few weeks ago. It had been a close encounter then, not realizing who he was with your boyfriend standing outside. But his arms are revealed to you now, markings on his skin making it clear what club he belonged to, leaving no room for confusion. If that somehow wasn’t enough the giant patches on his vest and the glimmering rings on his fingers spell it out, literally. 

You approach him slowly, not sure if you trust him but not fully on edge like you were before, knowing Minho’s watchful eyes weren’t observing your every move. Without the ticking bomb a few feet away you allow yourself to slightly relax in the presence of him, assuming he had no idea who you were, clearly too focused on his candy selection. 

Sure you were on a run for Minho but you always pick something up for yourself. A small smile is already on your lips as your eyes land on the sour straws, ready to pick your flavor of choice, only to find it completely empty. Instantly you know the culprit is the man next to you, remembering the way you had reached for the same candy last time you saw him here by chance, and as you turn to stare at him you see his palms cradling four packets of the sour straws, a teasing smile on his face as he meets your eyes. Greedy. 

“Sorry,” he breathes out, sounding anything but, trying desperately not to laugh and failing as he makes his way to the front to pay. You don’t even respond to him, admitting defeat as you settle on the green apple flavored ones before you return to your earlier task, finding a case of Minho’s favorite beer and paying for it. 

The heat welcomes you once more outside, loading up the beer and candy into the saddlebags on the side of your bike, already forgetting about the candy thief from inside. 

“Hey, Snake!” A voice cuts through the air, making you freeze as you search for it, finding the Six standing by the shiny black bike you had spotted earlier. He reaches into his pocket, still smiling as he pulls out the blue raspberry sour straw packet, tossing it your way with ease. 

You catch it with both palms, momentarily stunned at the small gesture and at the fact that he clearly knew you were associated with the Cobras. The rumble of his engine snaps you out of it, smiling slightly as you look up at him once more, a breathless thank you escaping your lips before he is smiling back and peeling out of the parking lot. 

When you live the life you do, constantly on edge with a paranoid boyfriend questioning everyone’s intentions, it's hard not to let his way of thinking affect your own. Even as you sit back at the clubhouse, holding onto that packet of candy, you can’t help but wonder if maybe the Six’s seemingly sweet gesture was a trap. Maybe he was testing to see how gullible you are, stupid enough to interact with him, to use you to send a message to the Cobras. It wouldn’t be the first time. Minho’s reign made you an easy target, knowing you had a lot of enemies that would love to make a lesson of you. 

It's been so long since anyone has shown you genuine kindness with no strings attached, and as you finally enjoy your treat, you can’t stop the warm feeling of hope in your chest that maybe not everyone was as bad as you were made to believe. 

You don’t return to your comfort space again until two weeks later, on another run for the club. Minho seemed to think if he gave you pointless errands to run you’d be satisfied, content with the loveless relationship and mundane everyday life. It was his way of keeping you on a leash, making you follow orders and letting the lead slacken up, only tightening it back up to remind you he was all you had. But you’d take the small moments of peace wherever you could get them. 

The lot is empty today as you pull in, the only car belonging to the worker inside. The moment of solitude only lasts for a minute, a loud rumble cutting through the air as another bike pulls in beside you. You tense up immediately, whipping your head to assess the situation, spotting the familiar Six too lost in his thoughts to realize you were here. He furrows his brows as he takes off his helmet, adjusting the large rings on his fingers before he glances your way, jumping slightly when he notices it's you. 

You eye him curiously, hands coming up to the key in the ignition, ready to start it up and tail out of here if he made a move. Minho had made a claim of some other club trying to ambush a deal earlier today, an unlucky hangout being the only one hurt, but without an identifying patch it left him on edge more than normal. So far the Six didn’t make you feel like you had to be wary, but you couldn’t be so sure. 

He seems to sense it, his arms raising up in surrender as he stays on his bike. “It’s okay snake, I don’t bite.” He smiles at his own stupid remark, but it slowly falls off his face when he sees the stoic expression remains on yours. “Seriously though, I’m just here for some smokes and a treat. I can go somewhere else if it really makes you this uncomfortable though.”

“Why aren’t you somewhere else to begin with?” you bite back, still not trusting that he wasn’t trying to trap you. 

Jungkook just sighs, hand coming up to ruffle up his helmet hair. “It’s nice to get away sometimes. This is neutral grounds, you know as best as I do that anything club related done here is a death wish.” He lets you process his statement, seeing the way you continue to eye him, your gaze tracing along the patches he wears. The large tombstone taunts you, torn and a little rugged on the edges, showing just how long he’s been wearing it. “Why aren’t you somewhere on your side of town?”

You purse your lips, looking away from him as you pull your hand away from your key, getting off your bike, deciding this conversation was better to have inside your little safe space. “Like you said, it’s nice to get away sometimes.” You hook your helmet over your handle, reaching the bodega’s door and holding it open as you look back at him. “You coming?”

He seems to snap out of it, quickly hopping off his bike and jogging your way, saying a quick greeting to the worker before going down the familiar aisle. He smiles when he sees you next to those damn sour straws. 

“Those must be your favorite huh?”

You give him a quick glance, seeing the smile on his lips before you turn back and grab a packet of the candy. “They are, so try not to take all of them at once again.”

He lets out a soft laugh, reaching forward and grabbing a couple of the same. “I gave you one last time, which says a lot because I don’t really like sharing.”

“A Six that doesn’t like sharing? That’s not surprising.” Your words are light, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you turn around and continue roaming the aisle. 

“Not as surprising as a Snake trying to tell me what to do.” The crinkling of plastic fills the store as he rips open his packet, taking a bite of a sour straw as he tries to hide his own smile when you give him an eye roll. 

“I’m not technically a Snake,” you mutter out, finger tracing along the chocolate bar you were contemplating grabbing. It wasn’t a lie, you didn’t wear the patch, you weren’t granted the perks of being a part of the club, nothing you said held any weight on the decisions they made. You weren’t a Cobra, you just belonged to one of them. Though that didn’t seem like the wisest thing to tell him, you knew the history between Deep Six and the Cobras, and telling him you belonged to Minho of all people would put you high up on his list of people to hurt if he had bad intentions to begin with. 

“Oh? You just like to hang on to the back of one then?”

“Something like that,” you sigh, deciding not to grab the extra treat, turning to look at him fully once more. “Are you gonna keep calling me a snake?”

His tongue prods along his cheek as he looks down at you, eyebrow slowly cocking up. “What would you rather I call you?”

“Y/N.”

He nods slowly, letting your name settle into his mind before he was reaching his hand out, the golden glimmering rings spelling out SIX shining in the light. You eye his hand for a minute before grabbing it in a gentle handshake, seeing the way he smiles before saying his own name. 

“Jungkook.”

Jungkook was proud of his club, wore his patch with pride, did everything he could to show his loyalty. So why was he starting to tell white lies to his brothers, making up excuses to justify why he was going to the bodega on neutral grounds directly after finishing a job. He knew what would happen if they knew who he was talking to, slowly befriending. His only rational excuse was the fact that you had said you weren’t technically a Cobra, and although he’s not sure how well that would hold up to the rest of his members, it was the only excuse that helped ease his guilt. 

He was currently sat on the small sidewalk outside of the bodega, elbows leaning on his knees as he glanced around the empty lot. You had been meeting here once every week or so. He had started to take note of the typical times you’d be sent on runs of your own, choosing to coincidentally run into you at the same time. You had yet to arrive today though, leaving him waiting for fifteen minutes, wondering if maybe you wouldn’t be showing up today. 

Just before he decides to head out, you pull into the lot on your Dyna, a smile on your face when you spot him sitting on the sidewalk like a child. 

“You’re late,” he calls out, grabbing a packet of candy and tossing it your way when you get off your bike and head towards him. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware we had a time set for our little play dates.” You open up the candy, taking a bite and shutting your eyes at the sour taste. Jungkook laughs at your expression, patting the sidewalk beside him for you to settle into. 

“I can’t be left unsupervised, you should know this by now.”

You laugh now, taking a look at the bodega and the surrounding area. “Nothing seems to be destroyed, I think you do just fine unsupervised.”

He leans back on his palm, raking back his dark hair as he stares into the sky in thought. “I tend to cause psychological damage, not too big on destroying property.”

“Got it. So you torture people?”

Jungkook chuckles, turning to look at you slightly, a small twinkle of mischief flashing in his eyes as he smiles. “Exactly.”

You can only laugh, not exactly sure how truthful he was being with his little joke. The both of you made an effort to not discuss the intricacies of your clubs, not entirely sure what it was that you both did for them, knowing things would get too messy and tangled up if you did. Instead you talk about yourselves, knowing small anecdotes of each other’s childhoods, recounting stories of when he took a few tumbles on his bike when he was just starting to learn to ride, ones of you before the life of the Cobras was all you knew. 

It was a brief moment of normalcy, being able to talk to someone else, laughing over dumb jokes while sharing candy. It made you forget how twisted all of it was until you returned back home. 

Jungkook just appreciated having a new friend, someone to talk to about things that didn’t have to do with his club. He just wished he could talk to you in moments that lasted longer than the brief bodega hang outs. So as you both finish up, loading up your bike with the items you were told to come pick up, he takes a leap of faith. 

“Hey, can I—uh. Can I have your number?” He looks uncharacteristically shy as he asks this, one hand rubbing along the back of his neck. “To arrange our play dates,” he adds jokingly, a small smile on his lips in hopes of softening the blow of potential rejection as he reaches for his phone and hands it over. 

You freeze instantly, staring at his device as the voice in your head tells you not to, screams that this would get you in trouble. But the hopeful look on his face is enough to shut it up, grabbing his phone with a nod. “Sure, but uhm, I can’t text often.”

His brows furrow slightly at the tone you use, watching the way you type in your number and text yourself. Something about it made it seem like you were nervous, and the only thing he can assume is that the people you were around would grow curious over who you were texting. 

“Why? Scared your Snake friends would be pissed that a Six is texting you?” His tone is playful, but as you hand him his phone back, the look on your face makes his smile slowly fade away. 

“My boyfriend, specifically.”

Jungkook feels his heart drop at the revelation. He knew you were most likely involved with a Cobra, having seen you the first time you met on the back of one’s bike—more specifically, Minho’s bike. He had just assumed you were Minho’s chosen girl for the day, but if you were mentioning a boyfriend now, Jungkook could easily piece together who exactly that is. 

The third cardinal rule of his club replays in the back of his mind, “Never get involved with a Cobra”. It makes his head hurt, desperately trying to find a deeper excuse, a loophole to allow this to continue. It shouldn’t mean anything, you two were just friendly, barely even toeing that line as it was. But just knowing you were spoken for, by the leader of the Cobras especially, made the guilt he already felt for speaking to you get worse. 

But he does his best to shake it off, drowning out his thoughts as he takes his phone back and shrugs. 

“We’re just two people who share a love for sour straws, but if it makes you feel better you text me whenever you want.”

You don’t text him for a while, the fear of your tiny little secret being exposed keeps you from responding to the text you had sent yourself from his phone. There was also the small feeling of guilt festering in your stomach, feeling like you had lied to him by keeping your relationship a secret. All he had assumed from the get go was that you liked to hang around Cobras, but you noticed the way his face had changed when you mentioned a boyfriend, and you can only imagine how he’d react if you told him your boyfriend was the leader of the Cobras. 

You find yourself staring at your device any chance you get, hidden in the bathroom of your place, lounging on the couch in the clubhouse, until you finally get the courage to send the first text. It makes your heart race, saving his number under your best friend's name, changing the emoji at the end so you know the difference, going as far as putting his messages on do not disturb. Clearly hiding, keeping him a secret. 

Jungkook knows it's wrong, because he’s keeping it a secret too. But once that first text was sent, they never stopped. He responds when he has time in between club duties, knowing you’ll reply when you get a moment alone. Your messages are short, random conversations that never crossed any lines, but he meant what he said, taking full advantage of having your number to coordinate your play dates. 

The guilt you feel slowly fades away with each passing day, becoming comfortable in your ways as you let him know what days you’ll be on that side of town, and before you know it, your hang outs become your favorite thing. You slowly start to consider Jungkook your friend, another rare slice of peace in your messy life. It makes you feel like your younger self, excited to speak to a cute boy and laugh until your cheeks hurt. 

And it should make you feel icky to have these thoughts about someone who wasn’t your boyfriend, but your relationship with Minho had been romantically dead for years now, not able to remember the last time he did something for you that didn’t solely benefit him. So you choose to enjoy the small flutters in your stomach that occur around Jungkook, allowing yourself to sit closer to him each time, friendly touches beginning to get more courageous while still toeing the line. 

Jungkook doesn’t mind it, he thought you were pretty and would let you trace the patches on his jacket or analyze his tattoos up close if that's what you wanted. You were the one with a boyfriend, who was he to tell you what was right or wrong for you to do, he wasn’t one to judge or pull a morality card on you considering the things he does in his club. It was all mostly innocent anyways, even now as you stand a good few feet away from each other, respective candy in each other's hands, attempting to toss them into your mouths. 

It was innocent. 

“God, your aim is horrible!” you laugh out, feeling the candy hit your forehead and bounce right off. 

“What are you talking about? That was a clear headshot.” He has that charming smirk on his face as he says it, tongue flicking against his lip ring while he laughs too. 

“You’re not trying to kill me Jungkook, we’re trying to see who wins first.” You swat the remnants of sugar off your face as you reach into your own bag for a piece of candy, motioning for him to be ready. He gets into position, slightly bending his knees and angling his head back with his mouth open, ready to catch whatever you throw. With a small snicker you grab four small pieces of candy, aiming right for his face with one eye shut and sending them flying. Jungkook is totally unsuspecting until suddenly, he’s being pelted all over his face, his eyes squeezing shut at the shock. 

“Dude,” he laughs, eyes finally opening up to spot you cackling away, perfectly content at your little stunt. 

“Okay, okay sorry. For real this time. I got it, I can feel it in my bones.” Jungkook should tell you no, say you wasted your turn and deliver payback, but you look too happy right now for him to do anything but smile and nod as he gets back into position once more. He sees the way you bring your hand close to your face, shutting one eye to try to aim, tongue slightly poking out in concentration before you toss the candy across a few feet of distance. 

Jungkook doesn’t even register that the candy successfully landed in his mouth until you’re gasping in shock. That’s when his eyes widen, his mouth shutting as he begins to chew, standing up straight and feeling his heart start to warm at how proud you look at having beat him. He closes the distance between you, extending a hand out for a high five that you gladly give him. 

Now that you’re closer, you see all the sprinkles of sugar on his face. It dusts along his cheekbones and the top of his nose, looking like small freckles on his skin. You give him an endearing smile as you cup his face and swipe it away from his skin. You do it without thinking really, tips of your fingers gently flicking away the evidence of your tiny prank. 

Jungkook’s chest tightens at the soft gesture, eyes wide as he watches you, too scared to move, almost like it would startle you or make you come to your senses and remember he was a Six. He chooses to just focus on how soft your hand feels against his cheek, how sweet you sound when you say he looks like a mess, your eyes filled with what he hopes is the same adoration he has as you look up at him, a lot closer than you need to be.

Jungkook knows all the sugar is gone now but you’re still there, thumb rubbing along his cheek, tracing the scar under his eye while your gaze lands on the piercing on his lip. He holds his breath when you look up at him once more, and maybe it's his wishful thinking but he swears the way you look at him tells him to make a move, so he does. Slowly at first, wanting to give you a chance to deny his advances, but you meet his lips before he can close the distance himself.

The innocence is gone now. Jungkook had felt something brewing with each of your interactions, chalking it off to pure friendliness, but he knows a small spark had been lit the second you started speaking to each other. 

The kiss burns, the guilt and betrayal to his club clawing at his mind but he doesn't care, welcoming it as he deepens it, sliding his hand into your hair and focusing on the way you let out a soft breath as he does so. It makes your mind spin, your hands gently looping around his neck to bring him closer. You don’t have time to think, too enveloped in the way his piercing feels against your lips, how his fingers softly rake through your hair, how he takes a deep breath when you kiss him back harder. 

It's brief, a small moment of weakness led by temptation, but you can’t deny how you both feel exhilarated, wide eyes and smiles on your faces when you pull back. "You taste like candy," you giggle.

“Your favorite,” he mumbles, still close enough to nudge the tip of his nose along yours. His voice is low as he lets reality settle, slowly inching back, his eyes meeting yours and seeing the small clouds of panic start to form around you. Reality seems to be hitting you too, fear of what would happen to him if Minho ever found out, or what would happen to you if he even had an inkling. A small harmless crush had just passed over into dangerous territory. 

“Hey,” Jungkook starts softly, hand gently coming to rest on your shoulder to bring you back to the present. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“No, but it does,” you groan. It did mean something, it didn’t matter how small it seemed, but you know the kiss meant something. Your small panic had nothing to do with being unfaithful, you knew Minho cheated on you with any girls who were willing to show their loyalty to the club, and if it kept him off of you then you didn’t mind it. You were scared to put Jungkook in danger. “It means something and my boyfriend’s crazy, he’ll kill both of us if he finds out.”

“I know he is.” He shrugs, looking directly at you, seeing the shocked look on your face at his admission. 

“You know what?” you whisper. 

“I know he’s a psycho. I kind of put two and two together when you mentioned a boyfriend. It is Minho right?” When you nod slowly, still unsure how to respond he just continues speaking. “But look, I know. All of it. I know I’m not supposed to be speaking to you, let alone kissing you and enjoying it, but it happened. I know it’s wrong, that I should feel bad and I don’t, but I also know where my loyalties lie within the club and what rules I’m willing to bend. If you’re saying it means something, then it does.”

You can only stare at him, feeling the clouds of panic start to fade. “But I'm telling you, I know what's at risk and I won’t be using it to harm you.”

“I mean…it is both our asses on the line,” you mumble out, still feeling his hand on your shoulder. He smiles at your words now, making you slowly smile back. 

“So, we’re taking it to our graves?” His voice is light again, the playful tone you were used to back. When you nod he smiles wider. “Cool, should we kiss on it?”

Jungkook laughs when you shove his shoulder with a cackle, rolling your eyes as you step back, walking back into the bodega to get what you came for. “You’re so unserious. Get away from me.”

The issue with this imaginary line being crossed is that it leaves you thinking “what’s next”, constantly wondering just what else you could get away with. One kiss shared turns into two which turns into five, given so casually it feels like second nature. It seems like both of your guards have dropped now, more at ease with each other, touches getting as bold as they could in public. 

“Are you sure my skin isn’t gonna burn off?” you joke, laughing when Jungkook gives you an eye roll. His jacket is in his hands, shaking it off before he’s swinging it around your frame, helping you slide your arms into it. He had jokingly said it would swallow you whole, and you honestly just wanted an excuse to be closer to him so when he suggested you try it on you couldn’t deny him. 

“You might burst into flames, so just drop and roll baby.” He snickers when you playfully glare at him. Jungkook looks down at you with a smile, his hands smoothing the collar before he’s taking a step back to admire how the large leather jacket looked on you. The patches cover the arms and back, his first initial, last name and rank displayed over the left breast pocket, something your finger comes up to trace absentmindedly.  

“I don’t know, the jacket suits you. You sure you don’t wanna become a Six?”

“Very funny Jungkook. They’ll be putting a Cobra on my tombstone when I’m dead.” 

He waves you off, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. “Let me live in my fantasy world, yeah?”

“Your fantasy world involves me being a Six?” you giggle, looking up at him with a sly smile.

“Don’t kink shame me. Now smile for the picture,” he sings out, bending down as he extends his arm out, ready to take a selfie. You had yet to take photos of you both, too scared to be caught by Minho, but you allowed Jungkook to document your newly formed friendship as much as he wanted, knowing he had less to worry about when it came to snooping. 

Your arms wrap around him, the tombstone patch on display as you both smile widely for the picture. He looks at it with a cheeky grin, mumbling out how cute he thought it was before putting his phone away. 

“Do you need the usual for your run today?” he asks, knowing Minho always had you stocking up his alcohol. 

“Not today. I’m technically supposed to be locked inside our place. A few Cobra’s headed out of state this morning for a meeting.”

Jungkook hums, having briefly heard of an arms deal happening out of state, he just hadn’t been aware it was the Cobra’s doing. “Why didn’t you go with?”

“Too risky.” You lean back against the textured wall of the building, still cozy in his jacket. Minho loved to have you right by his side at all times, so if he said it was safer for you to stay here then you wouldn’t question him. “He has to make sure his prized possession stays safe.”

Jungkook laughs, slinging an arm around you and bringing you to his side obnoxiously. “Well you tell him I have that covered.”

“Jungkook, he’d cut your tongue out. Stop it!” you cackle. 

“I’d like to see him fucking try,” he grunts out, enjoying the way you playfully swat at him. He’d like to think he could have Minho’s head served on a silver platter if he ever got close enough to put his hands on him. 

“What about you? Any fun club plans after our playdate?”

Jungkook sighs, a smile still on his face. “Nope. I’m officially clocked out.” Your laugh is felt against his side, only making his smile widen. “I just have to stop by the clubhouse to grab something before heading home.”

“How far is the clubhouse from here?” You’re looking up at him with a twinkle in your eye, your smile still as sweet as can be, but he senses some undertone that he hopes he isn’t imagining. 

“Not far, about 20 minutes. Why? You want a tour?”

That was all he had to ask before you were following his bike down the busy streets on his side of town. His jacket is still on you, providing you with a small sense of security, knowing if anyone spotted you they’d assume you were with him. It leaves you at ease, entering the secure lot of his clubhouse, coming to a stop beside him and glancing around as you take off your helmet. 

It’s empty, a few cars parked around that looked like they were in need of repair, but no other bikes or lingering people. Jungkook steps off his bike, motioning for you to follow him, excited at showing you his favorite place. 

As you follow his lead you instantly see how different Deep Six’s clubhouse is compared to the Cobras. The space is taken care of, decorated thoughtfully, a space made for business as well as hanging out with their friends and families. Touches of the club are nestled around, a large Harley on display on a far wall, a frame showing the timeline and evolution of their patch tucked between other photos, and the most obvious and slightly obnoxious ode to the club comes in the gallery wall displaying all of their mugshots. Cute. 

“It’s nothing fancy,” he mumbles, spreading his arms out as he stands in the middle of the main room. A brown tufted leather couch is right behind him, a giant pool table behind it and a fully loaded bar to the right. 

“Compared to ours it sure is.” The Cobra’s clubhouse was made for business only, the meeting room was kept in pristine condition while the rest of it was only made to be nice enough to house drunken members and whatever hangouts were in the process of joining. 

“Really?” When you nod he just frowns, approaching you to grab your hand and pull you along, trying to show you more. “I’ll show you my space.”

“Your space?” you wonder, smiling when he squeezes your palm lightly, leading you down a hall to the right. A few doors line both walls, different ranks tacked on the middle of them, coming to a stop in front of one that says Road Captain. You had never really paid attention to his rank on his jacket, never really caring to read anyone’s rank in general, but seeing it displayed on this door let you know just how deep his involvement in his club was. 

“Only ranked members get private rooms.” He sounds almost bashful as he says this, grinning before opening up the door and switching on the light. A desk is on the right, paperwork neatly stacked in piles, a dresser is along the other wall with pictures tacked onto a cork board right above it. His bed is in the middle, sheets a dark gray and neatly made. It’s nestled between two windows on either side, letting in the slowly setting sunlight. 

You step into the room, walking to the dresser to look at the photos he has tacked up. He looks younger in some of these, hair messier and longer, no piercing or tattoos yet as he leans on his bike, another member attempting to put him in a headlock. They’re all club photos for the most part, the only one standing out is a photo of a teenage looking Jungkook holding up a diploma with what you can only assume is his parents beside him. 

“Cute,” you mumble out, smiling as you turn back to face him. It was odd to feel this calm around him, so used to the faint ticking heard in your head, reminding you that you were running on borrowed time, forced to interact in small bursts. With Minho completely occupied, the ticking disappears, allowing you to fully enjoy the moment for what it was. 

“I didn’t expect you to be sentimental like this,” you tease, smiling at the way his eyes narrow at you as he approaches, his tongue poking at his cheek as he fights a smile. 

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmurs, standing a foot away from you now, peering down at you with an aura of playfulness surrounding him. Your hands reach out to gently play with the material of his shirt, tugging him even closer. Jungkook could feel the tension, the same slowly growing tension that had been brewing with each day spent together. He can only watch as your hands slowly trail up his stomach, gliding up to gingerly rest against his chest. 

He wanted to kiss you, wanted to feel you gasp against his lips, but the last thing he wanted to do was make you feel like he had suggested showing you his clubhouse to be a total sleaze. Jungkook knew the line had grown blurry, kisses and touches shared with ease, but he wasn’t bold enough to assume you’d be okay with taking anything further. So when you decide to make the first move, leaning up to ghost your lips over his own, he can only hold his breath, eyes fluttering shut when you softly press them together. 

Your hands rest on his shoulders now, holding yourself steady as you kiss him, feeling the way his body melts into it. You pull away with a soft smack of your lips, inching back slightly. “What other surprises do you have?” 

Jungkook holds in a groan when you start to pepper kisses on the corner of his mouth, trailing them down his jaw, gently nipping the skin of his throat right below his ear. You giggle when he shudders, his hands gripping your waist, fingers tightening around you. 

“If you let me, I can show you.” His voice holds a tinge of unsureness, wanting for you to be okay with this without sounding pushy. But Jungkook had been thinking of this since your first kiss so he couldn’t help the desperate tone laced between each syllable. 

“Show me. Show me whatever you want,” you whisper, hand coming up to cup his cheek, looking up at him through your lashes. When his eyes meet yours he finally lets his resolve crack, attaching your lips once more in a heated kiss, finally feeling you gasp against him. 

Jungkook is a little ashamed to admit how easily this was affecting him, his heart already racing in his chest, stomach fluttering with each shared moan, bulge growing in his jeans when your hand slips into his hair and pulls. His hands slide down the material of his jacket you have on, pulling it off your body and tossing it aside without a care. He feels you smile against his lips at the action, clearly enjoying the way his hands roam along your body, desperate to touch you in ways he wasn’t able to before. 

It’s an eager dance to his bed, blindly stepping back as he guides you to it until your knees buckle against the mattress, giggling as you flop onto it. Your arm rests back to hold you steady, other hand gripping onto his shirt to yank him back over you, reattaching your lips in a heated kiss. 

Jungkook laughs into the kiss, his arm wrapping around you to haul you further up the bed properly, slowly pushing you back until you’re flat against the bed. His body settles over you, the cute visual of his hair framing his face is the first thing you see when your eyes flutter open as he pulls back. His eyes are hooded as he stares at you, his hand coming up to gently cradle your jaw, thumb rubbing along your bottom lip as he smirks before dipping back down. 

He kisses the corner of your mouth, following the same trail you had left on him earlier, smiling against your skin when you shudder as he nips your neck. Slowly, his hands slide down your body, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt and tugging it up to reveal your stomach. 

“Can I take this off?” he mumbles, eyes peering up at you for confirmation. When you breathe out a yes, he slides it further up, helping you slip out of your shirt fully before you’re settling on your back again. A thin bralette covers your boobs, lacey cups revealing a glimmer on your nipples that has him tilting his head in curiosity. 

You catch what he’s looking at, smile spreading on your lips as you reach up to touch his jaw, finger gently tapping along the small mole he has below his lips. “I’m full of surprises too,” you mumble, smiling wider when he boldly cups your chest, thumb swiping at your pierced nipple through the lace. 

“I can see that,” he mumurs, voice low and raspy, making your stomach flip. He looks at you once more, brow cocking up in question as his fingers toy with the fabric. You nod your head, knowing what he wanted, allowing him to slip the straps off your shoulders before he’s sliding a palm under your back to properly unclasp your bra, giving himself the perfect view. 

Its hard to ignore the small burst of confidence that surges through you when he groans, eyes hooded while he leans down to pepper kisses down your chest. It had been such a long time since you’ve felt truly desired, since you’ve been kissed delicately, had hands touch your skin so gently it tickles and leaves you breathing out a laugh. So you relish in it. You shut your eyes and enjoy the way Jungkook presses wet kisses to your skin, you let yourself gasp in pleasure when he wraps his lips around your pierced nipple and sucks. 

Your hands instinctively slip through his hair, fingers yanking his thick strands as he hums against your skin, tongue flicking along the piercing. Jungkook feels the way you jut your chest further out, back arching at the sensation. A deep groan escapes you as his palm comes up to cup your other breast, the cool feeling of his rings sending a shiver down your spine. 

He smiles as he pulls back, cocky with eyes twinkling with mischief as his fingers playfully dance down your body. 

His eyes are locked with yours as his fingers reach the waistband of your jeans, teasingly dipping past it as he lifts a brow in question. He needed clear boundaries, not wanting to cross any lines. You find it cute, how despite the fact that you’re laying here, chest heaving with anticipation, eyes surely wild with desire, he’s still wanting to make sure. 

“Can I?” He repeats his earlier question, features soft as he waits for your answer. 

“We need to even out the playing field first Six,” you tease, smiling when he chuckles and points to his shirt. You nod, staring up at him from the bed as he kneels up, staring right at you as he reaches behind his neck and yanks the shirt off of his body. 

Your blood warms up further at the sight of him, seeing his muscles flex under his tattoos as he straightens back up. Jungkook tilts his head slightly, biting on his lip ring as he fights back the smile at your clear admiration. The black marks his skin, some tattoos looking darker than others, showing you just which ones were recent additions. 

The owl on his chest looks the brightest, edges still crisp, shading looking rich in the skulls beneath each wing. They seem to move as Jungkook takes a breath, snapping you out of it as you look back into his eyes. 

“Is this even enough for you?” he jokes, smiling wide when you nod in confirmation, your eyes following his movements as his hand returns to your jeans. You watch with bated breath as he unbuttons the top, slowly pulling down the zipper before his hands hook into the waistband and starts to tug. Your hips lift from the bed to help, allowing him to pull them off, tossing them to the side along with your shoes and socks. 

You can feel your stomach flipping with nerves, the worry of doing something new with someone new, the small clouds of insecurity rolling in, wondering if you looked good in this angle, if maybe Jungkook preferred you to look a certain way or wear cute underwear with bows on the front instead of the black regular cotton ones you currently have on. 

It all settles down as he drops lowers, eyes looking up at you as he presses kisses onto your hips and slowly tugs your underwear down, clearly not paying any mind to them. A trail of goosebumps blossom down your thighs, following your underwear as he pulls them off too. He stands up once more, eyes swimming with want as he sees you. 

“Let me get a good look at you,” he murmurs when he notices the way your arms begin to want to cover yourself up at being fully exposed. He thinks it's cute how shy you seem now, eyes bouncing away from his as he takes his time drinking you in. With your eyes diverted, he thinks it's a great time to dive in, his hands coming down to grip your palms while his face nudges its way into the crook of your neck to kiss your skin, smiling at the way you gasp and laugh at the ticklish feeling

“Jungkook!” you giggle, feeling his hands pin your own down on the bed, his mouth traveling down your body as he guides your hands into his hair, letting you know he wants you to keep playing with the strands. Your finger twirls his hair around, feeling him smile against your skin as he descends once more. 

“Everything about you is so pretty,” he mumbles into your stomach, eyes peering up at you while his hands return to your hips, slowly sliding down to your thighs to grip the flesh. Wet kisses smack into your skin, leaving a trail on each hip and down your thigh until he’s suddenly biting. He laughs when you gasp, your fingers tugging his hair on instinct when you look down with a shocked expression. 

“Looked so good you had to take a bite?” you joke, smiling down at him, feeling the fluttering in your stomach when he winks. 

“Oh I need more than just a bite,” he groans, fingers tightening their hold on your thighs before he presses a kiss directly onto your mound, slowly sticking his tongue out to gently flick along your slit. 

Jungkook loves the way your breath gets shaky as you exhale, a soft moan of his name reaching his ears when he gently parts your folds and teasingly flicks against your clit. A part of him knows this might be the one and only time he’ll ever get to experience you like this, the only time he’ll see you flush on his bed, gasping for more as your hips roll into him. So he wants to store every moment in his brain, keep it locked away until the next time he misses you. 

“Fuck Jungkook, that feels good,” you moan, fingers locked in his hair, keeping him close as he ravishes you. The praise makes his ego grow, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking with the perfect amount of pressure. It makes your stomach tense, short little zaps of electricity flowing through your body with each flick of his tongue. 

“Good, I just wanna make you feel good.” He leans back a bit, admiring the look of your sodden folds for a moment before he's letting a glob of spit drip from his mouth directly onto your clit. He bites his lip as his fingers spread it around, coating his digits as he circles your entrance. His eyes meet yours again, brow raised in question, smiling when you nod in response. Slowly, he pushes forward, eyes focused on your reaction, seeing the way you bite down on your lip as his finger sinks in. 

Jungkook tries not to let his mind get carried away when he feels your walls fluttering around his digit, already imagining how you would feel around him, feeling his cock aching in his jeans as he sinks a second finger in to properly stretch you out. With each thrust of his fingers his mind wanders further, the need to see you falling apart leading his mouth back onto you, the combining sensation making you moan louder. 

The stretch of his fingers has your head spinning, eyes falling shut as you mewl on his sheets, fingers raking through his hair. “More Jungkook, please,” you whimper, not able to get enough of him. 

The desperation lacing your voice makes Jungkook’s heart flutter, ready to comply with anything you want. He moans against your folds, a third finger adding to the delicious stretch. The wet clicks of his fingers thrusting into your drenched pussy fill the room, and it's the greed living inside of Jungkook that makes him want to thrust into you faster, make it so that all you can hear is the sound of your pleasure. 

Your breath hitches in your throat when he curves his fingers upwards, tickling the sweet spot that makes your eyes roll. That’s when you feel the familiar cool sensation of his rings once more. You were used to feeling them on your arms when he playfully pulled you around, used to the feeling of them on your cheeks when he gripped your face before kissing you, but feeling them against your cunt each time he thrust his fingers forward, it made your body burn up with lust. There was something about having the name of a club you were told to stay far away from pressed against you salaciously that only made the waves of pleasure you feel crash over you even harder. 

“Mm, close Jungkook,” you whine, your free hand sliding up your body to tug and pinch at your nipples. Jungkook peers up at you from between his thighs and the visual of you playing with yourself while he ate you out has him making a mess in his underwear. He doesn’t even care how easy it is for you to make him this needy, knowing you were enjoying yourself because of him was all that mattered. 

“Wanna feel you baby,” he mutters out, lips shiny with your arousal, fingers scissoring inside of you, feeling the way your walls tighten around him. Your hands grip his hair tighter, making him hiss, a breathy laugh hitting your messy folds when you guide his mouth back onto you. 

Jungkook knows you’re right on the edge, the craving for your release making you arch your back, moans of his name slurring together with pleas for more more. All it takes is a few more flicks of his tongue for your climax to crest, the prettiest moan he’s ever heard reaching his ears as you gush around his fingers. 

“There you go, good girl,” he groans, pulling back as he licks his lips, staring at your trembling body with eyes swimming with lust. His thumb replaces his mouth, rubbing your swollen clit, enjoying the way you writhe at the slight overstimulation. 

“Ah, ‘Guk,” you whimper. And the new nickname has him smiling, loving the way it sounds coming from you so much he almost doesn’t want to stop. It takes your small hands coming down to grip his wrist for him to finally pull away, your soft giggles of enjoyment coming to a halt when he slips his fingers into his mouth. 

“Told you I needed more than just a bite,” he teases, making an absolute show of licking his fingers. “What about you, are you satisfied?”

You lift yourself up with one arm, the other reaching forward to grip his belt loop, tugging him closer as you look up at him through your lashes. “Mm, no I don’t think I am.” His abs tense when your finger trails along his skin, toying with the button on his jeans, slowly popping them open and pulling down the zipper. 

“Then I need to fix that,” he mumbles, tongue flicking his lip ring as he stares down at you, watching the way you reach down to palm at his bulge. Your face lights up at his words, a smile spreading on your face as he helps you tug down his jeans, obviously eager. Jungkook’s smirk only deepens when your eyes widen once you finally release his cock, a small gasp escaping you at the size of him. 

Pearly beads of precum collect at his tip, swollen and aching for your touch, so when you finally grasp his length and swipe your thumb along the bulbous tip he lets out a deep groan that has your core clenching. 

“Fuck, babe.” He grunts when your palm starts to slide up and down, his eyes focused on the way you slowly inch forward, your tongue peeking out to gently lick his tip. Jungkook knows he’s in trouble, already feeling his body react to your touch. All you had done was give him a few teasing touches and his mind was already spinning. Its an inner battle as he watches you take more of him into your mouth, his jaw dropping at the warm feeling, hands clenching by his side when you moan at the taste of him. 

“Y/N,” he groans, “you’re gonna make me cum too fast.” You pop off of him with a wet smack, a saccharine smile on your lips as you giggle. 

“And that’s a bad thing?” Your head tilts as you question him, hand still lazily pumping his length. 

“It is when I want to fuck you first.” That makes your hand finally stop, brows raising in interest. Your free hand slides up his body, carefully cupping his face, guiding him down to kiss you. 

“Then fuck me, Jungkook. I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips, feeling him groan against you as he kisses you harder. You know what you mean. You’re his for the night, despite how strong your connection with him is, the reality was that as long as Minho had his claws sunk into you, there would never be a chance for you and Jungkook to delve deeper into this relationship. But this tiny bubble you were both in was enough for you. 

The energy is different than what you’re used to, the both of you smiling through the kisses, soft words whispered against skin as you help him take off his jeans. Jungkook’s laugh is infectious when you gasp at the sight of his thighs, the double headed wolf tattoo catching your attention immediately, praising it under your breath before he’s kissing you once more, telling you he’ll let you properly see it later as his hands grope your sides. 

“How do you want me?” you mumble, gently nipping his lip. 

“If it was my way I’d have you in every position I could think of. You tell me, baby.” If Jungkook let his selfish desires take over, he’d tell you he wanted you to ride him, let you bounce on top of him and use him while he got to watch your pretty face. But he can’t be that selfish, even if the small pestering voice in his head tells him that this might be his only chance to. Still, his eyes are soft as he pulls back, ringed hand caressing your face with a tenderness that makes your heart clench

“Can I ride you?” Your voice is timid, just above a whisper, but it makes Jungkook shut his eyes and groan. You see, he wasn’t corny, didn’t believe in fate or anything like that, but for a brief moment Jungkook's convinced this was meant to be. 

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning forward to rest his forhead against yours. “Yes, please.”

The way he begs makes your pussy ache, hips instinctively rolling up into his, enjoying the way he hisses, rutting his cock against your inner thigh. The beads of precum leak off his tip, leaving a small puddle by your hip, smeared around as he repeats the action. 

“O-okay,” you gasp, biting down on your lip as you peek at the visual, trying not to get lost in the way he teases himself. “Let me ‘Guk, wanna feel you.”

He nods, tendrils of hair tickling your face as he kisses you again before leaning back. You try not to stare but it's so hard when he looks like that, length hard and bobbing as he rummages through the drawer by his bed, a sheepish smile on his lips when he plucks out a shiny square packet. 

Your heart races in your chest as you sit up, coming onto your knees and crawling to the head of the bed, gently patting the space next to you. Jungkook’s quick to settle beside you, back leaning against the small headboard, large hands reaching to grab your hips and hoist you over his thighs. A small laugh escapes you at being manhandled, the toned muscles of his thighs felt underneath you, his cock poking at your belly from your proximity. 

Your eyes are glued to it, watching in awe as he pulls out the condom and carefully rolls it on, a small sigh meeting your ears. 

“Can’t wait to feel you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw, your hand meeting his around his cock as you lift your hips just enough. His free hand finds your hip again as you guide his tip to your entrance, teasingly circling it, slipping the tip inside for a second before popping it back out, the two of you gasping at the feeling. 

“Mm, sit on it,” he groans, brows pinched together as he nudges his nose into your neck. Wet kisses mark your skin, his hand getting tighter on your hip when you repeat the action again before finally sinking further down. Your walls clench around him, the stretch making you whine. You had seen his size, knowing just how big he was, but now that he’s inside of you and you feel it, you pace yourself. 

It's unintentionally torturous, the warm tightness slowly enveloping more of him and all he could do was clench his jaw and grip you harder. Jungkook is patient, fighting every urge he has to thrust up or sit you down fully. Instead he murmurs praises into your skin, tells you how good you feel, how good you’re doing, that you’re almost there until you’re butt rests flush against his thighs. 

A shuddering breath hits his shoulder, your face coming up to stare at him properly now. He’s staring at you with hooded eyes, mouth slightly opened as he gasps when your walls flutter. 

“So big,” you mumble, kissing him gently, lips ghosting over his, hips slowly lifting an inch before coming back down. 

“I know, baby. Take your time.” He groans, kissing you harder, teeth clicking together in his haste, breathing into each other. Jungkook felt like he was dreaming, some sick fantasy teasing him while he slept, giving him a taste of you before reality would settle in and snatch it all away. But you don’t usually feel this way in his dreams, don’t dig your nails into his shoulder as you quicken your pace, your wetness dripping down his cock and pooling at the base. And Jungkook is glad that he prefers reality over his dreams for once. 

“Oh god ‘Guk,” you moan, skin slapping together with each rise and fall of your hips. His lips are coated in a sheen of spit, swollen from your kisses and gentle bites, but he gives you a smile, clearly enjoying your reaction to him. 

“Does it feel good baby?” he murmurs, voice deep and raspy at the edges, his hand sliding up your thighs, pressing into your tummy with a tilt to his head. “Feel nice and full?”

You shudder at his question, feeling the pressure of his palm, and you swear you can feel the tip of his cock nudging into it. “Y-yes, so good, so full. Just wanna fuck you forever.”

He hums, feeling your words deep inside of him. It makes him melt into the headboard, hand traveling further up until he has a handful of your tits in them. Jungkook plays with them a bit, finger pinching and twisting the hard buds, tugging gently at the silver bar, hearing you moan at the sensation. 

“You can fuck me whenever you want,” he grunts at a particular drop of your hips, the wetness aiding in your pace. 

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he groans, thumb rolling along your nipple, softly rutting up into you. “Just text me whenever you want it. Pretty face, delicious pussy, I’ll always be here for you.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you giggle, throwing your head back as you get lost in the motion. Jungkook laughs with you, arm scooping around your back to pull you closer, his mouth kissing up and down your neck, teeth grazing the surface with the urge to suck but he knows better. 

“Just for you,” he breathes into your skin, feeling you laugh again. 

It feels like nothing else matters, not the potential consequences to this, no worry about what this meant for your special friendship. All that matters is that Jungkook is grabbing you like he can’t get enough of you, kissing you like his life depends on it, not shy at all at vocalizing how good it all feels. 

“Wanna cum,” you gasp, cupping his face, seeing the way he focuses on your lips as you speak. 

“Yeah? Tell me what you need.” He bends his knees slightly, pressure on his heels as he fucks up into you. The jiggle of your tits makes his mouth water, caught in a daze. 

“Need you to touch me.” It's the softest plea, tone dripping and needy, making Jungkook nod immediately. He bites his lip as he trails a hand up your chest, over your neck until he’s cupping your jaw, his thumb rubbing along your lower lip. With a gentle tap, you’re opening up, eyes locked together as you wrap your lips around the digit and suck, giving him a teasing bite as he tries to pull it out. 

He smiles at you, bringing down his soaked thumb in between your bodies until it reaches home directly onto your clit. The sudden touch makes you gasp, bundle of nerves swollen and sensitive, and its almost too much. But he’s gentle, easing you into the feeling, only applying more pressure when you finally relax, falling back into the delicious rhythm you have going. 

Jungkook can feel the coil tightening inside of him with each pulse of your pussy, walls clamping around him on each lift, making an absolute mess as the arousal drips onto his balls. 

“More?” He quickens his finger, circling your clit faster, paying close attention to your reaction. 

“Oh, fuck. No, like that. Just like that.” So he does, jaw dropped open as he watches you get lost in it all, bouncing on top of him as fast as you wanted, using him just like he wanted. Your thighs burn but it feels too good to think about stopping, the beginning signs of your orgasm licking at your skin, encouraging you to fuck him faster. You can hear how messy you’re leaving him, the squelch of your pussy blending in with the moans and thumping of the headboard. 

“Close, fuck—ah,” you stutter and gasp, brows pinched together tightly, only able to stare at him as you start to fall apart. He looks at you in awe, breathing in time with you, matching each gasp and moan, thumb slipping around in your slick. It's the accidental flick of his that has you tumbling over the edge, nearly shrieking out his name as your high comes barreling at you. 

Jungkook curses under his breath as you tremble above him. Your hand curls into his hair, yanking him forward into a messy kiss as you moan unabashedly, his thumb continuing to flick along your puffy clit for another minute to work you through it before he’s clutching onto your hips and controlling your speed. You’re still twitching at the aftershocks, small sparks kissing your skin and leaving you in a comfortable haze as you tangle your tongue with his, pulling back with a smile so sweet. 

“I wanna see you cum Jungkook,” you kiss him again, teasing him as you pull away and watch him chase you for more. “Made me feel so good, want you to cum for me.”

Jungkook groans, nodding as he wraps his arm around you, pushing off the headboard until the air is whooshing around you and your back is meeting the sheets once more. He cages you in easily, arms under your back, cradling your head as he buries his face into your neck and surges his hips into you. 

Your breath leaves you at the change in position, legs wrapping around his hips, shuddering as his pelvis nudges your sensitive clit. He doesn’t care how desperate he looks, fucking you like he was starved of affection, the need to cum taking over all of his senses. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Your nails dig into his back, scratching along his skin, making him groan into your ear. His thrusts grow more sporadic, shallow, losing their grace as your purposefully clench around him. 

“Oh shit, you’re gonna make me cum.” He whines, voice breathy against your neck, and you swear you’ll cum again. 

“Yeah? Cum for me, c’mon,” you whisper, grazing his back and tightening your walls again. He nods against you before he’s leaning back, giving you the view you so sweetly asked for. His thick brows are furrowed on his forehead, eyes heady with lust, and a deep groan of your name spilling past his lips as he cums. Your feet urge him closer as his hips stutter, rutting into you to milk his orgasm as he fills up the condom. 

The room falls quiet for a moment, the both of you catching your breath, hearts slowing down as the high settles over your bones. And then he’s laughing, flopping back over you and tightening his hold on your body. 

“Why are you laughing?” You giggle too, hands running through his hair as you smile in a love sick daze. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard,” he admits sheepishly, kissing your warm skin, leaning back with a childish smile as he kisses your nose and ever so slowly starts to pull out of you. The sound is filthy, core sensitive and messy, and when he fully pulls out you can’t help but close your legs. 

He simply laughs, hand softly rubbing at your calves before he’s getting up and disposing of the condom. 

You’re still in that same foggy haze from earlier, even as Jungkook returns with a damp cloth to clean you up, all you can do is hum in thanks as you melt into his sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to settle in beside you again, holding you close, hand tickling the skin of the thigh you have hooked over his hip. 

“You have such pretty legs.” It’s a soft compliment, almost like it wasn’t meant to escape him. But when you look at him with a sincere smile he continues. “If you were mine I’d beg you to wear skirts all the time just so I could stare at them, touch them—“ he grips your thighs playfully, smiling at your laugh, “I’d be able to flick it up so easily and fuck you in it.”

Your laugh is louder now, your hand playfully swatting at his chest at how quick he was to get raunchy. 

If you were mine. 

That phrase repeats in your mind, sounding like a sweet song that you’d never get tired of hearing. 

“I’ll wear one at the meet next week,” you promise, running your hand over his chest. You knew you’d be seeing him there, able to freely ogle at him with all the neighboring clubs gathered together in an attempt to keep the peace. You might not be able to interact like you usually do, but just seeing him was enough. 

Just as he’s about to reply, the sound of a familiar engine cuts the air. You freeze instantly, wide eyes staring at Jungkook, seeing the confused look on his face. He lifts a hand up, motioning for you to stay as he sits up straighter, ears perking up when he hears the front door of the clubhouse open up. 

“Stay here. They won’t come in here but I know they saw my bike so I’ll get rid of them.” You can only nod as he hurries into his clothes, buttoning his jeans in a haste and deciding to forgo his shirt and shoes as he all but runs out of the room, shutting the door behind him. 

The haze you felt earlier is long gone, anxiety settling into your bones once more, realizing just what sort of situation you were in. Jungkook seemed to think the golden rule of staying away from Cobras was fine with you, but who knows just what kind of loyalty the Six member in the other room holds. 

All you needed was one man hell bent on loyalty to come barging in, and you don’t even want to think of what would become of you. Your heart rattles in your chest as you sit up too, eyes glancing around the room to find your pile of clothes. 

You can hear them mumbling in the main room, Jungkook’s laughter sounding out as he jokes around with his fellow brother. You can only imagine what he’s telling him, maybe explaining why theres a second bike parked next to his, or giving his reason for being shirtless and disheveled at the clubhouse this late in the day. Whatever is going on, you know you shouldn’t wait around to see how it plays out. Being with Jungkook makes reality pause, fade away and leave you to believe that things were meant to be this easy. 

But that's not your reality. 

You knew you wanted this to happen, could still feel the butterflies in your stomach as you remember the way he kissed your skin. But you couldn’t let the line be crossed this far again. You’re not sure karma would be too kind to you the next time. 

As quiet as you can, you slip out of bed, carefully putting your clothes back on and looking at the desk in the corner. Before you overthink it, you grab the pen and notepad he has resting on top of paperwork, scribbling out a quick note before you’re returning to his bedside, yanking up the curtains and wiggling the window open to slip out. 

Back in the main room, Jungkook is sitting on the bar stool, Hoseok resting against the counter as they both joke around. Jungkook is thankful that Hoseok doesn’t seem to ask too many questions, knowing very well that he must have some girl in the room, but he wasn’t nosey enough to want to know who. 

“So you’re not gonna introduce your friend?” he jokes, giving Jungkook a coy smile, enjoying the way his younger friend blushes and shoves his shoulder. 

“No you weirdo, you fucking scared her by showing up like this. Why the hell are you here anyway?”

Hoseok cackles, pushing away from the counter and walking towards the meeting room. “Sorry, I didn't mean to be a cockblock. I forgot to grab some paperwork.” The way he says it makes it seem like it was work documents, contracts that needed to be signed instead of files detailing the amount of guns they’d be receiving in the next drop. He disappears into the room, returning a few moments later with the folder in his hand. “I’ll be out of your hair now.”

And he does just that, waving goodbye and stepping back outside. But as he approaches his bike he realizes the bike he had seen next to Jungkook’s was missing now. 

Jungkook is none the wiser as he walks back to his room, a smile on his face that falls when he doesn’t see you on the bed. The sheets are a mess, your clothes are missing, his curtains are drawn up and his window remains cracked open. He steps closer now, a white sheet of paper catching his attention on his desk. 

Thanks for the tour, I think your room might be my favorite<3 Remember, we take this to our graves. We’ll kiss on it over sour straws soon x

Ps. I’ll see you at the meet, I’ll be the one in the short skirt. 

Maybe it's the sick hopefulness he feels in his chest, but Jungkook can’t help but smile as he thinks this won’t be the last time afterall.

[peachsukii]

stitched muses ꒰ tangled hearts series - kiribaku x fem!reader ꒱ ⇢ bakugo's stumped on inspiration for his upcoming fashion line, the deadline fast approaching as he's working day and night to meet it. he's frustrated at his lack of ideas, stuck in his home office while you and kirishima are enjoying your weekly movie night. he's pacing the house, putting too much pressure on himself to excel. little did you know you'd be the solution to his temporary dead-end creativity.

꒰ content ꒱ bakugo's a grumpy goose, fluffy domestic goodness, bakugo has that little "eureka!" moment, kirishima is cute & cuddly, mitsuki asks reader to lunch cross posted to ao3 // wc; ~1.4k ✿ tangled hearts masterlist ✿ ↶ | previous entry (sweet like honey) ↷ | next entry (one-way ticket)

The rain pattered against the Bakugo-Kirishima household, echoing as the droplets bounced of the roof in an off beat rhythm. Spring has truly sprung, the rainy season coming in full force over the course of the week.

“Goddammit!”

Bakugo’s frustration traveled from his office and through out the house, accompanied by the sound of his chair forcefully retreating from his desk. He despised the rain, the miserable storm only adding an unnecessary layer of irritation to his long work day. He trudged out of his office, shoulders slumped as he makes his way into the kitchen.

Kirishima and yourself are sitting on the living room couch, snuggled under a blanket and watching a romcom on tv for your weekly movie night. Bakugo was supposed to join you two, but he’s been shackled to his laptop all day long. He’d step away for a minute, thinking he could take a break, and then shuffle right back to his desk to pace like a caged animal.

“I’m gonna check on him,” you whisper to Kirishima, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as you peel the blanket from your lap.

Sauntering into the kitchen, you see Bakugo making himself tea, silently staring at the countertop and tapping his fingers against the laminate. His gaze shifts sluggishly from the tea kettle to you when you approach his side.

“Hey sweetheart,” he sighs, turning to pull you into his chest. “Sorry for workin’ late. I know you and Ei have been waitin’ for me.”

“It’s okay, Kats, we know you're working hard. Here,” You break away from his embrace and take his mug from the counter, using your hip to playfully bump him out of your way. “Let me finish this and make you something to eat.”

"S'fine, baby, I can—"

"Katsuki," you interrupt sternly, followed by a sweet smile to soften the bite in your tone. "I made dinner for all of us earlier, I'll get you a plate with your tea and bring it to you."

Bakugo grumbles under his breath, not having it in him to fight your stubbornness. He leans down and meets your lips for a brief kiss before moving to the living room, hovering behind the couch for a moment.

"Hey babe," Kirishima says, flashing his toothy grin backwards toward him. "Try and call it a night soon, yeah?"

Bakugo bends over the couch, cradling Kirishima’s jaw in his hands and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “M’tryin’. This deadline is killing me.”

“Mom hounding ya again?”

Hearing Kirishima call Mitsuki “mom” made your heart flutter from the kitchen, such a simple sentiment making you melt. Watching your boyfriend’s love for one another naturally flow will never get old, even though they’ve been married for years, it still was new to you to witness casually.

Bakugo rolls his eyes. “She’s been bitchin’ at me all week.”

“She loves ya and knows she can push your buttons to get you to succeed,” Kirishima assures, kissing the tip of Bakugo’s nose. “Anythin’ we can do to help?”

He releases Kirishima’s face from his grasp and steps back from the couch, shaking his head with a frown on his face. “Unless you suddenly have a knack for fabric and textiles, don’t think so.”

You round the corner of the island in the kitchen, a plate in one hand and cup of hot tea in the other, making your way to Bakugo’s office. Kirishima sighs contently as he watches your silhouette disappear down the hallway.

“That woman is a damn goddess,” he swoons, deflating back into the couch cushions. “Go eat and wrap up. We can start another movie when you're done.”

Bakugo nods his head and turns to head back to the office. He peers in the doorway to find you mesmerized by the designs scattered across his desk - multiple sketches of clothes, scribbled notes about fabric choices and design suggestions on every page. You glance toward the door, catching him staring.

"These all look great, love. What's got you stumped?" you ponder aloud while organizing the papers back into their proper piles.

Bakugo crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "It's too bland, shit's been done a thousand times. Need somethin' that'll be versatile."

"Maybe you're thinking too much into it."

He blankly stares at you for a moment - you can see the wheels turning in his head while he processes your statement.

"...Do y'know who you're talking to?"

You can't help but laugh, walking around his desk and to the doorway. "I do, hotshot. You're an incredible designer, but not everything needs to be fashion week quality. Most people would just walk around in a t-shirt if they had the option."

Something in his mind clicks the moment you mention 't-shirt,' immediately sending him bolting upstairs and to the bedroom without another word. Bakugo comes barreling back down the stairs with a few t-shirts in hand moments later, tossing all but one onto the back of his office chair.

"Strip," he demands, hands on his hips impatiently.

You quirk your eyebrow at him, but discard your sleep shirt and sweatpants as ordered. Once you do, he shoves the shirt he grabbed over your head, threading your arms through the sleeves and taking a step back to analyze it in full.

"...this is one of your shirts? What does that—"

"Gimmie a sec to think."

The t-shirt is worn out, heavily loved over the years with a faded band logo over the chest and spotted with bleach stains. It was slightly too big for you, cascading over your figure and ending around your mid-thigh area.

Bakugo clicks his tongue while pushing up his glasses back into place. "Turn around."

You obey, turning your back to him. He cinches the back of the shirt with one hand and pulls at the hem by your thigh with the other, as if he's fitting you into his imaginary garment.

"Think ya just solved my problem, sweets," Bakugo says with excitement, letting the t-shirt fall back into its natural state before scooting past you and sliding into his office chair. He turns to the screen, opening a new e-mail and begins furiously typing, paragraphs flowing from his fingers in the matter of minutes.

"Don't forget your dinner and tea," you remind him, turning on your heel to head back to the living room. "I'll leave you be."

"Don't let Ei finish the popcorn without me."

Returning to the couch, you plop down next to Kirishima and fold your head into his lap. He looks at the shirt your wearing, noticing it's definitely not the one you were in 15 minutes ago. And that you're not wearing pants.

"Ah, so he needed that kinda motivation," he snickers, ruffling a hand through your hair.

You chuckle and wiggle in his lap. "No babe, not this time. He should be done soon."

Half an hour later, Bakugo comes into the living room, sighing dramatically as he falls onto the couch, head landing on Kirishima's thighs.

"Made it with three days to spare," he rasps, putting up a victory fist with exhaustion. "Ma approved it, too. S'goin' to be expedited to production tomorrow."

"Way to go, superstar!" You exclaim, bending down to kiss his forehead. "Knew you could do it."

"Good work, Kats! What did you end up going with?" Kirishima asks, a hand massaging Bakugo's shoulder to help him relax.

"She was right, I was thinkin' too hard about it. You'll see it when it's released next month."

"Aw, you're not even gonna tell us after all that?!"

Bakugo snickers, turning to face the TV. "Nah, you two can wait like everyone else. S'nothin' out of this world, but I'm proud of it."

───

Later that night, your phone pings a few times with multiple messages while you're getting ready for bed back in your apartment - they're from Mitsuki.

How did she even get your number?

"Hey sweetie, it's Mitsuki. Thanks for being patient with my brat. Even at 30 he's still a pain in the ass sometimes! He's lucky to have one, let alone two, people tolerate him long enough to stick around." "Are you free for lunch sometime? I'd love to get to know you better. Katsuki and Eijiro talk about you a lot."

Mitsuki wants to meet for lunch? You've met her a handful of times, but she doesn't...know about you guys yet.

Right?

You respond with a simple "Sure, I'd love to!" and leave it at that.

You're not sure why, but there's a bundle of nerves knotting in your stomach over the thought of having to impress Katsuki's mother.

No, it's not like that...yet.

mitsuki's always been perceptive...you think she knows about you and the boys? and what'll happen when you celebrate katsuki's new fashion line with friends in a few weeks and you tag along? 😉 ⇢  wildflowers; @maddietries @smolbeanzzz @camila2201 @lik0 @pixel4ffecti0n @moonlight-dreamer04 @lumi-cent @pastelbakugou @hannahk @camryn-ciel67 @c4prisuna @perfectsukii @screechingpeachdelusion @lightsgore @cuntpiercedprincess @aphrodite-xoxo

[planetpedri]

hi! could you do one where cubarsi hurts his face and the reader gets very worried and pampers him a lot

Using the translator I hope you understand

love your writing 💕

Look after you — Pau Cubarsí.

Pairing: Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend getting injured had put you through a lot of stress. The only way to make up for how bad you felt for him, was to take care of him as best as you could.

Word count: 1.42k+

Disclaimer/s: Blood, injury, stitches, ect.. hurt to comfort / fluff

A/N: When I catch that stupid mf that did this .... EUGHHH I HATE THIS ONE IM SORRY I SHOULD’VE REWRITTEN IT. but im lazy.

You were in a stress induced state of extreme panic. You had been watching the game from home when Pau had gotten injured. You had just barely caught a glimpse of his face, but you saw the red.

In an instant you’d reached for you phone, shot a few texts to him, then to his mother, even to Lamine, though you knew he wouldn’t be seeing it any time soon.

You had paced around your living room for the better part of an hour just waiting for your phone to ding, the game long since forgotten.

When you finally heard the notification, your heart stopped, then slowly began beating once again. He was fine.

That was all you needed to chill out. He was fine, just a little beaten up! Though, he wouldn’t send you any pictures and made you promise not to open instagram till he got back to Barcelona, which was a struggle, but you did it anyways.

He was due to arrive at your house any second now. You had long since changed into pajamas and did your night routine, finally sitting down to rest when the doorbell had you pausing mid sit down.

As you made large, nervous steps toward toward door, you nearly winced opening it. You were met with a fidgeting Pau. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you took in his face.

There was no blood, just bruises, a few cuts, and one long gash on his chin that had stitches on it. You didn’t mean to gasp, but you definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

“Holy shit…” Your voice trails off as you take a step back to allow him inside. Your eyes remained wide and watchful, never leaving his face even when he walked past you.

“Yeah, I know.” Pau says through a breathy laugh, his eyes twitching with a hint of pain that flashes across them.

Your lips pull into a deep frown. “How bad does it hurt?” You ask while closing and locking the door behind you.

The teen shrugs, leaning against one of the white walls. “They gave me some numbing stuff, so it’s not that bad.” He was trying to act tough, causing your eyes to roll.

“Right, because numbing ‘stuff’ makes up for being kicked in the face with cleats.” You take a few steps towards your boyfriend, your hand lifting to his face apprehensively.

Pau watches you carefully as you tenderly move his face to look at the wounds in a better lighting. His heart thumps in his chest at how gentle you were being. He watches your eyebrows pinch together in worry and the way your bottom lip pushed out into a pout. He adored how cute you looked when you were worried.

“I’m fine..” He whispers your name, making your eyes flicker up to his.

Letting out a long exhale, you shake your head. “Let’s go clean this and put new cream on, God only knows how much germs you’ve already collected.”

Pau winces through a grin, following you toward the bathroom where you were rummaging around for your first aid kit. “Come on, it’ll be fine! Let’s just go watch TV.”

“Sit on the damn toilet and shut up.” You huff, pointing at him warningly. “I am not letting my boyfriend’s face get infected.”

Clamping his mouth shut, the brunette boy does just as you tell him, mumbling a, “yes ma’am,” as he did so.

Once you had washed your hands thoroughly, you set the kit on the counter before taking out a few alcohol wipes. “Other than being absolutely abused on the pitch, how was the game?” You ask curiously while peeling the packet.

Pau lifts his head up to look at you despite the pain the coursed through his neck at the motion. “Good, we won.” He shrugs, offering you another small, but painful smile.

You chuckle, nodding. “That’s true. Okay, this may hurt..” That was the only warning you’d given him right before you lightly cupped his chin between your index finger and thumb to keep his head still. You proceed to (as gently as possible) disinfect the cuts across his face.

Pau tried his hardest not to wince or hiss, but he gave up within a few seconds. That’s when the complaint’s came.

“Ouch? Try to be a little more gentle, yeah?”

“Are you done yet?”

“Ay! You’re being a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Please tell me you are done.”

You’d found great amusement in it all, because you knew you were not being harsh, you were barely touching the boy.

“Baby, you’re being a little dramatic, no?” You tease, leaning down to place a kiss on the top of his head.

“Dramatic?” He clamps his mouth shut when you step back and grab steri-strips. “What’s that for?”

“Uhm, to cover your stitches?” You blink, “to keep them in tact.”

Pau groans, “they are so uncomfortable though!”

You press a finger to your lips, shushing him. “I am your girlfriend and if you love me, you’ll comply. Now, let me fix you up. Then, after that, i’ll order us takeout and we can watch a movie of your choosing. Does that sound like a deal?”

Looking up at you, Pau nods reluctantly. “I can deal with that.”

Rolling your eyes at his smugness, you continue cleaning his face. He watches you intently the whole time, his hands finding a comfortable spot on the backs of your lower thighs.

Once they were applied, you take one step away from him, examining his face. "Did they say when the swelling will go down?"

Pau nods his head, "a few days. Should be gone by Friday or Saturday."

“Okay! All done.” You grin, leaning back to examine your work. “Wow, I should go to Uni to be a doctor.”

Pau stands, walking to stand in front of the mirror to see your handy work. “Oh, you did do good.” Offense flashes across your face and his eyes widening in panic when he notices it. “No! I didn’t doubt you—“

A small laugh bubbles in your throat, “it’s fine, loser. Go to the living room, i’ll be there in a second.”

Pau complies and while he does that, you grab your phone to order takeout. Once that’s done, you find your way to the living room where your boyfriend sat back comfortably, scrolling through movie choices.

“Food will be here in twenty, do you need anything? Water, snacks, extra pillow?” You stand beside the kitchen door, awaiting his answer.

Pau couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. “Okay, nurse. I don’t need anything, come here.” He lifts his hands to motion for you to come closer.

“Alright, no need to be snarky. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” You huff, plopping down beside him and leaning onto the armrest. You pat your lap, which Pau rolls his eyes at.

“I’m not a dog.” He quips, though he lays his head down anyways. You laugh at that, running your hands through his hair.

“Wanna wait for the food to watch a movie, or we can start it now?” You hum, looping a few of his hair around your finger.

Letting out a long breath, Pau’s eyes fluttered open. “Wait. Tell me about your day?”

So you do. You go on about your day, the stress he caused you, ect. The whole time you give him tender touches, massaging his head, and running your hand through his soft hair.

When the food comes, you get up and retrieve it. For the rest of the night you spend it taking care of Pau. If he needed something, you got it for him, if he wanted a kiss, you gave it to him, everything and anything he wanted, was his. And Pau was enjoying it.

“Maybe I should get injured more often.” He suggests, which earned him a nice little flick to the top of his head. “Ouch?! Did you just flick an injured man?”

“I flicked an injured man who’s thinking about getting injured again so he can be pampered again.” You argue with an amused tone.

Pau chuckles, “can you blame me?”

“Well, yes! Actually.” You quirk an eyebrow, leaning down to meet his lips in a soft kiss. “Never get hurt again for the love of all God.”

The boy pushes himself up so his arms were resting against the armrest and he was much closer to you. “I’ll try not to, I suppose.” He grins, leaning forward for another kiss.

Likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. Lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any future posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby @iovepoem !

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 11 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, Reader has a baby bump and stretch marks (briefly mentioned), talk of insecurities

WC: 1.2k

A/N: this was inspired by an ask that I got for Eddie feeling so grateful when he witnesses a sweet moment between Ms. Sweetheart/Reader and Harris, but I can't find who sent it. If it was you, thank you!

November 1999

“Har? You ready for bed?”

Harris nods, peeling back his Spider-Man comforter and slipping beneath the covers. He points to the laminated list that’s Velcroed to the back of his door. You run your finger down the column where he’s used the dry erase marker to check off each task in his routine: shower, comb his hair, brush his teeth, pee, and change into his pajamas.  

“Nice job!” You walk—though at this point in your pregnancy, it’s a bonafide waddle—from the doorway towards the small bookshelf in the corner of his room and pluck the newest Magic Treehouse from its spot. Removing the bookmark, you cautiously lower yourself onto his bed, resting your free hand on your belly to keep steady. 

He snuggles into you, head nestled against your arm as you read aloud. “Chapter four,” you begin, but before you can continue, Harris speaks. 

“Mommy?” His voice is tiny, very much unlike his usual boisterousness, and you can’t help but feel worried. 

You brush an unruly lock of his hair from his forehead. “What’s up?”

Harris pauses for a moment, singular front tooth scraping over his bottom lip anxiously. “What if Baby Brother doesn’t like me?” His hazel eyes are shiny with incoming tears. “What if he doesn’t think I’m a good big brother?”

Your heart splinters into a thousand pieces when you hear the concern in his voice. “Oh, Har,” you murmur, shifting your weight to find a more comfortable position, “he’s going to love you. More than that; he’s going to look up to you. You’ll be his role model.”

“But I don’t know how to be a role model.” He keeps his gaze trained on the webbing shooting from Spider-Man’s fingers. “An’ everyone keeps saying that being a big brother is a really important job, but I’ve never been one before! What if I’m not good at it?”

You consider your words for a moment. “Can I tell you a secret?” you finally ask, softly smiling when his attention immediately snaps back to you. “Do you remember when I was your teacher, and you wanted me to be your mommy?”

“Mhm. An’ now you are.”

“And now I am,” you agree with a laugh. “But when your dad and I first started talking about me being your mommy, I was so scared.”

Harris’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You were scared?” His nose wrinkles as he tries to discern your reasoning. “Why?”

“Well, being a mommy is a super important job, too,” you tell him, tucking the bookmark back between the pages and setting the paperback down on the bed. “And I didn’t want to mess up or make any mistakes. But guess what?”

“What?” He places his hand on top of yours. 

You lean in and whisper, “I’ve messed up and made mistakes.” Your tone stays lighthearted, but both of you know that the words are spoken with truth. “There have been times where I should have been tougher, and times that I should have been more easygoing. And sometimes, I look back and think, ‘why did I do that?’” You shake your head to combat the memories of missteps you’ve inadvertently conjured up. “But you still love me, just like Baby Brother will always love you.”

Harris exhales with a heaviness that’s almost comical coming from a seven-year-old. He’s not wholly convinced, so you continue. 

“Har, you are gonna be the best big brother the world has ever seen.” The promise is honey-sweet and just as natural. “There are so many things you’ll get to teach the baby that Daddy and I can’t.”

He allows himself to look at you once again, curiosity overtaking nervousness. “Like what?”

“Like…drawing,” you say, scratching an itch on the side of your stomach where a stretch mark has formed. “You’re our resident artist; no one draws a family portrait better than Harris Munson.”

He giggles at this. “Yeah, an’ you guys don’t know a lot about superheroes; only a little bit.”

“Exactly. Only what you’ve taught us.” You kiss the crown of his head. “Baby Brother is so lucky to have you.”

Harris nods, letting out a yawn that alerts you to the time. 

“Come on, let’s get you into bed so you’re not snoozing in school tomorrow.” You lower his pillow from where he’s propped it against the wall, but he doesn’t move from his spot.

“I wanna say good night to Baby Brother.” He rests his cheek on the swell of your stomach with his hand just above your belly button. “Good night, Baby Brother. I love you, and I can’t wait to meet you in…” he rotates his neck so you’re looking directly at his nostrils, “how many days?”

“Thirteen, if he comes on time,” you say, adding a gentle reminder, “but sometimes babies show up a little late, so he might not get here until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Oh.” He considers this for a second, his gaze shifting back and forth from your belly to your eyes. “If he comes on Thanksgiving, do I still get to eat mashed potatoes?”

You shrug. “I don’t see why not. As long as you save some for me when I get home.”

Harris harrumphs at the prospect of sharing and you laugh, which gives you the urge to pee—again. “Sweet dreams, Har Bear.” You kiss his scalp again, slowly rising to flick off the light switch. There will be a time when he eschews the nickname, labeling it babyish, but it lives on for another day. 

In your beeline for the bathroom, you find Eddie waiting just outside Harris’s room. His cheeks are pink as though he’s been caught, and you notice the glassiness coating his chocolate eyes. 

“Eds? You okay?” You murmur the question under your breath, not wanting to alert Harris. 

“Mhm. Yeah, ‘m fine.” He hooks his fingers into the white cotton sleeves of his undershirt and wipes at his face. “Just pregnancy hormones,” he teases with a soft chuckle, and you nudge his hip with yours. “Really, though; everything’s good.” 

You want to press him further, but the full-term baby tap-dancing on your bladder has other plans, so you have to surrender. 

Eddie sighs, contentment flooding his body as he blinks away the blurriness and closes Harris’s door. Domesticity has wrapped itself around him, and the softness with which you talk to Harris only has him falling deeper into its embrace. 

He used to describe himself as lucky, but you’re always quick to point out that luck has nothing to do with it. He’s deserving of his little family and the unconditional love that comes with it. 

But deserving doesn’t explain you showing up at the Hideout three years ago, or him picking you out of the crowd, or you being Harris’s teacher and fostering an awkward but necessary reunion. There’s a solid chance that he’d still be the angry and defensive man who’d shoved his dreams away, because holding hope that they would come to fruition was simply too scary to consider. But now, despite years of self-sabotage, he’s got everything he could ever want. 

So, yeah. Eddie Munson is a lucky man. 

--

[jareckiworld]

Judy Chicago — Peeling Back (etched laminated and mirrored glass with acrylic, 2000)

[trickphotography2]

i'd love a little blurb about jake as a dad

Alright, slight spoilers for D-Day, but this is what popped into my head. ---------------------------------------------------

Bus duty.

When he signed up to be in the military, the last thing Jake Seresin had expected was to be assigned bus monitor duty. Unfortunately, he had to deal with the weekly duty twice a school year to make sure his kids could ride the bus to school every day. 

His ears still rang from the time he forgot to sign up, and the bus monitor turned his kid away. Thankfully, Sloane had come up just in time, marched them back to the principal’s office, and called her mama. You had driven right to the school, and he’d been dragged into the bedroom as soon as he got home and was given an earful. It was the first and last time he forgot to sign up for his mandatory time.

Standing at the front of the bus, Jake nodded at each child who boarded and flashed him their DoDES bus pass. Thankfully, besides a couple of loud fifth graders, there hadn’t been any issues on his route so far. Which was good because he’d forgotten his coffee at home, up and out of the house earlier than normal to get to the bus depot, and didn’t have the patience to deal with more.

The bus turned into the enlisted base housing, slowly filling up. When they finally headed toward the officer housing, Jake looked out the windows and counted the stops. They drove past his house, and he spotted your car still in the driveway.

A mob of kids stood at the corner, but he spotted you immediately. It wasn’t every day that you walked the kids to the bus stop - Sloane had demanded that stop once she hit third grade and moved from the primary to intermediate school, and none of her friends’ parents did it - but there you were today. With his travel coffee thermos in hand. 

As soon as the doors opened, Jake walked down the few steps. Kids held up their bus passes, and he quickly glanced at them and nodded, eyes darting to where you were smirking. 

“Hi, Daddy,” Sloane sighed before trying to trudge past him. Like her mama, she wasn’t a morning person, and getting her out of bed in time for school was always a hassle. Hooking his finger in her backpack strap, Jake tugged her backward.

“Bus pass.” 

“What?”

“Bus pass, young lady.” 

“Daddy,” she whined. “C’mon.”

“You know the rules. Gotta show your bus pass before getting on the bus. Now come on, you’re holding up the line.” Scowling, Sloane slipped off one of her backpack straps and rummaged in a pocket for the plastic Hello Kitty wallet she had just had to have the last time they’d gone to the 100 yen store. 

“You’re making enemies this morning,’” you said quietly, handing your husband the coffee thermos. “She’s already annoyed that I walked down here. Said I’m treating her like a baby again.” 

“I’m glad you did,” Jake chuckled. Taking the coffee, he gently peeled back the straps of the wrap you wore and peered down at the baby. “How’s my little one doin’ this morning?” 

But your answer was interrupted by Sloane poking her father in the arm. “Here,” she snapped, holding the yellow laminated bus pass out to him. Jake glanced at it and nodded.

“Get in.” 

“You better go, or everyone’ll be late,” you cautioned. Jake nodded and quickly pecked your lips before taking the coffee thermos. 

“I’ll see you after work.” 

“Don’t forget that it’s soccer and swim practice tonight. And we still need to get a birthday present for this weekend,” you said as the bus doors started to close. Jake nodded and winked, climbing those few steps as the bus pulled away from the curb. 

Walking the aisle, Jake watched as you pressed a kiss to the baby’s head before turning and walking back up the hill to the house. Turning his attention back to the kids, he spotted Sloane sitting toward the middle of the bus with her best friend. She looked up when he neared, cheeks burning red when he grinned at her.

“Morning, Sloaney-baloney.”

“Daaaaad,” she hissed. “Stop.”

“What? Can’t say good morning?” The annoyed look she pinned him with was pure you and Jake couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to you later, Sloane-girl.” 

“He’s such a dork,” he heard as he continued down the aisle. 

The childish taunt only made Jake chuckle. If his daughter thought he was a dork and comfortable enough to tell her friend within his earshot, he knew he was doing something right. 

There were days he worried about turning into his parents, but when those voices got too loud, they were quickly drown out by his kids calling out for Daddy or the feeling of their soft breath on his skin as they crawled into bed with them, seeking him out to keep the nightmares away. 

So yeah, Jake Seresin may forget to sign up for bus duty sometimes, but he knew he was a damn good father.

(Not sure if the officers have to do bus duty, but my dad sure did when we lived in Japan. He forgot to sign up once and they wouldn't let my little sister get on the bus after school - Mom was PISSED! Thankfully her office was close to the school so I walked us over there and got us a 'water' [read: Sprite] cup from the food court so she would stop crying and we just hung out until Mom left work. Dad never forgot to sign up for bus duty again)

[bettsfic]

i just read this post about kids coming up to librarians and asking questions, and how wonderful and adorable it is, and i didn't want to besmirch that post with my response as a former kid who asked librarians for things, so i'm making a separate post.

my parents gave me a lot of privacy. in fact they gave me so much privacy that one could say it was neglect. it's hard to describe concisely what i went through as a kid, but let's just say it wasn't good and i don't have many good memories from that time. but one good memory i have was getting my first library card. in fact it was so important to me that i can't think of it without crying.

i was 5 years old. i could barely write my own name (i was not gifted), but my mom walked me through it letter by letter so i could sign the back. and once i did, i realized it was completely and wholly mine. mine to use. mine to take care of. mine to keep.

i had never had anything that was mine. it was my first taste of agency. with this card, i thought, i have access to anything. and no one can tell me no. the library was somewhere i felt safe, and there were very, very few places i felt safe.

and i used it. i used that card until it was nearly destroyed, just a scrap of cardstock with the lamination peeling off. for years i had these near-daily migraines, just physically and psychologically debilitating, and no one took me to a doctor. so i went to the library and checked out books on migraines so i could try to treat myself, so i could find a way to be in slightly less pain.

and later, i had read through my entire library's YA section and so every saturday my mom would take me to a different one in the library network. i can't tell you how much i looked forward to that. i didn't really understand what "fun" was, but going to libraries a town or two over was a blast for me. it was a reprieve during a time when all i can remember is pain.

i really liked that post i linked above, and i know kids asking for books is definitely cute, but to all librarians reading this: in answering those questions, by showing kids where to find the information they're seeking, you are saving lives.

sometimes i look back on my childhood and think, "why didn't anyone help me?" but people did help me. librarians helped me.

[enterpris]

Caught in Orbit, Chapter 1

Pairing: Reader x Gojo

Summary: Cursed energy has many expressions- inherited techniques, reversals and maximums. 

Occasionally, cursed energy of a sorcerer will react with another sorcerer’s cursed energy, or perhaps their soul. In these cases, a bond is formed that can tie families together, increase power, or spark love.

When your soulmate is discovered, you have to decide what the bond will mean

Warnings: cannon typical fighting, moderate injury, reader is a jujutsu sorcerer, soulmate au

Length: 3.9k

Ao3: PlaidSparrow

It’ll be a Grade one curse- easy in, easy out. 

You page through the assignment folder, as country roads pass in Ijitchi’s rear window, driving you to the remote town that’s housing the spirit. Beyond the estimated grade of the spirit, the notes in the folder are sparse and messy, with few details about the two incidents that have occurred so far. Near the back of the file there’s a graph depicting the level of cursed energy in the building over time though, and that catches your eye. 

“So there’s been activity here for months? Why are they just sending a sorcerer now?” 

“There’s been low level activity, yes, but a teller was killed last week. Cursed energy spiked, and there was another death yesterday.” He looks at you through the rear view mirror. “Since then, the levels of cursed energy have remained level, so we have reason to suspect there will be more casualties if this spirit is left unchecked.”

You hum assent and put the file down. “It’s better to exorcize it now, before things get any worse.”

It doesn’t appear that anything connects the two victims outside of the location of the attacks, it’s likely just an amalgamation of poor feelings over the years that finally coalesced. 

“Any further incidents may cause this branch to close down- there’s been posts made online connecting the two deaths, and we want to minimize fear for the people who live in the town. An incident of any higher magnitude would be a disaster for a small town.”

You nod and stare out the window, the vast green fields and craggy mountains would be quaint and idyllic in another circumstance. This far outside of the city there’s not much traffic, and you should arrive soon. As it is, you can’t help from evaluating yourself, cataloging your physical state and diverting your focus into mentally preparing. While you didn’t have enough time to fully rest and recharge after your last mission, sleep doesn’t often come easy anymore, the hot meal and couple hours of sleep had provided a much needed boost. 

The rest of the ride is quiet, Ijitchi pulls up to the bank and you hop out. He rolls down the driver’s window and gives you a once over. 

“I’ll be waiting just down the street. Text when you’re finished here I’ll come pick you up. Good luck.”

A terse nod is the only response you give, already attuning yourself to the waves of cursed energy radiating from the building. He nods back and peels away. A few moments later, a veil drops over you, casting the small bank in shadow.

Through the focus you’ve cultivated for the mission, you can’t help but be intrigued- you’ve never encountered a curse attached to a commercial building like this, and something pretty significant must have happened to infuse this place with enough negative energy to spawn a Grade 1 curse. The case notes didn’t include grisly details of a natural disaster or crime, though. After scanning the outside of the building and quickly stretching out your shoulders, still stiff from the ride, you step towards the entrance. The curse likely already knows you’ve arrived, the energy rolling off the building feels particularly strong. The front door opens without any fuss, and the stench of cursed energy is like a fetid tide within the building. The death of the two tellers hangs in the air as you walk through the small entrance hall.

It’s silent in the lobby save your soft steps across the laminate and the underlying buzz of electricity running to the tellers’ computers. Between the veil and the electric lights being turned off, the interior feels dingy and a little claustrophobic. Nothing really looks amiss, but there are cursed energy residuals drawn across the room like a web, no hint as to where the body of the curse might be.  You leap over the low divider to get to the area for bank employees. If two tellers were the casualties, it’s possible that the curse is lurking somewhere clients don’t have access to, or the attacks happened outside of normal business hours. You can’t recall whether any times were posted in the notes. 

Before you explore the back, you scan the lobby once more. You can imagine the small branch bustling on the weekend, business owners and families coming to make deposits or pull out money for a day trip. You brush your fingers over the black screen wistfully. Maybe in another life you would have helped customers in a bank. 

Or perhaps you would have gone on to college. When you enrolled in Jujutsu Tech as a high school student, you hadn’t thought much about your future, but you could have studied any number of subjects.

Something shifts unnaturally somewhere down the hall and your hackles rise, the distinct feeling of eyes on you. You spin to the back and allow your cursed energy to flow freely through your body- ready to be released.

Keeping your attention high, you creep towards the back of the building. The noise repeats itself, and you can hear more clearly now- a rhythmic clatter, not quite the scutter of an insect, but something similar, that's coming from the back rooms. The pattern of noise stops and starts again. 

Measured steps bring you closer to the belly of the bank, here there are low tables in a wide back room, with private rooms that branch away to speak privately with a banker. The furniture seems to be undisturbed, wherever you look there’s perfect order, still no indication of how the bank tellers were murdered. But the curse is making just enough noise to let you know it's lurking somewhere. It’s got some degree of intelligence, then, to taunt a sorcerer. You tilt your head, trying to determine where the noise is coming from.

You scan the floors, then the walls, steadily working your way back through the hallways to an area that’s only accessed by employees. There’s no more decorations here, only shadows cast by the meager light let through the veil, yellow-gray and sickly like a bruise. But the rustling noise has gotten progressively louder. As you approach the curse’s lair, the noise begins to sound louder and more distinct. You had to have walked through nearly the whole building now, save the vaults. Hopefully that’s not where the curse has taken up its roost. 

The vault is huge and silver, set into the wall of the building itself. The cursed spirit has got to be in here, and you’re ready for the fight. With a deep breath, you increase the output of cursed energy in your arms, letting the strength ground you, then turn the handle of the vault door. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears that are trying to listen for any drop of sound, any discernible shift.

But the door is firmly locked, the handle shifts only a fraction of a degree. You process where else the curse could be- your initial sweep had been fairly thorough, could the curse be small enough to slip into one of the crevasses you’d left unturned?

Cautiously turning, you step back down the hallway you’d come from. Something in the air changes in that instant, and you step to the right, pivoting back to the vault entrance. The cursed spirit materializes out of the wall, pursing a grossly oversized pair of lips and greedily grabbing with stumpy appendages. 

You intensify the cursed energy running through your arms, waiting for the cursed spirit to dart in and try to grab you, but it maintains its distance, instead spitting a noxious ball in your direction, but you pivot out of the way. You sprint towards the spirit, ready to swing, but it darts down one of the hallways, bringing you back towards the front of the building. 

The employee-only areas blur past until the curse turns back towards you in the open room right before the lobby. It puckers its lips again and spits a second glob of steaming cursed energy at your body. You dodge again, then rush the curse. 

But something feels wrong. After the second attack, the spirit makes no move to shoot again, or try to evade as your steps bring you closer to its disgusting body. While you analyze the curse’s behavior, its bulbous eyes flick towards the ceiling of the room. 

The curse must have hidden a projectile there before you brought it into the open. Your eyes snap to the roof of the building, but instead of a projectile you find the sinuous legs and writhing body of a second curse. Its long appendages twitch and undulate in a sickly wave that you now realize was the noise you heard earlier. You can’t even see how many arms there are. A wave of cursed energy stronger than the first curse rolls off of it now. Icy fear cuts through the adrenaline pumping through your body. The second curse is strong too, and clearly working with the first somehow. You’ll have to scramble for your life.

You have to make a split second decision, choose which curse to focus on first. If you can exorcize the spitting curse quickly then pivot to the second curse, you’ll probably have the best chance of coming out on top. The second spirit hasn’t moved from its roost above the fight yet, you have no idea what its abilities are or whether you’d be able to beat it first.

Clambering backward to avoid being caught directly under the second curse, you’re nearly backed against the wall. The furniture in this room is all low and sleek, nothing to use as a shield or small enough to use as an extra weapon. The booths and computers in the lobby may give you more to work with, but between you and the hallway there is the spitting curse. 

The second curse stretches its legs towards you, and it descends from the ceiling. Fuck. 

Without any more time to form a plan, you run towards the spitting curse and pass it on your way to the front of the building. The narrow hallways won’t give you any tactical advantage, and would make it easy for the two curses to gang up on you.

You look over your shoulder and see the first curse hurl a projectile, and you desperately push your body to the right. 

Not fast enough. 

The mass of cursed energy collides with your left shoulder, and your vision whites out for a moment. Warm blood seeps from the wound and soaks your shirt, now you’ll be vulnerable and slower than before. You grit your teeth and scowl at the mass of hateful energy. 

The second curse opens its mouth, grotesquely stretching the muscles until it could swallow you in a single gulp. Its twitching legs begin to move in sequence, crawling down the side of the wall in a trembling mess. 

The first curse floats along ahead of the second, and it looks like it could shoot another projectile at any moment. You duck and huff a few deep breaths from the outside of the lobby divider. Then, you infuse your arm with cursed energy and punch the spitting curse with the strength you’ve saved for this mission. 

The force of the hit wracks your body, and pain screams from your left shoulder. The spitting curse gets knocked to the ground coughing, but isn’t exorcized yet. You breathe through the piercing waves resonating from your shoulder and pull out a short knife to finish the job. 

Cursed energy flows again through your arm and into the blade, but the second curse flings its knobbly body down from the wall. Its sinewy legs tangle around you, and the small cutting edge can’t pierce deep enough to really do any damage. The legs sweep you towards the main body of the spirit, and you see the first curse rise back up from the corner of your eye. You shove at the countless appendages and slash where you can, fighting against the nebulous legs to reach a longer weapon. Once it’s in hand, you allow the built-up cursed energy to infuse the cells of your body with all of the strength and speed you can afford to spare. 

The boost (and the longer knife) allow you to hack through the second curse’s legs, and come face to face with the spitting curse. It puckers its lips once more and you hold your position a moment longer, then duck under the following projectile. Before the beast can make another, you stab the longer knife directly through its head. 

You’re pretty sure that finished it, but there’s no time to double check, as the second curse has recovered from the limbs you took from it, and ambles back towards you. Dodging its legs again, you leap towards the entry room of the bank. A quick spin puts you facing the curse once more. 

The legs skitter and twinge against each other, and there’s another noise too, a low drone coming out of the curse’s mouth. Whatever its muttering, you’re not interested in finding out. Now that it’s a fair fight, you’re feeling more confident about your odds of walking away from this bank. 

You raise your left arm to throw one of the knives as the curse, but the joint can’t extend all the way. Swearing, you switch the larger blade to your other hand and try to gauge what this curse’s MO is. So far, it’s mostly kept out of the way, using the legs to pull you towards its body. 

Now, those legs scuttle faster, it darts in towards you. You brandish the weapon and take a few quick steps back, but the curse keeps coming. You shove one of the doors open with your bad shoulder and turn to see if the curse will follow you outside. You’ve barely got time to pant in a few deep breaths. 

It catches the door nearly as it closes, pushing out and gnashing its horrible teeth. You can’t pass up the opening though- as the spirit maneuvers through the door, you dash forward, infuse your arm with cursed energy and fight through the legs, then sink the knife into one of the bottom of its body. 

The curse lets out a terrible wail and thrashes through the doorway, entangling you as it rampages out of the building. The smaller knife is still in your other hand, and you funnel cursed energy into it and slice shallowly into the nearest leg. The curse howls again and the legs holding you loosen but don’t release completely. 

You writhe and kick your legs against the curse until you can wiggle your arm free, then drop to deadweight. Your heart is beating fast as the curse drags you in towards the body. You can hear the muttering clearly now, kodoku, over and over.

You allow the curse to drag you closer, no more than an arm's breadth away, then you  pour every last ounce of cursed energy into the knife and bring it sharply down, impaling the spirit directly in its skull. 

The curse collapses, a moaning pile of open wounds before disintegrating into the tiled floor. Its stink pollutes the greenery and bright day. You pant and the adrenaline that had kept you afloat leaches out of your body. The world blurs in front of your eyes, and you’re sucked back into your body- exhausted, bleeding heavily, and abruptly feeling every bit of your injury. 

You lean against your knees, putting weight on your good shoulder. The energy you had expended to exorcize the first spirit held the pain at bay for a time, but the blood in your shirt is cooling, and you’ve run your body ragged by finishing the fight. 

It was technically a win, desperately fought and barely won. You may be barely standing, but that curse is exorcized. 

Staggering to the larger commercial entrance, you unwind the jacket and grasp the material near your bad shoulder. The blood has soaked through the thicker material, and you can feel a pulse of pain each time your heart beats. 

You pat down the pockets of your pants, not sure where your phone is. After locating it, you try to pull up your messages to alert Ijitchi. Your vision blurs again and you groan in frustration. This injury is clearly bad, and if you can’t contact Ijitchi, you’ll pass out soon. If that happens, who knows how long it will take for him to return and pick you up. 

After a few moments, you pour all of your focus into just calling him. With a shaking hand, you slowly click through the menu and hear the phone ring. 

He answers, and you could cry from relief. 

“Kodoku.”

It was a traditional magic, where small bugs or creatures fought to the death in an enclosed space. The fluids of the final survivor could be used to poison an individual. The spitting curse- it must have spit that liquid in its projectiles. You’re nearly delirious thinking about it. 

“What?”

“Things didn’t go well.” 

“I’m on the way. What’s wrong?” 

He sounds concerned. You must sound worse than you thought.

“More than one, I was hit.”

Before you can provide any more details, you see the unassuming black sedan pull back up the driveway. He drives over the grass to get closer to you, then hops out. 

You hobble towards the back of the car while he takes in your state. 

“It looks like you’ve lost a lot of blood. Is it a cursed wound? We should be able to make it back to Shoko within an hour if I speed…” he trails off, likely calculating the distance back to school on different routes. 

“Not cursed, just nasty. I’ve got pressure on it now, but I’ll probably ruin these seats.” You pant the words out, not totally sure that they’re true. The pain is radiating from your shoulder, it could be a cursed wound, but that wouldn’t get you back to campus any faster. 

In what feels like a blink, you’re back at Tokyo Jujutsu, Ijitchi supporting your weight on the walk down to Shoko’s medical bay. He helps to set you down on the low operating table and says something. It’s probably important, but the sound is drowned out by the pain singing in your veins. Absently you wonder if you’re going to pass out from blood loss. The hit was worse than you thought. 

Shoko technically had a medical degree, but because of her Curse Technique, most of her knowledge and skills were intrinsic. You’re not sure if getting her doctorate degree even helped her or if it was just part of the school’s cover. 

She’s standing in front of you, speaking lowly with Ijitchi. She pulls a pair of scissors from somewhere. The metal is cold where it touches the skin of your stomach, and Shoko shears the remains of your shirt away. She’s wearing gloves now. You’re not sure when she put them on. 

“Oh,” you hear her voice floating above you. 

Her voice blends with Ijitchi’s as they continue their conversation, the indistinguishable words blending with the hum of the air conditioner to lull you halfway to sleep. 

Since finishing school you had only been injured badly enough to need Shoko’s healing once or twice. The smell of antiseptic and the morgue closeby are enough motivation to avoid hurt at all costs. It’s cold in the medical bay. 

Sharp pain pulls you out of your thoughts as Shoko prods the wound, muttering about the internal damage. Her gloved hands circle the hole in your shoulder and you feel the eerie trickle of Reverse Cursed Energy seep into your body. Feeling another sorcerer’s technique never felt right, but something feels particularly wrong right now. She sits you up and you slump against her. She’s warm.

More muttering and your head feels a bit clearer. It's a strange sensation, to feel your body rebuild itself in real time. Shoko's hands are warm through the gloves and your stomach drops as the skin and muscle knit back together. 

Noise echoes down the steps to the medical center. Footsteps, you realize after a moment. Everything still sounds distorted and dreamlike.

“Hey Shoko” a voice calls, drawing out the last vowel of her name. “I wanted to know-” the voice chokes off. 

You feel her turn away from you and the sensation of her healing stops. The loss of support makes your head loll back, and you feel distinctly separate from the rest of your body. It’s not til Shoko shifts again that you remember that someone else is in the medical area. 

Your vision swims when you turn to see Gojo standing in the doorway of the stairwell, looking aghast at you. 

“Ah, on second thought, maybe I should come back later.”

“It’s fine, we’re almost-” Gojo cuts Shoko off.

“Nope, really, I’ll be back later! Not important!” His voice disappears as he zips back up the stairs where he came from. 

You furrow your brow. 

Even in your addled state, you know that Gojo is the most powerful sorcerer on the planet, he should hardly be squeamish, surely a little shoulder injury isn’t enough to send him running for the hills. The thought grounds you a bit, and you think vaguely that it should already be halfway healed anyway. You crane your neck to look at the wound behind you and your chin brushes the bare skin of your shoulder. 

With all the movement and almost passing out, you’d kind of forgotten that you’re not fully dressed. The wound has partially closed, but there’s still blood drying on skin around, dripping down your back. 

But he’d only seen your back, nothing scandalous, and surely he’s seen a woman in her bra before.

Shoko returns the pressure to your shoulder blade and you let your mind drift as the current of her cursed energy infuses you. Who knows what’s going on in Gojo’s mind. You’re lucky really, that he didn’t stay. Healing isn’t a pretty process and you aren’t interested in having an audience as your shoulder knits itself back together. Shoko’s reverse curse technique feels more like a strong current of energy now, the sense of wrongness has passed. 

More time slips by, and then she gently lays you back down on the table. Shoko's voice is soft above you, and you pick out a few words, “more hours,” and “rest.”

Perhaps it's easier when you're using your own cursed energy to heal yourself, but the few times you've been revived by Shoko, you're left more drained than when you were injured. It’s as if the flesh itself has mended, but the weight of the injury has been transferred to your head. You don’t particularly want to remember the last time you required her services now though.  

The details of the attack are dreamily-muddled now, like maybe it happened to someone else. When you try to recall any detail, it flees from your mind and dissipates into the background.

Exhaustion drags you under, and your thoughts are silenced.

[kaya-elements]

KayaElements :Podcast

[thegreenleavesofspring]

Last Rest

For @inklings-challenge 2024

She leaned on her steering wheel and looked up at the sign. It bathed the parking lot in bloody red and deep orange, the neon Vacancy beneath flickering uninspiringly in and out. This was the last hotel before the desert, and it had less than two stars in rating. The reviews had been an interesting blend of people disappointed that it had not lived up to its haunted reputation, and people disappointed in the poor service and strange happenings that had occurred during their stay. But no one had complained of bugs, so she would give it a shot. There would be - or had been already - a Disturbance out in the desert, and it was her job to manage it.

She cut her engine and stepped out the car. The door fell shut with a thump that seemed both louder and more muffled than usual. She glanced back at it and entered the lobby.

It was warmly lit in sickly yellow, and sparsely populated. A sullen Native teenager scrolled on her phone behind the reception desk, lounging in a desk chair that had seen better days, and a man in impressively meticulous reenactment garb circa the 1850s sat in a squashed hotel lobby armchair with a newspaper, his hat on the low table beside him. He looked up with beetling brows as the woman came in, but made no move to stand or greet her. She nodded to him politely, noting as she did so that the words and dates on his newspaper swam before her eyes.

She moved up to the desk, waiting patiently for the girl behind it to acknowledge her. It took a few seconds for flat dark eyes to meet hers; the teenager deliberately chewed her gum twice more and blew a bubble until it popped and demanded impatiently, "What do you want?"

"Do you have a vacancy?" the woman asked politely.

"Sign says so, doesn't it?" the receptionist answered scornfully.

"I wasn't sure," the woman explained, "since you seen to be having a bit of trouble with it."

The girl muttered and smacked at her computer, as though that would fix the glitchy sign out beside the road. The neon reflection on the granite-patterned laminate desktop stopped flickering and held steady, glowing orange and pink across the red-toned counter. The girl swiveled back to face the front of the desk. "Yeah, we got a vacancy, if you want it."

"I do," the woman said firmly. The girl sneered as if this was the wrong answer to a test, and swung away again to pull out from beneath the desktop a plyboard drawer with the stick-on finish peeling away. Trays of metal doorkeys sat inside, and the girl grabbed one and glided back over to drop it ringing on the laminate. "Room 113."

The woman picked up the key without a flicker of expression and paid in cash and turned to go back out the glass doors. The man in the chair was still watching; staring, even, and he still did not acknowledge her as she passed with another nod.

The desert night air was cool and tasted of lightning, the sky above velvety and unrelieved black. Anemic lights placed at intervals along the outside walkway helped after-sunset guests guess at which door was theirs. It took the woman only a few tries to get the key into the lock, but once it was, it turned smoothly and the door opened to admit her into a room that had the familiar smell and softly humming temperature control unit of a thousand other mid-grade hotels.

The woman flicked on the lights, which glowed to reassuring life, and moved at once to draw the heavy light-blocking curtains over the window. Whatever was out there that night, she did not need to see it, nor it her.

~•~•~•~

The Last Rest breakfast room reeked of grease, which was slightly odd, as eggs and bacon alike were both dry as the dust beyond the windows. The smell lingered in memory of meals past, perhaps.

The woman did not take long to break her fast. She filled her water bottles from the tap in the dining room and slid into her car, pulling away from the hotel and into the desert, her car moving along the road like some black beetle creeping across an unwound ribbon of cracked asphalt. Mirages shimmered skyward off of blacktop and sand alike, fading elusively away as she approached.

She stopped at last, on a stretch of road indistinguishable from the rest of the road around it, and got out. The Disturbance tugged at her, and she followed that pull, deeper into the desert, until the ribbon of road with its thermal illusions vanished behind her. Her car turned into a toy, and then a dark speck, and then dwindled into insignificant invisibility. She kept trudging on, the sand shifting treacherously beneath her soles, the sun an oppressive unrelenting weight on her head and shoulders.

She stopped at the rim of a valley. The vegetation here was sparse; a snake hissed away into the sand. Skeletal remains jutted skyward, bleached bone white by the sun. The wood of the wagons, exposed to the elements once more by wind-whipped shifting sands, lay broken and scattered; the metal frames for canvas covers that were long rotted away stood tall and stooped like broken monuments to sorrow. The skull of an ox grinned up at her.

She slid carefully sideways down into the valley. One of many, but this one was Disturbed. She walked fearlessly among the wagons, the ancient vehicles tilted forlornly to their sides, or decayed until only the tongues were left, bones scattered among them, chips of pottery and clay, a single glimmering fragment of glass. There was no sign of what had caused the Disturbance, and she stood in the very middle of the ring, hands on her hips as she looked around. A hawk screamed somewhere high overhead.

She had Observed. Solemnly she turned to scramble back up the hill, glancing back into the valley only briefly as she attained the top. Not a breath of air, no small animal, nothing stirred below, the scene caught frozen in an endless moment of time. She turned away and started back towards the far distant road.

The steering wheel burned her hands. She sat with the air condition running, sipping water, until it cooled down enough to touch. She drove back up the road, heat shimmering deceptively on its surface, the sun pooling her car's shadow on the grimy sand beside the pavement. Before her, stars shimmered to life in velvet blackness, and the neon lights of Last Rest rose out of the desert, orange and crimson and green.

The smell of dinner clung to the dining room, meat and vegetables and savory sauces. She sat taking small forkfuls of flavorless mashed potatoes and some sort of dry, chewy, unidentifiable meat. Her back was in the corner, a heavily tinted window to one side, her other open to the dining room and the lobby beyond. Her dinner was neither appetizing nor interesting, and so she was rather glad of the distraction when the front door opened to admit a group of people.

Men, women, and children, all of them tired and dusty and wearing reenactment clothes with the same level of detail as the lobby-man when she had checked in. Men doffed their hats and looked around wearily; women adjusted their grip on the hands of children and swaddled babies in their arms. One gentleman squared his shoulders and stepped forward, apparently the spokesman of the group. He went up to the Native girl behind the desk, who looked up with a shattering lack of interest, and clutched his hat and cleared his throat and said, "We are seeking rest. Can you give us rest? A place to rest?"

"I can offer you rooms for the night, if you can pay for them," the girl said, still supremely disinterested. Outside, the Vacancy sign flickered, washing the faces of those before and behind the desk an eerie red.

"We can pay for them," the man said in relief, and reached into a ragged pocket to pull out handfuls of bills. The woman, watching as she slowly chewed, could not quite see the denominations on the bills, and it gave her a headache to try. Behind the spokesman, a baby started crying. Somewhere out in the desert night, a dog howled, long and mournful.

The woman went to bed.

~•~•~•~

The group was at breakfast, too. There was a baby crying again, but by and large they seemed to be enjoying the rather tasteless food rather more than the woman was. She did not look too closely at their plates, and lingered over her coffee, muddy and bitter as it was, while they departed. Only one man remained, in the corner farthest from hers, his hat on the table in front of him. She recognized him from her first night at the hotel, and he watched her when she stood to leave but did not move himself.

The dust of the parking lot was crossed and recrossed with footprints. She did not look at them too carefully, but slid into her car and drove into the desert.

Gone were the wrecked ruins of wagons, weathered by nearly two centuries of sun and scouring wind. Gone were skulls bleached white. Canvas flapped tattered and forlorn on metal wagon arches. Horses whickered and oxen lowed, heads drooping, and the people from the hotel milled about aimlessly. A large black dog lay panting in the shade of one of the wagons, ears pricked alertly as it watched the slow-moving river of activity around it.

The woman slithered down the side of the sandhill into the gathering. None of the people seemed surprised to see her or alarmed by her advent, and she walked freely among them, helping to hitch horses to wagon tongues and dig wheels out of the shifting sands, ignoring the feeling of grass brushing against her legs. A child scrambled up into the back of one wagon.

It took all day to get the little band ready to move. They took little initiative of their own but moved gladly to follow her directions. The dog lunged to its feet and, panting, rounded the wagon out of sight. The sun reached its zenith and started down again. The woman drank from her water bottles; the wagon people drank from buckets and dippers that did not drip. The horizon turned orange and scarlet, the land a dark slash beneath the massive setting sun. Shadows wavered thin across the ground.

The spokesman approached the woman, hat in his hands. "What do we do now?"

She looked out across the desert, still and shimmering with heat. A path of deep amber stretched out from the setting western sun, and she pointed to it. "Follow the light to your destination."

The man turned to look. His eyes did not reflect the sun, though it fell full on his face. But he nodded in comprehension, and turned to smile at the woman, looking her full in the eyes for the first time. A shiver whispered down her spine, but she ignored it, smiling back. "Thank you," the man said. "We will."

The woman stood watching as the wagon train rolled out, her hand over her eyes as she squinted into the sun. The party was heading due west, dark silhouettes against the sinking sun that shrank to tiny dark dots far too rapidly and quickly vanished. The eastern night reached out cold fingers to brush the back of her neck and she shivered, turning away from the dying light towards the darkness.

Her car was a black blob on the road. The dim glow of the interior lights when she opened the door seemed incongruously bright, and she closed the door hastily on whatever might lurk in the desert beyond and turned on the ignition. The road rolled out before her, an endless line of asphalt, and time slipped away beneath the rubber of her tires as she drove.

The red and orange lights of the Last Rest sign rose up before her, the sullen actinic white of the building lights casting small pools of illumination that did nothing beyond their dull boundaries. The Vacancy sign had gone dark, invisible in the desert night.

The woman passed by the hotel, glancing through the plate glass windows of the lobby as she did so. A man sat in a lobby armchair, a brown hat on the table beside him. A girl's dark head was bent over her phone behind the desk. Neither glanced around at the passing car.

The woman drove on, the hotel shrinking in her mirrors, the lights of civilization a distant white glow ahead.

[ss-skyearn]

Incandescent

PAIRING : Lee Minho x afab!reader.

WORD COUNT : 5.7k.

GENRE : Angst, Smut, Fluff.

WARNINGS/CONTENT : Vampire au (identity of the vampire not revealed in the warnings for plot purposes), explicit sexual content, switch!Minho, switch!reader, grinding, dry humping, desperation, unprotected intercourse (can we not, please), blood (got a little creative with it), just really emotional and fulfilling for both parties *sob* they're in love.

A/N : To all those waiting, I'm working on part two to Sugar Rush but the break I took from writing is proving to be a massive hinderance, so this a little something I wrote while trying to get back into it. Enjoy, lovelies. ♡

"Or I will," it's not a threat, but the potency with which you state it makes it seem like one.

"Do it," it's not a challenge, but the voracity with which he says it makes it seem like one.

A tug of war between rationality and derangement, that is what being with him is like. Always.

Because Lee Minho makes you do vile things, makes you want to corrupt every part of you, and him in the process.

The night is young, the moon looming over the horizon, a mere twinkle all that's seen among the heavy clouds settled at this hour of night.

But you don't need it, not the gleam of the moon, not the dazzle of the nightlights laminating the cheap motel room.

For his silky smooth skin does just the job.

Doesn't help that the buttons to his equally silky shirt are undone all the way.

There he stands, leaning against the window sill, looking into the distant sky, gaze stoic, as if challenging the moon.

If he actually did, you know he's already won.

There's no match for him, not the moon, not the stars, not the galaxy. It's him, only him for you.

Has been, for far too long.

Longer than you've let yourself accept. You'd known when he'd started growing on you, when you saw him for who he was, when you let him peel off the layers to your heart, your soul, albeit unwillingly. For the grief of acceptance of your wandering heart wasn't something you could stomach. For your sake and your love's. A past love. But a love, nonetheless.

He suddenly pushes forward, standing straight before glancing over his shoulder to your sleeping form— what he thinks is your sleeping form.

You quickly squeeze your eyes shut, perhaps a little too tight to be considered natural, and pray he doesn't notice.

But of course, he does.

A drawn out sigh is all that's heard, all that needs to be heard. You know he's onto you.

You'll pretend all the same.

You keep your eyes shut, ears hyperactive, making out the path the soft pad of his shoes follow. He's moving somewhere away from the bed where you're nestled, and you heave out an inaudible sigh of relief. You don't fool yourself into believing he doesn't know. He does, he always does. But you're thankful he's choosing not to point it out. You're not sure you could handle it right now.

The slow sound of liquid hitting a surface echoes through the eerily quiet room, followed by a splash, then ice cubes clinking.

He's swirling his drink, twice clockwise. The best way to enjoy bourbon, he'd always say.

He walks again, this time towards the bed and you can't help crackling open an eye, enough to catch a glimpse, for this is the first time you're able to without the crushing weight of regret, without the guilt eating away at your insides.

There he sits, back reclined against the armchair, legs on the opposite chair, one swinged over the other. One elbow rests on the edge of the table, the same hand clawing the base of the lowball glass. Still. Not swirling.

Only twice, clockwise.

The chain that goes around his ankle length boots glimmers, the long expanse of honey skin visible through his open shirt that now is pulled further apart his torso, given his leaning stance. Reclined there, he paints the picture of beauty you've never been subject to, the picture of beauty you've never been allowed to be subject to.

He'd always been there— no less attractive— but he wasn't yours to see, yours to admire. He still isn't, you suppose, but he isn't not yours either.

Indeed, this limbo of nothing but something is far better than him simply being off limits, a fate you'd accepted long ago. But that supposed fate no longer stands, and he's all your eyes can seem to want to admire, to desire.

And it's that very same desire that has now forced your eyes wide open, sleeping pretences forgotten. You curl in yourself, hiking the blanket further up your cheek, hand fisting it just underneath your chin, eyes wide and twinkling, taking him in, drinking him in.

Though his posture mimics a relaxed bearing, you know it's anything but.

The slight downward frown to his full lips, the locked jaw, flexed cheekbones, phlegmatic eyes give it away. He might be leaning back, physically relaxed, but his mind is running a mile a minute.

You would know. Yours is too.

His eyes suddenly cut in your direction, locking with yours. Your own gaze doesn't falter, for all the sleeping act was worth, you both know you had been awake anyway. No point in continuing with the facade.

He brings the glass to his plush lips, eyes still peering into yours from behind the rim. He tips his head back, knocking the entire shot in a gulp.

No hiss follows. Bourbon is watered down coffee to him at this point.

No buzz, just a lingering burn on the tongue, he'd said.

As his Adam's apple bobs with his gulp, you no longer can help your gaze as it follows, making its way from his clavicle, to his chest, to the taught muscle of his abs, the sharp angle of the v line you want to see more of, before it disappears behind his tight fit pants.

He observes you checking him out, indulges you for a moment, before wordlessly getting up.

Placing the now empty glass on the nightstand, he slowly slides under the covers, with you, but still so far.

He's on the far end of the bed, the literal edge. As far as is possible while still sharing the same sleeping space. And it's not for lack of want, you know. His desire is lucid, swimming in the honey pools that are his eyes. You only hope that your own isn't as evident as his.

Slowly, as if testing the waters, he slides his hand forward under the duvet, eyes carefully studying your reaction, making sure. What exactly, you haven't an idea.

His cold hand slips into your warm one, fingers brushing and you shudder. Visibly.

It's a simple touch, the simplest there is, you'd argue. One you've been subject to at various instances by various individuals.

None of them being him.

Really, he's the only one that can get you pliable like this, can get your body to react like this.

Your eyes flutter shut, heart teetering close to arrhythmia, and whisper with a voice appallingly weak, "Dont."

"Why not?"

His answer is quick, almost a reflex, as if expecting you to say something along the lines. And with good reason. That's all you've been saying to him the last however long he's been haunting your existence, toying with your heart, coaxing a side of you you don't want out.

But your body had by now been trained to listen to him over you where he's concerned. There's simply nothing you can do. Doesn't stop you from trying, though.

His thumb slides over your knuckles slowly, reassuringly. His eyes still flick across your face, looking for even a glimpse of reluctance.

You know he won't find any. But what he will find is what you're afraid of. The want. The yearning. The longing. And for all the show you're making of pushing him away, the fucking excitement of finally being alone with him.

It's a dangerous game you're playing, tipping treacherously close to the precipice of doing something you know doesn't have a turnabout. You need to stop this. Now. Before all else is forgotten, caution thrown out the window. Anytime now.

So you do the only thing that you can, forcing your body from under the covers and gliding off the bed. The sudden gush of chilly breeze slides the sleeve of your robe off and it's then that you realise that it had come undone at some point during your rustling on the bed.

You don't have to glance back to know that he's looking.

Quickly winding the belt around your lower torso, you make work of the knot and move to stand in front of the window he was before moments prior.

Looking up at the moon, you're sure about it all over again. No lustre beats the honey tone of his skin, the one you want to run your hands all over, the one you want to feel against yours.

The mere thought stirs shameful desire within you before you have a chance to eliminate it, and you suppose it can be allowed once. Just once. You'll let your mind live the imaginary fantasy.

Or perhaps the real one. If he's so inclined.

You know this because you can hear the rustle of the sheets, heeled boots clacking on the hollowed floorboard. The speed at which they approach you is nothing like the soft pad you'd heard while laying in bed, just a touch on the frantic side.

He stops just behind you, almost touching but not quite. You know he won't. Not unless you give him the green light.

You've both kept your distance for as long as you've known him— or rather known of him. You've endured it all that time, you can go a little longer.

He's right there, a mere inch behind you. All that's needed is for you tilt on the heel of your foot just so, and you'll actually experience his warmth, instead of just feeling it radiating off him.

But you don't move that one inch backward. And he doesn't move that one inch forward.

"Why not?" he reiterates.

"You know why."

"I honestly don't. What's wrong, now?"

You exhale into the night air, leaning forward a tad, fingers gripping the rail. He moves closer still, the body heat intensifying. Yet not quite touching.

"What's wrong, kitten?"

"I—"

"I know you want to."

Of course you do. That hasn't ever been a question. Not even back then, back when it was supposed to be.

Of course you want him, of course you crave him. He's invaded your life, infested your mind, took over your being. Merely by existing. That just goes to show the extent of damage that can be done.

The brighter the flame, the more ghastly the burn.

But you'd burn for him. You'd let him walk you to whatever condemnation there is, right through the gates of the abyss that lies ahead.

And the longer he stays behind you like this, in such proximity yet the farthest he's ever been, you're that much closer to accepting your fate, to giving in, to finally letting your heart have what it's been denied all this time.

You turn just slightly, glancing over your shoulder, and one look at his gaze, so stern, so powerful, yet with a glint of tenderness only you've ever been subject to, and all walls come crashing down, the desire overflowing, the metaphorical dam reaching its breaking point.

You lunge forward, fisting your hands into the collar of his open shirt, yanking him towards you until there's no distance left to close, your breaths mingling together, lips mere centimetres apart.

"I- don't."

Just why are you asking him to stop when it's you who's desperately clawing at him, you don't know. Perhaps you fool yourself into believing that this isn't on you, it's not you who's pulling him in, not you who's moments away from tasting him.

Come to think of it, it's all you've been doing. Pretending to be the one with morals, fooling yourself into believing that you're doing the right thing, posing to be the picture of scrupulous, when you know damn well you're none of those, far from it.

And the faint smile that takes over his striking features is reminder enough. Reminder of how he never once complained even as he saw right through you, how he never called your feelings out even as he knew of your straying heart, how he never tried to deny the accusations, the insults, the rebukes, taking it all in stride, storming through it all.

Yes, he's the bastard who fell in love with his brother's girl.

Yes, he's the scoundrel who tried to steal her away from him.

Yes, he's the motherfucker who did finally steal her away from him.

And yet again, he's falling into the character he's taken on these past few months, of taking the blame, of silently suffering. Anything if it means he has you.

Just like this, so close and alone. Nothing more. Nothing less. In a spiral of time, where this moment never ends, where you don't have to worry about the consequences, the repercussions.

But it seems like you do, for the look on your face is positively screaming for help, your eyes unsettled, lips parted in trepidation.

And so, he takes over the role of the responsibility bearer, if only to assure you that yes, it is in fact his fault, he's the one who brought you here, and he's the one making the first move.

His hands move your waist, grasping at the curve of it, large palms easily engulfing it in warmth.

Breaths hitching, for it seems touching you has just the same effect on him as his touch does on you, and it takes all of a minute for you to know what he's doing.

"Don't," seems like that's all you're capable of saying today.

Yet this utterance is not quite the same as the ones you breathed before.

Before, it was a warning, a cautious withdrawal, a plea to not touch you anymore for you're not sure you can handle it.

Now, it's an understanding, a discernment, a plea to stop playing the part of the bad guy, for you're not sure you can handle that either.

He makes you weak.

Weak in a way that makes you want to run into his arms and let him protect you from all that is wrong, all that is malicious, all that keeps him away from you.

And you know he will. Protect you with his life. Cherish you with his soul. Love you with his heart.

And as you lean into him at long last, you embrace it, accept it— he's what you really want.

You're both gasping, skin tinged a shade of pink, equally breathless at having finally had a taste of what you'd been craving for far too long, what you'd been denied longer than that. It had been you— you who had denied yourself this, so you have no one else to blame. But in this moment, when his hands slowly glide up your sides, caressing you with gentle care, the soft touches juxtaposed by the way his eyes turn crimson in reflection of his unadulterated want for you, you suddenly don't remember why had you done that. It's unmistakable, the ardour he holds for you, the desire you do for him. You thought you were good at masking it, but were you really?

With the way your body betrays your sense of reason, the way you slot your lips in between his in a wanton display of want, the contented hum that leaves you involuntarily when you push your tongue and slide it over his, you wonder if it was this apparent even before.

Did Hyunjin really not know? Did he not catch the fire that burnt so bright between you, the electricity tying you together, the way you crave him. Did he not know or did be simply not want to know? Turning a blind eye, waiting for you to come back to your senses, to come back to him.

Did he know, an iron rod left in the company of a magnet gets magnetised; the longer it stays, the closer it rests, the more intense the field, the greater the conversion. And convert you he did, into an electromagnet no less. The field of force so strong, growing fiercer by the second, it was only a matter of time before it consumed you whole.

"Stop thinking of him," a whisper says against your lips.

Your drifting mind comes to, and you find Minho peering with his eyes into yours, the crimson in them dulled.

"I'm here, so stop thinking of him."

For some reason, your eyes water, throat constricting, thick with emotion you dare not try to describe, for you don't know yourself.

But of course, he does.

You find your face cradled into the palms of tender hands, kind face looking down at you with a wistful smile playing on the plush kiss bitten lips.

"It's okay, kitten, it's okay."

"It's not," a weak whisper, indicative of your equally weak state of mind.

"It is. It's normal to think of him when he's all you've ever had. But I'm going to change that, I want to change that. Will you let me?"

You give him a meek nod, not finding it in yourself to hold back any longer.

"I want you to say it, kitten. Please, I want to know it's what you want."

You clench your fist into his shirt that dangles of his frame, sliding it off his shoulders, letting it pool behind him, "I want you. So bad."

"Then have me," he pushes forward with a sudden force, all the care having dissipated in favour of passion.

The breath is knocked from you with the way he whisks the two of you to a nearby wall, with a speed impossible for a human to achieve, but it's no task for him. Indeed, he has to hold back as to not go too fast, lest it render you both dizzy, something you're already teetering at the edge of.

You gasp when he tears your top off in a display of sheer strength, and again, it's no chore for his supernatural strength, evident in the way his orbs once again glimer scarlet, putting any flame to shame. His voice is hoarse when he says what he does next, another reminder of his inner demon emerging out in the haze of his arousal.

"Could've had me whenever you wanted," he noses at your jaw, hums at the sweet scent hitting his nostrils.

"Minho—"

He growls, pushing forward into you until you're compressed against the wall with nowhere further to go, your mind enveloped by everything that's him.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Stop saying my name like that," he begins a frantic rub of his lower half against yours, fingers digging further into your waist where he holds you.

"It's all I've wanted to do," you say through glassy eyes, head falling back onto the wall.

He hurtles you away yet again at that inhuman pace, pushing onto the bed proper with his frame hovering over yours.

"Why didn't you, then?"

It's a rhetorical question, the answer to which he knows himself, so you choose not to answer, simply wrapping your legs around his waist, clinging onto him as he tastes your neck.

The chill air from the open window causes goosebumps to break across the wet trail his tongue leaves on your throat, a gentle moan escaping you.

"You smell so sweet," he murmurs against you, voice muffled by his unwillingness to detach himself from your skin, "fuck."

Once again, he begins his mindless rut, and you know it's involuntary, for the way your hips respond in the same manner is unintentional too.

"Taste me," you gasp out, winding your fingers into his silver locks and pushing his face further into your neck.

His movements still, and he easily lifts his head off you despite the hold you have on his hair on account of his paranormal strength.

"Don't say that."

"But I want you to," you say looking right into his eyes, that now glow the brightest they ever have. His face is paler than usual, lashes longer and prettier than they have ever been, lips more pink than you recall, and you know that it isn't the direct result of your attack on them. You'd heard the effect arousal can have on vampires, their beauty being intensified multifold. You thought you'd witnessed it every time you spent a night with Hyunjin— his features accentuated, face framed more delicately than usual.

But on Minho, it's all so different. It's not a change that's slight, in any sense of the word. Unlike Hyunjin, he's glowing, with his high cheekbones dusted rosy, mouth parted to release rapid huffs of breath, his breathing laboured. You'd never even entertained the idea, that he could be any more beautiful than he already was, but here he is, painting the very picture of etherealism.

"Drink from me," you echo, running your hand over his forearm in silent encouragement.

It's then that you witness it, for the first time on him. The way the nerves on his under eyes bulge out, hot red blood running through them all too visible, the pulse in them loud enough to roar in your ears. You reach forward, gently trace your fingertips over the cascade they make. They're uneven under your touch, ridges that throb with every beat of his once alive heart. Indeed, it lies still underneath your other hand that rests on his chest, no sign of life for there is none.

"You know what that means," he sighs, resistance already cracking, gently clasping his hand over your wrist, making no attempts at taking it off his face.

Another thing that's so vastly different from Hyunjin. He used to coware in on himself, turn his face away, going as far as to stop midway, just to hide the predator that resided within him. Despite your constant reassurance of wanting to see every part of him, incessant pleas to trust you, to let you behold him for the beauty that he is, he hadn't allowed you that.

But Minho makes no attempt to stop you from admiring him, even snuggling into your touch further, confident in all that he is. He knows it, has accepted it a long while back.

"You're thinking about him again," there's no malice in his voice, no hint of resentment. And that makes you feel all the more guilty.

"I'm so sorr—"

"Don't be," a kiss is planted straight on your lips, so gentle it might as well not be there at all, "I knew what I was getting myself into."

"Minho, I—"

"Don't need to explain yourself, kitten."

"No," you nudge at his chest and he allows you to push him back onto the mattress, to straddle his thighs and rest yourself in the comfort of his lap. It's an unfamiliar position, as is just about anything with him. Having spent far too long craving for— and being denied of— the intimacy of his body warmth, you don't know when it'll stop feeling so foreign, so electric.

"I do. This isn't fair to you. Or me. He's no longer in the picture, I should be here with you."

He winds his arms around your waist, pulls you further into him, "You were with him a long time, it's only natural to compare."

Oh.

So he knows.

Gentle scratches on your scalp lull you to a state more vulnerable you would ever allow yourself to be exposed to, but right now, with him doing doing just the same, you suppose it's alright to let go of the control you hold so dear at all times.

"I—"

"Besides its not like he's completely out of the picture," he rambles, a rarity for him, you're aware, "this is stolen time we have right now—"

"All the more reason to make good on it."

"So it's more than enough that I even get to do this with you, who knows if I'll ever get to do it again—"

"I've made my decision."

"So it's fine really, just try, okay? I don't mind—"

Further incoherent maundering silenced by a firm press of your lips on his, he melts into you, slumping back against the headboard.

"I've made my decision," you repeat, knowing full well he didn't hear you the first time around.

His eyes droop, acceptance spelt out in bold on his face.

"Tell me after we're done?"

"No."

His hold on you unwinds a little, eyes losing their fire.

"Kitten, I don't think I can go through with this after you tell me you're going back to him—"

"I choose you," you smile, and the crimson, with its flames roads in his orbs once again, "I choose you, Lee Minho. Will you choose me?"

Overcome with emotion, he lunges for you again, kisses you in a way that makes it difficult to breathe, but with him so near, so close, you simply don't wish to. He's the breath you need, the reprieve to your burning lungs, the respite on this chilly night.

"Always did," he speaks into your mouth, moving further down south where he nips at your collarbone.

"Bite me, then."

And yet again, he stills, looks up at you through his lashes, the veins under his eyes prominent once more. He doesn't need to voice his reluctance, you see it all too well, your patience running thin.

"Or I will," it's not a threat, but the potency with which you state it makes it seem like one.

"Do it," it's not a challenge, but the voracity with which he says it makes it seem like one.

Your own eyes burn crimson, you know because you see it reflected in his orbs that widen in want. It's instinctual, the way your lips part, canines extending past the length of neighbouring teeth, the way your tongue swipes over the pointed ends, your own veins hardening and protruding under your eyes.

"Fuck, you're beautiful like this," he says, witnessing the vampire in you take over.

You're similar to him in this respect, you realise. For as much as Hyunjin hates what he is, you both embrace it with open arms, resign to being what you once weren't. Denial can only last so long, and truth be told the perks far outweigh the demerits— not least of them being how your senses, ever on high alert, are even more so when you indulge in intimacy, the heat of the moment intensifying, feeling every touch, every caress straight to your core.

You lean down towards him, gently grazing your fangs on the soft expanse of his neck, his scent driving you off the edge.

"You know what this means, don't you?" he knows you do, and the recurrent reminder only serves to make you want to do it even more.

But he needs a clear answer, deserves it. So with the last shreds of patience you still somehow possess, you manage to pull away from the crook of his neck, looking straight at him, "He gave me a choice. To choose him or you. That was the whole point of us coming here, right?"

He nods. You chuckle.

"He eventually saw this- this thing between us, and asked me if I had feelings for you," you don't know why you're reiterating the entire backstory, it being far from something he doesn't know, "He didn't believe me when I denied and so he sent us here, for me to figure out what I want."

He just nods again. You take his face in your hands, thumbs stroking the area adjacent to his ears, rubbing gentle circles, getting him to relax into you.

"Turns out I knew what I wanted all along. You. I want you. All of you."

And your mouth is back on his throat, kissing down along the length, suckling until it's painted in blues and purples.

"You want this, baby?" you whisper.

"Only if you keep calling me that," his voice is wobbly, cracking around the edges, and judging by the hardness that pokes your thigh, you have a pretty good idea as to why.

"Baby. My baby."

"Fuck—"

"Can I have your blood, baby? Smells so good…"

"Shit, have all of it."

You huff out a laugh, "Mm, a sip will do."

The notion couldn't be more erroneous if it tried.

As soon as you lick a bold stripe up his skin to soften it, preparing it for the no doubt excruciating pain that is to follow soon, and finally sink your fangs into him, you're a goner. The growl that leaves you, blended together with his moan is music to your ears, the perfect backtrack to his flavour that floods your mouth.

He tastes piquant, tart and spicy, an undernote of sugar lingering somewhere on the back of your tongue. You hum, sink your canines further into him, and meet no resistance. If anything, he tangles his hand in your hair, pushing you into him even more.

"Fuck, you're delicious."

He laughs, the gentle rumble reverberating through your chest from his, and you will yourself to detach from where you're still biting into him.

A few stray droplets trickle from two freshly made cavities that now mark his once flawless skin, and you collect them onto your tongue, not wanting to waste a single drop.

Swiping a thumb over the blood that still lingers on your bottom lip, you bring it to his mouth, and yet again are met with no defiance. He parts his mouth all too willingly, sucking his own essence off your fingertip, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he does so.

Thumb still in his mouth, you bite into a fresh patch of skin, right by his clavicle. The cry that leaves him buzzes and dances around your digit, which you instinctively push deeper into his heated cavern. The lack of opposition from him is getting to your head, making you wonder if he'll do anything you ask of him, if he'll bend to your wills, just where do his limits lie— if they do, at all, for he is nothing short of competitive, driven for all the right reasons— and the wrong— and in this instance, you choose to use it to your advantage.

So you take in a generous mouthful of his ichor, prying his mouth apart with the thumb nestled deep into it. He's confused for all of a minute before he catches on, the glint in his eyes in addition to the crimson fire that has not once dimmed since you started indication enough of his approval of just what you're about to do. Indeed, it isn't something typically indulged in, certainly not with this kind of liquid.

But Lee Minho makes you do vile things, makes you want to corrupt every part of you, and him in the process.

Your lips connect, he tips his head back without you having to ask him to and as the red liquid travels from your mouth to his, you clasp his head in place, giving him every last bit of him from you. It's a messy affair, as one would expect, droplets trickling down between your connected mouths, but if the contented hum that leaves him is any indication, he doesn't seem to mind either.

You begin to pull away, but his hand suddenly pushes into the space between your shoulder blades, keeping you— and your mouth— pressed to him. He licks into your mouth, hot and heavy, caressing your tongue with his, and it's only a moment's delay when it hits you— he's cleaning any remnants of him still left in you.

By the time you part, you're both panting, gasping for breath, and he once again brings up the inevitable,

"You know what this means," it's not as much a question as it is a fact this time around.

"I do. You're stuck with me now, whether you like it or not."

His eyes sombre, carrying so much fondness you feel undeserving; he gently rolls you to your back on the bed until his face hovers mere inches away from yours, "Unbeknownst to you I already was, the day I saw you with my brother at the ball."

"I'll tell Hyunjin about us when we get back," you brush his long locks away from his forehead and behind his ears, only for them to fall back down on your face, soft and tickling, "about this," your thumb gently runs on the fang marks you've left on him, ones to stay there forever, to mark him as yours, never to fade away.

"You think he'll take it well?" his face drops to the junction between your neck and shoulder, voice a mere whisper.

"You know the answer."

"He loves you."

"But I love you," you stroke his hair delicately, praying this is enough to let him know of the gravity of your feelings for him.

"What if- what if you don't one day? You loved him too, but you don't now. What if you decide you don't love me anymore and that he was better—"

"Baby."

"I'm sorry," he sighs, realising he let his insecurities take over, yet again.

"Don't apologise, my heart. I do love him still, as a friend, as a support system in my life; I'm just not in love with him. You're it for me. Please believe me."

"I do," wet kisses littered across your neck, gentle and faint, enough to make you crave more.

"Mark me, then."

"What?"

His head snaps up then, furrowed brows roofing even more confused eyes.

"Mark me as yours, too. Like I did you," your eyes flit to the bite mark on his neck, clear as day. Maybe you should've marked him in a place where it wasn't so easily visible, or maybe you should've bit in a place more apparent.

A tug of war between rationality and derangement, that is what being with him is like. Always.

"I-I can?"

You have to say, you're a little hurt at the surprise to his tone.

"I told you to believe me, didn't I?"

"B-but—"

"Please?"

"Fuck—"

And it's only with him filling you with a delicious stretch that he finally sinks his teeth into you, the paradox of pain and pleasure addicting in a way you thought impossible, and surely, this isn't a one time thing— it can't be.

"We belong together now."

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